Mr. Urban in this series is the fine New Zealand actor Karl Urban. I sent all the letters to his agent’s address (at least I think it was – Google said so), and the return address was my work. After biting my nails over whether I’d get hit with a lawsuit or a restraining order and nothing happened, I relaxed a bit about my emotional outlet of choice. My first letter had opened with compliments and closed with blessings, but in the middle there was a lot of yelling. Fortunately my assumption that the letter would be ignored was correct.
I’d seen my sister a few days before I wrote this second letter, and was still mulling over the data she had shared about meds, chemo, etc. Randomly (my recollection is that a DK diary linked to the joe.my.god blog with this amazing story) I came across news about a newly identified continent. I love studying maps, and here were some never-before-seen continental and geological maps. So I went a little nuts. It sure beat worrying about my sister.
Letter 2: 2/28/17
Dear Mr. U & Suite,*
So you probably already know about this, but I only just found out last week, and this is absolutely the coolest thing in science in the month of February! The 7 “Goldilocks” planets 40 light years away is pretty great, too. Just thinking about the instrumentation and the math makes my head explode. But Zealandia is cooler because it was right under our noses. Well, under your noses anyway. I’ve never been to New Zealand so it’s never been under my nose, but still. It’s definitely the coolest thing in geology since the mechanism for plate tectonics was discovered, and of course the only reason Zealandia was identified was because of plate tectonics. I freaking love science. Oh, and in your face, The (old) Seven Continents! Zealandia is the first and only continent named after the country, not the other way around. It’s going in my next story for sure.
Sorry to bother you. I know I said I wouldn’t write again, but had to share. Hope you like it.
Best regards, M
* I also freaking love Gilbert & Sullivan. It’s not often this phrase is applicable, so here it is.
The second letter was frothy, wouldn’t you agree? Not so the third.
As I had said, the first letter was full of yelling; but then, oops, I found was wrong, so I admitted it in this, my third letter, which is pretty virtuous when you think about it. Just don’t think about it very hard or the premise of a virtuous apology to a pretend pen-pal falls apart. But I see I finally had some insight, which is the first step to resolution and acceptance, I guess.
Letter 3: 3/27/17
Dear Mr. Urban and Suite,
Well, I’m back, this time to apologize. Not a full apology, mind you, more like a half. Maybe a third. No, that’s not enough. Say half to two-thirds of an apology.
As you may or may not (probably don’t) recall, I lambasted the Star Trek 2009 reboot series for its minimal casting of women in permanent roles, having passed up the opportunity to include Nurse Chapel at all and Dr. Wallace/Markus more than the one movie. In a recent conversation with my sister (remember I mentioned my sister? More later), she told me about a thing called the Bechdel Test. Perhaps you’ve heard of it but I never had, and I was chagrined because it is the kind of thing I usually do hear about.
In case you haven’t heard of it either, it’s a minimum standard for women’s roles in movies, namely that there be two women, with actual names, who have a conversation with each other, and the conversation is not about a man with whom one or both of them has a romantic interest. In short, two named women who have a conversation that’s not about a man. The romantic interest condition needs to be added because they should be able to talk about a father, brother, co-worker, whomever. The result of the Bechdel test for the ST movies is a passing grade. I hereby apologize (a bit) for talking as though ST is the worst ever at writing for and casting women.
Not that the Bechdel test is a huge challenge. Neither a pole vault nor high jump bar to get over, nor a limbo bar that’s hard to get under. More like a measuring stick that’s lying on the ground and the difficulty is not to trip over it. But the ST 2009 reboot has managed not to trip over it, so congrats, and I’m half sorry for saying otherwise.
Now you’re scanning down the page, and you may say what’s all this additional writing? She should be done, you may say. Ah, but I told you I’d talk more about my sister, and here she is.
My sister is wicked smart. This Bechdel Test - she not only remembered the test, she remembered how to spell it, she remembered Bechdel’s first name and how to spell it, she remembered the year she read the piece, and she remembered the website in which it appeared. If it were me, I would have spelled it as Bechtel, forgotten the first name altogether, misremembered the year as last year instead of THREE years ago, and wandered from website to website trying to find the one where I had read about it, finally conceding defeat. Sigh. Not my sister.
She’s not just smart, she’s singularly amazing, full of passionate interests. She’ll choose an author and read his entire catalog of published works in chronological order, to learn the author’s evolution. She attends every North American total solar eclipse. She bakes perfect loaves of bread and a variety of scones, she makes chocolate rum balls to kill for. She knits, she plays guitar – self-taught – and sings, she’s a beloved wife, a dear friend to more people than I can count, and she has cancer for the fourth time.
That last one. I could hardly write the words. Her first cancer required minor surgery, her second cancer required major surgery, and her third cancer required major surgery plus chemo. The fourth cancer is a return of the third. It was apparently hiding for eleven years and started growing again.
She underwent radiation treatment in January and started two low-level chemo drugs. She and her doctors are dealing with it as a chronic condition. Chronic cancer? Did you ever hear of that? Me neither. And “low-level chemo” yeah, right. She is nauseated and exhausted every day, yet going to work and baking her bread and knitting. She will have another scan in April to see the effect of the radiation/chemo combination. Has the cancer (a) disappeared, (b) shrunk, (c) stayed the same, or (d) grown and/or spread? If (a) or (b), yay! If (c) or (d), she’ll start on a nastier chemo.
Why am I telling you this?
She told me about the recurrence in January, and I started the first letter to you.
She told me about her treatment in February, and I immediately wrote a second letter.
She just told me about the dates of the follow-up scan and radiologist’s report, and here I am writing a third letter.
There’s a pattern here. Deflection? I can’t, I won’t cry in front of her. She’s not crying. She’s very straightforward about all this and needs me to be calm and straightforward with her, so I am. But in casting about for some approach, some way, somehow, to not weep and panic constantly, I find myself doing things that she would do and has done, but that I never have done in my life. Calling and texting friends and relatives whom I generally neglect, joining political demonstrations, writing to strangers half the world away. It must be deflection. Or derangement.
Expect another letter in late April. And for that I apologize, fully, in advance.
Hoping you and yours are well, I remain, M
Tra la, it’s May, the lovely month of May. Fourth letter coming up.