Stealing lines from fictional characters

"Ain't often you see a guy that green have the blues that bad..." muses Rowlf the Dog about Kermit the Frog after they finish singing "I Hope That Something Better Comes Along." At least, that's how it went on the tiny little record (!) my parents used to let me play. The other side featured, of course, "Rainbow Connection." 

I've been feeling greener around the gills than usual these last few days and once again it is hard to determine what is psychosomatic versus what is really happening. Am I greener because it's back to school and I'm now inundated with three buildings' worth of germs? Am I greener because "it's cumulative"- probably my most hated words at this point- and I'm full of chemicals I need to continue to flush out? Am I finally just worn down enough that the smells of grease from yummy bacon are overwhelming? Does it perhaps not help that Bosley ate one of Liam's pink erasers yesterday and then threw up his breakfast? Well, perhaps we all know the answer to that one... Ick.

At any rate, can we get a big hoorah that chemo is over?!

I continue to be struck by how closely my time in chemo resembles pregnancy. I'm probably beating a dead horse, but the smells/odors/aromas and the brain fog/tiredness are especially rough. I have no problem sitting down with a good book, but to be told repeatedly to behave myself and be still and let my body heal is hard. I'm an impatient patient. All I can hear is Inigo Montoya: I hate waiting. 

But that's where I am right now, in a season of waiting. I have to wait for my numbers to come back up before surgery. I have to wait for my kids to get on the bus and then off of the bus. I have to wait in lines, for replies, for the bus to get here so that one kid can turn around and hop in the car of a friend who's helping get said kid to the next destination, for bedtime, for the microwave to beep or the toaster oven to ding, for the surgeon's office to call me back, for a turn in the bathroom (and never mind that we have more than one). 

I still hate waiting.

I remember being told during each pregnancy to be good to myself and to not do too much because I was growing a human being and all that. It's still waiting. And boy, was that waiting. Waiting to see who each child would become. Waiting to see if they were healthy. Waiting to see the gender of our third child. Waiting is work. Waiting can make you feel like you're going crazy.

Kilauea, chemo, and the dishwasher that wasn't

Today is the first day of school which means summer as we know it is over, never mind that there is still an entire month to go before autumn officially begins. Apparently nobody told Mother Nature to check her calendar, or else she also runs on school schedules, because it was a brisk 62 degrees with a playful breeze this morning. Liam made a quick change from shorts to sweat pants, all the kids left in hoodies, and I just about froze my poor naked bean my first trip out to the bus.

Which was understandably late by a few minutes. First day of school often has hiccups, I get it. The big kids had almost declared, "we missed it; it's too late" when I sent them back down the driveway. Within two more minutes, their bus trundled up to take them away.

We have a sophomore this year.

And a seventh grader.

No, PaPa, they're not 10 and 7. We can just hear you laughing.

Then it was the third grader's turn to catch his bus. 

Someone was absolutely delighted to learn the nature trick of using a stem to pop the flower off of a plant (and into unsuspecting victim's hair, face, etc) and was practicing earnestly. His bus is supposed to collect him at about quarter after 8 and we were out there before 10 after. We waited until twenty til 9 when Dada, bless his heart, decided to take him to school. I have no idea if we missed it because it was really early despite being late the first round or if it was really late from being stuck farther back in the queue. Again, first day is rife with snafus, I get it, but tomorrow is my last chemo and I will be half an hour away and therefore unable to take him if the bus fails...

When we look back on this summer, especially as I am terrible at remembering dates, it will be the summer Kilauea erupted and kept going, the summer I had chemo (which also felt at times like it would be never ending; I would swear it has been 100 days since the last round when tomorrow will be exactly 3 weeks, like every other round has been), and the summer we were without a dishwasher. The one that was part of the house when we bought it almost five years ago started limping along this winter and early spring. The button for "smart wash" stopped working, so I switched to using "normal wash." That one was next to give up the ghost, but "light wash" would light up... alas, then the "start" button quit. 

*sigh* 

Nothing to be done once your "start" button goes, folks.

So there we were at the  Memorial Day weekend sales. We picked out a spiffy (we thought) new black one with a towel bar which would be delivered in a reasonable time as it was a special order. Said day comes and goes, no dishwasher. Eventually one shows up and has no towel bar, but at this point we decided we didn't care that much and we were happy to have assistance washing dishes for a family of five plus visitors. It's installed, installers leave, I load it, add soap, push buttons, and get "E 24". Google tells us that's an error regarding draining. Great.

After some phone calls and more days, that dishwasher is unloaded, dishes washed by hand, and the installers eventually come to remove it. They realize that the second new dishwasher they've brought to our home is not black but stainless steel. Oh dear. They don't even unload that one but do take the new/old black one sans towel bar which doesn't drain and apologize.

We go back and peruse more dishwashers, select a different brand and model, and now still have the gaping hole in the kitchen where a dishwasher belongs. Carrie is incredulous that she's been washing dishes all summer. First world problems. 

Feel free to place your bets as to whether we will have one by Labor Day or not. I never would have believed that all my chemo would be done before we received a working dishwasher. I guess time is relative. 

*Update* Ugh, sorry all the photos spewed into the middle. I guess that's why I don't blog after bedtime generally! Apparently they tweaked the bus schedule and Damon is to be picked up at 8:04 instead of 8:14. Now we know. Cross your fingers tomorrow is smoother! And while you're praying over my hopefully very last chemo ever, toss in some prayers for the good folks in Hawaii that Hurricane Lane downgrades and isn't as absolutely awful as it could be, please. It hasn't been the best year, that's for sure. 

