OWe are bathed over in a world of technology, and while in many ways this has improved and enhanced our lives, in many ways, in my opinion, it has lessened or dimmed our appreciation for simpler things. Some call them 'old-school', or 'retro', 'classic', or heaven forbid, 'antique', but none the less, I think there are many things we would do well to 'reinvent', 'revive', 'revisit', or 'renew'. One of my favorites is the good old fashioned jigsaw puzzle.
I know, what you are thinking, "Dude, this is supposed to be a blog about battling cancer! Your struggles, your hopes, your dreams, your experiences... What's with the jigsaw puzzle crap?"
As my friend from the Dos Eqis commercial would remind you.... 'Stay thirsty, my friend.'
I will explain... So grab a cold one, here we go.
According to an exhaustive - 1.87 seconds - search on internet, the first jigsaw puzzle was invented by Englishman, John Spilsbury in 1760. Who, supposedly, was tired of looking at the painting of his mother-in-law, and in a fit of rage took his jigsaw the portrait that was looming over their fireplace. And upon discovering the pile of pieces in a box in front of the fireplace, his WIFE gave him 'the-look' and simply said, "Put it back together, sweep up the mess, and hang the picture of me mum back up where it goes." Well, fourteen hours and three bottles of horse glue later, the first jigsaw puzzle was completed. Oh, only the first sentence of this paragraph is true, the rest is just me, trying to get inside the head of the London map maker and printer!
In my world, jigsaw puzzles have had greater meaning. In particular they have special meaning as part of my therapy and treatment - both currently and historically.
As I have mentioned before, the waiting game involved in the diagnosis and treatment of cancer is almost as agonizing as surgery or the side effects of treatment. Fortunately, somewhere along the way, some doctor or nurse, or patient said, "Damn, it! Sitting here in this stupid room, staring at the walls, listening to the phone ring, and watching the clock tick by the minutes, is BOOOOOORING. Next time I come, I am bringing in something to do."
So, back at home, this thoughtful person went rummaging through the 'game-closet' as we used to call it....you know that place where sits this Jenga-esque (look it up if you don't know what it is) stack of board games (no batteries required), like Monopoly, Life, Clue, Parchesi, Sorry, Candyland, Chutes and Ladders? And, there, at the very bottom of the pile, waiting like faithful friends, long forgotten, is a squished stack of jigsaw puzzles - lighthouse scenes, fruit in a basket, tools in a drawer, a flower garden.
Our person now verrrrry, carefully grabs a hold of the puzzle boxes, and if they have mad Jenga skills, they can pluck them from the pile without toppling over the stack of games above. Most likely what follows this attempt is an hour or so of reboxing and restacking the games (complete with cursing - and vows to throw them all out) and the plucked puzzles are put into a bag, their next destination, the waiting room.
That brings us closer to my part of the puzzle experience. Since I have been through this cancer experience twice now, I will zip ahead to the part of the story where, every tim I enter yet another waiting room, I look for the stack of puzzles - or nondescript cabinet that is DESTINED to contain them.
Much like my love of crayons (another post entirely), puzzles take me back. They are deceptively simple and complicated at the same time. Whether they consist of 30 over size pieces and a simple picture, or the maddeningly complicated - ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in 10,000 pieces, they have the same simplicity. Open the tattered box, dump the pieces onto the table, take a deep breath, and begin.
The metaphors for life of a cancer patient are deep within the world of the jigsaw puzzle and as I wait for another treatment, or consultation I have plenty of time to ponder them.
To be really successful at surviving cancer, or completing Jigsaw puzzles you must be able to accomplish several things, you must develop skills in areas you might not excel.
First, there is the beginning. Like a puzzle in a box, our lives BEFORE cancer are fairly neatly compartmentalized in such a way that no one else has to see the jumbled insides, they just get to see the pretty pictures we present to the world on the 'box' of our lives.
Then, there comes the diagnosis of our condition - the point at which the pretty boxed picture is ripped open (some of our 'life-boxes' have been tapped pretty tightly) and the pieces of our lives dumped out onto an examining table for all to see.
Now that the pieces have been dumped out, the work begins, various specialists, doctors, nurses, lab-techs many unseen hands begin to piece together the story of the cancer patient, and they all try to figure out how to best reassemble the pieces so that, in the end, the finished puzzle will resemble the original picture on the box, without too many missing pieces.
The same goes for the puzzle I start working on in the waiting room. I am only ONE of the patients that move through the office during the day, and only ONE of those who try to assemble the puzzle. The amazing thing to me is that, each time I return a little bit more is put together, the picture becoming more clear.
Sometimes I get to work on the puzzle for a short time, and at other times I get to work on the puzzle for so long, I get absorbed in the effort, and don't notice the time passing until a kindly nurse nudges me on the shoulder, "Mr. Lightfoot. Time for your appointment." I find myself disappointed that I cannot sit there longer - a strange dualistic dilemma, I know...but still.
