Family. Friends. Acquaintances.
I have taken quite the hiatus from updating all of you about my cancer. Life is actually back to normal and it is BUSY.
I finished my year long treatment in September. I also started school again the last week of August. So that means I went to school for two weeks while on my treatment and boy am I ever glad that I decided to take that year off while on treatment. I was sitting in Biology and halfway through (this was on a Tuesday), I literally almost passed out. And then I just felt like junk and couldn't concentrate at all. I'm relieved I only had to deal with that for only two weeks!
Let me tell you though - life without treatment is 100,000,000,000,000,000 times better than life being on it. I just didn't KNOW. You'd think I would but that year on treatment became my "new normal." It was just my life. I dealt with it the best I could and lived. I just remember a couple of weeks after my treatment was done, my mom and I were running errands together. Target then Aldi then JoAnn Fabrics. We got in the car at JoAnn's and I realized that we needed to go back to Target because I forgot something there. And then I started to laugh. Really hard too. My mom just looked at me as if I finally had cracked. I didn't crack. It hit me at that moment that I wasn't TIRED. And it made me so HAPPY. I had energy to run back to Target to get what I needed to get. Before, I would go grocery shopping and get halfway through the list and go home and make Jeremy do the rest because I was so freaking tired. I don't do that now. It's really nice.
I have patience again. I don't feel so sluggish and I can sleep deeply at night again. I still hate mopping my kitchen floor and wait until I can't stand it to mop it but otherwise, everything else is just so much easier to do!
I started school again and I have loved every moment of it so far (except the part where my classmates told me they read about the Challenger space shuttle exploding in their history books. That just makes me feel old.). I started going to a book club and love every moment of it. Before I would have had no energy to go or read the books or hang out with my friends. Doing stuff with kids for their school or all the extracurricular activities isn't such a chore anymore. It can be a pain sometimes but the point is I have energy! It's lovely. ((sigh))
As for my cancer - I just had a CT scan done and I'm in the clear. YAY! I apparently have an extra spleen, which to me clearly means I'm a mutant and will be joining the X-Men as soon as they accept my application. My super power is still listed as an unknown but only time will tell.
I will be getting another CT scan in 6 months. In between those times, I'll be seeing my dermatologist for a head to toe mole check and Steve, my oncologist. I'll be seeing them every three months for the next two years and then we will reassess from there.
I'm not worried. I feel great. I really do. Sure, when I get aches and pains now, my first thought goes the cancer route. If my back hurts, my brain automatically thinks, "uh-oh. I hope that doesn't mean my cancer has spread." That's annoying. That will always be in my mind for the rest of my life so I guess that's my new normal. I guess that's expected in my situation.
THANK YOU for all of you who prayed for me, helped me out by making me smile or laugh, for sending me random texts and emails, for making me banana bread, for leaving sweet and encouraging comments, for watching my kids, for just being there for me and my family. My thank yous always seem completely inadequate so I hope this thank you will suffice for now. I truly am grateful.
Mmmmmwah!
Saturday, February 7, 2015
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Meet My Peeps
So, back in the beginning of May, Regions Cancer Care Center threw a little party for us cancer patients, their caregivers and all those that help us (doctors and nurses). It was good food, good company and good hope. They had a man their who was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer (the last stage to be at) TWENTY YEARS AGO. He spoke and entertained us. It was cool. But, what I loved the best about the whole party/dinner? My Peeps. Let me introduce you to some of the peeps on my cancer fighting team:
This is Sally. She is our Cancer Care Center resident CNA. She comes around, takes your blood pressure and temperature and makes sure you are comfortable. She makes all the snacks in the snack basket look and taste as if they all come from a 5 star Costco or convenience store. She is also the person that all of us cancer patients look for when we are about to get our treatment. And let me tell you, every single person smiles and looks relieved when they spot her. Oh my gosh, do we all love her!
This is Cheryl. Cheryl is one of the many fabulous and lovely RNs that pretty much do everything at the Cancer Care Center. She was not my original nurse but was my nurse when my nurse was off every other Friday. She's great! I always get excited to see her and she always has the time to talk and catch up on life. Love, LOVE her!
This is Sheryl. She's MY nurse. Always and forever. I love her to the moon and back. We both went through interferon treatments together (her giving me the treatment and me taking it). This treatment is still relatively new for us melanoma patients and nurses. Everyday, she would ask me a lot of bodily function questions and then she would tweak either my tylenol/ibuprofen intake and get me lots of warm blankets to keep me warm before the treatment kicked in and I started to get the chills. These nurses at the Cancer Care Center want to make your treatment as comfortable as possible. Sheryl would call me at home with an idea to help me tolerate the treatment. We talked kids, grandkids, paddle boarding, nursing school, etc. And she gives the best HUGS! She also was there when I talked to my oncologist about the chances of the melanoma cells freaking out and invading every part of my body. I cried during that conversation. I was scared. She and I talked about it after and I don't remember what was said but I do remembered what I felt... Peace. Hope. Love - lots of love.
This, family and friends, is my oncologist - Steve. AKA Dr. McCormack. The older I get, the younger these doctors get! :) Steve is a couple years younger than me and he is the most down to earth, logical, realistic, doesn't beat around the bush, tells me how it is, best oncologist for me. Thank goodness! He's also very fashionably with it. That day he was wearing these very funky orange shoes that looked almost looked like bowling shoes - he totally pulled it off! This man responds to my emails immediately - even on Saturday and Sunday nights when he is not working to answer any of my concerns and questions about my health. We all love Steve at the Cancer Care Center. We really do. I know doctors are on a tight schedule but I have never once felt the need to rush my visits with him. And I know other patients feel the same way and somehow he is always on time for everyone's appointments. He's really, REALLY great. Whew! It really is a great relief to me to have someone as amazing as him taking care of me.