This old man

Damon had the obligatory back-to-school, meet-your-teacher, drop-off-your-school-supplies meeting tonight and I had the brilliant idea to attempt to get groceries afterwards since I only had one kid to wrangle. 

The Aldi trip was fine and fast, and we then only needed a very few things from Walmart. We found our raisins and Dada's aftershave and our vitamins and then I realized we are out of hand soap refill, so we grabbed that. I used two plastic bags, one with the soap and aftershave in it and the other held the raisins and the vitamins. 

Being a mom, I gave him the lighter one. He protested, telling me, "hey! That one is more heavy. I'm going to be a man soon!" 

I asked if he meant like, tomorrow, or next year, or what. 

"I don't care. I'm going to be a man." 

He won. He got the heavy bag. Well played, man-child. 

Postcard to the Undecided

Dear Unmet-Yet-Friend,

I sense you'll be there, hovering just outside the entrance, debating with your Self about joining those already inside. I can hear the argument a little:

In this age of social media, why do we even need reunions? I already know more than I want to about what everyone's kids are doing, where they've been on vacation, what they take pictures of before they eat...

Why did I send in money to see people I haven't seen since the last reunion, or since high school itself?

Why did I wait months to begin working out? Why didn't I get my hair cut? Why did I get my hair cut? Why am I still not any taller?!

What if I have to remind people who I am? What if I am just an unnoticeable now as I was then? Worse perhaps, what if everyone has seen that video or that post and thinks... Whatever it is they think?

Is it too late to leave? Have I been spotted? Can I just sneak out again?

Relax, my yet-unmet-friend. Whatever your issues are, we all have our own. Some of us are really just better at hiding them. Some of us are better at deflection or humor-as-a-shield or sarcasm or are rich enough to pay for what we'd like to fix. Rest assured, we are all dealing with something(s).

For example, peek in that door again. See that bald lady you don't recognize? Sure, she didn't graduate with your class- she married in- but she keeps discreetly (she hopes) slipping out a handkerchief from her great-grandmother Frances to wipe her eyes which keep streaming as a side effect of the meds she's on. She brought a head scarf for in case the air conditioning is cranked up but she's hoping she won't need it. She's looking forward to some time with the handful of folks she's met throughout the years, some who have come unbelievable distances to reconnect. She's got her fingers crossed in her pocket that she won't need to use the facilities for an extraordinary length of time and that, if she does, that she won't stink it up too badly thanks to other side effects of those same meds. She's hoping she won't start yawning at 7 as the shindig only started at 6, not because she's bored or rude, but because she's almost done with chemo and tires easily. 

Her name is Val, and she'd love to meet you. Go ahead in. I promise she won't bite, and she might even surprise you into laughter. She knows that most of us have grown up a fair bit since the original tour of nuttiness that is high school, and she'd love to hear where you fit into it all. 

Take that deep breath, get that chin up, slap your name tag on, and walk in. You can do this. Enjoy tonight!

Warm regards,

The Not-Quite-Crying Baldie :)

Get ready, get set, confessional

I have been procrastinating for days on this post and I still have no idea how to start. I apologize in advance for the vomit-ness to come. I'm tired of crying on the front porch, in the kitchen, in the bathroom, and in the car; I'm hoping that if I get this all out it'll help. And yes, I realize that, as Gandalf tells Merry, Pippin, and Sam, "I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil." It's just that enough is enough for now. I know I'm allowed bad days, hard days, and days of mourning, but watery eyes as a side effect from Perjeta is bad enough without bursting into tears what feels like all the time. Bleh. I want a shirt that says, "there's no crying in breast cancer" but I'm sure someone would be offended...

Since I've never been Catholic, I have no protocol to follow for what goes on in a confessional. I have the general gist that you unload on the poor priest and then he figures out where you go from there. I belong to another camp, though, which is of the belief that only God needs to hear my sins unless others are involved and would need to be reconciled with. This isn't that kind of post anyway. Sorry if anyone was secretly hoping for a list of my sins. They are there and they quite possibly look very much like your own. 

This is more of a Once Upon a Time with very clear snapshots of God's faithfulness throughout, a shaker of Fear whose lid keeps popping off, and assorted other ingredients, whatever happens to be on hand. I don't suppose it helps that I just read a recipe for Hobo Stew, but there you have it.

Once Upon a Time (for those of you who like to keep track, think summer or 1994, and yes, this was way before cell phones and I didn't have an email address yet, either) I went off into the world to work for a Christian camp.  I was the second youngest staff member until one of the cooks left and then I was officially the baby. I was surrounded by a wealth of truly quality people, many I'm still friends with today. They say camp friends are different and they're right. There is a special connection with people you get hot, sweaty, sunburnt, sick, exhausted, filthy, rained on, and overwhelmed with. Those same people you eat foil dinners with in the rain, lament the rust stains in your laundry and hair with, lug the campers who finally made it out into the field to sleep out only to get downpoured on and have to recover everyone and every sodden thing and drag it all back with, encourage homesick campers to give it a real shot before heading home when it may be the longest you yourself has ever been away from home, and other assorted stories. Countless stories. Hilarious quotes (sometimes) taken out of context and added to poster boards in the staff lounge. Everyone helping the other finish whatever job needed done because for the summer you were a family. 

