It has been a while since I have written. My excuse is: No news is good news. I think I last mentioned that all my tests, scans, blah, blah, and blah in May had positive results as did my mother's and sister's. So our family got a free ticket for summer. And, I say that literally as my next diagnostics are booked for the VERY day before school starts on August 17th. Please do pray for me that week that the stress of back to school and scans doesn't end me up flat as pancake flopped on the couch by the end of the week.
Our summer started off crazy awesome with a trip to Disneyland. I had harboured the Life List aspiration for several years. Of course, being as my life span in which to complete my Life List tasks has just been shortened (or maybe not but it stinks having no clue what is around the corner or how far the block even is.) So I sold an art quilt; my first official art quilt sale of major value, actually. I planned my trip with the check and only dimes in my pocket. Many things fell into place like my father-in-law lives out in LA., owns a boat we can stay on, has a car, and was planning to move and sell both this year. So the timing was perfect for a free room and ride. (Thanks Larry!) We also received one day comp tickets into Disneyland thanks to Larry's friend Tara who works in textiles for the park. The second day we went, we hung out withe my sister-in-law and her one year old. I miss all our artsy chats from when she lived in Colorado and really enjoyed catching up on old times. But, I am not too sure how much chatting we were able to achieve between screaming on rides, laughing at Goofy, and feeding thee kids. My two troopers were awesome as they made it through two full days including the fireworks show and nearly every ride available for kids under 44 inches. After Disneyland, we went down the coast to San Diego. We again received free room on thee 7the floor of an ocean front condo on Coronado Island from my great aunt. I really wanted more time there and wish I was able to book ten days with our United free tickets.
I forgot to mention theat before our trip to California, we went to my parent's cabin in Red Featheer Lakes for a long weekend and then to Taylor Lake viewing the Royal Gorge along the way. Needless to say, I sent my kiddos to summer school and vacation bible school the Monday after our Disney return totally happy but exhausted. Next, we slid in a camping trip near the cabin, a weekend at the cabin for Fourth of July festivities, then over to Larry's cabin in Allenspark for a BBQ on the Fourth, and then out to Lake Powell for the Brown's annual family trip.
All this was quite fun, but I have to secretly admit I am glad to unpack our bags for a couple of weeks. Yes, just a couple so I can weed the yard (once this summer) and clean the house. Then it is time to pack the bags for a week up at the cabin with my sister's family, weekend with friends in Sol Vista, and then my high school BFF, Lisa, is coming out with her kids. We have plans to return up to my friend's condo in Sol Vista and explore the ski resorts for a week.
I think I will leave our bags packed until after my scans and the first week of school. Oh, come on, you know me better theen that. I will be running around in my starved state nesting and cleaning (I have to fast but only 12 hours which is way better theen a coloscopy.) But never fear, I may be very forgetful theese days, but I am still a planner. The kids have already picked out their first day of school clothes, sorted out old clothes that don't fit for consignment and donation, helped me shop for a few new pants and such for the fall, and filled their backpacks with all their school supplies (I can't believe how much they cost! The pencils not thee clothes as I got all theose on sale withe coupons; go Gymboree Gym Bucks!) In fact, I am folding the laundered lot now; well after I type this. Gosh, I am starting to wonder if I am compulsive or just super organized. No, you know what it is, don't you? I am a cancer survivor of two and half years with two little kids. My life is a schedule.
In all this fun and organizing mess detailed above, I have my Her-fusions every three weeks. In fact, I had one this past Monday. Sure I am living a great life but under it all my feet and ankles really hurt, my acne face is really bugging me as it apparently does not like the hot summer sun one bit, and I have no time after entertaining kids all day to get out to do yoga. I can complain and detail how I almost completely lost my thumb finger nail on the houseboat when I was popping open a Hansens. Or, I can tell you that I feel like throwing up one minute and then want to devoure an entire pizza the next. In fact, as we were sitting in the shade popping back a few Zofran on the boat, my nine week pregnant niece and I compared noteworthy complaints. And, I decided I don't have cancer and taking two chemo-clas drugs to keep myself alive. No, I think I am pregnant!
Okay, whatever. So in the back of my mind I am constantly thinking of my death. I know it is weird. I am sort of okay with this and that. I am not scared of what is next, just the process to get there. I wonder how in the heck this house is going to get cleaned (because I want my kids growing up in a clean house a respecting organization,) who's going to rub my son's back when he is scared in the middle of the night of thunder, who's going to take my daughter shopping for school clothes helping her pick out sometheing she feels good in yet doesn't make her look like Britney Spears circa 2004. Well, someone will. Sure. But, that is the crap my head-langauge discusses. I sit on the beach in San Diego watching my kids giggle and splash each other and cry. I am sipping up every moment because this may be it. This may be the last time I sift the sand through my finger tips.
And that, folks, is what it is like to have stage four cancer that already came back. It is a freakin' clueless existence that lacks the security of definition of time. I schedule this and that. I pack bags two weeks before the trip because I will have an infusion and won't feel up to it the day before. But, darn it, I am not misssing that trip! All the while, I sort of joke to myself: why am I cleaning theis toilet, I could be dead tomorrow and shouldn't my time be spent doing sometheing else? Well, silly, who else is going to scrub the toilet and if you don't do it...ooooh gross!
