Tuesday, September 05, 2006
White Girls With Dry Hair ...
... go immediately to the ethnic section of your area Tar-mart (whichever) and pick up a bottle of "Creme of Nature" hair conditioner. Do not just get any ethnic conditioner, as some have vaseline and such in them, get "Creme of Nature." Marvelous. Butter-soft hair, whatever that means, but you'll say the same thing after use. Good shampoo, I've heard, too.
If You Give a Family Some Leisure Time ...
Okay. Obviously, the Lizard Eater family doesn't do too well on our own.
The holiday weekend saw:
* The Princess, attempting to execute a turn on her bicycle, go face-first into the curb. Amazingly, no teeth knocked, no broken bones, no stitches. But she looks like she was in a bar fight.
* Our tv go dead, dead, dead as a doornail. Quick research said that it would cost $200 bucks each way to ship it for repair, and they might not even be able to fix it. Planned f-ing obsolescence. So, en masse, we went to Best Buy (love that 0% interest/3 years) and joined the plasma generation.
-- Have you ever read, "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie"?--
I had already done the research, knew the make and model of what we wanted, knew they had it in stock. Easy in and out, right?
"It's HDTV. You want to get a high def signal, right?"
Eh, nah.
"Well, do you already have Directv?"
Yeah.
"It's just 9.95 forthe high def signal ... and we give you an instant $200 off the price."
Oh. Okay, then.
No problem, and a nice little perk, right? Except we also have tivo, so we had to upgrade to a HD tivo. Back and forth with Directv about the money issue on this, and scheduling, and whatsiswhatforaaaaaargh!
It was at this time that I got a brilliant idea. We have an old teeny tv in a closet. I've got a metal coat hanger. Tv and antenna. Eureka!
No one liked my idea.
Anyway, an hour and a half later, we walked out with the tv and an appointment for service and some cranky kids. Got home, set up the tv and realized.
Now I need a cabinet to put it on.
Okay, now where was I? Oh, yes, one more thing:
* The Husband injuring himself.
We freecycled the old tv, offering up its broken self for someone who knows how to fix tvs. Got a taker. It's about 200 lbs, so The Husband graciously helped him get it in the car. That actually went okay, but when The Husband was exiting the car, the cord somehow wrapped itself around his ankle and he went flying, catching himself on his wrists, and hurting his elbow. He's now waiting for an MRI.
Back to school, back to work. We don't do well with free time. We obviously need supervision at all times.
The holiday weekend saw:
* The Princess, attempting to execute a turn on her bicycle, go face-first into the curb. Amazingly, no teeth knocked, no broken bones, no stitches. But she looks like she was in a bar fight.
* Our tv go dead, dead, dead as a doornail. Quick research said that it would cost $200 bucks each way to ship it for repair, and they might not even be able to fix it. Planned f-ing obsolescence. So, en masse, we went to Best Buy (love that 0% interest/3 years) and joined the plasma generation.
-- Have you ever read, "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie"?--
I had already done the research, knew the make and model of what we wanted, knew they had it in stock. Easy in and out, right?
"It's HDTV. You want to get a high def signal, right?"
Eh, nah.
"Well, do you already have Directv?"
Yeah.
"It's just 9.95 forthe high def signal ... and we give you an instant $200 off the price."
Oh. Okay, then.
No problem, and a nice little perk, right? Except we also have tivo, so we had to upgrade to a HD tivo. Back and forth with Directv about the money issue on this, and scheduling, and whatsiswhatforaaaaaargh!
It was at this time that I got a brilliant idea. We have an old teeny tv in a closet. I've got a metal coat hanger. Tv and antenna. Eureka!
No one liked my idea.
Anyway, an hour and a half later, we walked out with the tv and an appointment for service and some cranky kids. Got home, set up the tv and realized.
Now I need a cabinet to put it on.
Okay, now where was I? Oh, yes, one more thing:
* The Husband injuring himself.
We freecycled the old tv, offering up its broken self for someone who knows how to fix tvs. Got a taker. It's about 200 lbs, so The Husband graciously helped him get it in the car. That actually went okay, but when The Husband was exiting the car, the cord somehow wrapped itself around his ankle and he went flying, catching himself on his wrists, and hurting his elbow. He's now waiting for an MRI.
Back to school, back to work. We don't do well with free time. We obviously need supervision at all times.
Friday, September 01, 2006
Quick Product Endorsement
Just got some Good Hair Days Magic-Grip Hair Pins. If you have long hair, and you like to wear it up in buns or twists or whatever -- run, do not walk, to a Sally or Ulta and get some:
http://www.goodhairdays.com/plastic-bulk-hairpins-chignon-pins.htm
They're like old fashioned "beaters" but much better.
I love that a hair pin can make me happy. Normal is so delicious.
http://www.goodhairdays.com/plastic-bulk-hairpins-chignon-pins.htm
They're like old fashioned "beaters" but much better.
I love that a hair pin can make me happy. Normal is so delicious.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Recent Amazon Order
- 1 of: Antagonists in the Church: How to Identify and Deal With Destructive Conflict
- 1 of: Never Call Them Jerks
- 1 of: Well-Intentioned Dragons: Ministering to Problem People in the Church
I hate to be holier than thou, but I just want to slit my eyes at people, tell them to BE the change that they want to see in other people, and explain that life is a very fragile gift and to start treating it with more care.
And to get over themselves.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Radical Hospitality
Today, the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, it is probably not just random coincidence that my web-surfing took me to two great earlier posts concerning hospitality:
http://gloryinthemorning.blogspot.com/2006/07/saying-shibboleth-or-are-you-suitable.html
http://peacebang.blogspot.com/2006/07/i-respond-to-searching-and-bill.html
These concerned how welcoming we are to newcomers, but combined with the anniversary, they got me to thinking about deeper issues of hospitality.
Back up ... a couple of years ago, a lot of UUs were talking about a book called Radical Hospitality. I didn't know the author, but I searched for it on half.com and found a book with that title.
When it came, I quickly came to realize that it was a different book of the same name.
This was a book about a fundamentalist Christian couple who made a habit of taking in homeless and indigent people and letting them live in their home. People off the street.
Now that, my friends, is radical hospitality.
Where is the line between really reaching out, and being irresponsible to self/family?
Last year, my heart bled, as so many did, watching what happened after the levees broke in New Orleans. I conferred with my husband and we quickly decided to offer up a large room in our house for any "refugees."
We looked for a way. There was one site that had simple listings. List what you offered, someone in need could contact you. Anyone.
Backpedal.
Our denomination was attempting to do something similar, but "taking care of ourselves." If there was a Unitarian Universalist family that needed a place to stay, they'd set them up with one of us. But you needed to be a member of a UU church in order to get help.
Hmm.
I don't fault our denomination ... to ask your members to take in complete strangers with no references is pretty risky. We'd like to think that everyone is sweet and good, but there are news reports that say otherwise.
I don't think that I would do anything different. We had three kids and an infant. How do I ensure their safety with someone living down the hall from them, no personal references?
Wait. I changed my mind just as I was writing that. Yes, I would have been worried about my kids. Our bedroom is downstairs and their's are up. But you know what? We could have slept up with them, and given our bedroom to someone else.
Of course, it's a small bedroom, and the better plan would have been to give the entire upstairs playroom to a whole family.
Damn. I don't know what I'd do. I don't know where the line is.
But I'm pretty sure I'm not even remotely close to it.