That's how I got to know Mot. We had three Toms on staff that year, so somehow this particular Tom got his name turned backwards to become Mot. It was my night off, which sounds glamorous until you realize (or remember) that a night off entailed 4 hours once a week. Campers arrived Sunday afternoon and stayed until Saturday morning, then the next bunch arrived 24 hours later and you started a new week. Since there was so little weekend time off, once a week you had a night off, and usually the other days you got a 2 hour block of time to tackle things like showers, laundry, junk food, whatever needed done. Nights off and weekends were the times you could physically leave camp.  Otherwise, you were with your campers. 

At any rate, I didn't have a car at camp and didn't have any desire to leave anyway. I had been having a fabulous time with my new friends/family, with the incredible amount of Stuff I was learning- the songs, the games, the skills, the processes behind the magic and fun of being a camper- and I'd been raised to help where I could (thanks Mommee & Daddee!) which is fun anyway when you're doing whatever it is that needs done with your friends. 

All day and maybe previous days some of the guys had been digging a deep hole outside the dining hall. I'm sure there was a purpose for it, piping or something, but I don't remember now. I do remember the guys being in the hole and being filthy and sweaty and surely uncomfortable but not complaining. They were joking around and enjoying each other's company. I have no idea how long they'd known each other. It was my second time there but my first time was only a week long the previous summer and I don't know who was outside of the particular group I worked with that first week. I'm sure if I asked around I could find out, but it doesn't matter that much. They were having fun while doing a difficult, hot, potentially thankless job. 

I'm guessing that they worked through dinner to get the project finished that last night and that's how there were post-dinner dishes which needed done. Mot and I ended up as companions at the pot sink, just chatting away, learning more about each other, hanging out while doing the work. He mentioned that he was impressed that I'd be in there doing dishes on a night off. I explained pretty much what I said two paragraphs ago. It was fun for me to get to know someone I didn't know well. Mot would be getting married mid-summer and would then be leaving camp to go be a husband and live a real life. That would leave a male staff opening. I suppose it has something to do with so many young women becoming teachers and seeing camp as a great place to get experience, but we seemed to often be short on guys. 

The summer before when I'd been there just one week, I met a guy named Kelly. He was working on staff again this particular year and had the foresight to keep calling home to one of his younger brothers, "hey, Mot's going to be leaving and we're gonna need another guy." The brother kept refusing, essentially saying, "I don't want to waste my summer at church camp." Kelly persisted, though, and to make a long story short, he wore the brother down enough where he declared, "fine, I'll come help for one week and then I'm out!"

That reluctant brother did indeed show up, worked the week, and finished out the summer with our staff. Turns out he was pretty good at the job! Then he returned the next year, the year after that, and one final year after that. He asked me to marry him. I said yes and here we are, 19 years, multiple moves, three kids, and breast cancer later. I'm pretty fond of him. 

Mot and Dawn's wedding was the first wedding we attended together, the first of many. A lot of you just had a flashbulb go off over your heads. Those of you who worked with us already knew where this was headed... 

Dawn passed away one week ago from pneumonia while fighting breast cancer that returned and spread to her brain and her lungs. I mentioned about camp friends being special. We've only spoken a handful of times in the 24 years we've known each other just because life had us in different places. As soon as I posted about my diagnosis, she reached out to me to answer questions and offer support. This amazing woman, with her fabulous husband and three kids of their own, is an integral part of our story. Without their marriage, I most likely would never have even met my husband. That's a God-is-faithful thing, and a Kelly-can-be-persistent thing. I can't imagine how different my life would be, where I'd be, who I'd be.  And now they are left with this hole in their lives where Dawn should be. And my heart breaks.

And Fear enters the cracks. She'd beat breast cancer before. Their elder daughter also beat her own cancer. It's a humbling, sobering reminder that this life is not fair and to be careful making long term decisions because we really don't know what's headed down the pike at us. I can't tell you how terrifying it is to be a mom and think that you may not be there for your kids. I'm sure she was terrified. But she also kept giving praise and living a true faith that pointed others to the reason she could be positive. And yet there's Joy: her son married his bride in Dawn's hospital room, and when I read that my heart broke a little more. I can't begin to imagine what her family has lived in the last few months. And I'm scared half to death that it could happen to me. 

Here's where things start to unravel (only if they were cohesive and fluid until now, that is. Buckle up.)

One of my very best friends in this life was a nurse on an oncology floor for a while and she encourages me that she feels chemo is the hardest part of the whole situation. I keep telling her I'm scared of surgery. I've read plenty of women say that the waiting and the fear leading up to the surgery is far and away worse than the actual surgery and I hope to be able to believe it. But the fact is that they are going to have to cut off at least one of my body parts! Granted, it's done its job, but still. Try telling yourself in the mirror that someone is physically going to cut off one of your body parts and see how that goes. Eeeek to nth power. 

Our family saw "The Greatest Showman" in the theater, whenever that was. I only know it was before the routine mammogram and all the ensuing chaos. Even then, though, with most things seemingly fine in the world, the song "This Is Me" broke my heart and sent it flying at the same time. I could see the incredible potential in that song as a fight song, as a banner of any kind of self-pride or betterment, for anyone who has ever felt stuck on the fringe for whatever reason. Every time I hear it I start to leak. It's such a powerful and in-your-face vibe that I love but it breaks me that I would ever need to be a warrior. Or that I could be glorious. What would it look like to be glorious? Dada and I have this conversation about the word "gorgeous" and how he means it every time he tells me and how I feel like if I've gone through all the trouble of pulling out all the stops and he calls me gorgeous that's one thing but when I have morning breath and eye gunk and bedhead and he says it, I take issue. Clearly these are not the same thing. Right?!