Okay, I didn't mean to start into a sniffling melodrama. What I meant to say was that I am having a freakin' awesome summer, fitting in a lot of fun for kids and myself, and keeping all my appointments. Though I have to admit I did forget a dose of Tykerb for the very first time in six months for no reason at all. Well, actually there was a pretty good reason. I went to see the movie Larry Crowne with my parents, laughed my bum off, had guac and chips at On the Border, felt blessed to have my folks as part of my life, simply crawled in bed tired and happy, and fell asleep. Yes, for one night, I slipped into a life of no cancer. I forgot.
Yes, that is why I fold the laundry, scrub the toilet, cook dinner, take the kids to the pool, plan awesome California vacations, make a Shutterfly digital album immediately, go out with my girlfriends at least once a week, shop the farmer's market, spend hours the week before book club finishing the book, see movies with whomever is willing to go with me, day dream, paint, sew, mend my son's jeans, frantically finish an art quilt and mail it out the day before it is due, paint my toe nails, and just about ever boring, mundane thing that makes this life normal. It all helps me forget. One never really appriciates what they have until they almost loose it. Well, okay, I don't totally appriciate cleaning the bathrooms as more then a weekly task that needs doing, but I am working on it. I think Eckhart Tolle would tell me to sit in front of the toilet for 30 minutes in meditation telling it how awesome it is for letting me dump my wastes in its porceline bowl and speedily flushing it away so that my house doesn't smell nor be riddled with infection.
Nah, the tile is too cold in my pampered life filled with airconditioning. So to sum up my ramblings that took up a good chunk of your morning reading, it has been one very fun summer and I am feeling pretty okay minus the little hurdle I leap over every three weeks. Thanks for all of you who have shared my summer with me. PS The kids are actually home next week so get out your calendars and schedule a play date.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Oops, I forgot the title.
When we were discussing the best plan of action to eradicate my brain of breast cells that were apparently trying to paralyze my left eye, my oncologist said to the neurologist,"We haVe to be careful not to make her to stupid to take care of her little kids." Maybe those weren't the exact words, but that is what I remember hearing. Two thoughts occurred to me. One, if I was, say, fifty and my kids had left for college, would it be okay to fry my brain? And, two, how stupid is this going to make me anyway?
So we did two pin-point radiations on exactly the vary spot of my tumors. Instead of multiple visits with fifteen minutes each, they shot my head with a laser, without telling me by the way, for a full fifty minutes just once. When they were explaining this last minute change the doctors said: one, I was very young (that is cool because I was feeling old and tired at that point) and could handle the stress of the length of time. Again, may I remind you I didn't know I would be there that long when I laid down on the table with a cage tightly fitted over my face. And my I-pod spontaneously went into a random shuffle replacing my soothing ballads with my running playlist. Two, my brain cells were like a balloon. If you blow it up a lot, even right to popping, then release the air, the balloon retains it's elasticity. However, if you blow it up over and over, eventually the material looses it's integrity.
Integrity; now that is an interesting word seeing as we are talking about my brain. This is the very topic I have been thinking about today. I had a sudden urge to send out a mass apology for forgetting stuff. Sorry. I can't remember names of people I have known for a long time. I can't remember appointments. I can't remember to put something out on the porch for a friend to pick up later even just seconds after I hang up the phone. I have to check everything multiple times and often flip a u-turn to get something I left at home...three times in a row. This is horribly embarrassing and frustrating. I can rationalize that it could be worse and that there are normal brains doing this same thing. But, you have to understand is, even though I was forgetful from time to time, this constant behavior is not me, the me of my past. I feel like a ditz.
In discussing my frustrations with my mom after my friend called looking for the thing I was supposed to have put on the porch for her to pick up, I realized that that my brain is trying to multitask all the time. Dr. Phil once said that multitasking is not actually multitasking. It is actually doing a little bit of one thing, moving to another thing, going back the the original thing, then starting a third thing, then back to the.... In the end, you are just doing a little bit of one thing at a time therefore you a not giving the task your full attention. Therefore, all those three tasks you thought you were completing all at once were really not getting done well in the end.
So here I am explaining this to my mom. I was telling her that I feel like my brain is constantly unorganized and multitasking so nothing gets done to full fruition, when she replied in her experienced etcher voice, "So you are saying your brain functions like someone who is ADD?" Precisely.
I don't know if I can credit this confusion and forgetfulness in my brain to the radiation. But, I do know I can credit the stuttering and the slight lose of coordination in my right hand at random to the procedure. And, then I think: "Stupid is as stupid...". Wait, I forgot how that quote from the movie Forest Gump went. Well, I wonder what my oncologist really meant when she protectively explained her reasoning for a lesser about of treatment to save the integrity of my brain.
PS Sorry, I simply forgot to finish my blogs about my wonderful trip to California with my two little adventurers. I finished writing in the photo album and had taken that text to publish in my blog. However, I forgot to save the thing and my computer froze causing me to restart it. So if I remember, I will try again. For now know that on the third and fourth day of our trip we went to Disneyland. Then we went sailing. We followed that with a trip down to San Diego to tour the zoo, swim, relax on the beach, eat good seafood, and sit in the airplanes at the Maritime Museum. It was quite and adventure and my careful planning paid off in some wonderful memories for a steal of $600 total trip expense. On my last day, I felt a bit tearful. I felt great joy at the same time I felt scared. As I ran my fingers through the sand, I tried to remember that moment, engrave it in my fried brain, because it could very well be my last time to sit on the beach. Yes, I often have these thoughts that this could be the last.... Maybe that is a handicap or maybe it is a gift. But, it is definitely a topic for another blog.