Damn.
http://gloryinthemorning.blogspot.com/2006/07/saying-shibboleth-or-are-you-suitable.html
http://peacebang.blogspot.com/2006/07/i-respond-to-searching-and-bill.html
These concerned how welcoming we are to newcomers, but combined with the anniversary, they got me to thinking about deeper issues of hospitality.
Back up ... a couple of years ago, a lot of UUs were talking about a book called Radical Hospitality. I didn't know the author, but I searched for it on half.com and found a book with that title.
When it came, I quickly came to realize that it was a different book of the same name.
This was a book about a fundamentalist Christian couple who made a habit of taking in homeless and indigent people and letting them live in their home. People off the street.
Now that, my friends, is radical hospitality.
Where is the line between really reaching out, and being irresponsible to self/family?
Last year, my heart bled, as so many did, watching what happened after the levees broke in New Orleans. I conferred with my husband and we quickly decided to offer up a large room in our house for any "refugees."
We looked for a way. There was one site that had simple listings. List what you offered, someone in need could contact you. Anyone.
Backpedal.
Our denomination was attempting to do something similar, but "taking care of ourselves." If there was a Unitarian Universalist family that needed a place to stay, they'd set them up with one of us. But you needed to be a member of a UU church in order to get help.
Hmm.
I don't fault our denomination ... to ask your members to take in complete strangers with no references is pretty risky. We'd like to think that everyone is sweet and good, but there are news reports that say otherwise.
I don't think that I would do anything different. We had three kids and an infant. How do I ensure their safety with someone living down the hall from them, no personal references?
Wait. I changed my mind just as I was writing that. Yes, I would have been worried about my kids. Our bedroom is downstairs and their's are up. But you know what? We could have slept up with them, and given our bedroom to someone else.
Of course, it's a small bedroom, and the better plan would have been to give the entire upstairs playroom to a whole family.
Damn. I don't know what I'd do. I don't know where the line is.
But I'm pretty sure I'm not even remotely close to it.
Damn.
The toilet paper is sitting on the counter
...because the springy-toilet-paper-middle-thingy has been purloined.
Little Warrior has taken it for her own. It is, apparently, the greatest toy in the world. It can be used on the air return to make great noise, it can be held and squeezed, it can be made to jump up and down, it can be used to hit a willing big-brother on the head, it can even be a doll.
LW is the fourth child and we have toys on top of toys on top of toys.
But this is the best.
Little Warrior has taken it for her own. It is, apparently, the greatest toy in the world. It can be used on the air return to make great noise, it can be held and squeezed, it can be made to jump up and down, it can be used to hit a willing big-brother on the head, it can even be a doll.
LW is the fourth child and we have toys on top of toys on top of toys.
But this is the best.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Ours Is No Caravan of Despair
For the the September UU Blog Carnival, Rev. Sean asked for submissions to the question:
“What gets you through the hard night?” More specifically, what is it in our faith tradition, that brings you the strength and/or comfort you need to face difficult times? Are there theological concepts, specific words, hymns, practices that sustain you in trying times?"
Hard night?
The night of January 18th found my husband and I in a hospital room with our 7 month old baby daughter.
That morning, she and I had gone to playgroup at our UU church, and from there, an appointment with the pediatrician for a strange lump on one side. Perhaps it was just gas, I had thought.
After that was, as they say, a blur. Bits and pieces come into focus: creeping along the freeway during rush hour, trying to get her to the Children’s Hospital. A doctor here, an intern there, words like “mass” and “Wilms’ Tumor.”
And cancer. Cancer, with a capital C.
It was late, that night, when we got to our room. She had not been formally diagnosed yet, but when the elevator doors opened, there it was, in black and white. “Pediatric Oncology Floor.”
I didn’t want to let her out of my arms, and I slowly danced with her, careful of the iv in her little hand. One song kept repeating itself in my mind:
Come, come whoever you are
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving
Ours is no caravan of despair
Come, yet again, come.
Ours is no caravan of despair, I kept reminding myself. No caravan of despair. Ours is no caravan of despair.
The blur continued over the next 7 months. Chemotherapy. Being told the tumors had had “minimal response” to the chemo. Surgery, where they removed a grapefruit-sized tumor and 1/3 of one kidney and an orange-sized tumor and ½ of the other kidney.
The night of the surgery, her father and I bent over our daughter’s crib in the ICU. It was loud and cramped. Even with sedation, she slept fitfully. We began singing low,
Come, come, whoever you are
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving
Ours is no caravan of despair
Come, yet again, come.
She is off-treatment now and we pray that “it is all over.” We hope to begin our new normal.
We are Unitarian Universalists. Our religion is one of hope. When one person has despair creeping in, may we always be there to offer another view. On one of my nights of quiet despair, a fellow UU blogger reminded me that “Weeping may endureth for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” And at another low moment, a friend who had lost her son to leukemia told me, “You will live through this.”
Ours is no caravan of despair.
Come. Yet again, come.
“What gets you through the hard night?” More specifically, what is it in our faith tradition, that brings you the strength and/or comfort you need to face difficult times? Are there theological concepts, specific words, hymns, practices that sustain you in trying times?"
Hard night?
The night of January 18th found my husband and I in a hospital room with our 7 month old baby daughter.
That morning, she and I had gone to playgroup at our UU church, and from there, an appointment with the pediatrician for a strange lump on one side. Perhaps it was just gas, I had thought.
After that was, as they say, a blur. Bits and pieces come into focus: creeping along the freeway during rush hour, trying to get her to the Children’s Hospital. A doctor here, an intern there, words like “mass” and “Wilms’ Tumor.”
And cancer. Cancer, with a capital C.
It was late, that night, when we got to our room. She had not been formally diagnosed yet, but when the elevator doors opened, there it was, in black and white. “Pediatric Oncology Floor.”
I didn’t want to let her out of my arms, and I slowly danced with her, careful of the iv in her little hand. One song kept repeating itself in my mind:
Come, come whoever you are
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving
Ours is no caravan of despair
Come, yet again, come.
Ours is no caravan of despair, I kept reminding myself. No caravan of despair. Ours is no caravan of despair.
The blur continued over the next 7 months. Chemotherapy. Being told the tumors had had “minimal response” to the chemo. Surgery, where they removed a grapefruit-sized tumor and 1/3 of one kidney and an orange-sized tumor and ½ of the other kidney.
The night of the surgery, her father and I bent over our daughter’s crib in the ICU. It was loud and cramped. Even with sedation, she slept fitfully. We began singing low,
Come, come, whoever you are
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving
Ours is no caravan of despair
Come, yet again, come.
She is off-treatment now and we pray that “it is all over.” We hope to begin our new normal.
We are Unitarian Universalists. Our religion is one of hope. When one person has despair creeping in, may we always be there to offer another view. On one of my nights of quiet despair, a fellow UU blogger reminded me that “Weeping may endureth for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” And at another low moment, a friend who had lost her son to leukemia told me, “You will live through this.”
Ours is no caravan of despair.
Come. Yet again, come.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
No Man's Land
Right now I am in a no man's land because the future will affect what this period of my life comes to be seen as.
Path A: Little Warrior's cancer is gone, and we are on the path of the rest of our lives, where we will look back and say, "Yes, she had cancer when she was a baby." The cancer will merely be a relatively short portion of our family story, duly noted on medical charts, a painful but gradually muted memory.
Path B: We are in a honeymoon/lull right now, and at a certain point in time, we will be back on the cancer-go-round, with all of the fear and worry that comes with.