Valerie means strong, strong-willed, or strong spiritual purpose depending on who you talk to. I've often felt like my parents misnamed me, (sorry, you guys). With the possibility of while giving birth three times, I've not felt strong. I hate working out. I've often declared I'd love to have a more toned body but I'm just not into doing the work required to get it there. And this is not the part of the story where you all remind me I'm the skinny girl and pep me up with how good I look; I'm just speaking the truth. I'm not particularly strong-willed. My kids are, which causes me endless frustration and opportunities to refocus on the "God must have an awesome plan for them in which they'll need this characteristic!" So perhaps there is something to this strong spiritual purpose part. Maybe by me laying it all out here someone somewhere can breathe a sigh of relief and say, "oh, meeeee too!" They can know that all of the tears and rages and wild laughter and overwhelment (I am coining that right now- that's a Val Original- I'm claiming it) is normal and that it's okay to feel that way. But as we say at our wonderful church, "it's okay to not be okay, just don't stay that way." Have the tantrum and go do the next thing. Even if you leak through it. This is not the new normal, this is the new temporary normal. 

Here I sit on the front porch with the neckline and left sleeve of my shirt soaked from my tears, with my bald head and tiny little hairs which are trying to make a comeback, with my cracked heart and six crumpled tissues. I thought that five would be enough but apparently I underestimated. I mentioned to Dada the other day that I wondered what it would look like if we all just really lived like we were secure in our salvation. As in, yes, I'm going to take care of myself, of course, but I am also going to live my life and take some risks and reach out and touch people because what can they do to me? When I really get that my soul is secure because there is a God and he is good, why am I afraid of what anyone will think? I'm getting these beautiful scarves and bandannas and head wraps from all directions and I love them and their senders and I am trying them out and thank you, but goodness, I figured out a long time ago that they're not for the patient. They're for everyone else who may be uncomfortable because to see a bald woman insinuates that there is something wrong with her, and what if it's contagious? What if it's not, but I'm uncomfortable and/or afraid of saying the wrong thing, so I'll say nothing? 

Guess what they played and sang in church last Sunday when the message was about potential? "This Is Me," and there I was, leaking yet again, with my bald head. Perfect! A woman smiled at me after church and I smiled back and continued on my way. She chased me down and told me she admired my confidence! Maybe she'd have told me she liked my head wrap if I'd been wearing one, but maybe she felt my baldness was courageous. Truthfully, it was just really hot and I didn't feel like picking one now that I have so many to choose from, thanks to all of you, hehe. But she was the brave one to approach a stranger who obviously has some kind of Issue and strike up a conversation. Maybe this post needed to wait over the weekend so that I could have that encounter and tie everything together... 

Tomorrow is the plastic surgery consultation to see if I'd like to go that route. Like is probably not the right word. Neither is want or desire. I told a friend today I'd like to wake up and have the surgery and all the decisions made and over with! Another friend's mantra is "we can do hard things." Where I would be without this village of mine doesn't even bear thinking about. Thank you all for the bandannas and cards and food and texts and your incredible love. I know without a doubt that I'm to be steeping in how loved I am. 

But please be praying. Pray for wisdom and peace. I have no idea what to do or how to choose. No particular decision seems to bring any more peace as of right now; maybe it will tomorrow when I have more information. And if you're interested in long-haul prayer requests, please be lifting up Mot and Dawn's kiddos, Nicholas, Marina, and Natalie and their extended family as they face life knowing their mom is free of pain and disease and that she's Home, but missing her tremendously all the same. And for us as we face three kiddos of our own heading back in a few weeks to three separate schools worth of germs to bring home! We have almost all of our supplies, but none of us have the mental fortitude right now to be excited about it starting already/yet. It's getting to be that time of the summer when everyone is sick of each other and of the rules and of the suggestions-turned-law over earlier bedtimes and earlier risings in preparation for the ungodly 6 and 7 AM alarms that start this month. I'm not ready. Pray for an attitude change for me that I can be what they need me to be. Pray that food tastes worth eating, that my system Down There gets its act together and realizes there IS middle ground between diarrhea and constipation, and most of all, please pray against fear. Thank you, all! 

And for the record, crying on the porch is way better than crying in the hammock.

Two profiles (and straight on) of cancer

Obviously the above photo was taken awhile ago, April perhaps, back when I had enough hair that it tried to strangle me in my sleep. 

The photos below were taken this morning. Dada actually got the light flashing on what I call my "Glade plug-in", my Neulasta patch that pumps an infusion into me to kick my bone marrow into high blood cell production. Technology can be absolutely fascinating. After chemo yesterday, my sweet nurse Jenny attached it to my arm after programming it to go off in 27 hours. It clicks and beeps and stings me once like a bee, which inserts a tiny catheter into my arm that will allow the infusion to proceed once the 27 hours have passed. In other words, I get to take my meds with me and not make another trip back to the oncologist the day after chemo. When my timer is up, it will beep long enough for me to notice that, no, it's not the coffeemaker or the microwave, "oh, wait, that's me, haha!" Then it pumps in my meds, clicks and beeps again when it's done about 45 minutes later, and I can then have it removed and shower or take a bath or go swimming or whatever. I take it back to the doc the next time I go and they recycle it as it counts as a "sharps" and shouldn't be just pitched in the trash. Fascinating! AND I get to look like a lightning bug overnight. How cool is that?