And the Most Valuable Player on my team goes to my handsome husband. Of course. He is always entertaining the team with his quirky jokes and sarcasm. He and Steve talk t.v. and he makes everyone pretty much laugh. Especially me. I totally love this man.
And, although this person was not at the party, I have to mention her. First off, I can't believe this is the only picture I have of us! But, this picture says a lot...
Everyone, meet Michelle. She's my besties mom. August of last year, when I had to go to the Cancer Care Center at Regions Hospital, Monday thru Friday from 1:00-3:00, for four straight weeks, Michelle was the one who picked me up everyday and brought me home. When she first picked me up, she showed me the warm blanket she brought along just in case I became cold from my fever that came every single time I had the treatment. She sat beside me for those two hours and we talked some but mostly we hung out and read and it was AWESOME. She would sometimes get me chips and tea and on those really hot days in August, she would not put the air conditioning on in her car because I was so cold from my fever. The picture I have above was the end of my very first treatment. Sheryl, my nurse, had wrapped me up in blankets and told me to take them home to stay warm. My muscles ached, I had a fever and chills and I was MISERABLE. But, if you look closely to this picture, we are laughing. Michelle has a great sense of humor and it's also easy to get her laughing. We were two peas in a pod during that month in August. I will always be eternally grateful for her friendship, love and willingness to take at three hours of her day and dedicate them to me. Thank you, thank you Michelle!
So, that's some of my Peeps. There are so many others...all of you and other doctors and nurses that have and will continue to help me on my cancer journey. I am one incredibly lucky girl!
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Sorry About the Holes
We
interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you: “Sorry
About the Holes.”
Flash
to T's 3rd ish birthday (maybe it was 2nd?). Having a birthday party
at your place. I was still a teen. One of our sister's is going to
bring a new boyfriend. You had made letter cookies so we could all
spell out our names and decorate them. You didn't know the new
boyfriend's name, so you made letters to spell "Friend."
You told me this and I think that may have been one of the hardest I
have laughed. This fact now made extra awesome because he ended up
becoming our brother-in-law. I thought you were the funniest,
prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.
Flash to when you are first diagnosed with cancer. I am 16. I wasn't really informed for several months. You constantly said that it was no big deal, that it was completely treatable. I never knew you had surgery until well after you had already recovered from it. I began to freak out. I didn't fully understand what you had or what treatments you were getting. I only related cancer with immediate death. I thought that you were too calm. I thought that you should be freaking out on the outside as much as I was on the inside. I decided that I should move in and raise the kids. Too bad high school got in the way of that decision. You were always optimistic. You assured me that you were fine. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.
Flash to when you were trying to get pregnant with your third child. I was 18. I cried for hours and hours at a play practice that one day when that really bad thing happened to you. I was convinced that it was because of your treatment. I was convinced that your body must have given up on life. I thought that you were actually much worse off than you were admitting to me. I again decided that I needed to move in and raise the kids. Too bad college got in the way of that decision. You got pregnant with your third kid. You continued to be happy and we continued to laugh every time we talked. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.
Flash to a few years later on Halloween. I was 20. You had gone through chemo and were too radioactive to be around the kids, so you were staying at a hotel. We met up and ate dinner and laughed like we always do. I believe that will always be my most favorite Halloween. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.
Flash to a few years later when we are chatting on your couch. I am 22. You tell me that you don't like telling other parents that you have cancer because "my cancer is not serious. It's not like it's going to kill me. Other types of cancers are much worse. I shouldn't get an award for my cancer." I have a realization in that moment. I realize that you do the same thing that I do. No matter what situation you are in, you belittle your problems because other people are more important. Later that night, I decide that from now on, I am going to help you before you even ask for it. I am going to comfort you even when you insist that nothing is wrong. I'll babysit at the drop of a hat. I'll bring you soup when you mention that you are sick. I'll call you frequently just to chat. I'll take all the kids to the fair so you can have free time. I'll sleep over so you can go black Friday shopping at 4 am. Whatever I think you might need, I am going to do it immediately. I was working about 70 hours per week and going through some hard times that I never told you about, but none of that mattered. Only you mattered. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.
Flash to a year later. I am 23. We are sitting on stools and there are kids all around us, begging to play with me and using me as a jungle gym. You tell me that you have a second type of cancer. This information hits me like a semi truck. I am completely crushed inside and want to burst into tears. But you are being very calm and so I try my best to copy. But for the first time in my life, I hear the slightest fear in your voice. This terrifies me. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much. I research everything about your cancer that I can possibly get my hands on. Suddenly all of my thoughts shift. I was planning to move to a different state in a month. But how can I do that now? All of my babysitting time needs to quadruple at least. I should clean your house every day. Maybe I should move in next door. I end up postponing moving for a few more months as guilt begins to eat away at me. How could I be so selfish as to move away? What would you do without me there? A few months later I get a call at midnight asking me to come watch the kids so that you can go to the ER. Of course I will come over, this never even needs to be a question. I end up watching the kids a lot that week and even bringing them to the hospital to visit you. The kids and I make about 100 paper frogs and bring them to you so that you can always have a whole batch of friends with you even when we are not there. We make a "Welcome Home" sign and I tack it on the wall before I realize that there are no holes in your beautifully painted wall, but I just put in about 10 holes, so now I feel terrible. These holes are obviously a metaphor for other things that I feel more guilty about. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.
A short time later I ask you about your adventures in Chile. You tell me so many wonderful stories including cactus slaps and air hugs. You speak of your travels with such fondness. Although you do not know it, this conversation gives me the courage to move. I see the passion for life in your eyes. I hear the happiness in your voice. I feel the hope for the future in your heart. I realize that you have more strength than I do and more than I can give you. Although you occasionally doubt yourself, I definitely never doubt you. I know you can do this. I know you will make it through.
