Look who's 40. Thank you for being the best friend, lover, and partner, as well as birthday buddy. But let's make this the last birthday we wake up apart.
And the offer still stands ... I'll share my full birthdate with you. You can wait til next year to celebrate turning 40.
p.s. Little Warrior says Ribbit.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
I can never tell what will prompt tears
We're in the clinic right now. Counts are good, so we're just waiting for a room. This can take hours. It has already taken hours, and will take more.
Wet eyes today. First, early this morning, when we stopped at the counter downstairs to get a pink-doughnut-with-sprinkles for Little Warrior. All of a sudden, her hair didn't just look thin -- it looked "cancer thin." Wispy and almost bald. And I could tell from the sweet and solicitous looks of the adults around me, they saw it too.
And just a little bit ago ... we were on the elevator. There was a big boy of probably about 10, wailing. As his parents carried him off the elevator, LW said, "Poor boy. Poor boy."
Choke.
A friend of ours, whose daughter is in remission from relapsed Wilms', had her scans yesterday. She gets results today. We're in a different section of the oncology floor. I figure, if I see her (which means she walked back to our section), it's good news. If I don't ... it wasn't.
Whisper up a little prayer, wouldja?
Wet eyes today. First, early this morning, when we stopped at the counter downstairs to get a pink-doughnut-with-sprinkles for Little Warrior. All of a sudden, her hair didn't just look thin -- it looked "cancer thin." Wispy and almost bald. And I could tell from the sweet and solicitous looks of the adults around me, they saw it too.
And just a little bit ago ... we were on the elevator. There was a big boy of probably about 10, wailing. As his parents carried him off the elevator, LW said, "Poor boy. Poor boy."
Choke.
A friend of ours, whose daughter is in remission from relapsed Wilms', had her scans yesterday. She gets results today. We're in a different section of the oncology floor. I figure, if I see her (which means she walked back to our section), it's good news. If I don't ... it wasn't.
Whisper up a little prayer, wouldja?
If you're going to General Assembly ....
Tell some folks about LoveThroughAction.Blogspot.com, 'kay?
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Why Torture Myself?
If I were a priest, I'd probably read Playboy. When I'm on a diet, I do read cookbooks, and not the low-cal ones.
Which all goes to explain why I went to the website for my seminary. Just looking.
On the homepage is the Spring Graduation picture. Couldn't help but wistfully wonder if I will ever be in that picture. Then, I downloaded the Fall schedule. I don't know why. Little Warrior will be in treatment, with hospital stays, through at least October. Not that my mind would be in the right place for classwork.
Of course ... perfect schedule in the Fall. I go to a small seminary, taking night classes. Getting classes I need is hard enough, getting classes I both need and want is a challenge. This Fall, it would have been easy.
Mope, mope, mope.
Well (shaking it off) ... you know, when I did this the last time, I didn't think I would ever go back to seminary, nor want to. So at least I don't have to struggle with that again.
But you'll have to excuse me. I'm going to go find some 19 year old who gets to go to school full-time and doesn't appreciate it. And pinch her.
Which all goes to explain why I went to the website for my seminary. Just looking.
On the homepage is the Spring Graduation picture. Couldn't help but wistfully wonder if I will ever be in that picture. Then, I downloaded the Fall schedule. I don't know why. Little Warrior will be in treatment, with hospital stays, through at least October. Not that my mind would be in the right place for classwork.
Of course ... perfect schedule in the Fall. I go to a small seminary, taking night classes. Getting classes I need is hard enough, getting classes I both need and want is a challenge. This Fall, it would have been easy.
Mope, mope, mope.
Well (shaking it off) ... you know, when I did this the last time, I didn't think I would ever go back to seminary, nor want to. So at least I don't have to struggle with that again.
But you'll have to excuse me. I'm going to go find some 19 year old who gets to go to school full-time and doesn't appreciate it. And pinch her.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Obama's Speech
I'll admit to being confused with the cynicism greeting Barack Obama's Father's Day Speech at a predominantly African American congregation yesterday.
As a student at a predominantly African American seminary, the issue of family and fatherhood is often at the forefront of any conversation about the serious issues we have today in our churches and in society.
In my Ethics classes, we had a prominent minister as a guest speaker first semester and a magistrate judge, second semester. Both were African American. Both spoke to the issue of fatherhood in the A A community.
Of course Obama spoke about this on Father's Day. Right now, he has the kind of popularity and respect to address big issues of the day. He, more than any other man in recent history, has the ability to help define what a "man" is to black young men. To not do so would have been irresponsible.
He acted like a leader, plain and simple.
As a student at a predominantly African American seminary, the issue of family and fatherhood is often at the forefront of any conversation about the serious issues we have today in our churches and in society.
In my Ethics classes, we had a prominent minister as a guest speaker first semester and a magistrate judge, second semester. Both were African American. Both spoke to the issue of fatherhood in the A A community.
Of course Obama spoke about this on Father's Day. Right now, he has the kind of popularity and respect to address big issues of the day. He, more than any other man in recent history, has the ability to help define what a "man" is to black young men. To not do so would have been irresponsible.
He acted like a leader, plain and simple.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Two Fathers
I have two very different fathers in my life. My father, Daddy, and my children's father, The Husband.
When The Husband and I married -- just kids of 21 and 22 -- I would have sworn that the two were as different as night and day. Daddy reflects his southern, Depression-era, Calvinist upbringing. Quite strict, rarely emotional, never effusive. He loves the joke about the married couple, where the wife complains her husband never says, "I love you." The husband says, "I told you I loved you when I married you. If that changes, I'll let you know."