So we did two pin-point radiations on exactly the vary spot of my tumors. Instead of multiple visits with fifteen minutes each, they shot my head with a laser, without telling me by the way, for a full fifty minutes just once. When they were explaining this last minute change the doctors said: one, I was very young (that is cool because I was feeling old and tired at that point) and could handle the stress of the length of time. Again, may I remind you I didn't know I would be there that long when I laid down on the table with a cage tightly fitted over my face. And my I-pod spontaneously went into a random shuffle replacing my soothing ballads with my running playlist. Two, my brain cells were like a balloon. If you blow it up a lot, even right to popping, then release the air, the balloon retains it's elasticity. However, if you blow it up over and over, eventually the material looses it's integrity.
Integrity; now that is an interesting word seeing as we are talking about my brain. This is the very topic I have been thinking about today. I had a sudden urge to send out a mass apology for forgetting stuff. Sorry. I can't remember names of people I have known for a long time. I can't remember appointments. I can't remember to put something out on the porch for a friend to pick up later even just seconds after I hang up the phone. I have to check everything multiple times and often flip a u-turn to get something I left at home...three times in a row. This is horribly embarrassing and frustrating. I can rationalize that it could be worse and that there are normal brains doing this same thing. But, you have to understand is, even though I was forgetful from time to time, this constant behavior is not me, the me of my past. I feel like a ditz.
In discussing my frustrations with my mom after my friend called looking for the thing I was supposed to have put on the porch for her to pick up, I realized that that my brain is trying to multitask all the time. Dr. Phil once said that multitasking is not actually multitasking. It is actually doing a little bit of one thing, moving to another thing, going back the the original thing, then starting a third thing, then back to the.... In the end, you are just doing a little bit of one thing at a time therefore you a not giving the task your full attention. Therefore, all those three tasks you thought you were completing all at once were really not getting done well in the end.
So here I am explaining this to my mom. I was telling her that I feel like my brain is constantly unorganized and multitasking so nothing gets done to full fruition, when she replied in her experienced etcher voice, "So you are saying your brain functions like someone who is ADD?" Precisely.
I don't know if I can credit this confusion and forgetfulness in my brain to the radiation. But, I do know I can credit the stuttering and the slight lose of coordination in my right hand at random to the procedure. And, then I think: "Stupid is as stupid...". Wait, I forgot how that quote from the movie Forest Gump went. Well, I wonder what my oncologist really meant when she protectively explained her reasoning for a lesser about of treatment to save the integrity of my brain.
PS Sorry, I simply forgot to finish my blogs about my wonderful trip to California with my two little adventurers. I finished writing in the photo album and had taken that text to publish in my blog. However, I forgot to save the thing and my computer froze causing me to restart it. So if I remember, I will try again. For now know that on the third and fourth day of our trip we went to Disneyland. Then we went sailing. We followed that with a trip down to San Diego to tour the zoo, swim, relax on the beach, eat good seafood, and sit in the airplanes at the Maritime Museum. It was quite and adventure and my careful planning paid off in some wonderful memories for a steal of $600 total trip expense. On my last day, I felt a bit tearful. I felt great joy at the same time I felt scared. As I ran my fingers through the sand, I tried to remember that moment, engrave it in my fried brain, because it could very well be my last time to sit on the beach. Yes, I often have these thoughts that this could be the last.... Maybe that is a handicap or maybe it is a gift. But, it is definitely a topic for another blog.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Just Plain Sealy - Day Two
There is something quite wonderful about waking to the sound of seagulls calling for their breakfast sandwiched between the two loves of your life. She has her leg jammed some place between my last rib and my lung and his nose is exactly one inch from mine as I open my eyes. "Today is going to be a good day," announces my son as he pops up from slumber land, lets his sleeping doll drop to his pillow, and opens the hatch above the bed so he can pop his head out like a gopher. The air is cool. I turn on the space heater that I turned off because I am a total nerd and nervous about space heaters in small locations. Time for breakfast of Trader Joe's Os and rice milk.
The first order of business is to go to the beach. It is cold and cloudy, June Gloom, as we emerge from the belly of the sail boat. The beach is absent of people at 8:43 am making the way clear to kick off our shoes and run at full throttle towards the subtle waves. The water is really cold. My surfer dude peels off his sweatshirt and belly flops in the cold water despite warnings. He runs back up on the beach and rolls in the sand to make sand angels. My gal is more careful in her approach feeling the sea foam in her fingers and pulling a seashell out of the damp area left by a receding wave.
The best privilege of staying at the marina is the key to the bath house just off the beach. The kids warm up with a shower, and we wonder down to the Shoreline Village. It is 10:30, and they are apparently starving. Well, I guess their internal clocks are not too off as it is 11:30, lunchtime, at home. We wonder the Long Beach shore up to a park with three giant curved bridges and an arena fully surrounded in an aquatic mural. We discover the movie theater and conference hall just as the restaurants begin to shake out their napkins and open their doors for business. Near the aquarium, the kids get really excited to see Bubba Gumps. Shrimp all shrimp. All the shrimp they ever dreamed of. We order the combo sampler and a side salad for mom. We pass the Forest Gump trivia and get free raspberry lemonades for the kiddos. Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get.
Life is good, our tummies are full, the sun is peeking out from behind the clouds, and grandpa will meet us in thirty minutes at the aquarium. What a great afternoon at the fabulous Aquarium of the Pacific. The seal tunnel was a highlight as school girls showed us that if you hold a bright object to the glass, the seals will investigate it with their noses. I seriously almost cried seeing my daughter's face as the seal placed his nose right on the other side of the glass in her palm. Of course that is not saying much as I felt the same awe of a beautiful moment when Surfer Son finally touched a shark in the petting tanks and lit up with satisfaction.