I am trying to live my life, as best as I can, believing that we are on Path A. As I have already learned, there is no such thing as preparing for the worst, so one must enjoy the wine and roses as long as they last.
With time, it will get easier.
So long as we can stay on Path A.
Path A: Little Warrior's cancer is gone, and we are on the path of the rest of our lives, where we will look back and say, "Yes, she had cancer when she was a baby." The cancer will merely be a relatively short portion of our family story, duly noted on medical charts, a painful but gradually muted memory.
Path B: We are in a honeymoon/lull right now, and at a certain point in time, we will be back on the cancer-go-round, with all of the fear and worry that comes with.
I am trying to live my life, as best as I can, believing that we are on Path A. As I have already learned, there is no such thing as preparing for the worst, so one must enjoy the wine and roses as long as they last.
With time, it will get easier.
So long as we can stay on Path A.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Still unbelievable
I look down sometimes, like when she's sleeping after a long day of wreaking havoc, and I still can't believe it all. I mean, she's just over a year old, in the big scheme of things, she's just barely been here ... and she's already had cancer. Cancer, with a capital C. It just doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem possible.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Drunk Baby
Not only is Little Warrior a mean-ass drunk, she's the kind of drunk who says, "Watch me climb that radio tower!"
This was discovered yesterday when LW received the sedative Chlora Hydrate for the first time. Google tells me Marilyn Monroe had a 'script for this same drug.
Waking up from it, she bit, kicked, screamed to get down ... but was still 'drunk,' so she couldn't even crawl. Nonetheless, she knew that she could walk and climb. "I'm finnnnne," she slurred. At least, I'm pretty sure that's what she was trying to say. She cursed me a bit, too. And speaking of 'bit,' I have the bite marks to prove it all.
Reason for this was an echocardiogram, which came back normal, yay.
But I didn't let her drive home.
This was discovered yesterday when LW received the sedative Chlora Hydrate for the first time. Google tells me Marilyn Monroe had a 'script for this same drug.
Waking up from it, she bit, kicked, screamed to get down ... but was still 'drunk,' so she couldn't even crawl. Nonetheless, she knew that she could walk and climb. "I'm finnnnne," she slurred. At least, I'm pretty sure that's what she was trying to say. She cursed me a bit, too. And speaking of 'bit,' I have the bite marks to prove it all.
Reason for this was an echocardiogram, which came back normal, yay.
But I didn't let her drive home.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
The Days of Wine and Roses
Yesterday was The Husband's and my 16th wedding anniversary.
We got married the summer before my senior year in college, for no other reason than we wanted to. As adults and parents, we look back and said, "Stupid kids." But we are glad we were, because we both have doubts whether we would have gotten married had we waited for both of us to graduate. Too flippy. Too young.
But we did marry, in a lovely ceremony in a lovely UU church. His stepmother lit the main taper. His stepfather, a Methodist minister, did the ceremony. We both walked down the aisle with both of our parents. I think my mother would have preferred the traditional way of just my father walking me down the aisle, but paaah. Even at that age, I had a feeling that it wasn't right for just my father to be giving me away. And at that age, it was definitely being given away.
We walked down the aisle to "Morning Has Broken." We left to "Here Comes the Sun," a song that grows in meaning for us each year. Especially this one.
Of course, our personally-written vows, while sweet, were written by a 21 and 22 year old. Something about loving each other and still being individuals.
Ah, the vows we could write NOW.
In any case, the marriage "took" and here we are now. It is common to decry young marriages, which makes The Husband and I just look at each other in wonder. We have been blessed, as we have grown up together and not grown apart. The idea of being who I am now and getting married to a person who also has his own way of doing things ... I can't imagine. We joke that you should get married by age 24 or not at all. (joke, joke!)
Yesterday was the perfect anniversary. I sent him a dozen rozes and a little teddy bear to his work, something I've never done before, but I wanted to do the gesture that a lover would. Not just a partner.
"I knew what I was going to get you two months ago," said he.
I opened the bag. It was a bottle of wine. Hmm?
"Is that all?" he asked.
There was also a slip in the bag notifying me that I was now a member of the Specs wine of the month club. (Really good, I highly recommend it for oenophiles.)
The last time he got that for me was Christmas a couple of years ago.
"I remembered that that was a VERY good year for us," he said. We briefly discussed all the great things that happened that year. "So, I decided we needed another year like that."
So, for today, we have wine and roses.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
--Ernest Dowson
We got married the summer before my senior year in college, for no other reason than we wanted to. As adults and parents, we look back and said, "Stupid kids." But we are glad we were, because we both have doubts whether we would have gotten married had we waited for both of us to graduate. Too flippy. Too young.
But we did marry, in a lovely ceremony in a lovely UU church. His stepmother lit the main taper. His stepfather, a Methodist minister, did the ceremony. We both walked down the aisle with both of our parents. I think my mother would have preferred the traditional way of just my father walking me down the aisle, but paaah. Even at that age, I had a feeling that it wasn't right for just my father to be giving me away. And at that age, it was definitely being given away.
We walked down the aisle to "Morning Has Broken." We left to "Here Comes the Sun," a song that grows in meaning for us each year. Especially this one.
Of course, our personally-written vows, while sweet, were written by a 21 and 22 year old. Something about loving each other and still being individuals.
Ah, the vows we could write NOW.
In any case, the marriage "took" and here we are now. It is common to decry young marriages, which makes The Husband and I just look at each other in wonder. We have been blessed, as we have grown up together and not grown apart. The idea of being who I am now and getting married to a person who also has his own way of doing things ... I can't imagine. We joke that you should get married by age 24 or not at all. (joke, joke!)
Yesterday was the perfect anniversary. I sent him a dozen rozes and a little teddy bear to his work, something I've never done before, but I wanted to do the gesture that a lover would. Not just a partner.
"I knew what I was going to get you two months ago," said he.
I opened the bag. It was a bottle of wine. Hmm?
"Is that all?" he asked.
There was also a slip in the bag notifying me that I was now a member of the Specs wine of the month club. (Really good, I highly recommend it for oenophiles.)
The last time he got that for me was Christmas a couple of years ago.
"I remembered that that was a VERY good year for us," he said. We briefly discussed all the great things that happened that year. "So, I decided we needed another year like that."
So, for today, we have wine and roses.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.
--Ernest Dowson
Friday, August 18, 2006
Let's Do a Key Lime Flip
Someone visited my blog today by searching for +shot +tastes +like +chocolate. Isn't that lovely? I'm glad about the folks that find me through searches about Unitarians or babies with cancer, but it's nice to see that someone looking for something so fun came across my path.
In that spirit, I have a new drink I've flipped for. Pun intended. I think this will be the official "drink" of our 2006 Halloween party.
You can imagine how great it feels to be planning a Halloween party this year.
Key Lime Flip
1/2 cup crushed graham cracker crumbs
1 1/2 cup Vodka
dash of vanilla
1 1/2 cups light rum
1/2 cup lime juice
3/4 cup cream of coconut
Rub rim of chilled martini or parfait glasses with a sliced lime. Press into graham cracker crumbs. Combine the rest of ingredients in a pitcher with some ice to blend. Strain into the rimmed glasses. Enjoy.
By the way, if anyone has any fabbbbulous finger foods for parties, pass 'em on to me.
In that spirit, I have a new drink I've flipped for. Pun intended. I think this will be the official "drink" of our 2006 Halloween party.
You can imagine how great it feels to be planning a Halloween party this year.