But when he does say, "I love you," to his kids or his wife ... you know he means it.
When my brother was about 4, my father explained to him that men don't hug and kiss. From then on, they shook hands.
He tried this with my son when he was 4, but The Boy just laughed at him, pushed his hand out of the way, and gave him a big hug and kiss. At 12, he still does. And Daddy loves it.
To The Boy, he couldn't hear Pop's words as anything but a joke, because his experience was completely the opposite. His own father was a man, and that man hugs and kisses and cuddles and wrestles and dances. Dances. Even with a big ole 12 year old boy, he'll obediently pick up any kid who requests it, spinning them around madly while they giggle hysterically.
My siblings and I very loved -- love - our father. But there was a good dose of fear mixed in, too. Daddy was The Boss and you didn't talk back, you didn't roll your eyes, and when he wanted something, you didn't walk to get it, you RAN.
My children adore their father and look at me bemused when I ask if they're ever afraid of him. The Boy ponders it ... "Well, if I'm in trouble, I guess ..." He and I discuss it. I use the phrase, "healthy respect," and his face lights up. Yep, that's it.
But at their core, both Daddy and The Husband are very alike. Old-fashioned in some ways, they have a strong sense of duty. They each have a strong opinion about what makes a man A Man. Responsibility. Treating others with respect. Protecting one's spouse and children. "Spouse" is chosen deliberately ... they both have friends with other Men who happen to be gay and don't feel their orientation conflicts with being A Man.
And, though I don't think either one would think to define themselves as such, both are feminists. My sister and I were up on the roof helping Daddy reshingle the garage as much as our brothers. Both Daddy and The Husband are fierce in their belief that their daughters can accomplish anything in life.
I can't write of the two of them without using the word integrity. Their word is their bond, and venturing into any grey areas of ethics isn't something they want to do. They eye askance the whole idea of "justification." They know how easy it is to justify what you want, and are therefore wary about it.
They both love old cowboy novels and that perhaps defines them as much as anything. They metaphorically wear white hats and love women, children and dogs, and expect other people to do right. They know who they are, but don't think that's important. They work hard, talk straight, and help others.
My cowboys.
When The Husband and I married -- just kids of 21 and 22 -- I would have sworn that the two were as different as night and day. Daddy reflects his southern, Depression-era, Calvinist upbringing. Quite strict, rarely emotional, never effusive. He loves the joke about the married couple, where the wife complains her husband never says, "I love you." The husband says, "I told you I loved you when I married you. If that changes, I'll let you know."
But when he does say, "I love you," to his kids or his wife ... you know he means it.
When my brother was about 4, my father explained to him that men don't hug and kiss. From then on, they shook hands.
He tried this with my son when he was 4, but The Boy just laughed at him, pushed his hand out of the way, and gave him a big hug and kiss. At 12, he still does. And Daddy loves it.
To The Boy, he couldn't hear Pop's words as anything but a joke, because his experience was completely the opposite. His own father was a man, and that man hugs and kisses and cuddles and wrestles and dances. Dances. Even with a big ole 12 year old boy, he'll obediently pick up any kid who requests it, spinning them around madly while they giggle hysterically.
My siblings and I very loved -- love - our father. But there was a good dose of fear mixed in, too. Daddy was The Boss and you didn't talk back, you didn't roll your eyes, and when he wanted something, you didn't walk to get it, you RAN.
My children adore their father and look at me bemused when I ask if they're ever afraid of him. The Boy ponders it ... "Well, if I'm in trouble, I guess ..." He and I discuss it. I use the phrase, "healthy respect," and his face lights up. Yep, that's it.
But at their core, both Daddy and The Husband are very alike. Old-fashioned in some ways, they have a strong sense of duty. They each have a strong opinion about what makes a man A Man. Responsibility. Treating others with respect. Protecting one's spouse and children. "Spouse" is chosen deliberately ... they both have friends with other Men who happen to be gay and don't feel their orientation conflicts with being A Man.
And, though I don't think either one would think to define themselves as such, both are feminists. My sister and I were up on the roof helping Daddy reshingle the garage as much as our brothers. Both Daddy and The Husband are fierce in their belief that their daughters can accomplish anything in life.
I can't write of the two of them without using the word integrity. Their word is their bond, and venturing into any grey areas of ethics isn't something they want to do. They eye askance the whole idea of "justification." They know how easy it is to justify what you want, and are therefore wary about it.
They both love old cowboy novels and that perhaps defines them as much as anything. They metaphorically wear white hats and love women, children and dogs, and expect other people to do right. They know who they are, but don't think that's important. They work hard, talk straight, and help others.
My cowboys.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
They Will Know Me By My Tshirts
I wear a lot of tshirts in the hospital. Comfortable, easy to clean, and wrinkles aren't an issue.
Apparently, establishing my identity is also a factor, a detail I realized today when repacking my hospital bag. I have a tshirt from my church, a tshirt from my seminary. I also have my Obama tshirt, but I have opted not to wear it. Finding common ground is more important when you're on the pediatric cancer floor.
I have my Mom tshirt, but I don't take it; it wouldn't really make sense -- "Who Are These Kids and Why Are They Calling Me Mom?"
And just in case you think that this is all an earnest attempt to deny the reality that part of my identity is Mom of a Cancer Kid ... this shirt, I do take:
Apparently, establishing my identity is also a factor, a detail I realized today when repacking my hospital bag. I have a tshirt from my church, a tshirt from my seminary. I also have my Obama tshirt, but I have opted not to wear it. Finding common ground is more important when you're on the pediatric cancer floor.
I have my Mom tshirt, but I don't take it; it wouldn't really make sense -- "Who Are These Kids and Why Are They Calling Me Mom?"