The day came to a close after a stroll back to the boat for dinner. Early to bed after reviewing the driving direction to the pinnacle of our trip. The day is almost here. And, as a good mother would do, I kept that a secret as I tucked the little ones in bed. And why, you ask, would I not tell them of the excitement that will unfold in the morning? Well, it is simple, sleep. We must sleep. Goodnight.
The first order of business is to go to the beach. It is cold and cloudy, June Gloom, as we emerge from the belly of the sail boat. The beach is absent of people at 8:43 am making the way clear to kick off our shoes and run at full throttle towards the subtle waves. The water is really cold. My surfer dude peels off his sweatshirt and belly flops in the cold water despite warnings. He runs back up on the beach and rolls in the sand to make sand angels. My gal is more careful in her approach feeling the sea foam in her fingers and pulling a seashell out of the damp area left by a receding wave.
The best privilege of staying at the marina is the key to the bath house just off the beach. The kids warm up with a shower, and we wonder down to the Shoreline Village. It is 10:30, and they are apparently starving. Well, I guess their internal clocks are not too off as it is 11:30, lunchtime, at home. We wonder the Long Beach shore up to a park with three giant curved bridges and an arena fully surrounded in an aquatic mural. We discover the movie theater and conference hall just as the restaurants begin to shake out their napkins and open their doors for business. Near the aquarium, the kids get really excited to see Bubba Gumps. Shrimp all shrimp. All the shrimp they ever dreamed of. We order the combo sampler and a side salad for mom. We pass the Forest Gump trivia and get free raspberry lemonades for the kiddos. Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you are going to get.
Life is good, our tummies are full, the sun is peeking out from behind the clouds, and grandpa will meet us in thirty minutes at the aquarium. What a great afternoon at the fabulous Aquarium of the Pacific. The seal tunnel was a highlight as school girls showed us that if you hold a bright object to the glass, the seals will investigate it with their noses. I seriously almost cried seeing my daughter's face as the seal placed his nose right on the other side of the glass in her palm. Of course that is not saying much as I felt the same awe of a beautiful moment when Surfer Son finally touched a shark in the petting tanks and lit up with satisfaction.
The day came to a close after a stroll back to the boat for dinner. Early to bed after reviewing the driving direction to the pinnacle of our trip. The day is almost here. And, as a good mother would do, I kept that a secret as I tucked the little ones in bed. And why, you ask, would I not tell them of the excitement that will unfold in the morning? Well, it is simple, sleep. We must sleep. Goodnight.
Just Beachy-Day 1
I am running my fingers through silky sand. It is fine and flies like tiny angels when I lift my hand into the wind and release my grasp. Fine grains of sand slip through the air. I look up at a giggle. Jack has his entire body covered in dark, damp grains of sand. It is in his hair, his shorts, between his toes. "I am a sand dragon, Mommy." Julia runs out to jump the waves again. They are cold. Very cold. Too cold for my toes, but I gave it a whirl five minutes ago and decided the dry hump of fine sand just outside of the rim of foam and just inside the cones the beach patrol has set out for the Navy to troop by on some special operation. Jack runs after his fairy roaring like a dragon and belly flops right into a foamy wave. Julia screams as he splashes her and runs back to base to roll up in her towel.
We will be going home soon. I am overwhelmed with the feeling of finality. This is it. Well, it could be. I feel the grains of sand shift through my toes and rub tears from my cheeks with my shoulder so I don't get sand nor salt in my eyes. One more time. Yes, I grab two little cold hands. The one in my right is creative, graceful, and introspective. The one in my left is wise beyond his years yet innocent and simple. I pull my dragon and my fairy to the waves for one more romp. I can jump higher, but they can splash bigger.
This June, I took my two little troopers to California. I had sold an art quilt, had two weeks before summer school started, and a lot of free stuff if I got on the horn to take advantage of them before they were gone. Our itinerary was packed full of adventure though I had visions of finishing a book, reading a magazine or two, and simply laying silent with my two bundles of joy. This would be my fantasy fullfilled, a California Dream Vacation with only pennies in my pocket, and a notch of completion on my Bucket List (My friend and founder of LifeRoo calls it a Life List. I think I like that better. Item 201 on my Life List...Take kids to Disneyland. Item 202...share the ocean with the kids at least once a year.)
Our first challenge was the airport. We have all flown before, but we were flying on the day after my infusion with Herceptin. Usually, the chemo-class drug riddles my body with fatigue, nausea, headaches, and a variety of fun side effects. They only last a day or so and are eased with a full day of sleep. But, since we were flying for just $15 in handling fees on our frequent flier mileage, we had to book Tuesday through Tuesday. So I downed my Tylenol and Zofran and told my body that it was just going to have to hold off on feeling crappy for one week. Incidentally, it did totally crash on me when we returned.
It turns out that travelling through security with two little ones has its advantage, or maybe I had some little sign on my back that read: help me out please. Everyone was so nice. Other mothers were helping me deal with the booster seats as they got tangled in the mess of the security conveyor belt. And, I got to walk with my children through the regular scanner and didn't have to explain that I couldn't go into the new x-ray deal because I had cancer and my body is already lit up with radiation. Though I was prepared for dramatic sighing, the lady at the counter actually smiled as I told her that I was not sitting with my children on the plane and the seats had to be rearranged for this very full flight just minutes before boarding was to begin. The flight was easy once we got seats three across.