Key Lime Flip
1/2 cup crushed graham cracker crumbs
1 1/2 cup Vodka
dash of vanilla
1 1/2 cups light rum
1/2 cup lime juice
3/4 cup cream of coconut
Rub rim of chilled martini or parfait glasses with a sliced lime. Press into graham cracker crumbs. Combine the rest of ingredients in a pitcher with some ice to blend. Strain into the rimmed glasses. Enjoy.
By the way, if anyone has any fabbbbulous finger foods for parties, pass 'em on to me.
Breast Cancer Barbie
Kristina Collins just blogged about Mattel coming out with a breast cancer Barbie. She reports that she and other writers on the Young Survival Coalition have a few suggestions for the Mattel Company.
In perusing some pictures over the past year, I came across a picture I made of Little Warrior right before surgery. To say that her abdomen was bulging is understatement of the year. The rest of her, bone skinny. Our mental photographs must be softer than reality -- looking at that picture, I burst into tears. LW is asleep in front of Sesame Street and it took all my will to not go scoop that fat baby up.
-Barbie should be bald and have assorted wigs included instead of the bouffant hairdo.
-Barbie's skin should be more grayish and she should be at least 10lbs overweight from steroids.
-some accessories in the box should also include a little toilet to throw up in, many prescription bottles that she can't keep track of and clippers for when she needs to buzz her hair.
LOVE those ideas and even more, the humorous spirit behind them.In perusing some pictures over the past year, I came across a picture I made of Little Warrior right before surgery. To say that her abdomen was bulging is understatement of the year. The rest of her, bone skinny. Our mental photographs must be softer than reality -- looking at that picture, I burst into tears. LW is asleep in front of Sesame Street and it took all my will to not go scoop that fat baby up.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
On "Worship"
I don’t go to church to worship. At least, not in the traditional sense.
This is the conclusion I came to, after a comment by PeaceBang. I am glad that there are those who come to our churches to worship. I think that all forms of spirituality enhance the experience for each of us. Okay, maybe not sacrificing a chicken. But then again, I’ve never been privy to that particular experience.
However, if going by the standard definition of worship, that’s not why I go to church.
Per the American Heritage dict, worship is:
1. The reverent love and devotion accorded a deity, an idol, or a sacred object.
2. The ceremonies, prayers, or other religious forms by which this love is expressed.
I’m not a Christian and I am a theist only in the broadest sense of the word “God.”
So what do I worship?
I don’t.
PeaceBang noted that “your post validates my sad conclusion that we are, in fact, worshiping ourselves.”
Tee-hee. I’ve been president of our church. BELEEEEEVE me, I don’t worship our church. Of course, anyone who has been a church president who doesn’t run screaming into the night … oh, I’m sorry. That’s another topic.
But getting away from worship and into the heart of the matter … so, if I don’t worship a deity and don’t worship my church, why do I go? Is it just for community? Just to be around like-minded individuals, and can’t I do the same thing going to a meeting of the Sierra Club?
Nope.
I go to a Unitarian Universalist church, because I believe that is where I can take my spirit, my soul, for its learning. I can learn to be a better person at my church. I can think about what my purpose is here on earth at my church. I can search and find answers to the questions that call out from my heart and not feel that I must keep them separate from the questions that call out from my brain. I am a Unitarian Universalist because that is the only thing I can be. I cannot say it better than A. Powell Davies:
"Why should any of us be confined within a single area of religious culture? When I read Amos and Jeremiah, I say 'Would to God I were a Jew.' When I read the Parable of the Good Samaritan, I say 'Would I were a Galilean.' When I read the 13th of 1st Corinthians, I wish with all my heart that I might be a Christian after the manner of the Apostle Paul. When I think of Buddha and his Eightfold Path, I say, 'I, too, would be a Buddhist.' And when I remember the trial of Socrates, I say in awe but with exalted spirit, 'Oh that I might be so brave a humanist.' And thus at the end, there is nothing I can say but that, like Emerson and Channing, I want to live with the privilege of the illimitable mind.”
I have not had the experience of God/Christ being a saving grace in my life. But when I have most needed salvation, it has come in the form of a song, or a phone call, or a message written in my blog. (Thanks again, Rev. Christine.) It has come in a passage of a book. A poem. A package of diapers dropped off by one of my fellow congregants, because the congregation heard that we couldn’t use cloth dipes anymore, due to the chemo.
I realize that to some, this is not salvation. But it has been a deliverance for me. I have been pulled back from the brink. When my heart felt as though it were being ripped apart, these things provided the needle and thread to sew it back together. When my soul was tormented with questions for which I had no answer, my church – my religion -- provided the salve.
According to harvardsquarelibrary.org, Robert Ingersoll, nineteenth-century agnostic, said, "He who loves, worships.
By that definition, I worship. But to try and parse “who” I worship...
Well, that’s just missing the whole point.
This is the conclusion I came to, after a comment by PeaceBang. I am glad that there are those who come to our churches to worship. I think that all forms of spirituality enhance the experience for each of us. Okay, maybe not sacrificing a chicken. But then again, I’ve never been privy to that particular experience.
However, if going by the standard definition of worship, that’s not why I go to church.
Per the American Heritage dict, worship is:
1. The reverent love and devotion accorded a deity, an idol, or a sacred object.
2. The ceremonies, prayers, or other religious forms by which this love is expressed.
I’m not a Christian and I am a theist only in the broadest sense of the word “God.”
So what do I worship?
I don’t.
PeaceBang noted that “your post validates my sad conclusion that we are, in fact, worshiping ourselves.”
Tee-hee. I’ve been president of our church. BELEEEEEVE me, I don’t worship our church. Of course, anyone who has been a church president who doesn’t run screaming into the night … oh, I’m sorry. That’s another topic.
But getting away from worship and into the heart of the matter … so, if I don’t worship a deity and don’t worship my church, why do I go? Is it just for community? Just to be around like-minded individuals, and can’t I do the same thing going to a meeting of the Sierra Club?
Nope.
I go to a Unitarian Universalist church, because I believe that is where I can take my spirit, my soul, for its learning. I can learn to be a better person at my church. I can think about what my purpose is here on earth at my church. I can search and find answers to the questions that call out from my heart and not feel that I must keep them separate from the questions that call out from my brain. I am a Unitarian Universalist because that is the only thing I can be. I cannot say it better than A. Powell Davies:
"Why should any of us be confined within a single area of religious culture? When I read Amos and Jeremiah, I say 'Would to God I were a Jew.' When I read the Parable of the Good Samaritan, I say 'Would I were a Galilean.' When I read the 13th of 1st Corinthians, I wish with all my heart that I might be a Christian after the manner of the Apostle Paul. When I think of Buddha and his Eightfold Path, I say, 'I, too, would be a Buddhist.' And when I remember the trial of Socrates, I say in awe but with exalted spirit, 'Oh that I might be so brave a humanist.' And thus at the end, there is nothing I can say but that, like Emerson and Channing, I want to live with the privilege of the illimitable mind.”
I have not had the experience of God/Christ being a saving grace in my life. But when I have most needed salvation, it has come in the form of a song, or a phone call, or a message written in my blog. (Thanks again, Rev. Christine.) It has come in a passage of a book. A poem. A package of diapers dropped off by one of my fellow congregants, because the congregation heard that we couldn’t use cloth dipes anymore, due to the chemo.
I realize that to some, this is not salvation. But it has been a deliverance for me. I have been pulled back from the brink. When my heart felt as though it were being ripped apart, these things provided the needle and thread to sew it back together. When my soul was tormented with questions for which I had no answer, my church – my religion -- provided the salve.