This selfie is from today. Eyeliner, earrings from my Daddee, necklace from my friend Ann, bandanna, good to go. Since I've been wearing bandannas in one form or another since junior high (no joke, some of you remember, and that was way before camp) it hasn't fazed a lot of you to see me in them. You probably have to work to remember that my real head doesn't have one attached, hehe! The shirt, from my friend Julie, is accurate. My friend Rachel took me to chemo yesterday and we were talking about what takeaway lesson(s) might be part of this whole experience. I knew right away and said that one of them, "is to show me how loved I am." Some of you are probably shaking your heads, thinking, "this girl has lost her brain cells to chemo brain for sure." Truly though, if I were to make a list of everyone who has stepped into this mess with me, you'd be amazed. I feel like I could change the sayings, "there's an app for that" or "I've got a guy for that" to "I've got a friend for that." God has blessed me incredibly. My friend Cammie used to say that she felt like she was God's favorite little child, but I think she must have scootched over for me to be beside her under that heading, because in spite of my disappearing eyebrows and eyelashes and Immodium with me everywhere I go, I am being loved on in ways I can't even imagine. I know there are some of you I may never even meet who are praying for me and that just blows me away. Thank you! 

And whoever sent me the box of Scripture flips with no note, it got here safe and sound yesterday, and delighted me. If nobody claims it, I'm going to declare it mailed directly from Heaven from my friend Jan who kicked off a moms' Bible study years ago where I made some of my very best girlfriends. She is the one who taught us to get index cards and work our way through the Bible, claiming God's promises and writing them down and keeping them with us to use them in real life. I have more than one set in various purses and Bible study bags, haha. So thank you, friend!

And thank you to all of you once again who are beside me on this journey no matter how far away you may be physically. We are touched each time by your love. And YOU are loved right back!

Chemo yesterday went very smoothly despite me having to pee four times while I was there, haha. I think that's a record so far. I may have already mentioned my Gramps used to say, "I gotta go so bad my false teeth are floating..." Still cracks me up. I inherited my love of plaid (and wearing more than one plaid pattern at once) from him, as well. He still makes me laugh though he's been gone for 15 years now. He reported for guardian angel duty 10 days before Carrie was born, and I can't tell you how many times I've heard him laughing over these ridiculous children we have...

Here are the numbers from yesterday, so if you're not interested, you may be excused. White blood cells were at 10.26, Hemoglobin still a little down but in the normal range right at 10.0 (I think 12 is a magic number- my nurse friends will be happy to set me straight in the comments), and platelets were 157, which I think is also down from last time but they said no worries. Rachel and I laughed over the graphs, which don't make any sense to me anyway, but especially over the oh-my-goodness-I-don't-have-any-white-blood-cells! 

And once again, a shameless plug for the comedy "What's Up, Doc?" starring Barbra Steisand, Madeleine Kahn, Liam Dunn, and a host of others, here are the meds I'm taking this morning. My brother is already reciting from memory, "see this little yellow pill, Bailiff?" "Yes, Judge. What's it for?" "To remind me to take the little blue pill." "Uh, what's that one for, Judge?" "I dunno. They're afraid to tell me."

Don't be alarmed. Today is the heaviest day of meds- cancer treatment does not usually look like this for me. Today is the last of three days a month I take the steroid which helps with the side effects of Taxotere, one of my chemo drugs. The other two are anti-nausea meds to also help. Yesterday, drugs like this were part of my IV cheerleader combo before they begin the chemo drugs, so I didn't need to take them orally also. I take them today and tomorrow and then as needed. Thanks to the meds and your prayers, I have not vomited at all and I am now 2/3 done with chemo! The vitamins I take everyday, along with the allergy med which has links to reducing bone pain from the Neulasta patch when the bone marrow starts cranking out the extra production. It worked like a charm last time and I had no bone pain at all that round. I mentioned that this dose is 10mg and the recommended one was only 5mg so maybe that's why. At any rate, I'm sticking with it. Round #5 will be in three weeks and then round #6 will be in six weeks on our second day of school and then this aspect of life will be done. 

Once my numbers stabilize I will have surgery and yes, I did get my surgical consult moved up an entire month so I feel better about that. I still have questions but did discover yesterday that according to my oncologist most of the reconstruction surgeries are not silicon or saline like I'd imagined but are actually the ones involving the tummy tucks. Who knew? Why does that matter? Well, perhaps I will be less pressured into something I am fairly sure I don't want and can actually be encouraged by the portfolios or photos or whatever will be shown to me at the consult. Again, just going off of what I've heard and thought at this point, I have no real basis personally yet. I'll keep you posted! Thanks again for the prayers- I'm proof that they are working!

Dude, that's MY coffee...

Look carefully above my coffee mug at the new root that crazy plant is sending down. Sometimes I pat coffee grounds into its soil and it must be telling me I haven't done it for awhile, so it's going to try out the liquid form for some variety...

Crying in a hammock is not recommended

Did you know that a hammock, while wonderful for seclusion and relaxation, is not an ideal place to attempt a good cry? Some of you are ahead of me on this one. You're already nodding as though this should be obvious. 

Well, it wasn't to me. I was taking advantage of the seclusion and relaxation when one of the *warning, sarcasm ahead* super side effects of chemo snuck up on me: mood swings. 

I've maintained all along that going through chemo is like being pregnant because it's a total body takeover kind of deal. Today I was doing some reading (until my eyeballs were ready to fall out, actually, but never mind that) and discovered some things I probably should have figured out earlier. This I will blame on yet another side effect: chemo brain. Chemo brain is like pregnant brain where your thinking is fuzzy due to fatigue, side effects of medications, anxiety, etc. Apparently, chemo causes a decrease of female hormones, which, as we all know, does goofy things to otherwise (mostly) rational women and girls. At certain times of each month, when hormones are doing their thing, females can be perfectly fine one moment and then raging over the smallest, most innocent infraction (real or imagined) and then in tears the next instant because they're angry about being angry.