Larry, my father-in-law, called promptly as I turned on my phone after landing. Our kind chauffeur, Larry, shuttled us through rush hour traffic from LAX to Long Beach with minimal expletives as I tried to memorize the Los Angeles driving techniques for my return to the airport in seven days. At Long Beach Marina, the kids and I got acquainted with our casa for the next few day, The Wind Rose. The kids are ecstatic we will be sharing the aft cabin bed and immediately ask what is for dinner. It is Taco Tuesday at Tequila Jack's on down the way in Shoreline Village. This is a term that seems to want to stick in our household though I write this on a Monday and served tacos this evening, I know that there will be a request for tacos tomorrow. The night is busy and the kids loose their patience and ability to stay awake. But, the $1 tacos, one pork, one shrimp, and one chicken are fabulous.
The night has crept in and the sun has set over the hundreds of boats in the marina. After learning the tricks for running the head (aka toilet that functions as a shower if you are so inclined,) we are left alone in the quiet of Gangway BB, slip 7 in Long Beach Marina. We can hear the seagulls and the waterfall turns off at 10 pm to reveal a low mechanical sound of the oil drills. The air is fresh with ocean and stars. But, I have to say that an astronomer would have much better luck viewing the Colorado skies. We lay, three in a row, looking up through the window above the bed. I pull out my i-Pad and scroll to the Skywalker ap. We view the constellations always looking for the North Star and Orion. The kids flip over on their bellies laying the i-Pad on the bed and discover Orion is somewhere under the bed. The kids giggle and ask if we can go to China tomorrow so we can see him shooting his arrows. It is nighttime there tomorrow, you know. We hold the i-Pad back over head. "That one there looks like the stingray I saw right when we got here in the water."
"It sure does. Now go to sleep as we have a big day tomorrow." Two seconds later, it is silent except for the rhythm of the ocean.
We will be going home soon. I am overwhelmed with the feeling of finality. This is it. Well, it could be. I feel the grains of sand shift through my toes and rub tears from my cheeks with my shoulder so I don't get sand nor salt in my eyes. One more time. Yes, I grab two little cold hands. The one in my right is creative, graceful, and introspective. The one in my left is wise beyond his years yet innocent and simple. I pull my dragon and my fairy to the waves for one more romp. I can jump higher, but they can splash bigger.
This June, I took my two little troopers to California. I had sold an art quilt, had two weeks before summer school started, and a lot of free stuff if I got on the horn to take advantage of them before they were gone. Our itinerary was packed full of adventure though I had visions of finishing a book, reading a magazine or two, and simply laying silent with my two bundles of joy. This would be my fantasy fullfilled, a California Dream Vacation with only pennies in my pocket, and a notch of completion on my Bucket List (My friend and founder of LifeRoo calls it a Life List. I think I like that better. Item 201 on my Life List...Take kids to Disneyland. Item 202...share the ocean with the kids at least once a year.)
Our first challenge was the airport. We have all flown before, but we were flying on the day after my infusion with Herceptin. Usually, the chemo-class drug riddles my body with fatigue, nausea, headaches, and a variety of fun side effects. They only last a day or so and are eased with a full day of sleep. But, since we were flying for just $15 in handling fees on our frequent flier mileage, we had to book Tuesday through Tuesday. So I downed my Tylenol and Zofran and told my body that it was just going to have to hold off on feeling crappy for one week. Incidentally, it did totally crash on me when we returned.
It turns out that travelling through security with two little ones has its advantage, or maybe I had some little sign on my back that read: help me out please. Everyone was so nice. Other mothers were helping me deal with the booster seats as they got tangled in the mess of the security conveyor belt. And, I got to walk with my children through the regular scanner and didn't have to explain that I couldn't go into the new x-ray deal because I had cancer and my body is already lit up with radiation. Though I was prepared for dramatic sighing, the lady at the counter actually smiled as I told her that I was not sitting with my children on the plane and the seats had to be rearranged for this very full flight just minutes before boarding was to begin. The flight was easy once we got seats three across.
Larry, my father-in-law, called promptly as I turned on my phone after landing. Our kind chauffeur, Larry, shuttled us through rush hour traffic from LAX to Long Beach with minimal expletives as I tried to memorize the Los Angeles driving techniques for my return to the airport in seven days. At Long Beach Marina, the kids and I got acquainted with our casa for the next few day, The Wind Rose. The kids are ecstatic we will be sharing the aft cabin bed and immediately ask what is for dinner. It is Taco Tuesday at Tequila Jack's on down the way in Shoreline Village. This is a term that seems to want to stick in our household though I write this on a Monday and served tacos this evening, I know that there will be a request for tacos tomorrow. The night is busy and the kids loose their patience and ability to stay awake. But, the $1 tacos, one pork, one shrimp, and one chicken are fabulous.
The night has crept in and the sun has set over the hundreds of boats in the marina. After learning the tricks for running the head (aka toilet that functions as a shower if you are so inclined,) we are left alone in the quiet of Gangway BB, slip 7 in Long Beach Marina. We can hear the seagulls and the waterfall turns off at 10 pm to reveal a low mechanical sound of the oil drills. The air is fresh with ocean and stars. But, I have to say that an astronomer would have much better luck viewing the Colorado skies. We lay, three in a row, looking up through the window above the bed. I pull out my i-Pad and scroll to the Skywalker ap. We view the constellations always looking for the North Star and Orion. The kids flip over on their bellies laying the i-Pad on the bed and discover Orion is somewhere under the bed. The kids giggle and ask if we can go to China tomorrow so we can see him shooting his arrows. It is nighttime there tomorrow, you know. We hold the i-Pad back over head. "That one there looks like the stingray I saw right when we got here in the water."