According to harvardsquarelibrary.org, Robert Ingersoll, nineteenth-century agnostic, said, "He who loves, worships.
By that definition, I worship. But to try and parse “who” I worship...
Well, that’s just missing the whole point.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
No More Elevator Speech
Forget “the elevator speech.”
Aack! The emperor has no clothes! That sacred rite in Unitarian Universalist circles, The Elevator Speech, and you think I should forget it?
You betcha.
Have you been “witnessed” to, by an evangelical Christian? Growing up in the Bible Belt, I have, on several occasions. You know what? It’s not about theology. It’s a personal narrative, called a “testimony” in which the person explains how a relationship with Jesus has changed their life.
Contrast that with our theory of the “elevator speech” – a short description of what Unitarian Universalism is.
A testimony is often moving, even if you’re not buying what the person is selling. It is a story of how a life has been fundamentally altered.
Has your life been changed by being a member of a UU church? Mine has.
If someone asked me about my church, my response would not be about our principles and purposes, or how you can “believe anything,” (do people really still say that?) …
“I go to such a wonderful church! The people are amazing. And I’ve been able to really explore and deepen my own spirituality.”
Keep the elevator speech – it’s a great exercise for you to figure out how to define this religion on your terms. But maybe, at first, keep it to yourself.
And speak from your heart. WITNESS.
I found some great instructions for how to craft your personal testimony. I’ve made a few changes, replacing “Christian” with Unitarian and such.
Personal Testimony
One of the most helpful things Unitarian Universalists can do is write out their personal testimony. This exercise will help you think through in your own mind what your church has done in your life and will prepare you to share your story simply and clearly with others. Sharing how you found out about UUism is one of the best ways of witnessing. It is particularly helpful in presenting UUism to relatives and close friends, usually the most difficult people to whom to witness.
In sharing the story of your experience:
1. Make it personal—Don't preach. Tell what involvement in your church has done for you. Use the pronouns "I", "me", and "mine".
2. Make it short—Three or four minutes should be enough time to deal with the essential facts.
3. Keep your church central—Always highlight what belonging there has done for you.
Please note: If your testimony includes a previous negative church experience, do not mention the name of that church or denomination because it creates needless antagonism in those who are listening to your story.
Try writing down your personal testimony just the way you'd tell it to a non-UU. Make the story of your finding it so clear that another person hearing it would know how find out about Unitarian Universalism. Tell a little about your life before you found UUism; then tell about your finding it, how you came to trust it, and something of what it has meant to belong — the feeling of being around people who also want to explore “meaning,” assurance of their support of you on your journey, and other ways your life or outlook has changed. If you have been a UU for some time, be sure that your testimony includes some current information about the continuing effect of your religion and church in your life.
As you prepare your story, reflect on opportunities to share it. Think of two or three people whom you would particularly like to tell about your church in your neighborhood, at work, or at school. Then take the first opportunity to share your testimony with them.
In conclusion, remember that you do not have the power in yourself to convince anyone of spiritual truth. As you think of those with whom you desire to share your personal testimony, be sure to consider whether this is an appropriate topic to share with that person.
Witnessing is a style of living—you are a witness at all times. Loving others and showing your genuine concern for them are practical ways to communicate Unitarian Universalism. You also witness by your life. Actions are often more revealing than words. Your actions, however, are not sufficient to communicate to another the message of Unitarian Universalism. You need to witness by your words—to identify openly as a Unitarian Universalist and to tell others about the benefits of membership. One of the most effective means of communicating this to another person is the story of how the church has worked in your life—your personal testimony.
Okay, so parts of that are a bit heavy-handed. But still …
What is your personal testimony?
Aack! The emperor has no clothes! That sacred rite in Unitarian Universalist circles, The Elevator Speech, and you think I should forget it?
You betcha.
Have you been “witnessed” to, by an evangelical Christian? Growing up in the Bible Belt, I have, on several occasions. You know what? It’s not about theology. It’s a personal narrative, called a “testimony” in which the person explains how a relationship with Jesus has changed their life.
Contrast that with our theory of the “elevator speech” – a short description of what Unitarian Universalism is.
A testimony is often moving, even if you’re not buying what the person is selling. It is a story of how a life has been fundamentally altered.
Has your life been changed by being a member of a UU church? Mine has.
If someone asked me about my church, my response would not be about our principles and purposes, or how you can “believe anything,” (do people really still say that?) …
“I go to such a wonderful church! The people are amazing. And I’ve been able to really explore and deepen my own spirituality.”
Keep the elevator speech – it’s a great exercise for you to figure out how to define this religion on your terms. But maybe, at first, keep it to yourself.
And speak from your heart. WITNESS.
I found some great instructions for how to craft your personal testimony. I’ve made a few changes, replacing “Christian” with Unitarian and such.
Personal Testimony
One of the most helpful things Unitarian Universalists can do is write out their personal testimony. This exercise will help you think through in your own mind what your church has done in your life and will prepare you to share your story simply and clearly with others. Sharing how you found out about UUism is one of the best ways of witnessing. It is particularly helpful in presenting UUism to relatives and close friends, usually the most difficult people to whom to witness.
In sharing the story of your experience:
1. Make it personal—Don't preach. Tell what involvement in your church has done for you. Use the pronouns "I", "me", and "mine".
2. Make it short—Three or four minutes should be enough time to deal with the essential facts.
3. Keep your church central—Always highlight what belonging there has done for you.
Please note: If your testimony includes a previous negative church experience, do not mention the name of that church or denomination because it creates needless antagonism in those who are listening to your story.
Try writing down your personal testimony just the way you'd tell it to a non-UU. Make the story of your finding it so clear that another person hearing it would know how find out about Unitarian Universalism. Tell a little about your life before you found UUism; then tell about your finding it, how you came to trust it, and something of what it has meant to belong — the feeling of being around people who also want to explore “meaning,” assurance of their support of you on your journey, and other ways your life or outlook has changed. If you have been a UU for some time, be sure that your testimony includes some current information about the continuing effect of your religion and church in your life.
As you prepare your story, reflect on opportunities to share it. Think of two or three people whom you would particularly like to tell about your church in your neighborhood, at work, or at school. Then take the first opportunity to share your testimony with them.
In conclusion, remember that you do not have the power in yourself to convince anyone of spiritual truth. As you think of those with whom you desire to share your personal testimony, be sure to consider whether this is an appropriate topic to share with that person.
Witnessing is a style of living—you are a witness at all times. Loving others and showing your genuine concern for them are practical ways to communicate Unitarian Universalism. You also witness by your life. Actions are often more revealing than words. Your actions, however, are not sufficient to communicate to another the message of Unitarian Universalism. You need to witness by your words—to identify openly as a Unitarian Universalist and to tell others about the benefits of membership. One of the most effective means of communicating this to another person is the story of how the church has worked in your life—your personal testimony.
Okay, so parts of that are a bit heavy-handed. But still …
What is your personal testimony?
Friday, August 11, 2006
Random Musings from All Of This
In order to not see God as a capricious, mean being, I had to let go of my vision of a personally-involved God.
Ironically, it was not because LW got cancer that I was forced to that realization. It was because of the successes with the surgery, and the (hopefully) success against the cancer.
What sort of an egotist would I be, to say that the reason she got well is because of the prayers she received? When I am familiar with so many others who get even more prayers, but die?
People say that the big question of religion is "why does God permit suffering?"