Sounds like my week. 

Aha! Hormones! Who knew?!

I've found myself raging over how many decisions need to be made throughout this medical adventure and yet how many of them are out of my realm of control. I've become incensed at how many other people want to make decisions for me in areas I CAN control. I've been disappointed by the illusion that when you become a grown up you can call the shots. Adulting is full of double edged swords and catch-22s and "haha, no tag backs!"

And I'm tired. 

But am I tired because everyone has been telling me how tired I'll be? Am I tired because everybody reminds me, "it's cumulative"? Or am I tired because of the meds/toxins being pumped into me? Am I tired because I'm a mom? Am I tired because I don't drink enough water or caffeine or I don't get enough protein or not enough sleep or not enough exercise or...?

Some of you are nodding for different reasons now. Some of you are remembering (or living), "oh yes, that sounds like being pregnant or a parent of a newborn. Am I drinking enough? Am I eating enough? Am I eating too much? Do I weigh enough or too much? Is the baby growing enough? Do I have enough fluid? Do I have enough milk? Are they nursing enough? Are they getting enough to eat? Are they growing enough?"

Some of you are replaying the thoughts in your head: am I good enough? Will I ever be good enough? Is this worth it? Am I worth it? Are they worth it? Am I supposed to be giving 50% and they're supposed to be giving 50% to make 100%? Or am I supposed to be giving 100%? What if they don't? What if I can't? What if...?

I'm sitting here, rubbing my stubbled head in frustration. Darn chemo brain. Can't even think; I sound like a fleet of hamsters on wheels just squeaking along in circles, not making any sense. I am surrounded by information from every source imaginable: the internet, books, friends, yet I still don't have enough information to make the decisions that need to be made.

In short, how does one decide if they want boobs or not? I am wrestling with that a lot lately. How does one make a coherent decision that will last for, God-willing, at least the next 40 years of one's life? For those of you who are new to this game, there are essentially 4 main options for those facing surgical removal of at least one breast (that's me, in case you're curious. Right side's gotta go. Left side is undetermined at this time.) You have your removal without reconstruction which is essentially "going flat" as your first option, reconstruction from your own body (there are multiple areas to choose from such as rear end, abdomen, and back) as your second, or implants of saline (third) or implants of silicon (fourth). Those last two options come with what I'm thinking of as "extended surgery plans" as they may need refilled or readjusted, requiring more surgeries down the line. Each comes with their own set of pros and cons. 

Now try making the decision while on drugs that affect the taste of foods you eat, wreaks havoc on your emotions because your hormones take a nose-dive, while trying to stay positive and not freak out about going into surgery in the first place with the catheters and fasting and breathing tube and the IV and all that jazz. How am I supposed to decide when my brain feels foggy and I can't take the usual comfort from a pint of Ben & Jerry's (not that that's stopped me from eating ice cream, who are we kidding here, but still)? 

To add insult to injury, or the other way around perhaps, I even finally have the swollen ankles that apparently comes with this territory (and pregnancy!)

I suppose I should give myself grace for bursting into tears in the hammock. However, due to my good friend Gravity, when you cry in a hammock the tears will coast down your face and behind your head and soak the back of your neck instead of down the front of your face and into your cleavage (which, yes, I realize that will be different after surgery as well. See? Total body takeover). Your nose will clog up even faster than usual, which I wouldn't have thought possible, and you might even get tears in your ears. As there is no graceful way in or out of a hammock, take your tissues in with you before you start your good cry. Better yet, skip the cry until you can watch a good movie. You're welcome for the Public Service Announcement.

And yet I really am okay. I don't want the tenderhearted among you to fret. I now know that hormones doing their weirded out thing is a contributing factor along with fear of the unknown. Tears won't hurt me. I'm sure I'll feel more on solid ground once I have that surgical consult to go over options with a professional, where I can ask my questions, talk about pictures I've seen, and so on. As usual, there is no convenient neon box lighting up which says, "This is what you should do. Love, God." Not that He doesn't play a part in the decision making, it's just that He's got me no matter what I will eventually pick, which does help with perspective when I get freaked out. 

How can you help? I'm so glad you asked. I realize this surgery can't happen until mid-September and it is only July, but let's get this party started. You can be praying for my surgeon, my team, clarity in my decision making, peace with whatever decision is made, smooth surgery with no complications, that I wouldn't get sick from three school's worth of germs coming home with all three kids while I'm recovering, flexibility as our family adjusts to my recovery time, that I be a good patient and follow orders to not lift and that I can start the stretches and exercises soon after to help with recovery and range of motion, that I will be able to sleep as I heal because I am a stomach sleeper, that in the hardest moments (like when the bandages come off, raw wounds, and there are surgical drains to empty-yikes) that I will remember that it's not going to be like that forever and that while my new normal will be different it will eventually become my new normal. Pick and choose what you like- I gave you lots of starting points. You'll even think of more, because hopefully you do not also have chemo brain!

And mucho thanks to those of you who have already kept me covered. I appreciate every prayer you send on my behalf. I really have been overwhelmed with mail, gifts, meals (goodness, the meals!), the wonderful hugs, the "just checking in"s and the "whaddya need"s. Thank you. Thanks for being in it with me for the long haul. Please keep them coming!


And don't cry in a hammock. Unless it's from laughing too hard, I suppose, but be careful as that has its own risks!

