A Mom Thing

It's in your head

so it will always be in your head. 

Cancer, that is.  Or really, more specifically, Mortality. 

A cough, a cold, flu or just extreme exhaustion makes one question.  Is it back?

It's been almost 3 years with a clean bill of health for H.  A fabulous milestone worthy of HUGE daily celebration. But the harsh reality is 3 years ago changed me, us, all of us, forever. I stopped worrying on a daily (hourly) basis a long time ago.  But I still think of it often. In many ways, it changed me forever and I will always reel a bit from it.  But I was a bit off-center to begin with...maybe this helps straighten me out?

The bottomline is that when H is off or not right, my inner-alarm goes off.  Remember, he was "just tired" when I forced him to go get that blood test.  The one that saved his life.

The other night he was wiped-out.  I straight out asked him ... "Are you flu tired, exhausted tired or leukemia tired?"  I said it.  The L word.  Had to -- 110% of our relationship is about communication even when not desirable.  I'm proud of that.   He said it was not leukemia tired.  He slept almost 11 hours and felt human again in the morning.

Mortality. Hmm.  The kids, on the other hand, embrace their immortality.  And I'm stuck in the middle. Fearing most yet surviving all of it.  Maybe I'm the eye of the tornado?  Safe haven in a midst of total chaos?  Maybe.  Not sure. Will let you know if I ever figure that one out.  In the mean time, happy new year - I'm going to try and be a better blogger in the new year. 

Some things are worth remembering.  Other things are for Facebook. :)

Today was a crappy day.

Today was a kinda' crappy day.  And I don't have to dig all that deep to thank God for it. Seriously. Whisper. Thank you. 

Three years ago, H was facing probable death.  And we barely knew it.

I was facing single motherhood -- but more importantly-- and more deeply, I was facing the biggest hole in my heart ever possible. I was facing the loss of my anchor, my rock, my sanity (and insanity) all at once.

For any of you who don't follow along or who are new to our lives - it's no secret. Three years ago today (?), H went to the hospital for being tired and ended up diagnosed with Leukemia. The "best kind" thank god...with the BEST doctor.  Thanks Jessica. 

It was 36 interminable days of fighting for the right to life. 36 days.  Holy Mother of God.

He made it.   He is a survivor. We all are.   Crappy days are part of it.  A BIG PART OF IT.  Of LIFE.  And Living.

I need to constantly remember and celebrate that.  The crappiest days sometimes can be better than the alternative. 

Here's to my honey.  LYMTTIDTDB. 

 

Two years. Today.

SO.  Two years ago today H was admitted to the hospital for a surprise battle against Leukemia.

As you might remember from the blog, he was there, at the hospital, for 36 (interminable) days. 

He has been in remission/cancer free for almost 2 years.

SO ... We say thanks. We don't miss Sunday church. We pray for others. And try to help however we can.  And we don't forget.

We try to trade in incessant frustrations of everyday reality with the realized dream of living. We try.

Every day we try. 

National Cancer Survivor Day

Did you know today was National Cancer Survivor Day?

I did not.

We received a flyer from the Northwestern Cancer Center.  There was a Chicago lakefront walk and celebration today. It was tempting and taunting at the same time.

How do you celebrate something so ... evil?

And yet...how do you not celebrate winning a largely unwinnable war?

I left it up to H. We signed up.  We wore the t-shirts. We walked.  I was glad we did.  It was emotional and a bit surreal but good. We only walked part of it. Baby steps.

I was a little nervous explaining the day to the kids. We never really used the words "cancer" or "leukemia" ... we talked specifics not scary.  I wasn't sure how they would react. 

Leave it to Middle Guy...

MG: Why is daddy's t-shirt Purple?  I like the purple t-shirt.

ME: He's the cancer survivor.

MG: Pause. Daddy's a CANCER SURVIVOR??

Little Guy: Duhhh.  Yeah, MG!??

Me: Yes Buddy.

MG: Oh. Wow.

Pause

MG: Why didn't daddy lose all his hair?

ME: He was one of the lucky ones.

MG: Ok.

We ran into H's doctor just as we started the walk.  How fitting.  Angels. 

We always seem to have angels.   We are some of the lucky ones.

More good news

OVER a year since H came home from the hospital.  ALMOST a year since he was declared "cancer-free." 

And yet an e-mail from his doctor titled, "more good news" still sends a (good) chill down my spine.

He remains cancer free (according to the "molecular" studies of his blood cells.).  Wa-frickin-hoo.  This is good.   Really good.  Every step of every mile of every day you get further away from the cancer beast, the better. 

EVENTUALLY you might get far enough way to turn around and say, "nanny nanny boo boo!" ... Maybe?  Maybe you're never bold enough. Not sure.

H is getting HIS groove back. He's a workout-maniac.  He did a sprint triathalon at the gym today -- took him an impressive 3 hours. He's my idol.

He's out of town for 2 nights.  I miss him already.  It's crazy how much something so poisonous can create and breed such intense love?  We are blessed.

Today, my grass is green.

Today -- December 3, 2008 -- my grass is green.