And just in case you think that this is all an earnest attempt to deny the reality that part of my identity is Mom of a Cancer Kid ... this shirt, I do take:
Friday, June 13, 2008
Why I Don't Support Locks of Love
Okay, I've been meaning to write this post for a couple of years, but it seems like someone has always just cut their hair and donated it to Locks of Love, and I really didn't want to offend anyone, or make them feel bad.
Buck up, Lizard Eater. Tell 'em how you feel.
I love the idea of donating your hair to a charity. It's something so meaningful -- you're donating a part of yourself! And we girls, well, we've been raised on this notion. It's Della in Gift of the Magi and Jo in Little Women. It's putting someone else before your own vanity. It's lovely.
My problem with Locks of Love is that I think most people who donate are doing it under false assumptions:
a) Their hair will be used to make a wig
b) Their hair will be used to make a wig for a child with cancer
c) Their hair will be used to make a wig for a child with cancer, donating it to them for free
Now then:
a) Chances are good that your hair is either sold to a wigmaker or thrown away. (I read somewhere, but sorry, can't remember the source, that most American hair isn't good for wigs because we wash it all the time, use hairdryers, etc.)
b) The primary purpose of Locks of Love is children with alopecia. They donate their wigs to children with permanent hairloss, not the temporary loss caused by chemotherapy.
c) Not necessarily. For many, they are sold on a sliding-fee basis. One sends in an application, tax returns, medical diagnosis and two letters of recommendation.
Unlike some, I don't consider Locks of Love to be a scam. If you donated, you did a good thing. Children with alopecia deserve something that will make them feel more normal. (Although, maybe it's the Universalist in me, but I have an issue with requiring two letters of recommendation just for something to feel like you're a normal kid. But that's me.)
My problem is that there is a wide chasm between what people think Locks of Love does and the reality. Verisimilitude! This is one case where you can "blame the media" who don't even do the most basic investigation -- I mean, most of this information is on Locks of Love's own website. But the media continue to promote misinformation, such as in this article:
1) Donate it to Wigs for Kids.
2) To donate it for an adult going through chemo, donate to Pantene's Beautiful Lengths.
3) Best yet: Sell it and donate the proceeds to CureSearch.
Buck up, Lizard Eater. Tell 'em how you feel.
I love the idea of donating your hair to a charity. It's something so meaningful -- you're donating a part of yourself! And we girls, well, we've been raised on this notion. It's Della in Gift of the Magi and Jo in Little Women. It's putting someone else before your own vanity. It's lovely.
My problem with Locks of Love is that I think most people who donate are doing it under false assumptions:
a) Their hair will be used to make a wig
b) Their hair will be used to make a wig for a child with cancer
c) Their hair will be used to make a wig for a child with cancer, donating it to them for free
Now then:
a) Chances are good that your hair is either sold to a wigmaker or thrown away. (I read somewhere, but sorry, can't remember the source, that most American hair isn't good for wigs because we wash it all the time, use hairdryers, etc.)
b) The primary purpose of Locks of Love is children with alopecia. They donate their wigs to children with permanent hairloss, not the temporary loss caused by chemotherapy.
c) Not necessarily. For many, they are sold on a sliding-fee basis. One sends in an application, tax returns, medical diagnosis and two letters of recommendation.
Unlike some, I don't consider Locks of Love to be a scam. If you donated, you did a good thing. Children with alopecia deserve something that will make them feel more normal. (Although, maybe it's the Universalist in me, but I have an issue with requiring two letters of recommendation just for something to feel like you're a normal kid. But that's me.)
My problem is that there is a wide chasm between what people think Locks of Love does and the reality. Verisimilitude! This is one case where you can "blame the media" who don't even do the most basic investigation -- I mean, most of this information is on Locks of Love's own website. But the media continue to promote misinformation, such as in this article:
"...he and several members of their Unitarian congregation decided to grow their hair for Locks of Love. The nonprofit organization provides wigs for children who lose their hair during chemotherapy."So, if you have long hair and you specifically want to help kids with cancer, what to do? Well, I have some answers.
1) Donate it to Wigs for Kids.
2) To donate it for an adult going through chemo, donate to Pantene's Beautiful Lengths.
3) Best yet: Sell it and donate the proceeds to CureSearch.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Oh, the Universe Loves to Laugh
At me.
As I drove LW to her chemo appt today, I was mentally writing a blog entry titled -- no lie -- "I don't believe in unicorns anymore." All about how I used to be a fanciful person, unicorns, fairies and teddy bears, but reality has shown me something different.
And then I turn on MSNBC and see ...
A real, live, unicorn.
The Universe. Unfolding more and more lessons every day.
As I drove LW to her chemo appt today, I was mentally writing a blog entry titled -- no lie -- "I don't believe in unicorns anymore." All about how I used to be a fanciful person, unicorns, fairies and teddy bears, but reality has shown me something different.
And then I turn on MSNBC and see ...
A real, live, unicorn.The Universe. Unfolding more and more lessons every day.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Bo Peep Keeps It Real
My middle daughter, third youngest child, turns 6 today.
Bo Peep is a wonder to me. She's the only one who looks like me, but she's not at all a mini-me. This kid is her ownself, carefully navigating her way through siblings and school and big scary dogs and cancer. She loves vegetables. Vegetables! She'd rather have a bag of broccoli than a bag of chocolate chip cookies.
Starting school this year, it was like watching a bloom appear on a bush that you already really liked, but had no idea it flowered.