Birthday girl

Yes, this is really old news. The Evil Overlord (or so she might like to think of herself) turned 15 a month and a half ago. Today I have the relative peace, quiet, and brain function to post about it...

She's such a nut. 

Contrary to being a certified karate black belt, little kids tend to orbit her anyway, including in restrooms. She looked up through a crack in the stall once to discover she was being ogled by a small girl whose caregiver quickly went into Admonishment Mode. The funniest part was that she had unknowingly found said small girl's name tag at church previously. To hear "So and So Such and Such, how would you like it if someone was peeking at you while you were using the restroom!?" just about sent her into a fit of giggles. She recounted the story with great glee. There's always a spot on her albeit still bony lap for a small child:

She loves the water and is such a fish. She loves making people laugh, most recently by employing that double edged sword that is sarcasm. It's been really fun to be able to joke around with her and have her get what slips over the boys' heads. "I can't wait until you're old enough to tell you what I really think of you" has been uttered on more than one occasion around here if I am being honest, usually followed by the Toy Story quote, "but there are preschool toys present." Most often, it's followed by snickers from most parties, the moment is diffused and life goes on. 

She decorated her own cake this year. I thought I had pictures of it, but apparently I have this BosleyBomb one. I mixed the colors for her and she went to town. Grandmama was in town to help celebrate. Fifteen! We've had that kid forever! She's quick to delightedly point out that soon she'll be able to drive me for my maintenance meds. Talk about being glad all my hair is already gone, because boy, oh boy, would that be an occasion for pulling it out! Yikes. We are so not ready for this...

She claims to be anti-physical touch, but as you can see there is still plenty of personal space invasion going on. I'm honestly not sure how many of her friends hug her as she also claims several of them are afraid of her. She's crafting a quiet, witty, but watch out when I let loose kind of persona. 

And she also runs on ice cream. 

I never dreamed my daughter would be a black belt or ride skateboards or want to play the ukulele (that's on her Christmas list) but here she is in all her glory. She's at her grandparents' this week and I really miss her and her hugs. And not only because the new dishwasher still hasn't arrived and she'd been doing the dishes...

Happy belated birthday, Carrie. Thanks for being so patient with us this summer when things are seven kinds of crazy. We are blessed to have you, kiddo. Love you bunches. 

Hip hip hooray halfway!

Yesterday was my third chemo round which officially puts me halfway through this aspect of treatment! Wahoo! Thank you so much for praying over me and supporting my whole fam through this adventure. I firmly maintain that I've still never felt like a file number, not even once. I've been treated with respect, kindness, compassion, professionalism, and humor the whole way. I know a lot of that is a testament to the higher ups who do the hiring of fabulous professionals, but I also know that your prayers of protection and soothing-ness are contributing factors. Please keep it up as they are working. 

To be honest, I'm trying to not look ahead to the impending surgery as that just seems overwhelming at this point. At the very least it will involve a right side mastectomy. I don't have enough information (though I have tons of questions) to make a decision on reconstruction or not and/or if I should leave the left side alone as nothing has shown up there (yet? ever?) or have it removed and be done with it. All those Q&As will come at a surgical consult that I'd rather have sooner than later. I'll keep you posted. ;) I'm also a side and stomach sleeper which makes me anxious as I'm assuming I'll have to sleep upright while recovering. I'm also not looking forward to being put completely under with being tubed and cathed and all that. Yiiiiikes. Like I said, trying to be in the now and not the eeeeeeeek-then. One thing at a time...

For those of you who are the "where are the numbers" types, on May 31 my white blood count as 15.4 and yesterday it was 10.21, so it's down but not alarmingly. My hemoglobin was 11.0 May 31 and yesterday registered 10.4, also down. I asked if I should be eating more red meat or anything but my adorable Doc said, "think of your bone marrow as a factory. You have all the raw materials you need, but the chemo means your machinery is slower. Just keep taking your multivitamin, that's all you need." That was reassuring and a great mental picture for me! I'm assuming PLT means platelets and they were 247 in May and yesterday was 170. He said all were in the realm of normal and to not worry about it. He was pleased that I was doing so well and said that my big smile when he entered the room made his day. Another important number is my favorite; I only needed Immodium three times this past cycle instead of the 7-10 times I used it the first round. Can I get an amen and several hallelujahs!? Again, I know it's your prayers and I won't name names but you know who you are so thank you! 

Blackbutton, you asked about the Neulasta and yes, I was told to take Claritin and Aleve to help with the bone pain. I take a Claritin generic almost daily anyway, and I might have already said that Aleve works great for my dad but my mom can't tolerate it so I brought that up with my doctor and she said, "then stick with Advil since that works with you and don't risk the Aleve"- fine by me. I tried it this last round and managed to head off the old-lady-I-need-one-of-those-self-raising-chairs pain, wahoo! I took Advil the first day and was in pretty good shape, skipped it the second day because I didn't feel like I needed it but then didn't sleep well at all because my darn femurs hurt, so I took it before bed the third day and that was much better. Then I didn't need it anymore.

 My patch for this round is on and should fire early this evening and then I won't be a lightning bug anymore, haha. Dada told me I should sit out on the porch last night, blinking away, and see who I could attract. I thought it would be fun, but something (other than my husband) snuck into bed with me Tuesday night and chomped all over my torso. I didn't want to invite anymore bug bites so I abstained from attracting any more unfriendly visitors to my poor itchy bod! My Doc checked it out and said it's definitely not shingles or poison ivy or an allergic reaction. And it wasn't from weeding the garden because I only got 2 bug bites out there. Something definitely crawled into my pajamas! Stupid bugs... 