"It sure does. Now go to sleep as we have a big day tomorrow." Two seconds later, it is silent except for the rhythm of the ocean.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
My Dscomfort with Yoga
"We have to be aware of the line between pain and discomfort. We need to be right at that place of discomfort but not in the place of pain. For pain is our bodies telling us we have gone too far. But, discomfort is change. We have to feel the discomfort to make a change."
Miss Yogi always has the right words. Or maybe it is the way I hear the words the right way. So I am thinking about a friend who recently started a yoga practice. He was complaining about a weird pain in his chest during a pose. I was trying to think about how to tell him to breath right into the discomfort and it would relax. But if it is true pain, back off. This is exactly what Miss Yogi is discussing. And this is exactly why I have been blessed to find a practice studio that teaches the entire practice of yoga, not just the poses. I have been doing yoga for years off and on. I have done videos and classes at the recreation center. I have modified my flexibility and learned to breath. But it was in my current studio that I realized that yoga can be more then just a low impact, easy exercise for one lazy girl who hates to work out. Since joining Solar Yoga, I have started to read up on the various yoga philosophies. I have found that yoga is a spiritual practice, and I end every practice with a prayer thanking God for allowing me to practice in this moment.
So back to the concept of discomfort. Yoga helps me survive. I have learned to identify the line of pain and discomfort. I have learned to breath through the discomfort and that creates change. Sometimes I think back to times in my life when I could have given up. There are times when I could have crawled in bed and decided that was it. Yet, I breathed through it and didn't think much more about it. If the pain was more then I could handle on my own, I got some groovy drugs. Did you know that two years ago I could not move my arm more then a few inches from my chest? I could not lift my arm to shave my arm pit. In fact, I got an infection in the loose flap of skin that covered the hollow where five lymph nodes were removed. But, I went to physical therapy. I insisted that I wanted more flexibility then good enough. I had people tell me to accept that my arm would only move so far. But, I was determined to get my flexibility back. And I did. With a lot of discomfort and breathing into that discomfort, I can do a full twist and almost reverse prayer palms behind my back. I changed even when they said I couldn't.
Tomorrow, I have a MRI. I will lay on the table, move into the machine with my face in a cage, and breath through the air raid throbbing of the scan. I will go home, put the CD in my computer and look. I have no control over my disease, but I can breath through the discomfort. Yoga taught me that.
And friend, next time you get that weird cramp in your rib cage, I bet that is a little muscle that you don't often use. It is telling you that it is there. Say hello back. Fill it with your breath and ask it to release. And there you go, I bet she will relax. It is the discomfort that brings you change, how cool is that.
Miss Yogi always has the right words. Or maybe it is the way I hear the words the right way. So I am thinking about a friend who recently started a yoga practice. He was complaining about a weird pain in his chest during a pose. I was trying to think about how to tell him to breath right into the discomfort and it would relax. But if it is true pain, back off. This is exactly what Miss Yogi is discussing. And this is exactly why I have been blessed to find a practice studio that teaches the entire practice of yoga, not just the poses. I have been doing yoga for years off and on. I have done videos and classes at the recreation center. I have modified my flexibility and learned to breath. But it was in my current studio that I realized that yoga can be more then just a low impact, easy exercise for one lazy girl who hates to work out. Since joining Solar Yoga, I have started to read up on the various yoga philosophies. I have found that yoga is a spiritual practice, and I end every practice with a prayer thanking God for allowing me to practice in this moment.
So back to the concept of discomfort. Yoga helps me survive. I have learned to identify the line of pain and discomfort. I have learned to breath through the discomfort and that creates change. Sometimes I think back to times in my life when I could have given up. There are times when I could have crawled in bed and decided that was it. Yet, I breathed through it and didn't think much more about it. If the pain was more then I could handle on my own, I got some groovy drugs. Did you know that two years ago I could not move my arm more then a few inches from my chest? I could not lift my arm to shave my arm pit. In fact, I got an infection in the loose flap of skin that covered the hollow where five lymph nodes were removed. But, I went to physical therapy. I insisted that I wanted more flexibility then good enough. I had people tell me to accept that my arm would only move so far. But, I was determined to get my flexibility back. And I did. With a lot of discomfort and breathing into that discomfort, I can do a full twist and almost reverse prayer palms behind my back. I changed even when they said I couldn't.
Tomorrow, I have a MRI. I will lay on the table, move into the machine with my face in a cage, and breath through the air raid throbbing of the scan. I will go home, put the CD in my computer and look. I have no control over my disease, but I can breath through the discomfort. Yoga taught me that.
And friend, next time you get that weird cramp in your rib cage, I bet that is a little muscle that you don't often use. It is telling you that it is there. Say hello back. Fill it with your breath and ask it to release. And there you go, I bet she will relax. It is the discomfort that brings you change, how cool is that.
Princesses don't grow up too fast
"You sold a quilt, now what are you going to do?"
"GO TO DISNEYLAND!"