I
am Sara's sister. She married my brother when I was a kid and now in
my lifetime she has been my sister longer than she hasn't been my
sister.
To
all the readers: I am going to throw away my Minnesotan tendencies
and be straight-forward by telling you that I am not writing this
for you. I am writing this for Sara, my amazing sister. Sara
this is all for you. If the rest of you want to keep on reading, I
guess that is ok, too.
You
asked me to write this about a year ago. I have written,
deleted, and rewritten this more times than I can count. I have
written it out loud on long drives. I have thought about it during
the nights when I can't sleep. I have read and re read every thing
that you write. I think about you and your pain more than you could
possibly know about. I am not very open about my feelings
because no matter what situation I am in, I view my problems as the
least important in the room. But I thought I'd share my
thoughts of you now.
Flash
back to your wedding day. I was 12. You were laughing and
telling me to eat more cake. I bought a slow dance with you for a
dollar and it made me more happy than I can describe. I
thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to
you so much.
Flash
to when T was a baby and we were making Thanksgiving dinner. I was a
teenager. I asked what the white foam was in the pot of potatoes.
You said starch and tried explaining what starch was by saying, "You
know, it's that starchy stuff." I thought you were the
funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.
Flash to when you are first diagnosed with cancer. I am 16. I wasn't really informed for several months. You constantly said that it was no big deal, that it was completely treatable. I never knew you had surgery until well after you had already recovered from it. I began to freak out. I didn't fully understand what you had or what treatments you were getting. I only related cancer with immediate death. I thought that you were too calm. I thought that you should be freaking out on the outside as much as I was on the inside. I decided that I should move in and raise the kids. Too bad high school got in the way of that decision. You were always optimistic. You assured me that you were fine. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.
Flash to when you were trying to get pregnant with your third child. I was 18. I cried for hours and hours at a play practice that one day when that really bad thing happened to you. I was convinced that it was because of your treatment. I was convinced that your body must have given up on life. I thought that you were actually much worse off than you were admitting to me. I again decided that I needed to move in and raise the kids. Too bad college got in the way of that decision. You got pregnant with your third kid. You continued to be happy and we continued to laugh every time we talked. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.
Flash to a few years later on Halloween. I was 20. You had gone through chemo and were too radioactive to be around the kids, so you were staying at a hotel. We met up and ate dinner and laughed like we always do. I believe that will always be my most favorite Halloween. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.
Flash to a few years later when we are chatting on your couch. I am 22. You tell me that you don't like telling other parents that you have cancer because "my cancer is not serious. It's not like it's going to kill me. Other types of cancers are much worse. I shouldn't get an award for my cancer." I have a realization in that moment. I realize that you do the same thing that I do. No matter what situation you are in, you belittle your problems because other people are more important. Later that night, I decide that from now on, I am going to help you before you even ask for it. I am going to comfort you even when you insist that nothing is wrong. I'll babysit at the drop of a hat. I'll bring you soup when you mention that you are sick. I'll call you frequently just to chat. I'll take all the kids to the fair so you can have free time. I'll sleep over so you can go black Friday shopping at 4 am. Whatever I think you might need, I am going to do it immediately. I was working about 70 hours per week and going through some hard times that I never told you about, but none of that mattered. Only you mattered. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.
Flash to a year later. I am 23. We are sitting on stools and there are kids all around us, begging to play with me and using me as a jungle gym. You tell me that you have a second type of cancer. This information hits me like a semi truck. I am completely crushed inside and want to burst into tears. But you are being very calm and so I try my best to copy. But for the first time in my life, I hear the slightest fear in your voice. This terrifies me. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much. I research everything about your cancer that I can possibly get my hands on. Suddenly all of my thoughts shift. I was planning to move to a different state in a month. But how can I do that now? All of my babysitting time needs to quadruple at least. I should clean your house every day. Maybe I should move in next door. I end up postponing moving for a few more months as guilt begins to eat away at me. How could I be so selfish as to move away? What would you do without me there? A few months later I get a call at midnight asking me to come watch the kids so that you can go to the ER. Of course I will come over, this never even needs to be a question. I end up watching the kids a lot that week and even bringing them to the hospital to visit you. The kids and I make about 100 paper frogs and bring them to you so that you can always have a whole batch of friends with you even when we are not there. We make a "Welcome Home" sign and I tack it on the wall before I realize that there are no holes in your beautifully painted wall, but I just put in about 10 holes, so now I feel terrible. These holes are obviously a metaphor for other things that I feel more guilty about. I thought you were the funniest, prettiest person and I looked up to you so much.
A short time later I ask you about your adventures in Chile. You tell me so many wonderful stories including cactus slaps and air hugs. You speak of your travels with such fondness. Although you do not know it, this conversation gives me the courage to move. I see the passion for life in your eyes. I hear the happiness in your voice. I feel the hope for the future in your heart. I realize that you have more strength than I do and more than I can give you. Although you occasionally doubt yourself, I definitely never doubt you. I know you can do this. I know you will make it through.
Flash
to present day. I am 24. I currently live across the country from
you. My heart reaches out to you every day through the holes I
put in your wall. But don't worry Sara my starchy sister. I'll
be back soon. Because you are the funniest, prettiest person that I
know. I am so proud of all that you do. I love you with more than
all of my heart and will always look up to you.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Special Guest Author presents: "3 Sides to Every Coin"
Jeremy here.
If you need a refresher on how things change while I drive, I will refer you back to the preface of the post "Special Guest Author presents: 'The Rest'" to get acquainted with the subtle differences in writing style (1).
So... You are probably wondering about the title of the post. If you already know where I'm going with this, then please keep it to yourself and don't spoil the movie for everyone else in the theater by blurting out something like "Wait, that guy's already dead and he's a ghost for this whole movie!" (2). If you don't know where we're heading (or didn't look at the title until I mentioned it), then please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times and try to avoid direct eye contact with the animals.