She was -- is -- very shy. Kindergarten was completely overwhelming at first. The second day of school, I walked her to class and she clung to me, sobbing. I cried, too. I wanted, more than anything, to just scoop her up and take her home.
But she got used to school, and fell in love with it. Her teacher fell madly in love with her, as does everyone who gets to know her. Including (sigh) boys. A few months in, I was chatting with another mom and she said, "Oh! I know your daughter! At Michael's birthday party, all the moms (all-boy party) were talking about how their sons have crushes on Bo Peep."
Thankfully, she doesn't return the feeling. Yet.
One of the really neat things that blossomed in Bo Peep this year was a tremendous sense of humor. She is so FUNNY! She uses her truly angelic-looking face to twist into grimaces and monkey faces and characters. She sees silliness as an art form.
She was three when Little Warrior was first diagnosed with cancer. As such, she's basically always known cancer. It doesn't strike fear in her heart, it's just a pain in the butt. Cancer means having to wash your hands all the time, and seeing more of relatives, and not being able to have other kids come in the house and play. And then you get over it and life gets back to normal.
The Boy and The Princess both are more gentle in how they treat Little Warrior; they tend to more often give her what she wants.
Not Bo Peep. Puh on that! As far as she is concerned, her sister still acts the same ... she still likes to play Polly Pockets and have tea parties and watch Dora. She still grabs toys away and yowls when she doesn't get her way. So 'Peep cuts her no slack. That's a good thing.
I've got to go now, and frost her birthday cake. It is -- of course -- carrot. Happy Birthday, Bo Peep.
Bo Peep is a wonder to me. She's the only one who looks like me, but she's not at all a mini-me. This kid is her ownself, carefully navigating her way through siblings and school and big scary dogs and cancer. She loves vegetables. Vegetables! She'd rather have a bag of broccoli than a bag of chocolate chip cookies.
Starting school this year, it was like watching a bloom appear on a bush that you already really liked, but had no idea it flowered.
She was -- is -- very shy. Kindergarten was completely overwhelming at first. The second day of school, I walked her to class and she clung to me, sobbing. I cried, too. I wanted, more than anything, to just scoop her up and take her home.
But she got used to school, and fell in love with it. Her teacher fell madly in love with her, as does everyone who gets to know her. Including (sigh) boys. A few months in, I was chatting with another mom and she said, "Oh! I know your daughter! At Michael's birthday party, all the moms (all-boy party) were talking about how their sons have crushes on Bo Peep."
Thankfully, she doesn't return the feeling. Yet.
One of the really neat things that blossomed in Bo Peep this year was a tremendous sense of humor. She is so FUNNY! She uses her truly angelic-looking face to twist into grimaces and monkey faces and characters. She sees silliness as an art form.
She was three when Little Warrior was first diagnosed with cancer. As such, she's basically always known cancer. It doesn't strike fear in her heart, it's just a pain in the butt. Cancer means having to wash your hands all the time, and seeing more of relatives, and not being able to have other kids come in the house and play. And then you get over it and life gets back to normal.
The Boy and The Princess both are more gentle in how they treat Little Warrior; they tend to more often give her what she wants.
Not Bo Peep. Puh on that! As far as she is concerned, her sister still acts the same ... she still likes to play Polly Pockets and have tea parties and watch Dora. She still grabs toys away and yowls when she doesn't get her way. So 'Peep cuts her no slack. That's a good thing.
I've got to go now, and frost her birthday cake. It is -- of course -- carrot. Happy Birthday, Bo Peep.
Monday, June 09, 2008
Oh, SNAP! Bill Moyers Turns Tables on FOX producer
Don't tell The Husband, but I might be a little bit in love with Bill Moyers. (It's okay, The Husband is a little bit in love with Christiane Amanpour.)
Found this on Huffington Post. A Fox News producer, Porter Barry, tries to ambush Bill Moyers, and the Southern Gentleman completely turns it around. Also enjoyable: seeing reporters chase down Barry, as he departs, tail between legs.
Found this on Huffington Post. A Fox News producer, Porter Barry, tries to ambush Bill Moyers, and the Southern Gentleman completely turns it around. Also enjoyable: seeing reporters chase down Barry, as he departs, tail between legs.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
The Little Stresses We ALL Have
Okay, first of all ... no need for apologies for complaining about petty stuff on MY account. As UUMomma said to me, we're not in a competition. Yeah, it's nice to think that Big Things Like This put everything into perspective, but they don't always. Even if you're sitting in the ICU with someone you love, it still hurts when you flip Entertainment Weekly the wrong way and get a paper cut. Yowch.
I mean, I'm right in the big muddy of it, and what is stressing me out? The fact that I have to find 100% free speakers for our church (preachers and talkers, not stereo equipment) and the fact that my house is a mess and the fact that I really need to do laundry and the fact that I had a filling fall out of my mouth last night, so I somehow have to figure out how to go to the dentist, and sooner rather than later.
So me? Perspective? Right at the moment, not really.
And that's okay. Because life goes on. Obladi oblada.
I mean, I'm right in the big muddy of it, and what is stressing me out? The fact that I have to find 100% free speakers for our church (preachers and talkers, not stereo equipment) and the fact that my house is a mess and the fact that I really need to do laundry and the fact that I had a filling fall out of my mouth last night, so I somehow have to figure out how to go to the dentist, and sooner rather than later.
So me? Perspective? Right at the moment, not really.
And that's okay. Because life goes on. Obladi oblada.
Friday, June 06, 2008
The Prayer in My Soul
A question that has been asked in several forms and by several people during the last few months has concerned Unitarian Universalism and personal crisis. What do we turn to, what gives us strength?
Well, like everything personal in this religion, we each have to find our own answers.