I am officially in the throughs of planning a trip to Disneyland. I have always wanted to take the kids and this is exactly the right time to do it. They are at a great age, tall enough for most rides, and still young enough to be in love with the fantasy of the glamour that embodies the image of Disney. It is also the perfect time in that I am pretty much going for free. We are using frequent flyer mileage so it is costing $15 in handling fees to fly and whatever they are going to charge me for the one giant bag I will pack all our precious souvenirs (which mom will buy pre-trip at discount...I mean, it all comes from China anyway so it doesn't matter where they are purchased.) The kids and I are also getting into the park for free, because, well, I am connected. My father-in-law will provide shelter on his boat for a couple nights and our cool ride; both of which he is about to sell so this is the last chance. (Thanks for holding off the sale for a couple of weeks.) So this is how you get to Disneyland on $15. The best part of the whole deal is that I sold a quilt and now have over $500 of guilt-free money to spend. I plan to find a little hotel north of San Diego and spend a full day with our toes in the sand. I haven't been there for ten years, but I hope that the pirate ship is still there and the carousel. Of course, the main reason for this excursion is to eat some really good seafood. So if I return ten pounds heavier and the kids are whining that I only fed them PBJs and wouldn't buy them anything because I spent my wad of cash on mermaid food, you will know what they are talking about.
So this brings me to the funny story for the night. I just finished like six loads of laundry. Finally folded and carted upstairs, I figured it was best to put them directly in the suitcases. So I sat in my princess's room for a good hour packing one bag for our four camping trips (planning to just keep the bags packed, wear them, wash them and pack them right back into the bag again) and Disneyland. Both kids were actually pretty excited to help pack. I had seven nice tees in blues and whites to coordinate with seven blue pants and skorts. Princess kept pulling out fancy dresses and looking sad when I said we would stick with jeans and tees to keep it simple. So fast forward, kids nearly asleep, mom cleaning the bathroom, and a light bulb flashes over my head.
I go into Princess's room where she is laying dozing sucking her thumb (yes, she will kill me someday when she finds out I told everyone she still sucks her thumb at night at age seven.) "Julia, I am so sorry. I just realized that you just may want to wear a fancy party dress to Disneyland because you don't have a princess dress in your size to wear. Just because you are all grown up age seven doesn't mean you are done being a princess."
With a grin she replies, "Do you think I am ten or something? Of course I want to dress up like a princess but play clothes may be better on some of the rides, huh?"
"Well, we will work on some fancy dresses with leggings to wear under them tomorrow."
"Thanks mom. I am just not all that grown up yet."
And the princess sleeps, sucking her thumb and dreaming of fancy princess dresses she could actually fit.
And mom, she savors this moment. It is engraved for use when my daughter does become too old to talk about princesses and will only wear ratty sweat pants and bed slippers to school.
"GO TO DISNEYLAND!"
I am officially in the throughs of planning a trip to Disneyland. I have always wanted to take the kids and this is exactly the right time to do it. They are at a great age, tall enough for most rides, and still young enough to be in love with the fantasy of the glamour that embodies the image of Disney. It is also the perfect time in that I am pretty much going for free. We are using frequent flyer mileage so it is costing $15 in handling fees to fly and whatever they are going to charge me for the one giant bag I will pack all our precious souvenirs (which mom will buy pre-trip at discount...I mean, it all comes from China anyway so it doesn't matter where they are purchased.) The kids and I are also getting into the park for free, because, well, I am connected. My father-in-law will provide shelter on his boat for a couple nights and our cool ride; both of which he is about to sell so this is the last chance. (Thanks for holding off the sale for a couple of weeks.) So this is how you get to Disneyland on $15. The best part of the whole deal is that I sold a quilt and now have over $500 of guilt-free money to spend. I plan to find a little hotel north of San Diego and spend a full day with our toes in the sand. I haven't been there for ten years, but I hope that the pirate ship is still there and the carousel. Of course, the main reason for this excursion is to eat some really good seafood. So if I return ten pounds heavier and the kids are whining that I only fed them PBJs and wouldn't buy them anything because I spent my wad of cash on mermaid food, you will know what they are talking about.
So this brings me to the funny story for the night. I just finished like six loads of laundry. Finally folded and carted upstairs, I figured it was best to put them directly in the suitcases. So I sat in my princess's room for a good hour packing one bag for our four camping trips (planning to just keep the bags packed, wear them, wash them and pack them right back into the bag again) and Disneyland. Both kids were actually pretty excited to help pack. I had seven nice tees in blues and whites to coordinate with seven blue pants and skorts. Princess kept pulling out fancy dresses and looking sad when I said we would stick with jeans and tees to keep it simple. So fast forward, kids nearly asleep, mom cleaning the bathroom, and a light bulb flashes over my head.
I go into Princess's room where she is laying dozing sucking her thumb (yes, she will kill me someday when she finds out I told everyone she still sucks her thumb at night at age seven.) "Julia, I am so sorry. I just realized that you just may want to wear a fancy party dress to Disneyland because you don't have a princess dress in your size to wear. Just because you are all grown up age seven doesn't mean you are done being a princess."
With a grin she replies, "Do you think I am ten or something? Of course I want to dress up like a princess but play clothes may be better on some of the rides, huh?"
"Well, we will work on some fancy dresses with leggings to wear under them tomorrow."
"Thanks mom. I am just not all that grown up yet."
And the princess sleeps, sucking her thumb and dreaming of fancy princess dresses she could actually fit.