I don't think so.
It's "why does God permit indiscriminate suffering?"
I sometimes wish that I could choose the blue pill. ("Matrix.") But I didn't, and I can't.
Ironically, it was not because LW got cancer that I was forced to that realization. It was because of the successes with the surgery, and the (hopefully) success against the cancer.
What sort of an egotist would I be, to say that the reason she got well is because of the prayers she received? When I am familiar with so many others who get even more prayers, but die?
People say that the big question of religion is "why does God permit suffering?"
I don't think so.
It's "why does God permit indiscriminate suffering?"
I sometimes wish that I could choose the blue pill. ("Matrix.") But I didn't, and I can't.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
I Meet Dave
I met his eyes as he crossed the parking lot tonight
An automatic smile that I always do, without thinking
I turned back to strapping my kids into the big minivan
He stopped from where he was heading
And I thought, Uh-oh.
"This is a church, right?" he asked.
I admitted it was,
Anticipating a request would follow.
"I sleep over there," he said, indicating back against our building.
"The mosquitos aren't so bad back there. But over there --
Whoo! They're bad."
Well, I said feebly, You take care, tonight.
"Oh, I do," he said. "Sometimes I come
And sleep there on the carpet under your entryway. But
Lately there's been people coming by.
"I knew this was a church
So I knew I'd be okay here."
"I don't mess with anything. I just sleep.
I keep my blanket over there, but now it's gone.
Do you know what might of happened to it?"
I admitted I didn't. I asked him his name.
He gave it and we gave him ours.
I put my hand out and we shook.
He looked at our children, clean,
Strapped into their carseats.
"I've got a bunch, too,
5 boys and 2 girls.
That's why I'm homeless," he laughed.
He headed back to his bushes
We started to get into the minivan
Wait, take this, I called to him,
Handing him the bottle of Off! we had
in the front seat.
His grin was wide
His eyes full.
Thankful.
When I got into the car
I looked down at the button I'd picked up
On the way out of church.
We Are All Family.
We All Have Value.
An automatic smile that I always do, without thinking
I turned back to strapping my kids into the big minivan
He stopped from where he was heading
And I thought, Uh-oh.
"This is a church, right?" he asked.
I admitted it was,
Anticipating a request would follow.
"I sleep over there," he said, indicating back against our building.
"The mosquitos aren't so bad back there. But over there --
Whoo! They're bad."
Well, I said feebly, You take care, tonight.
"Oh, I do," he said. "Sometimes I come
And sleep there on the carpet under your entryway. But
Lately there's been people coming by.
"I knew this was a church
So I knew I'd be okay here."
"I don't mess with anything. I just sleep.
I keep my blanket over there, but now it's gone.
Do you know what might of happened to it?"
I admitted I didn't. I asked him his name.
He gave it and we gave him ours.
I put my hand out and we shook.
He looked at our children, clean,
Strapped into their carseats.
"I've got a bunch, too,
5 boys and 2 girls.
That's why I'm homeless," he laughed.
He headed back to his bushes
We started to get into the minivan
Wait, take this, I called to him,
Handing him the bottle of Off! we had
in the front seat.
His grin was wide
His eyes full.
Thankful.
When I got into the car
I looked down at the button I'd picked up
On the way out of church.
We Are All Family.
We All Have Value.
Reality Redux
The thing about vacations is, if you do them right, they're really a vacation from reality, aren't they? Well, for us, it was pretty dramatic. One week, we're at the hospital, getting surgery to remove her port, then 5 days later, we leave for a 2 week vacation. No doctors! No hospitals! No cancer!
Well, I'm trying to go through my billion emails. I'm on a list of parents whose children have been diagnosed with Wilms. You develop some real relationships with these people, the only ones who can truly understand what you're going through. They know the chemos, they know the protocols. They know the side-effects.
They know the reality.
And sometimes, the reality isn't good. While we were gone, one of the dear ones I've gotten to know, a six-year old cutie pie named Diego, passed away. And another relapsed.
My mother can't understand why I follow these stories. She can't understand how you can have a relationship with someone you've never met. (She doesn't "do" computers, let alone internet.) She doesn't understand why I would want to follow their stories, now that Little Warrior is in remission. She doesn't understand that my heart is already with these families, that I am humbled by their journeys, and that I feel a responsibility to witness what they travel.
But I will have to limit how many I allow myself to be involved with.
Otherwise, it will eat me up.
Well, I'm trying to go through my billion emails. I'm on a list of parents whose children have been diagnosed with Wilms. You develop some real relationships with these people, the only ones who can truly understand what you're going through. They know the chemos, they know the protocols. They know the side-effects.
They know the reality.
And sometimes, the reality isn't good. While we were gone, one of the dear ones I've gotten to know, a six-year old cutie pie named Diego, passed away. And another relapsed.
My mother can't understand why I follow these stories. She can't understand how you can have a relationship with someone you've never met. (She doesn't "do" computers, let alone internet.) She doesn't understand why I would want to follow their stories, now that Little Warrior is in remission. She doesn't understand that my heart is already with these families, that I am humbled by their journeys, and that I feel a responsibility to witness what they travel.
But I will have to limit how many I allow myself to be involved with.
Otherwise, it will eat me up.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
"Here we are, Dorothy"
With 30 lbs of roasted New Mexican peppers, 10 lbs of the best German sausage you'll ever eat, a suitcase full of clean clothes (thanks to doing laundry at Mom's before leaving), we are home.
And all are glad to be. As we pulled into our neighborhood, the children began spontaneously singing a song of their own creation extolling their joy at returning. The baby cannot sing yet, but she swung her foot around with great happiness.
Gotta unpack. Answer emails. Vacuum seal and freeze the aforementioned food. Go through the kids clothes to figure out what they need for back-to-school, which is next week. Clean out the fridge. All that.
Still and all, good to be home.
And all are glad to be. As we pulled into our neighborhood, the children began spontaneously singing a song of their own creation extolling their joy at returning. The baby cannot sing yet, but she swung her foot around with great happiness.
Gotta unpack. Answer emails. Vacuum seal and freeze the aforementioned food. Go through the kids clothes to figure out what they need for back-to-school, which is next week. Clean out the fridge. All that.
Still and all, good to be home.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Normal, for good or for not
After spending a marvelous, wonderful week with all my friends at "UU Camp," I am spending this week with the munchkins and my parents.
My father has "discussed" with me:
1) my weight
2) my finances
3) my weight
4) the clutter in my house
5) disciplining my children
6) my weight
I think it is fair to say that things are getting back to normal.
Along with all the other, my parents and I have gotten in great discussions about politics, religion, life, etc. Unlike the above 6 items, we are in agreement about all these things.
Kids are doing well, or as best as can be expected. Little Warrior is blossoming with health and development, and her grandparents are convinced she's the laughingest, smartest baby in the world.
And today ...
She walked. 4 whole steps.
God, normal is delicious.
My father has "discussed" with me:
1) my weight
2) my finances
3) my weight
4) the clutter in my house
5) disciplining my children
6) my weight
I think it is fair to say that things are getting back to normal.
Along with all the other, my parents and I have gotten in great discussions about politics, religion, life, etc. Unlike the above 6 items, we are in agreement about all these things.
Kids are doing well, or as best as can be expected. Little Warrior is blossoming with health and development, and her grandparents are convinced she's the laughingest, smartest baby in the world.
And today ...
She walked. 4 whole steps.
God, normal is delicious.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Great God, I'm On My Way
I'm on my way
To the freedom land
I'm on my way
To the freedom land ...