We begin with an explanation...
Sara and I have four kids. They're pretty much awesome, but they're kids and we're parents, so there are the requisite moments of "This is not awesome at all, what were we thinking." You know: nights when 3 are puking, one just won't go to sleep, or when one of them removes all the keys from the laptop, etc. (yes, all of those are real). The vast majority of the time, though, the scale is tipped firmly to the awesome side. Now, these kids love to play outside, with each other and with friends and with neighborhood kids. It's great. Unless you're the paranoid overprotective parent who has gotten pretty good at hiding the overprotective part (that would be me). I feel overly responsible for everyone's well being. I'm the oldest of seven and have four myself... Let's blame it on that (I know I do). I am constantly taking stock of who is where and making sure that I'm within range to swoop in if there's a fight or problem or someone falls or a swarm of robot ninja sharks attack...
So when the kids are off in the neighborhood, I'm not necessarily freaking out and having a panic attack (3), but I'm concerned and just want to know where they are, what they're doing, with whom, and when they'll be back. They're gonna love me when they're teenagers, I'm sure. There is a natural solution to this, however. It's brilliant. The trick is to be the cool house where everyone wants to come play. It isn't 100% of the time, but most of the time, there's a go-to hangout house in the neighborhood. You can probably still remember that house you went to all the time in your neighborhood when you were a kid. And now that you're an adult, who doesn't want to BE the cool house? Right? So I don't have to be too concerned with where they are and such because, well, you know, they're here.
As with everything else, though, there is a trade-off here. There's the flip side of the coin (ooh, he's alluding to the title of the post, let's pay attention now!). What if you don't like the neighborhood kids? There's only so much you can do when it comes to friends and neighborhood kids when they get older than 6 or 7... In order to be the cool house, you probably have to deal with some amount of annoying kids you don't like or extra kids messing up your yard and your bathroom and eating the snacks you bought for your kids and you have to come up with games for them to play occasionally... You get the picture. If you want heads (kids close by), you have to accept that sometimes it's tails (annoyances of the baggage that comes with it).
What if you flipped a coin and it landed on the table or ground standing on edge? Almost impossible, I know, but I've seen way more almost impossible things happen (2 types of cancer in a non-smoker non-drinker before age 40, anyone?). There's a third side to the coin. No one ever calls "side," it's always heads or tails. But it could, theoretically, land on the side, right? Nobody ever thinks of that. Most would agree that I'm an abnormal person, though, so I do.
Sara has had several surgeries and gotten a lot of treatment over the past whatever amount of time. This will continue for awhile (I'll let her fill you in on the carpal tunnel in BOTH wrists and the non-cancer related possible upcoming ankle surgeries). We get the treatment that helps her out (this is heads), but there are side effects, recovery times, random fatigue (tails). What I never would have called or thought of is how many moments the coin lands on its side for us. The completely unexpected, improbable things that make you remember that there's a third side to the coin. Phone calls from a friend she hasn't talked to in forever change a day. Someone just randomly brings dinner. A few student loans got consolidated and they're lowering our payment. Someone tells Sara that she's inspired them (she's not trying to). These events give an unexpected break to the daily stream of heads or tails. Instead of remembering the hundreds of coin flips we go through every hour of the day that end up good or bad, how many of them end up on the side and throw us out of the routine (in a good way) for a few moments?
There are so many unexpected things that have happened that I can't classify as routine (as if we have one now... ha ha ha) over the last whatever amount of time. Cancer sucks. For everyone involved. Treatment can help, but it brings its own baggage as well. There are good days and bad days. Good moments and bad. The coin flips that land on the side come out of nowhere, and they are really cool to experience. If you know what I mean, then you know what I mean. If you don't... Well, this is the only way that I could think of to explain it.
This concludes today's journey. Once the lap bar lifts, please exit to your left. Thanks for your patronage. Stay random.
-Jeremy
1 - This will probably be the last time I start a post with an explanation of what's different when I'm writing. I mean, I probably don't need to do it at all anyway... I personally just feel like if the pilot of a plane changed while we were in flight, I'd appreciate it if the new guy said "Hi, just an FYI that some other stranger has his hands on the flight stick now." Not sure if anyone else feels this way, but as we've established, I'm driving, so I get to decide what gets written down.
2 - In all fairness, that particular sentence ruins a lot of movies... I can think of 5 off the top of my head. I'm sure an IMDB or Google search for "movies where one of the main characters is dead the whole time and actually a ghost or hallucination" would yield not only a healthy supply of responses, but probably ruin a lot of movies for you. If you don't care or don't like movies anyway, please feel free to go down that rabbit hole.
3 - It's never been that extreme of an overprotectiveness. And I'm not the type to panic externally. I spun out the car on the highway this last winter and maintained a normal conversation with the passenger throughout. Even when the car is spinning, I want to make sure that my passengers feel like I am still in control of the situation (that's probably also a metaphor for my life). Internally, though, yeah, total freakout. I can appear calm, cool, and collected, though. For the record, no accident, I kept the car on the road and we drove away with no incident.
If you need a refresher on how things change while I drive, I will refer you back to the preface of the post "Special Guest Author presents: 'The Rest'" to get acquainted with the subtle differences in writing style (1).
So... You are probably wondering about the title of the post. If you already know where I'm going with this, then please keep it to yourself and don't spoil the movie for everyone else in the theater by blurting out something like "Wait, that guy's already dead and he's a ghost for this whole movie!" (2). If you don't know where we're heading (or didn't look at the title until I mentioned it), then please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times and try to avoid direct eye contact with the animals.
We begin with an explanation...