And mom, she savors this moment. It is engraved for use when my daughter does become too old to talk about princesses and will only wear ratty sweat pants and bed slippers to school.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Rebuttal
This morning, I enjoyed an hour with two friends sipping lattes and tea. One is a working momma on maternity leave and the other a stay-at-home-dad. The boys played, whined about wanting more juice, and we talked about the various stages of parenting roles we claimed. Mr. Mom of two years shared some wise words. Even though it is frustrating to not be out in the work world bringing home the bacon, talking to people over four feet tall, and basically having goals, he has come to realize that this time is "his" [pointing to his two year old son] time, and it will soon be gone. Mrs. Working Mom chuckled and said, "Hey, maybe you need to hang out with my stay-at-home-dad husband and share your sage ways."
To this, Mr. Mom responded, "Well, it did take me two years to figure this out. Next year, he will start preschool and the whole thing changes."
"Yes," I chimed in. "I had a hard time sticking with nursing my second one. But, I would look at him and say, it is only a few months out of my life so why not stick it out a little longer. And before I knew it, he was at a good weening age."
The conversation went something like that and continued as we discussed that the best way to "get through" tough parenting times was to realize that it was all going to be gone before we know it. Some day not too far off, we will be marking the calendar for the days the when our adult children will come to visit our old bones
So I have to print a rebuttal. Most of my blogs are sappy complaints about the crappy situation my life, physical life, has become. I cycle through three week increments making my next appointments and waiting for another scan to tell me I get a free pass to live a few more months. Yes, this is really hard. People often bemuse on how I do it...how can I be so strong. And, when they figure out that I am probably running around moment to moment in some sort of low state of pain, nausea, headache or combination, they always say, "I couldn't do it with such grace."
To this, I will say, "Yes you could."
I have a great life. My daughter has been asking me lately why I have so many friends. I tell her it is because I smile a lot. Really it is because I give a lot. At least I think I do. Karma is a wonderful thing. I get a lot. I get a lot of love for all the love I share. And that love makes me smile and live just one day longer. I threw my daughter a wonderful birthday party with all her girlfriends. And I bring home my son's buddies for an afternoon of fun after pre-Kindergarten even when I am tired. I am a mom, a stay-at-home-mom, just like you. I praise that the sun came out on field day for my daughter and find joy in buying tickets for my son's gymnastics end of the year show. He asked me if I would make it. I wouldn't miss it for the world (that is as long as my cancer doesn't crap on my parade.) Each night I creep up the stairs in the dark and check on my little ones asleep in their beds. They are beautiful. I cry. I cry each and every night because this moment is fleeting.
Just being a normal ol' parent person, one learns that this moment is very short. Your kids grow up. Your life changes just as much as the day you find out you are pregnant, only slower. And even if things aren't exactly as you pictured it or desired it, it won't last forever. Now, I get to see that more then others. Yes, I think, just like you, that my kids will loose their youth and silly innocence as they grow and prepare to be adults separate from me. I also kiss them every night on the forehead because I know it really could be the last time I get to kiss them.
So I take a rebuttal for my complaints and whining of how awful I feel and how strong I have to pretend to be to survive. Life really is pretty great. It is amazing. I cry every moment I get. I cry joy in the beauty of my children and in the life I created on this Earth.
To this, Mr. Mom responded, "Well, it did take me two years to figure this out. Next year, he will start preschool and the whole thing changes."
"Yes," I chimed in. "I had a hard time sticking with nursing my second one. But, I would look at him and say, it is only a few months out of my life so why not stick it out a little longer. And before I knew it, he was at a good weening age."
The conversation went something like that and continued as we discussed that the best way to "get through" tough parenting times was to realize that it was all going to be gone before we know it. Some day not too far off, we will be marking the calendar for the days the when our adult children will come to visit our old bones
So I have to print a rebuttal. Most of my blogs are sappy complaints about the crappy situation my life, physical life, has become. I cycle through three week increments making my next appointments and waiting for another scan to tell me I get a free pass to live a few more months. Yes, this is really hard. People often bemuse on how I do it...how can I be so strong. And, when they figure out that I am probably running around moment to moment in some sort of low state of pain, nausea, headache or combination, they always say, "I couldn't do it with such grace."
To this, I will say, "Yes you could."
I have a great life. My daughter has been asking me lately why I have so many friends. I tell her it is because I smile a lot. Really it is because I give a lot. At least I think I do. Karma is a wonderful thing. I get a lot. I get a lot of love for all the love I share. And that love makes me smile and live just one day longer. I threw my daughter a wonderful birthday party with all her girlfriends. And I bring home my son's buddies for an afternoon of fun after pre-Kindergarten even when I am tired. I am a mom, a stay-at-home-mom, just like you. I praise that the sun came out on field day for my daughter and find joy in buying tickets for my son's gymnastics end of the year show. He asked me if I would make it. I wouldn't miss it for the world (that is as long as my cancer doesn't crap on my parade.) Each night I creep up the stairs in the dark and check on my little ones asleep in their beds. They are beautiful. I cry. I cry each and every night because this moment is fleeting.
Just being a normal ol' parent person, one learns that this moment is very short. Your kids grow up. Your life changes just as much as the day you find out you are pregnant, only slower. And even if things aren't exactly as you pictured it or desired it, it won't last forever. Now, I get to see that more then others. Yes, I think, just like you, that my kids will loose their youth and silly innocence as they grow and prepare to be adults separate from me. I also kiss them every night on the forehead because I know it really could be the last time I get to kiss them.
So I take a rebuttal for my complaints and whining of how awful I feel and how strong I have to pretend to be to survive. Life really is pretty great. It is amazing. I cry every moment I get. I cry joy in the beauty of my children and in the life I created on this Earth.
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