Liam had an appointment with his pediatrician and asked what chemo would do to bugs. Dr. Jon had a good chuckle and said, "wouldn't it be great if it had bit you and flew into the neighbor's yard and dropped dead? But think about the awful stuff some of them carry already..."
Liam piped up, "like malaria!"
Dr. Jon continued, "right, and Zika and West Nile and all that. I think chemo probably wouldn't do anything to them since they're capable of hosting all that icky stuff as it is..."
Well phooey! 

My Rita kept me good company yesterday while Mommee watched the Thingz and Bosley Underfoot. Not sure who needs a bigger medal. ;) Again, thanks for the support, the dinners, the cards, flowers, prayers, visits, groceries- you all are amazing, near and far! I have several more posts to do, but we are off to get some summertime bowling in since it is pouring today and then karate tonight. Have a fabulous weekend! 

Brimful of blessings

I want to start off by thanking those of you who have been touching base with me and for the gentle nudges about, "so, um, the blog doesn't have anything new on it yet, does it?" 

You're so sly. I love it.

You're right! The blog does indeed not have anything new on it. And there is old stuff that is also not yet on the blog.

So here I am. Thanks for the reminders. 

Last Thursday I had my second of six chemo treatments and my sweet Emily went with me to keep me out of trouble. 

Everything went well, I had a fabulous weekend, good energy levels for the most part with a touch of fuzziness around the edges, all food staying where it belongs, and had a good time with Grandmama visiting. We even got a girls-only breakfast out. Thank you, Mommee!

Monday night we had the honor of hosting a retirement party for one of Dada's coworkers. I heard several of them say they very much enjoyed themselves, but I had an absolute blast. It was so nice to talk with people and let the kids run around in the yard  and have "far too much food" and enjoy the sunshine in the trees. Even the bugs were minimal! The weather cooperated beautifully and nobody was tempted to stay too late as it was a work evening, so we had a perfect shindig. Thank you all who helped plan, prep, clean, and party! Thanks for blessing our home with your fun selves. We loved it.

Yesterday was Damon's birthday. Can you believe that kid is 8 already? Me neither. I love the Facebook memory feature that shows pictures of my huge stick-outy belly and the big kids as little kids kissing it. And yes, I'm aware that Carrie's birthday has come and gone and there was no blog post about that yet. Hush. I'm getting there eventually...

Did I mention when I asked what kind of cake he'd like he told me, "a minion leading a storm trooper"? 

Ohhhhhkaaaaay.

So far today I've had to kick Carrie off my laptop two or three times and it's only lunchtime. And she slept in until ten. Yesterday I had to kick Damon off of it at least three or four times. So as you can see, blogging is difficult when one has no access to her tools. Another part of the procrastination is having coherent blogging thoughts, which are much more difficult to come by once all the kids are home. Mainly because there is no quiet once all the kids are home. I hear that that is something I will miss once they all move out. Someone who has actually experienced such an event might have to let me know if that is true or not. To go to the bathroom in peace... but I digress.

Annnnnd my computer is sticky. Ewwwww.

Also, Dr. Pepper doesn't taste like Dr. Pepper when you're doing chemo. *sip sip* It tastes astringent like what I'd imagine cleaning solution would taste like. As I need the liquids anyway, bottoms up. Please ignore any belching you hear from my general area. My apologies. My mouth is just now starting to feel a little pebbly and strange again, but as I know that doesn't last forever it is easier to mentally manage. I've also been using my alcohol-free mouthwash this round but haven't started the baking soda and salt rinse again yet. Perhaps today. Fritos taste pretty much the same in case you were wondering.

After the first chemo, I had a few good days and then Immodium became my best friend. I think I already talked about that in a previous post. I find it interesting that two of the chemo drugs caution you against constipation and one of them warns about the likelihood off diarrhea; you would think you'd end up about even in the middle. My bod declares otherwise and ends up needing Immodium, though I have to say that this round has been much better thus far, and yes, I'm knocking on my wooden kitchen table as I type. All that to say thank you to those of you who are praying over such things, and I know some of you definitely are. It is greatly appreciated, even though I have no secrets, haha. Nobody wants to spend all summer in the bathroom. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Mucho! Keep it up! I have no shame. ;)

Also knowing that bone pain would be approaching this time around, I got proactive and popped some Advil this morning when my femurs started to feel sore. No point in feeling like I'm 80 when I'm not there yet. Femur is such a funny word. Nothing like when your femurs start feeling funny. Teehee. My Doc said I could do Advil as long as I did it with food and only 400mg as 800 would be too much. Since mine are only 200mg, I can happily oblige. Aleve was recommended and works well for my Dad, but Mommee can't tolerate it and I already knew Advil works well for me, so my other Doc said to just skip it and stick with what works. I like that they are willing to work with me and be flexible instead of me blindly following orders. 

I've had super incredible friends pop in to visit, take me to treatment, bring us dinner, clean our bathrooms (seriously!), go grocery shopping for us, give us blankets and candies to settle my stomach, lavish us with books, flowers, coffee mugs, and other gifts, offer to take the kids to karate, give us money for pizza; it's been amazing. My sister in law's Bible study made us 14 freezer meals. Fourteen! Then her family drove them out to deliver them and visit with us. People all over creation are praying for us. And still you ask how you can help. You all are so loving and so supportive! We are truly blessed. Every day. Your love and the ways you show God's love, grace, and mercy blow us away. How could we ever not believe that He is good!?