Sara and I have four kids. They're pretty much awesome, but they're kids and we're parents, so there are the requisite moments of "This is not awesome at all, what were we thinking." You know: nights when 3 are puking, one just won't go to sleep, or when one of them removes all the keys from the laptop, etc. (yes, all of those are real). The vast majority of the time, though, the scale is tipped firmly to the awesome side. Now, these kids love to play outside, with each other and with friends and with neighborhood kids. It's great. Unless you're the paranoid overprotective parent who has gotten pretty good at hiding the overprotective part (that would be me). I feel overly responsible for everyone's well being. I'm the oldest of seven and have four myself... Let's blame it on that (I know I do). I am constantly taking stock of who is where and making sure that I'm within range to swoop in if there's a fight or problem or someone falls or a swarm of robot ninja sharks attack...
So when the kids are off in the neighborhood, I'm not necessarily freaking out and having a panic attack (3), but I'm concerned and just want to know where they are, what they're doing, with whom, and when they'll be back. They're gonna love me when they're teenagers, I'm sure. There is a natural solution to this, however. It's brilliant. The trick is to be the cool house where everyone wants to come play. It isn't 100% of the time, but most of the time, there's a go-to hangout house in the neighborhood. You can probably still remember that house you went to all the time in your neighborhood when you were a kid. And now that you're an adult, who doesn't want to BE the cool house? Right? So I don't have to be too concerned with where they are and such because, well, you know, they're here.
As with everything else, though, there is a trade-off here. There's the flip side of the coin (ooh, he's alluding to the title of the post, let's pay attention now!). What if you don't like the neighborhood kids? There's only so much you can do when it comes to friends and neighborhood kids when they get older than 6 or 7... In order to be the cool house, you probably have to deal with some amount of annoying kids you don't like or extra kids messing up your yard and your bathroom and eating the snacks you bought for your kids and you have to come up with games for them to play occasionally... You get the picture. If you want heads (kids close by), you have to accept that sometimes it's tails (annoyances of the baggage that comes with it).
What if you flipped a coin and it landed on the table or ground standing on edge? Almost impossible, I know, but I've seen way more almost impossible things happen (2 types of cancer in a non-smoker non-drinker before age 40, anyone?). There's a third side to the coin. No one ever calls "side," it's always heads or tails. But it could, theoretically, land on the side, right? Nobody ever thinks of that. Most would agree that I'm an abnormal person, though, so I do.
Sara has had several surgeries and gotten a lot of treatment over the past whatever amount of time. This will continue for awhile (I'll let her fill you in on the carpal tunnel in BOTH wrists and the non-cancer related possible upcoming ankle surgeries). We get the treatment that helps her out (this is heads), but there are side effects, recovery times, random fatigue (tails). What I never would have called or thought of is how many moments the coin lands on its side for us. The completely unexpected, improbable things that make you remember that there's a third side to the coin. Phone calls from a friend she hasn't talked to in forever change a day. Someone just randomly brings dinner. A few student loans got consolidated and they're lowering our payment. Someone tells Sara that she's inspired them (she's not trying to). These events give an unexpected break to the daily stream of heads or tails. Instead of remembering the hundreds of coin flips we go through every hour of the day that end up good or bad, how many of them end up on the side and throw us out of the routine (in a good way) for a few moments?
There are so many unexpected things that have happened that I can't classify as routine (as if we have one now... ha ha ha) over the last whatever amount of time. Cancer sucks. For everyone involved. Treatment can help, but it brings its own baggage as well. There are good days and bad days. Good moments and bad. The coin flips that land on the side come out of nowhere, and they are really cool to experience. If you know what I mean, then you know what I mean. If you don't... Well, this is the only way that I could think of to explain it.
This concludes today's journey. Once the lap bar lifts, please exit to your left. Thanks for your patronage. Stay random.
-Jeremy
Footnotes
1 - This will probably be the last time I start a post with an explanation of what's different when I'm writing. I mean, I probably don't need to do it at all anyway... I personally just feel like if the pilot of a plane changed while we were in flight, I'd appreciate it if the new guy said "Hi, just an FYI that some other stranger has his hands on the flight stick now." Not sure if anyone else feels this way, but as we've established, I'm driving, so I get to decide what gets written down.
2 - In all fairness, that particular sentence ruins a lot of movies... I can think of 5 off the top of my head. I'm sure an IMDB or Google search for "movies where one of the main characters is dead the whole time and actually a ghost or hallucination" would yield not only a healthy supply of responses, but probably ruin a lot of movies for you. If you don't care or don't like movies anyway, please feel free to go down that rabbit hole.
3 - It's never been that extreme of an overprotectiveness. And I'm not the type to panic externally. I spun out the car on the highway this last winter and maintained a normal conversation with the passenger throughout. Even when the car is spinning, I want to make sure that my passengers feel like I am still in control of the situation (that's probably also a metaphor for my life). Internally, though, yeah, total freakout. I can appear calm, cool, and collected, though. For the record, no accident, I kept the car on the road and we drove away with no incident.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Tuesdays
Tuesdays.
Tuesdays are hard.
All day I am tired.
So very tired.
I'm hot, then I'm cold.
And my skin HURTS. I don't know why that always surprises me. But, it does. Every time.
I woke up this morning and went into the living room. My two older kids were up with their dad reading a chapter in the scriptures before the start of our day. I did not read anything. My hood of my sweatshirt was pulled up over my head and all I wanted to do was lay back down and sleep. I forced myself up off the couch and went into the kitchen to take my synthroid (the medicine I take every day to replace the thyroid hormone that my body no longer makes). I longingly looked at my blessed Tylenol. I have to wait at least 30 minutes after taking my synthroid before taking anything else. Gah. Who knew 30 minutes can feel like an eternity?