It seems silly, but there are 'moments' during the diagnosis, treatment and recover of the cancer patient that seem like small victories to the outside world, but are HUGE to us as patients. Much the same can be said when attempting to complete jigsaw puzzles. If you have never sat at a table with a huge puzzle, and been confused, frustrated, even exhausted by the daunting task of finding just the right piece to drop into a hole in the puzzle...then you should do it...just once... Then you would have a little bit better understanding of what cancer patients (and their doctors) go through.
As a patient, your initial diagnosis may consist of literally dozens of tests, scans, readings, requiring an equal number of visits to clinics, offices and hospitals. If you are lucky, the doctors will bring into the room that 'missing piece' - not quite being held aloft and lit by heavenly light - but still... A victory none the less...."We have discovered the problem!!!!!" and they carefully lay the piece in the hole in the cancer patient puzzle.... and then move on to the next piece....
This puzzle piece assemblage process goes on and on in the life of the cancer patient... Surgery to remove tumors, medicines and therapy to recover from surgery, finding the proper chemotherapy and radiation treatments to battle the remaining cancer.... the hope that in the end, once again, the medical puzzle makers can do their part to put your back together the life of the patient, so that we can go on with our lives.
Back in MY waiting room, I return a few weeks after my last visit, expecting to see 'my puzzle' there waiting for me to finish... Instead, it is gone! Evidently finished by some one other than... Someone else who has completed a picture, and now we move on to a new one. A 'victory' in a sense, a 'puzzle-life' reassembled. However, now, there lies another 'puzzle-patient' exposed, dumped on the table, the pretty picture on the box, giving the assemblers the view of how things are supposed to be - the task again, study, analyze and assemble (cure and move on).
My greatest hope, obviously, is that my personal puzzle will be assembled (minus the pieces representing the cancer), in such a way that I can carry on - a little worse for the wear - my box now a little bruised on the corners, the picture a little faded with age - but still, I hope my experience can allow others to slow down a bit, take some time to remember the simple pleasures that surround us -- even if we are NOT cancer patients, and realize that life is really similar to a jigsaw puzzle, you can only put it together one piece at at time, life goes together in its own way, one cannot 'force' pieces together that do not 'fit', and more importantly you need to step back from what you have 'put-together' to get a sense of what is still missing, and how much there is still to do...
Go, now, to the bottom of the game closet at your house, get out a puzzle. Turn off the computer, the television, the cell phone, dump the pieces out onto the table. Get a cup of coffee and a nice muffin, take a breath. Reach into the pile of pieces, and begin... Your efforts will be worth it...
I know, what you are thinking, "Dude, this is supposed to be a blog about battling cancer! Your struggles, your hopes, your dreams, your experiences... What's with the jigsaw puzzle crap?"
As my friend from the Dos Eqis commercial would remind you.... 'Stay thirsty, my friend.'
I will explain... So grab a cold one, here we go.
According to an exhaustive - 1.87 seconds - search on internet, the first jigsaw puzzle was invented by Englishman, John Spilsbury in 1760. Who, supposedly, was tired of looking at the painting of his mother-in-law, and in a fit of rage took his jigsaw the portrait that was looming over their fireplace. And upon discovering the pile of pieces in a box in front of the fireplace, his WIFE gave him 'the-look' and simply said, "Put it back together, sweep up the mess, and hang the picture of me mum back up where it goes." Well, fourteen hours and three bottles of horse glue later, the first jigsaw puzzle was completed. Oh, only the first sentence of this paragraph is true, the rest is just me, trying to get inside the head of the London map maker and printer!
In my world, jigsaw puzzles have had greater meaning. In particular they have special meaning as part of my therapy and treatment - both currently and historically.
As I have mentioned before, the waiting game involved in the diagnosis and treatment of cancer is almost as agonizing as surgery or the side effects of treatment. Fortunately, somewhere along the way, some doctor or nurse, or patient said, "Damn, it! Sitting here in this stupid room, staring at the walls, listening to the phone ring, and watching the clock tick by the minutes, is BOOOOOORING. Next time I come, I am bringing in something to do."
So, back at home, this thoughtful person went rummaging through the 'game-closet' as we used to call it....you know that place where sits this Jenga-esque (look it up if you don't know what it is) stack of board games (no batteries required), like Monopoly, Life, Clue, Parchesi, Sorry, Candyland, Chutes and Ladders? And, there, at the very bottom of the pile, waiting like faithful friends, long forgotten, is a squished stack of jigsaw puzzles - lighthouse scenes, fruit in a basket, tools in a drawer, a flower garden.
Our person now verrrrry, carefully grabs a hold of the puzzle boxes, and if they have mad Jenga skills, they can pluck them from the pile without toppling over the stack of games above. Most likely what follows this attempt is an hour or so of reboxing and restacking the games (complete with cursing - and vows to throw them all out) and the plucked puzzles are put into a bag, their next destination, the waiting room.