For me, I continue to find heart-healing in this faith. On the way to clinic or the hospital, I have been listening to Spirit of Life, sung by the Orange County Unitarian Universalist choir. (See iTunes.)
For me, Carolyn McDade's song is more than a hymn. It is a prayer that resonates deep in my soul. Quite simply, it keeps me going. It helps with the whole putting one-foot-in-front-of-the-other thing.
Here's what it means to me:
Spirit of Life, come unto me.
Come to me, God, the Universe, Transcending Mystery. It is so hard to hear your voice right now. Through these hurricane gusts and hailstorms of questions, sometimes all I can hear is a roar.
Sing in my heart all the stirrings of compassion,
Those who think of us, pray for us – help me to feel the love they send. Open my eyes to those around me who need my thoughts, my prayers. Exchange the bitterness in my soul for love and gratitude.
Blow in the wind, rise in the sea;
I can’t tell where I’ll be when the pain will come; as I go, step by step, on this road, the hurt comes when least expected, the confusion when I expect to feel calm. May that connection to All That Is, come also from the unexpected.
Move in the hand, giving life the shape of justice.
Take my hands, my voice, and give them the direction to do what is right. To not be blinded by my pain to the pain of others; may my hands help someone else to carry their burdens.
Roots hold me close; wings set me free:
May I turn to those I love, finding joy and comfort in them. Let me draw strength from the places I have already been and my own core spirit. Help me to escape that which drags me down, to see hope, to see the future, to see an unencumbered day.
Spirit of life, come to me, come to me.
Hold me. Hold me.
Well, like everything personal in this religion, we each have to find our own answers.
For me, I continue to find heart-healing in this faith. On the way to clinic or the hospital, I have been listening to Spirit of Life, sung by the Orange County Unitarian Universalist choir. (See iTunes.)
For me, Carolyn McDade's song is more than a hymn. It is a prayer that resonates deep in my soul. Quite simply, it keeps me going. It helps with the whole putting one-foot-in-front-of-the-other thing.
Here's what it means to me:
Spirit of Life, come unto me.
Come to me, God, the Universe, Transcending Mystery. It is so hard to hear your voice right now. Through these hurricane gusts and hailstorms of questions, sometimes all I can hear is a roar.
Sing in my heart all the stirrings of compassion,
Those who think of us, pray for us – help me to feel the love they send. Open my eyes to those around me who need my thoughts, my prayers. Exchange the bitterness in my soul for love and gratitude.
Blow in the wind, rise in the sea;
I can’t tell where I’ll be when the pain will come; as I go, step by step, on this road, the hurt comes when least expected, the confusion when I expect to feel calm. May that connection to All That Is, come also from the unexpected.
Move in the hand, giving life the shape of justice.
Take my hands, my voice, and give them the direction to do what is right. To not be blinded by my pain to the pain of others; may my hands help someone else to carry their burdens.
Roots hold me close; wings set me free:
May I turn to those I love, finding joy and comfort in them. Let me draw strength from the places I have already been and my own core spirit. Help me to escape that which drags me down, to see hope, to see the future, to see an unencumbered day.
Spirit of life, come to me, come to me.
Hold me. Hold me.
Stick to your specialty
Little vent here ... if you're not a friend, and not a religious/counseling/therapy professional, don't share your "wisdom" with someone going through something outside your experience.
Case: just got off the phone with a nurse from our insurance company. Apparently if you're going through a Really Big Thing, a nurse calls to see if you're getting what you need, healthcare-wise. Asks questions about diagnosis and treatment. Fair enough.
But, not once, but multiple times, she felt the need to offer editorial comment on non-medical issues. Like how children going through this seem to somehow understand more than we adults do, (ha*!). Or this gem:
Nurse: Well, how are your other children doing with all this?
Me: Well, it's hard. They're having to give up a lot -- vacation, summer camp, birthday parties (because of germs).
Nurse: Well, I'm sure that their little sister is their top priority and they understand why this is all necessary and they understand that this isn't forever.
Really? Really? Okay, in addition to the fact that you don't have personal experience with siblings and cancer, you apparently also have no experience with children, period. They love their sister, but this morning (first day of summer vacation), my almost-6 year old wants to go to the pool. And can't understand that her sister is neutropenic and so we can't go to the grocery store, let alone immerse ourselves in water along with tons of other individuals who might be sniffling, scratching a rash, etc.
In any case, this nurse did, once again, remind me of the #1, most important tip for pastoral care:
Shut up.
* BS. If that were true, I wouldn't be having to spend so much time trying to explain to LW why we have to go there, why I let them "poke" her, why why why. And she wouldn't be trying to "normalize" this through applying it to others, such as saying that her big brother was a baby when he got cancer. "No, honey, he never had cancer." Well, The Princess was a baby when she had cancer. "No, honey, she never had it." Well, my mama was a baby when she had cancer. "No, honey, I never had cancer. Only you."
But of course, this all stems from the erroneous belief that only saintly little children, wise for their age, get life-threating diseases. Because if that's the case, then we don't have to worry about our own little brats.
Case: just got off the phone with a nurse from our insurance company. Apparently if you're going through a Really Big Thing, a nurse calls to see if you're getting what you need, healthcare-wise. Asks questions about diagnosis and treatment. Fair enough.
But, not once, but multiple times, she felt the need to offer editorial comment on non-medical issues. Like how children going through this seem to somehow understand more than we adults do, (ha*!). Or this gem:
Nurse: Well, how are your other children doing with all this?
Me: Well, it's hard. They're having to give up a lot -- vacation, summer camp, birthday parties (because of germs).