After T and E got on the bus today for school, I was sad and was crying and I had to dig deep to find that motherly love to comfort and soothe him. He leaned up against me and since my body was all out of whack from my cancer treatment the night before, it hurt for him to touch me. But, he needed my touch so I dug deep and held him until he was better. I do not like to dig deep. It's tiring.
I sat on the couch literally waiting for the Tylenol to finally kick in. That usually takes another 30 minutes. During that 30 minutes, I wanted to play a game that I have been telling him we could play for the past week. I dug deep again and played the game. He LOVED it. He smiled and cheered when he won. And yes, it made me smile. I was not too tired to smile.
My day wasn't all that bad. I actually figured that out only after a text I received from my cousin that said,
"You made it through another Tuesday!"
Then I started thinking about the rest of my day. I got a text from a very good friend of mine with her new number since she moved. We texted back and forth for a while and it was very uplifting. Seriously, I love that girl. Then one of our friends came over just to be another adult in the house while my husband worked. It was so nice. The kids love her and she's really good at distracting them so I can get some much needed rest. Then, of course, I had my daily long phone conversation with my bestie. She made me laugh a lot and we talked about a lot of stuff and it felt good. I then gave my son I a mohawk. Seriously. It's not that great but he thinks he's cool. I even took a shower today! And then put my pajamas back on. :) I also received a bit of energy and made cupcakes. Then another good friend came over with dinner. Yes. DINNER. And her famous banana bread. Oh my gosh. I was and still am in heaven.
I told my cousin that I "barely" made it through the day. But, reflecting back on today and the choices that I could control and made, I didn't "barely" make it through the day. I "conquered" the day. Oooo...I really like the thought of "conquering." My house is a quasi mess. There are 3 baskets of laundry to fold and put away. There are dishes in the sink. My kitchen floor is in desperate need of a good mop. So on and so forth...And so what. Today I made a child happy. Today I made cupcakes for crying out loud. Today I was reminded that although I have to go through this, I have friends and family cheering me on and lifting me up. And, I also have amazing banana bread. Mmmmm...
So bring it Tuesdays! I'm ready to conquer another day!
Tuesdays are hard.
All day I am tired.
So very tired.
I'm hot, then I'm cold.
And my skin HURTS. I don't know why that always surprises me. But, it does. Every time.
I woke up this morning and went into the living room. My two older kids were up with their dad reading a chapter in the scriptures before the start of our day. I did not read anything. My hood of my sweatshirt was pulled up over my head and all I wanted to do was lay back down and sleep. I forced myself up off the couch and went into the kitchen to take my synthroid (the medicine I take every day to replace the thyroid hormone that my body no longer makes). I longingly looked at my blessed Tylenol. I have to wait at least 30 minutes after taking my synthroid before taking anything else. Gah. Who knew 30 minutes can feel like an eternity?
After T and E got on the bus today for school, I was sad and was crying and I had to dig deep to find that motherly love to comfort and soothe him. He leaned up against me and since my body was all out of whack from my cancer treatment the night before, it hurt for him to touch me. But, he needed my touch so I dug deep and held him until he was better. I do not like to dig deep. It's tiring.
I sat on the couch literally waiting for the Tylenol to finally kick in. That usually takes another 30 minutes. During that 30 minutes, I wanted to play a game that I have been telling him we could play for the past week. I dug deep again and played the game. He LOVED it. He smiled and cheered when he won. And yes, it made me smile. I was not too tired to smile.
My day wasn't all that bad. I actually figured that out only after a text I received from my cousin that said,
"You made it through another Tuesday!"
Then I started thinking about the rest of my day. I got a text from a very good friend of mine with her new number since she moved. We texted back and forth for a while and it was very uplifting. Seriously, I love that girl. Then one of our friends came over just to be another adult in the house while my husband worked. It was so nice. The kids love her and she's really good at distracting them so I can get some much needed rest. Then, of course, I had my daily long phone conversation with my bestie. She made me laugh a lot and we talked about a lot of stuff and it felt good. I then gave my son I a mohawk. Seriously. It's not that great but he thinks he's cool. I even took a shower today! And then put my pajamas back on. :) I also received a bit of energy and made cupcakes. Then another good friend came over with dinner. Yes. DINNER. And her famous banana bread. Oh my gosh. I was and still am in heaven.
I told my cousin that I "barely" made it through the day. But, reflecting back on today and the choices that I could control and made, I didn't "barely" make it through the day. I "conquered" the day. Oooo...I really like the thought of "conquering." My house is a quasi mess. There are 3 baskets of laundry to fold and put away. There are dishes in the sink. My kitchen floor is in desperate need of a good mop. So on and so forth...And so what. Today I made a child happy. Today I made cupcakes for crying out loud. Today I was reminded that although I have to go through this, I have friends and family cheering me on and lifting me up. And, I also have amazing banana bread. Mmmmm...
So bring it Tuesdays! I'm ready to conquer another day!
Saturday, February 1, 2014
The Long Run
April 2002
My mother and I were the voice of reason for my dad in a border town of Texas while he received alternative treatment for his cancer that could not be given to him in the United States. I left in the middle of my semester at the University of Minnesota to be there for my mom and my dad. Plus, I was fluent in Spanish so I could talk to the doctors in Mexico.
I. Was. A. Mess.
The treatment didn't work and my dad's health took a turn for the worse. We were 1700 miles away from home, not knowing anyone, with my dad in a hospital in Texas, not knowing how we were going to get him home. The doctors didn't want him to be moved. The three of us knew there was no turning back and we had to get him home so he could die at peace there.
Again... I. Was. A. Mess.
Jeremy and I were dating pretty seriously at that time. We talked everyday while I was in Texas. When my dad was admitted into the hospital, Jeremy and I talked that night and I gave him an out. An easy out. I told him there would be no hard feelings on my end if he decided to walk away and not look back. He let me argue my side until I was done and then he simply stated, "I'm in this for the long run."