A year ago on this day, H was admitted to Northwestern Hospital and we had no idea where life was headed.  It was a dark, dark day of a very long, hard year. I can't help but remember every moment of it.

Thankfully, H remains in remission.  We are some of the lucky ones.

Yes, TODAY, my grass is green.

And I'm just going to roll around in it as long as I can.

All Souls Day

I've debated continuing this section of the blog or not.  Sometimes I think it's cathartic. Sometimes I'm not so sure.

Anyway, today was All Souls Day. I was caught off-guard. I weeped through the 8 o'clock morning mass. The leaky quiet kind.  As they first invited the congregation up to the makeshift altar by Mary -- to bring photos or momentos of loved ones lost this year... or even just tie a ribbon... I thought uh-oh.  I felt that pit. That wave of closeness, red cheeks and nausea that comes when I'm reminded. 

Reminded of the intensity of the past year.

Reminded of the moments of lost-ness and fear and darkness. 

Reminded of how lucky we are now.

Sometimes remembering is hard. It makes you feel guilty for even a moment wasted now. It makes you think of the future and what may or may not be out there.  Other times it's okay because you just think of how good it is now. How much better. It's like forcing yourself to watch a really sad movie just so you have a REASON to cry.  Remembering is enough of a reason.

I was holding it together. Until the church lady came up and started reading names. Names of the people of the parish who died this year.  Uh-oh.  I couldn't help but think.  H could have been on that list.  I felt myself holding my breath as we went alphabetically through the list.  She read the names like it was theater. I flashed back to 9-11...I flashed even further back to the reading of the AIDS victims at an AIDSQuilt viewing. I flashed back to last year and winced as I subconsciously just wanted to get past the M's.  I irrationally kept wondering what I'd do if she said his name. We got past the M's. Then she said H's first name. It was (obviously) someone else's H.  The tears. I just couldn't help it.

Little Guy, doing his Kindergarden workbook next to me, kept asking me questions.

What are the instructions here? 

Are there five fish here? 

Is this supposed to be yellow?

I'd try to answer his question and embrace the distraction. I looked at H.  He looked at me. We looked at each other over the heads of our children. I couldn't tell if he knew what I was feeling or not.  I was trying to hide my tears. Like I usually do.  But they were streaming.  Streaming quietly down my cheeks.  Little Guy looked at me and said it best, "Wow, you are really sweating, mom." 

I looked at him, tilted my head and whispered back, "Yes...Yes, I am."

Is the world getting smaller?

(Or am I just getting older?)

I haven't posted in this section for awhile. And I'm sure there is curiousity. So I'll do updates first.  H is doing great.  "Great" in the elevator-talk sense that he (blessingly) remains in remission and we're heading in on a year since diagnosis.  We've been struggling a little with the maintenance/preventive protocol.  The oral chemo bugs his liver ... and the other recommended medicine messes with his hearing and gives him headaches.  So it's a little back-and-forth, trial-and-error.  Sometimes it seems like you're waiting for the shoe to drop and other times it's just partly cloudy and you need to focus on the bits of sun with laser vision.  New normal is just that - new.

So - get this...since we have been introduced to Leukemia, nearly a year ago, we have met several women whose husbands have been diagnosed?  Not all are direct friends but most are.  WEIRD.  Not all of them have the same type as H . . . but it's still amazing how similar the path is.  And I'm still struck with how little there is in the way of support. Notsomuch financial or educational support but reality, emotional, directional support.  So, somehow, I'm becoming a bit of a "poster spouse" for Leukemia.  Maybe because I'm always willing to say what most people lock in their heads or hearts.  Maybe because I wish someone had been there for me.  Either way, it feels right to me. 

Here's sending good zen, prayers and vibes out to all the known and unknown cancer fighters right now.  Go get 'em -- win the war.

Life's Gamble.

I love this photo of H. It was taken on our vacation.  Almost exactly 6 months after he got out of the hospital.  SIX months.  In some ways it seems like a whole LOT less and in other ways it seems like a whole LOT more.  Man how life can change.

We start phase three soon.  Oral chemotherapy for a year.  Should have no noticeable effect. But then I've kinda' learned that "should" doesn't really have a role in this play.  Two-five years of watching the numbers and trying to "get healthy back" -- every moment of every day of every week of every month that we stay cancer-free just increases the odds.  

Here's to life's gamble. And enjoying the ride. Cheers.

OVC: Official Vacation Countdown

Ok - we are on OVC (Official Vacation Countdown).  Four days of work then we're off for a week. 

 H is finally cleared for travel.  His numbers are pretty close to normal.  But even better, his molecular studies show he's still in remission.  Wahhoooo!  (Only 5 more years of that crazy monitoring...Hello, good reminder to LIVE life...)

We have not been away together (other than the hospihotel) since last November when we were in Napa for my work-meeting.  And looking back, he was really not feeling well then, we just did know why.  (Remember, he was admitted to the hospital on Dec 5).

We are excited and ready beyond belief. Over-ripe. In all honesty from a life/stress/readiness standpoint, the trip is coming about 4 weeks behind schedule...but now that it's almost here, I'm willing to forgive.  Our ultimate goal is to relax so much we're bored and aching to come back to our tornado lives. 

Think it will work?