Nurse: Well, I'm sure that their little sister is their top priority and they understand why this is all necessary and they understand that this isn't forever.
Really? Really? Okay, in addition to the fact that you don't have personal experience with siblings and cancer, you apparently also have no experience with children, period. They love their sister, but this morning (first day of summer vacation), my almost-6 year old wants to go to the pool. And can't understand that her sister is neutropenic and so we can't go to the grocery store, let alone immerse ourselves in water along with tons of other individuals who might be sniffling, scratching a rash, etc.
In any case, this nurse did, once again, remind me of the #1, most important tip for pastoral care:
Shut up.
* BS. If that were true, I wouldn't be having to spend so much time trying to explain to LW why we have to go there, why I let them "poke" her, why why why. And she wouldn't be trying to "normalize" this through applying it to others, such as saying that her big brother was a baby when he got cancer. "No, honey, he never had cancer." Well, The Princess was a baby when she had cancer. "No, honey, she never had it." Well, my mama was a baby when she had cancer. "No, honey, I never had cancer. Only you."
But of course, this all stems from the erroneous belief that only saintly little children, wise for their age, get life-threating diseases. Because if that's the case, then we don't have to worry about our own little brats.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Turn the blender on "blitz"
I am just a Cuisinart of emotions and thoughts and I need to accept that. And I need to accept that my brain is operating at, oh, 50% power. On a good day.
Like yesterday afternoon, when I had to call up my parents, who were supposed to come over for dinner, and explain that I had double-booked my evening. Or today, when I did the mental math of figuring out what time I needed to leave my house to get to the clinic and somehow made 1:00 pm appointment and 1 hour 15 minute drive = 12:15.
Up down turn around ... my double booking was to go see Sex and the City with my girls, my posse, my tribe. Whoo-hoo!
But was there a weird vibe? Were people mad at me or tired of me, or am I just wack? ("Wackity wackity wack," said the BFF-DRE.)
Got in late, up early to get the kids off for their last day of school. Last day of school! Whoo-hoo!
Had to say goodbye to AdventureGirl, who has given us a deck, labor, babysitting, and a month and half of her life. And so much more.
The Boy is going to tell a particular girl today, "I like you. May I have your phone number so I can call you this summer?" We practiced this about 675 times. He admitted to being petrified. I reminded him that he was smart and capable -- "Remember, you helped build the deck last weekend. You even used the drill!" And he proved that he can Speak Truth:
"Mom, power tools are much easier than girls."
I think that all the grown men I know would corroborate that statement.
Get to the clinic in time. Art project going on, yay. See a parent that I talked to about 6 months ago. Back then, even with a language barrier, she seemed to take great relief in me telling her merrily that yes, LW had had cancer, but she was fine now.
She spotted me, and smiled. Asked how LW was. I shrugged a bit and admitted relapse. She looked so shocked. I asked about her toddler daughter. She said relapse, too. I asked what they were doing -- chemo, radiation?
She said, "Nothing." There is nothing left to do.
We cried together.
LW has lost another couple of ounces, normal. I have begun giving her half-and-half when she asks for milk to drink. I've given up any hopes of losing weight and instead am merely hoping not to gain.
Now, she's been accessed. Such a mild term for "punching a needle through your skin into your port." They give us a cream that is supposed to numb the skin, rendering it painless. I'm pretty sure it's just a placebo for parents. LW is 100% sure.
One gets tired of holding one's child still so someone can cause her pain.
After clinic, we'll pop over to the HOV lane to get home fast. My parents will be there, bringing dinner with them. They will watch, bemused, as the children and I wildly dance to Alice Cooper's School's Out, our tradition for the last day of school. Later, we'll probably go out for ice cream, also our tradition. Rather than an ice cream shop, we'll go to a stand with a walk-up window and eat in the car. Less of a chance of germs.
Obladi oblada.
Like yesterday afternoon, when I had to call up my parents, who were supposed to come over for dinner, and explain that I had double-booked my evening. Or today, when I did the mental math of figuring out what time I needed to leave my house to get to the clinic and somehow made 1:00 pm appointment and 1 hour 15 minute drive = 12:15.
Up down turn around ... my double booking was to go see Sex and the City with my girls, my posse, my tribe. Whoo-hoo!
But was there a weird vibe? Were people mad at me or tired of me, or am I just wack? ("Wackity wackity wack," said the BFF-DRE.)
Got in late, up early to get the kids off for their last day of school. Last day of school! Whoo-hoo!
Had to say goodbye to AdventureGirl, who has given us a deck, labor, babysitting, and a month and half of her life. And so much more.
The Boy is going to tell a particular girl today, "I like you. May I have your phone number so I can call you this summer?" We practiced this about 675 times. He admitted to being petrified. I reminded him that he was smart and capable -- "Remember, you helped build the deck last weekend. You even used the drill!" And he proved that he can Speak Truth:
"Mom, power tools are much easier than girls."
I think that all the grown men I know would corroborate that statement.
Get to the clinic in time. Art project going on, yay. See a parent that I talked to about 6 months ago. Back then, even with a language barrier, she seemed to take great relief in me telling her merrily that yes, LW had had cancer, but she was fine now.
She spotted me, and smiled. Asked how LW was. I shrugged a bit and admitted relapse. She looked so shocked. I asked about her toddler daughter. She said relapse, too. I asked what they were doing -- chemo, radiation?
She said, "Nothing." There is nothing left to do.
We cried together.
LW has lost another couple of ounces, normal. I have begun giving her half-and-half when she asks for milk to drink. I've given up any hopes of losing weight and instead am merely hoping not to gain.