A vacation I didn't know we could take! "Church camp" with all my friends. Vodka, packed! Cachaca, packed! Guitar, packed!
Toodles!
To the freedom land
I'm on my way
To the freedom land ...
A vacation I didn't know we could take! "Church camp" with all my friends. Vodka, packed! Cachaca, packed! Guitar, packed!
Toodles!
Friday, July 21, 2006
We Made People Cry
Tonight, we went to the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life. Little Warrior took her "survivor lap" with all the other survivors. She was by far the youngest there. I walked the lap, with her in the sling, looking somewhat absurd, as the smallest survivor tshirt they had was an adult-small. I put it on her anyway, so she had the appearance of drowning in a big purple puddle.
As we walked the lap, people on the sidelines clapped. Well, anytime LW hears clapping, she claps. So there she is, folded up like a pretzel in the sling, her head sticking out of the giant tshirt, clapping her two little hands.
We left behind us a lot of people wiping their eyes.
Survivor. 14 months old, and a survivor of cancer.
Dayum.
As we walked the lap, people on the sidelines clapped. Well, anytime LW hears clapping, she claps. So there she is, folded up like a pretzel in the sling, her head sticking out of the giant tshirt, clapping her two little hands.
We left behind us a lot of people wiping their eyes.
Survivor. 14 months old, and a survivor of cancer.
Dayum.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Little Darlin' ...
Woke up with a song in my head. Same song I walked down the aisle to when I married The Husband.
Little darling,
It's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling
It seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun.
Here comes the sun.
And I say,
It's all right.
Little Warrior had surgery yesterday to remove her portacath. It went just fine. This morning was cheerios and bananas. And I've got lots of laundry to do. It looks like we can really-o, truly-o, go on our trip.
The trip is dead. Long live the trip.
Tee-hee.
Little darling,
It's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling
It seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun.
Here comes the sun.
And I say,
It's all right.
Little Warrior had surgery yesterday to remove her portacath. It went just fine. This morning was cheerios and bananas. And I've got lots of laundry to do. It looks like we can really-o, truly-o, go on our trip.
The trip is dead. Long live the trip.
Tee-hee.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Stem Cell Research Votes
Bill Frist supports expanding stem-cell research and Byrd is undecided?
http://www.mercurynews.com/mld/mercurynews/news/politics/15060034.htm
Either the world is spinning backwards, or I'm missing crucial information.
http://www.mercurynews.com/mld/mercurynews/news/politics/15060034.htm
Either the world is spinning backwards, or I'm missing crucial information.
Birthday Cake Wishes
Early this morning ...
Princess: You know what I wished for with my wish on my birthday cake?
Me: Hmm?
Princess: I wished for all of LW's cancer to go away.
Princess: Stop hugging me so hard, Mom.
Princess: You know what I wished for with my wish on my birthday cake?
Me: Hmm?
Princess: I wished for all of LW's cancer to go away.
Princess: Stop hugging me so hard, Mom.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Smack in the middle between Hope and Despair
That's where I'd be, if you could Frappr an emotional state.
One one hand, hope. I've spent most of the day (when I'm not chasing Little Warrior around) doing mounds of laundry, trying to come up with 5 piles of 5 days of perfectly matched casual outfits for our trip.
The Husband is on his own.
And emailing my friends who are going ... who is bringing a blender? A food processor? A coffee grinder? And playing a few songs on my guitar so that in the off-chance we can fit my guitar in, I'll have calluses.
Meanwhile, The Husband tracked down the radiologist to see what the sitch is with Little Warrior's port.
(Momentary veer of topic: my Mom called today and said, "Have you heard about the port?" I was busy with laundry and thought she was calling (as she and my dad often do) to let me know about something happening on the news. Thoughts immediately went to an American port being blown up by terrorists. It took a couple of seconds to sort out the conversation.)
So, The Husband talks to the radiologist, who says that he can't tell us anything, it needs to come from the oncologist. The Husband explains that he just wants to know about the port. No real information either way.
So, in amongst packing for a trip, I am worrying that tomorrow, we'll find out that we're not taking a trip because they've found something bad, and we're going to have to jump back into the terror and fear and horribleness that has been the last 6 months.
Talk about terrorists.
One one hand, hope. I've spent most of the day (when I'm not chasing Little Warrior around) doing mounds of laundry, trying to come up with 5 piles of 5 days of perfectly matched casual outfits for our trip.
The Husband is on his own.
And emailing my friends who are going ... who is bringing a blender? A food processor? A coffee grinder? And playing a few songs on my guitar so that in the off-chance we can fit my guitar in, I'll have calluses.
Meanwhile, The Husband tracked down the radiologist to see what the sitch is with Little Warrior's port.
(Momentary veer of topic: my Mom called today and said, "Have you heard about the port?" I was busy with laundry and thought she was calling (as she and my dad often do) to let me know about something happening on the news. Thoughts immediately went to an American port being blown up by terrorists. It took a couple of seconds to sort out the conversation.)
So, The Husband talks to the radiologist, who says that he can't tell us anything, it needs to come from the oncologist. The Husband explains that he just wants to know about the port. No real information either way.
So, in amongst packing for a trip, I am worrying that tomorrow, we'll find out that we're not taking a trip because they've found something bad, and we're going to have to jump back into the terror and fear and horribleness that has been the last 6 months.
Talk about terrorists.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Fear ... Oh yeah, I recognize this feeling
Okay, so I think I know what the deal is with post-traumatic stress, now.
Day before yesterday, I couldn't remember what that all-consuming fear felt like. I mean, I remembered I had it, but it's like remembering pain. Thankfully, you can't summon up that feeling as a memory.
Yesterday, I could.
We got there, and after the normal long wait, the nurse began accessing her port, then was pushing saline and Little Warrior was screaming. I thought maybe it was just that her EMLA (numbing) cream had rubbed off. Then, suddenly, I saw a big BULGE in her neck.
Me: Stop, Stop!!! There's a bulge!
Nurse: Where??? Where???
Me: Her neck, her neck!!!
Things got dicey for a couple of minutes, someone raced off to get the radiologist, and the nurse was looking very worried. Sez I, 'What's going on? Is this serious? We're very scared right now, tell me what's going on!'
That seemed to 'snap her out of it,' and she said no, it wasn't dangerous because it was just saline, but that they needed to see what was going on.
Well, the radiologist thinks that there was a blockage in her line and the nursed pushed too hard, so, it perhaps ripped a hole in her line. On Monday they'll tell us what they see in the CT of her chest/neck. If the CT/MRI are clean, they had planned on removing her port anyway, so this may just speed things up.
Whew ... those 2 minutes of total fear took about 10 years off my life. And The Husband was ready to rip someone limb by limb.
Amazing how many thoughts you can jam in 120 seconds.
oh my god is this going to be it? are the people going to rush in here and rush her off to the OR for emergency surgery after all this are we going to lose her to a stupid human error is this an embolism what does this mean this can't be happening ....
But this morning, she seems fine. Ravenous, of course. But crawling and getting into stuff, just like normal.
AND ...
Some initial good news -- we chatted with the radiologist after Little Warrior's CT/MRI and he said that he didn't see anything. Of course, they still have to go over them with a fine tooth comb, but it was an initial 'good.'
Day before yesterday, I couldn't remember what that all-consuming fear felt like. I mean, I remembered I had it, but it's like remembering pain. Thankfully, you can't summon up that feeling as a memory.
Yesterday, I could.