That brings us closer to my part of the puzzle experience. Since I have been through this cancer experience twice now, I will zip ahead to the part of the story where, every tim I enter yet another waiting room, I look for the stack of puzzles - or nondescript cabinet that is DESTINED to contain them.
Much like my love of crayons (another post entirely), puzzles take me back. They are deceptively simple and complicated at the same time. Whether they consist of 30 over size pieces and a simple picture, or the maddeningly complicated - ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in 10,000 pieces, they have the same simplicity. Open the tattered box, dump the pieces onto the table, take a deep breath, and begin.
The metaphors for life of a cancer patient are deep within the world of the jigsaw puzzle and as I wait for another treatment, or consultation I have plenty of time to ponder them.
To be really successful at surviving cancer, or completing Jigsaw puzzles you must be able to accomplish several things, you must develop skills in areas you might not excel.
First, there is the beginning. Like a puzzle in a box, our lives BEFORE cancer are fairly neatly compartmentalized in such a way that no one else has to see the jumbled insides, they just get to see the pretty pictures we present to the world on the 'box' of our lives.
Then, there comes the diagnosis of our condition - the point at which the pretty boxed picture is ripped open (some of our 'life-boxes' have been tapped pretty tightly) and the pieces of our lives dumped out onto an examining table for all to see.
Now that the pieces have been dumped out, the work begins, various specialists, doctors, nurses, lab-techs many unseen hands begin to piece together the story of the cancer patient, and they all try to figure out how to best reassemble the pieces so that, in the end, the finished puzzle will resemble the original picture on the box, without too many missing pieces.
The same goes for the puzzle I start working on in the waiting room. I am only ONE of the patients that move through the office during the day, and only ONE of those who try to assemble the puzzle. The amazing thing to me is that, each time I return a little bit more is put together, the picture becoming more clear.
Sometimes I get to work on the puzzle for a short time, and at other times I get to work on the puzzle for so long, I get absorbed in the effort, and don't notice the time passing until a kindly nurse nudges me on the shoulder, "Mr. Lightfoot. Time for your appointment." I find myself disappointed that I cannot sit there longer - a strange dualistic dilemma, I know...but still.
It seems silly, but there are 'moments' during the diagnosis, treatment and recover of the cancer patient that seem like small victories to the outside world, but are HUGE to us as patients. Much the same can be said when attempting to complete jigsaw puzzles. If you have never sat at a table with a huge puzzle, and been confused, frustrated, even exhausted by the daunting task of finding just the right piece to drop into a hole in the puzzle...then you should do it...just once... Then you would have a little bit better understanding of what cancer patients (and their doctors) go through.
As a patient, your initial diagnosis may consist of literally dozens of tests, scans, readings, requiring an equal number of visits to clinics, offices and hospitals. If you are lucky, the doctors will bring into the room that 'missing piece' - not quite being held aloft and lit by heavenly light - but still... A victory none the less...."We have discovered the problem!!!!!" and they carefully lay the piece in the hole in the cancer patient puzzle.... and then move on to the next piece....
This puzzle piece assemblage process goes on and on in the life of the cancer patient... Surgery to remove tumors, medicines and therapy to recover from surgery, finding the proper chemotherapy and radiation treatments to battle the remaining cancer.... the hope that in the end, once again, the medical puzzle makers can do their part to put your back together the life of the patient, so that we can go on with our lives.
Back in MY waiting room, I return a few weeks after my last visit, expecting to see 'my puzzle' there waiting for me to finish... Instead, it is gone! Evidently finished by some one other than... Someone else who has completed a picture, and now we move on to a new one. A 'victory' in a sense, a 'puzzle-life' reassembled. However, now, there lies another 'puzzle-patient' exposed, dumped on the table, the pretty picture on the box, giving the assemblers the view of how things are supposed to be - the task again, study, analyze and assemble (cure and move on).
My greatest hope, obviously, is that my personal puzzle will be assembled (minus the pieces representing the cancer), in such a way that I can carry on - a little worse for the wear - my box now a little bruised on the corners, the picture a little faded with age - but still, I hope my experience can allow others to slow down a bit, take some time to remember the simple pleasures that surround us -- even if we are NOT cancer patients, and realize that life is really similar to a jigsaw puzzle, you can only put it together one piece at at time, life goes together in its own way, one cannot 'force' pieces together that do not 'fit', and more importantly you need to step back from what you have 'put-together' to get a sense of what is still missing, and how much there is still to do...
Go, now, to the bottom of the game closet at your house, get out a puzzle. Turn off the computer, the television, the cell phone, dump the pieces out onto the table. Get a cup of coffee and a nice muffin, take a breath. Reach into the pile of pieces, and begin... Your efforts will be worth it...