Now, she's been accessed. Such a mild term for "punching a needle through your skin into your port." They give us a cream that is supposed to numb the skin, rendering it painless. I'm pretty sure it's just a placebo for parents. LW is 100% sure.
One gets tired of holding one's child still so someone can cause her pain.
After clinic, we'll pop over to the HOV lane to get home fast. My parents will be there, bringing dinner with them. They will watch, bemused, as the children and I wildly dance to Alice Cooper's School's Out, our tradition for the last day of school. Later, we'll probably go out for ice cream, also our tradition. Rather than an ice cream shop, we'll go to a stand with a walk-up window and eat in the car. Less of a chance of germs.
Obladi oblada.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Blood
We should be leaving here in about an hour, going for home, but right now Little Warrior is snoozing while red blood is being pumped into her.
Not unusual -- after this round of high-duty chemo, her hemoglobin was low, so we're punching it up with some fresh blood.
Blood, I tell you. BLOOD. Someone else's blood is going into my baby's body. (Actually, several someone elses.)
I'm just agog, in awe of the significance of this. Someone went down to the blood drive, or blood mobile or what have you, rolled up their sleeve, and now their blood is going into LW's body.
She was a bit grey this morning. Now, her cheeks have pinked up. According to the head nurse-practitioner over here, it'll give her lots of energy. According to a cancer-parent-friend of mine who dropped by today, "Yeah, it'll give her energy. She'll be up til midnight."
Um, can I get a shooter of that?
I can't give blood, which bugs me to no end. I wanna be part of the cycle! If you can, and if you do ...
Thank you.
Not unusual -- after this round of high-duty chemo, her hemoglobin was low, so we're punching it up with some fresh blood.
Blood, I tell you. BLOOD. Someone else's blood is going into my baby's body. (Actually, several someone elses.)
I'm just agog, in awe of the significance of this. Someone went down to the blood drive, or blood mobile or what have you, rolled up their sleeve, and now their blood is going into LW's body.
She was a bit grey this morning. Now, her cheeks have pinked up. According to the head nurse-practitioner over here, it'll give her lots of energy. According to a cancer-parent-friend of mine who dropped by today, "Yeah, it'll give her energy. She'll be up til midnight."
Um, can I get a shooter of that?
I can't give blood, which bugs me to no end. I wanna be part of the cycle! If you can, and if you do ...
Thank you.
Monday, June 02, 2008
Only a mother would say
There are certain things that only a mother would say. I mean, that's the great thing about us moms. Maybe you've scaled a mountain, or won an Oscar, or invented the internet, but Mom'll still say, "Yeah, but remember when you were 12 and you put a hammer in the microwave?"
I'm guilty. I'm that kind of Mom. Really, I'm horrible. Ask The Boy. He was trying to open a bottle of mustard and being boneheaded about it (according to my friend SinglePowerMom), and he laughed and said, "Well, Mom's always asking how is it that I'm in GT classes?" (gifted and talented).
Okay, so I shrank 3 feet when she retold this, laughing. But shamefaced, I was laughing, too. Well, they have to have something to tell their therapists when they grow up.
Anyway, we were coming back from the floor playroom and Little Warrior started to climb into her bed. "You don't need to climb back in bed," I fussed. "You're not sick, you just have cancer."
Send those therapy checks to ...
Oh, and I'm sure she'll kill me when she's a teenager, but check out the latest video on Love Through Action. She says, "I fahhted." Tee-hee.
Lizard Eater. Embarrassing children since 1995.
I'm guilty. I'm that kind of Mom. Really, I'm horrible. Ask The Boy. He was trying to open a bottle of mustard and being boneheaded about it (according to my friend SinglePowerMom), and he laughed and said, "Well, Mom's always asking how is it that I'm in GT classes?" (gifted and talented).
Okay, so I shrank 3 feet when she retold this, laughing. But shamefaced, I was laughing, too. Well, they have to have something to tell their therapists when they grow up.
Anyway, we were coming back from the floor playroom and Little Warrior started to climb into her bed. "You don't need to climb back in bed," I fussed. "You're not sick, you just have cancer."
Send those therapy checks to ...
Oh, and I'm sure she'll kill me when she's a teenager, but check out the latest video on Love Through Action. She says, "I fahhted." Tee-hee.
Lizard Eater. Embarrassing children since 1995.
Benefitting from cancer
Last Time Around, probably one of the biggest spiritual issues with me, one that I internally, externally, and vociferously railed about, was the concept that Little Warrior getting cancer would in any way benefit the world, let alone me, personally.
Rather soon after her initial diagnosis, someone said to me that this would make me a better minister.
Which just goes to show that "message" is not as important, sometimes, as "messenger." Because I did not take this well, and not only did it not bring me comfort, it probably precipitated ice-cold atheism running through my veins. Oh yeah? She is suffering so that I can learn? I suck so bad as a potential minister, I need my baby daughter to get cancer in order to form me into an acceptable candidate? The Universe operates in such a way that she will be sacrificed so that I can better help others, some day? The world will be a better place, because she got cancer???
It's all in the delivery; all in the messenger.
So last time around, I flatly refused for anything good to come of this. Because it felt like there was a backward message: that if something good came from it, that therefore was the cause.
Which isn't logical, but it's a pretty common fallacy. "See, it all happened for a reason!" (Just talk to Pastor Hagee.)
I found a way to make my peace with that. Because the truth is, we can learn and grow through every experience. That doesn't mean the experience was the only way for us to learn the lesson; it doesn't mean that lesson was worth it. And it definitely doesn't mean the lesson caused the event from which it sprang.
Still and all, though, it's hard. If I were the one with cancer, well heck, I would be the one paying the price, so any "benefit" I could get from it, bring it on!