Little did he or I know just how long that run was going to be.
March 2006
I was sitting on our bed and Jeremy was sitting on the floor with his back against the bed as we both listened to the results of my biopsy on the tumor on my neck. Cancer. Papillary Thyroid Cancer. I remember going numb hearing that news. My oldest, T, was two years old at the time and my second oldest, E, was only seven months old. Jeremy and I had been married for three and a half years. That's it.
I had surgery a week later where they removed my big, sticky tumor and my entire thyroid. It took a good two weeks for me to physically recover from that surgery. During that time, I was forced to stop breastfeeding E and he did not agree. He refused to eat or drink anything else and lived in a state of hunger for about four months. While Jeremy and I were trying to figure out a cancer-ful life at that time, we too had to figure out how to get E to eat and not scream at us all day. We still don't like talking about those months. It was hard.
Not having a thyroid was not fun either. I gained weight, my skin became so thick I couldn't even wear normal, everyday shoes because my feet would not fit into them, I was severely constipated, and holy depression. Needless to say...
I. Was. A. Mess.
Then, miraculously, the doctors figured out the right amount of medicine to give me to replace that very important hormone that was currently missing from my body and I felt GREAT. E finally agreed with us that whole milk was pretty darn good and decided to eat whatever we put in front of him as well. I remember Jeremy coming home from work to a clean house and I was playing with the kids and he sat beside me on the couch, gave me a hug and whispered, "I'm so glad my wife is back."
April 2013
It was a Wednesday. Jeremy was at work. I was getting ready to go to my chemistry class at school. The minivan was running to get warm and my phone rang. I picked it up and it was my doctor, Annie, calling me to tell me the news of my biopsy from my mole. She said that word...Melanoma. I had her repeat it again. I didn't believe her. Come on! I already had cancer once! I've played that card already! I was in a state of shock. I called Jeremy at work and told him the news. Then, I mechanically got ready the rest of the way, got my kids in the minivan, dropped them off at my sister-in-law's home, went to class and sat there for 50 minutes repeating over and over in my head, "Oh my gosh. I have cancer. I have a very scary cancer. Oh my gosh. I have cancer. I have a very scary cancer."
I. Was. A. Mess.
Surgery. Lots of pain. Sleepless nights. All day scans. Surgery again. Recover and try to keep it together. What? What was that? I have to go to the hospital again and have another surgery before my infection from my last surgery goes septic? Oh sure, why not? I didn't really want to go to Mt. Rushmore with my family for our summer vacation anyway. Oh sarcasm...
Treatment Monday-Friday for four weeks in August. Gah. Enough said.
Treatment by injection Monday, Wednesday and Friday until July. Hey! I'm halfway there!
I. Am. A. Mess.
A happy mess. But a mess nonetheless.
I can pretty much tell you that Jeremy and I will probably never run a marathon. Like ever. At least not the running kind. Instead, we've gotten pretty good at running a different kind of marathon.
Marriage.
Jeremy did say he was in this for the "long run." Me too Jeremy. Me too.
My mother and I were the voice of reason for my dad in a border town of Texas while he received alternative treatment for his cancer that could not be given to him in the United States. I left in the middle of my semester at the University of Minnesota to be there for my mom and my dad. Plus, I was fluent in Spanish so I could talk to the doctors in Mexico.
I. Was. A. Mess.
The treatment didn't work and my dad's health took a turn for the worse. We were 1700 miles away from home, not knowing anyone, with my dad in a hospital in Texas, not knowing how we were going to get him home. The doctors didn't want him to be moved. The three of us knew there was no turning back and we had to get him home so he could die at peace there.
Again... I. Was. A. Mess.
Jeremy and I were dating pretty seriously at that time. We talked everyday while I was in Texas. When my dad was admitted into the hospital, Jeremy and I talked that night and I gave him an out. An easy out. I told him there would be no hard feelings on my end if he decided to walk away and not look back. He let me argue my side until I was done and then he simply stated, "I'm in this for the long run."
Little did he or I know just how long that run was going to be.
March 2006
I was sitting on our bed and Jeremy was sitting on the floor with his back against the bed as we both listened to the results of my biopsy on the tumor on my neck. Cancer. Papillary Thyroid Cancer. I remember going numb hearing that news. My oldest, T, was two years old at the time and my second oldest, E, was only seven months old. Jeremy and I had been married for three and a half years. That's it.
I had surgery a week later where they removed my big, sticky tumor and my entire thyroid. It took a good two weeks for me to physically recover from that surgery. During that time, I was forced to stop breastfeeding E and he did not agree. He refused to eat or drink anything else and lived in a state of hunger for about four months. While Jeremy and I were trying to figure out a cancer-ful life at that time, we too had to figure out how to get E to eat and not scream at us all day. We still don't like talking about those months. It was hard.
Not having a thyroid was not fun either. I gained weight, my skin became so thick I couldn't even wear normal, everyday shoes because my feet would not fit into them, I was severely constipated, and holy depression. Needless to say...
I. Was. A. Mess.
Then, miraculously, the doctors figured out the right amount of medicine to give me to replace that very important hormone that was currently missing from my body and I felt GREAT. E finally agreed with us that whole milk was pretty darn good and decided to eat whatever we put in front of him as well. I remember Jeremy coming home from work to a clean house and I was playing with the kids and he sat beside me on the couch, gave me a hug and whispered, "I'm so glad my wife is back."