When it's your child who has cancer, that just doesn't work.
This last week, my darling sister-in-law, AdventureGirl, brought one of her superfriends down and they planned out -- and purchased -- a deck for our backyard. She's very outdoorsy (she's a little boy, she'd rather sleep on the cold hard grown with bugs crawling all over here than be in a luxurious four-poster featherbed) and it was just killing her, having to tell Little Warrior, "No, you can't go out. The sun is still up." So, she decided LW needed a deck, pronto, with a popup screened gazebo, which she also purchased.
This weekend, friends of ours came over to help with the laboring. There's still work to be done, but we are almost in possession of a fabulous deck that will apparently outlast our actual house.
We have a deck! A fabulous, sturdy deck!
And it's because LW has cancer again.
You see the problem.
So, I think I've made peace, and for the most part I have, but it's still a struggle. This experience does bring with it some positives. We're getting to see more of family than normal. We get to meet really amazing people. All of us, friends and family, are more willing to speak of our love for each other.
And walnut butter. I mentioned the walnut butter, right?
And now, we've flat leaped into making lemon pie, with Love Through Action. Let the world benefit, in some small way, from this spunky, funny kid fighting cancer.
Because I know, and am peaceful with, the fact that no deck, no good deed, nothing othing wothing ... makes it worth it.
Rather soon after her initial diagnosis, someone said to me that this would make me a better minister.
Which just goes to show that "message" is not as important, sometimes, as "messenger." Because I did not take this well, and not only did it not bring me comfort, it probably precipitated ice-cold atheism running through my veins. Oh yeah? She is suffering so that I can learn? I suck so bad as a potential minister, I need my baby daughter to get cancer in order to form me into an acceptable candidate? The Universe operates in such a way that she will be sacrificed so that I can better help others, some day? The world will be a better place, because she got cancer???
It's all in the delivery; all in the messenger.
So last time around, I flatly refused for anything good to come of this. Because it felt like there was a backward message: that if something good came from it, that therefore was the cause.
Which isn't logical, but it's a pretty common fallacy. "See, it all happened for a reason!" (Just talk to Pastor Hagee.)
I found a way to make my peace with that. Because the truth is, we can learn and grow through every experience. That doesn't mean the experience was the only way for us to learn the lesson; it doesn't mean that lesson was worth it. And it definitely doesn't mean the lesson caused the event from which it sprang.
Still and all, though, it's hard. If I were the one with cancer, well heck, I would be the one paying the price, so any "benefit" I could get from it, bring it on!
When it's your child who has cancer, that just doesn't work.
This last week, my darling sister-in-law, AdventureGirl, brought one of her superfriends down and they planned out -- and purchased -- a deck for our backyard. She's very outdoorsy (she's a little boy, she'd rather sleep on the cold hard grown with bugs crawling all over here than be in a luxurious four-poster featherbed) and it was just killing her, having to tell Little Warrior, "No, you can't go out. The sun is still up." So, she decided LW needed a deck, pronto, with a popup screened gazebo, which she also purchased.
This weekend, friends of ours came over to help with the laboring. There's still work to be done, but we are almost in possession of a fabulous deck that will apparently outlast our actual house.
We have a deck! A fabulous, sturdy deck!
And it's because LW has cancer again.
You see the problem.
So, I think I've made peace, and for the most part I have, but it's still a struggle. This experience does bring with it some positives. We're getting to see more of family than normal. We get to meet really amazing people. All of us, friends and family, are more willing to speak of our love for each other.
And walnut butter. I mentioned the walnut butter, right?
And now, we've flat leaped into making lemon pie, with Love Through Action. Let the world benefit, in some small way, from this spunky, funny kid fighting cancer.
Because I know, and am peaceful with, the fact that no deck, no good deed, nothing othing wothing ... makes it worth it.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Yearning for December
We've never had a cancer Christmas. I mean, technically, we did. LW's first Christmas, she had cancer. But we didn't know it. We were blissfully ignorant, happily innocent.
If all goes well (knockwoodpleaseGod), we should be done with chemo in October. Maybe November, if we've had to put off some chemos for low counts. But hopefully, we will be done by December. Hopefully, scans will be clear, she'll be off-chemo, things can be normal, by December.
As longtime Lizard-Eater-Readers know, I am a nut in December. Christmas, Chanukah, Solstice, Festivus, I love it all. The music, the food, the shopping, the holiday cards, bring it on.
Can you imagine how happily insane I'll be this December?
Occasionally, a bit of Christmas drops into my reality. The anesthesiology doctor giving us the tree made of propofol bottles. Or a tv station running a Christmas episode of something. Or a preview of a Christmas movie at the start of a kids' video. I get that whiff of a carol, and my heart lifts, Pavlovian.
It is June 1. And I am yearning for December.
If all goes well (knockwoodpleaseGod), we should be done with chemo in October. Maybe November, if we've had to put off some chemos for low counts. But hopefully, we will be done by December. Hopefully, scans will be clear, she'll be off-chemo, things can be normal, by December.
As longtime Lizard-Eater-Readers know, I am a nut in December. Christmas, Chanukah, Solstice, Festivus, I love it all. The music, the food, the shopping, the holiday cards, bring it on.
Can you imagine how happily insane I'll be this December?
Occasionally, a bit of Christmas drops into my reality. The anesthesiology doctor giving us the tree made of propofol bottles. Or a tv station running a Christmas episode of something. Or a preview of a Christmas movie at the start of a kids' video. I get that whiff of a carol, and my heart lifts, Pavlovian.
It is June 1. And I am yearning for December.
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