April 2013
It was a Wednesday. Jeremy was at work. I was getting ready to go to my chemistry class at school. The minivan was running to get warm and my phone rang. I picked it up and it was my doctor, Annie, calling me to tell me the news of my biopsy from my mole. She said that word...Melanoma. I had her repeat it again. I didn't believe her. Come on! I already had cancer once! I've played that card already! I was in a state of shock. I called Jeremy at work and told him the news. Then, I mechanically got ready the rest of the way, got my kids in the minivan, dropped them off at my sister-in-law's home, went to class and sat there for 50 minutes repeating over and over in my head, "Oh my gosh. I have cancer. I have a very scary cancer. Oh my gosh. I have cancer. I have a very scary cancer."
I. Was. A. Mess.
Surgery. Lots of pain. Sleepless nights. All day scans. Surgery again. Recover and try to keep it together. What? What was that? I have to go to the hospital again and have another surgery before my infection from my last surgery goes septic? Oh sure, why not? I didn't really want to go to Mt. Rushmore with my family for our summer vacation anyway. Oh sarcasm...
Treatment Monday-Friday for four weeks in August. Gah. Enough said.
Treatment by injection Monday, Wednesday and Friday until July. Hey! I'm halfway there!
I. Am. A. Mess.
A happy mess. But a mess nonetheless.
I can pretty much tell you that Jeremy and I will probably never run a marathon. Like ever. At least not the running kind. Instead, we've gotten pretty good at running a different kind of marathon.
Marriage.
Jeremy did say he was in this for the "long run." Me too Jeremy. Me too.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Special Guest Author presents: "The Rest"
Preface
This is not Sara you are reading today.
Or tonight.
I suppose that the time of the reading is irrelevant...
The point is that this is Jeremy. If you've read previous entries, you may have seen passing reference to me. I'm the husband. The significant other. You're probably used to Sara's writing and her personality. In order to make the change of voice slightly less jarring, we're going to have to get some things out of the way up front so that you have an idea of what you're dealing with when I'm driving the word machine; a few disclaimers, if you will. Then you can't say I didn't warn you.
First off, I like parenthesis, footnotes(1), and ellipsis (the three dots when you trail off...)
I just used all three in their own explanation. That's how much I like them.
Secondly, I am not normal. I am wired in a weird way (that was a fun sentence to type). I am able to operate on minimal sleep for extended periods of time. It's a blessing and a curse. I've been told that I am scary and intimidating until people get to know me (if I let them). Once we get to the meat of the post, keep in mind that I am probably a few standard deviations from the mean. Your results may vary. Adjust cooking times for high altitude or lower wattage ovens. If you feel like you don't get something, it's okay; there may not have been anything to get in the first place(2).
Thirdly, I grew up as a pessimist. I got a little better. I now (half-jokingly) refer to myself as a "bitter optimist." Everything will work out fine in the end, but until then, it's gonna suck. I'm working on it.
Finally, I have been over thinking this for too long (3). Sara asked me to write a post awhile ago and I said yes and set dates to do it and they passed. What exactly do I write? Should I be lighthearted and funny? Brutally honest? Avoid certain topics altogether? What do I even say? In the end it came down to the fact that I just needed so sit down and do it. So here I am. Fasten your seat belts and return your tray tables to the full upright position. Let's get into it.
The Rest
Twice.
That probably qualifies me for membership in a pretty small (and mildly depressing) club. Not a lot of people can say that. Not a lot of people should ever have to say that. At all. Even once.
I am not the type to ask for help. I'm almost literally impossible to take care of. Just ask Sara. But I will help you even if it means a horrible inconvenience to me. You can ask a lot of people about that. I am not sure why. There are probably a number of reasons. We can ask the psychiatrist later if you really want to...
I am going to explain this so you can see more of what happens in our life. This is not for any attention or accolades for me. I want no flattery. If you want to help, help her. This is the only way I know how to do things.
How do I cope with her illness (or disease, or infection, or whatever the correct way to say it is)?
I do the rest.
Some days, that means what it does in any "normal" relationship (4). We both work on things together, like putting kids to bed, shopping, cleaning, or whatever. However, there aren't a lot of normal days, at least not consecutively. Don't get me wrong; it's not bad all the time, by any means. Things are getting better. The fact that she can be at home and do treatment is great. It's nothing like having her quarantined for a week because she's literally emitting enough radiation that it would cause harm to people. We can talk about that week some other time.
When she decides to go ahead with the treatment of shots three times a week, but can't bring herself to do the actual shot part, I do that even though I hate myself every time. When we have to cancel a vacation because she has to spend a week in the hospital, I print a picture of some scenery to tape on the window and we make s'mores in the stupid hospital so she doesn't feel as bad about us missing our trip. When she has no energy and I get home from work and she's just reading and it looks like some type of snack cracker grenade blew up in my living room, I clean it up. When the kids are on her last nerve at noon, I try to find a way to get home early or send someone over. When I have a brutally long and exhausting day, I take all 4 kids to the grocery store when I get home so that she can have a break. When she spends the night in fevered delusion and has chills and muscle spasms, I sit up and do what she needs and don't sleep at all so that she can sleep a little. When kids wake up at night scared or sick, I get up with them. I sleep on floors next to beds, I go grocery shopping at 2am, I pretend like it doesn't hurt my feelings when she's upset and yells at me that I don't understand because I don't have cancer because I know she didn't mean it and she's just frustrated and I even type stuff like that even though I know she's going to read this.
If our roles were reversed, she'd do it for me.
So no matter how little or how much it is, that's what I do.
The rest.
Footnotes
(2) I make inside jokes and references with no one around that will get them but me. It's for my own amusement. I have to spend a lot of time with me, so I might as well enjoy my company.
(3) Is over-thinking hyphenated or not? Am I over thinking this?
(4) I don't like the word "normal" in general, but specifically in regard to relationships. There are so many variables and so many abnormal things that go into a relationship, that I feel like "normal" is just a relative term and what's normal for one couple may not be for another... It's like when people ask me which video game system is better (I'm an avid gamer, by the way). "Better" means something different to everyone.
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