We got there, and after the normal long wait, the nurse began accessing her port, then was pushing saline and Little Warrior was screaming. I thought maybe it was just that her EMLA (numbing) cream had rubbed off. Then, suddenly, I saw a big BULGE in her neck.
Me: Stop, Stop!!! There's a bulge!
Nurse: Where??? Where???
Me: Her neck, her neck!!!
Things got dicey for a couple of minutes, someone raced off to get the radiologist, and the nurse was looking very worried. Sez I, 'What's going on? Is this serious? We're very scared right now, tell me what's going on!'
That seemed to 'snap her out of it,' and she said no, it wasn't dangerous because it was just saline, but that they needed to see what was going on.
Well, the radiologist thinks that there was a blockage in her line and the nursed pushed too hard, so, it perhaps ripped a hole in her line. On Monday they'll tell us what they see in the CT of her chest/neck. If the CT/MRI are clean, they had planned on removing her port anyway, so this may just speed things up.
Whew ... those 2 minutes of total fear took about 10 years off my life. And The Husband was ready to rip someone limb by limb.
Amazing how many thoughts you can jam in 120 seconds.
oh my god is this going to be it? are the people going to rush in here and rush her off to the OR for emergency surgery after all this are we going to lose her to a stupid human error is this an embolism what does this mean this can't be happening ....
But this morning, she seems fine. Ravenous, of course. But crawling and getting into stuff, just like normal.
AND ...
Some initial good news -- we chatted with the radiologist after Little Warrior's CT/MRI and he said that he didn't see anything. Of course, they still have to go over them with a fine tooth comb, but it was an initial 'good.'
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Back to Normal/Anxiety
On one hand, this has been a great week for "back to normal." Went to playgroup, saw all our old (grownup and kid) friends, did a mondo 4 family shopping trip at Costco (we're all going on vacation together) ... it was very Big Love. But without the french braids or prairie skirts. Or sharing husbands.
But tonight ... well, tomorrow are the scans. She'll be sedated then get the CT and MRI.
Was sitting on the couch, not thinking about it, but just feeling turribly turribly anxious. You know how you feel anxious, then you peruse your life to say, "Why am I feeling this way?" Hmm, did I say something stupid today? No. Do I have a job I need to do? No.
Oh. Yeah.
It's been a month since I've been down to the medical center, since we were able to get blood counts at the local pedi office. I got real used to normal.
It's not abnormal. It's the "New Normal." Green is the new pink. Down is the new up. Chocolate is the new vanilla.
sigh.
But tonight ... well, tomorrow are the scans. She'll be sedated then get the CT and MRI.
Was sitting on the couch, not thinking about it, but just feeling turribly turribly anxious. You know how you feel anxious, then you peruse your life to say, "Why am I feeling this way?" Hmm, did I say something stupid today? No. Do I have a job I need to do? No.
Oh. Yeah.
It's been a month since I've been down to the medical center, since we were able to get blood counts at the local pedi office. I got real used to normal.
It's not abnormal. It's the "New Normal." Green is the new pink. Down is the new up. Chocolate is the new vanilla.
sigh.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Gumbo and the Zen of Letting Things Sit
Okay, so you just can't effectively write down the sound of twisting the top off a bottle of Shiner Bock and taking a refreshing swig.
Last night, I had the aforementioned beer with a big bowl of gumbo. I am not normally a beer drinker, much prefering wine or even a cold soda, but beer and gumbo are just perfect for each other.
Culinary note for the cooks out there: I now make my gumbo with two rouxes and it is vastly superior to one roux. I make up my roux and let it get to about sand color. I remove about a half a cup of the sand-colored roux and set it aside. I cook the rest of the roux til it's the dark color I like for flavor. When I mix it all in the gumbo, I add back the sand-roux.
Why: the more you cook the roux, the less thickening-power it has. So, I keep some of the sand-roux for that velvety texture, and use the rest for flavoring. Try it and see.
Now, back to the story. The gumbo was made day before yesterday. As most people know, soup tastes better the second day, and gumbo is no exception. The sitting allows the flavors to meld and blossom ... oh, I don't know. I just know the results are better. Tonight, the third night, it'll probably be even better.
I am realizing the importance of letting the soup of my brain and soul just sit for a while, too. Right now, I have no clarity. I have no answers. Millions of questions, no answers. PeaceBang's question, How Do You Know God Loves You? Puh. Right now, my answer would be that I don't know this, as I can't wrap my head around a personal God.
Of course, that's not all that I can't answer. I can't answer whether it's selfish of me to want to just stay home and take care of my family, rather than going out into the world and attempting to make it a better place. I can't answer whether I will ever go back to seminary. I can't answer whether I will want to go into the pulpit again. Hell, I can't even answer should I get a haircut or not.
These aren't questions that anyone else can answer for me, which is a lesson in itself, as I have always been the person rushing to help someone answer their questions. What hubris.
So, I'm going to let the soup sit. On Friday, we get a CT and an MRI. The following Tuesday, we get the answers from that. If all goes well, I'll leave shortly after that to spend a week with members of my beloved community in the company of members of our larger regional denominational community. (Summer camp.) After that, a trip to my folks'. Mother LizardEater will be happy to help with the question of my hair, as she would love for me to have a Dorothy Hamill haircut, as I did when I was 6. (LE's hair is quite long.) Sorry, Mother, but LE has to figure out all the answers by herself.
Let the soup sit.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Arbitrary Peacebang: All that's right and not within our churches
Two great posts today from UU bloggers, one touching on what I think is so TERRIFIC in our churches and one that is so detrimental.
First, the detrimental:
http://peacebang.blogspot.com/2006/07/chastening-rod.html
Brilliant post, exposing feelings, humility at perhaps being guilty herself, and big picture view of how this affects our denomination. Like PB, I am sure that I, too, have jumped "immediately to correct their credulous ignorance, greeting their enthusiasm with Important Information and establishing myself, not as a sister seeker, but as an Authority On the Subject."
Likewise, I have been in the position of working through my thoughts on something, only to have someone quash my sharing with condescension.
And, Arbitray hits on what I am passionate about in our churches. Covenant groups.
http://arbitrarymarks.com/wordpress/2006/07/10/if-you-are-a-uu-in-a-covenant-group/
I have been a member of our church's "Spiritual Parenting" covenant group for about 7 years. During that time, the group has grown from 3 couples to so many we need two groups. (Not all couples.) We have seen each other through a stillbirth, a divorce, several births, group members leaving and new ones joining, books as varied as the Dr. Phil family book to Voluntary Simplicity with Children to Stephen Covey's family book.
And oh yes ... the baby daughter of one of our families got cancer.
The friends that I have waxed rhapsodic about have come from this group. Without the group, I think we would have become friends, though I doubt we would achieved the level of friendship, of intimacy, that comes by being a member of such a group.
Women usually outnumber men in joining covenant groups, but this group has shown how much men need such a group, too. They have created their own relationships, as they share what it is to be a man, a father, and a husband in modern times. The Husband frequently says, "I like church ... but I *need* our SP group."
And you know, PeaceBang's post and Arbitrary's fit together. Because in a good, well-facilitated covenant group, you have the space to explore your spirituality, without being patronized. In our case, it is part of our covenant, that we are here to learn from each other, but not to teach each other. Perhaps that doesn't make sense. But we all understand it.
We all know that perhaps the biggest purpose of a covenant group is to give us the chance to learn to listen.
From that ... springs understanding, spring relationships, springs the kind of friends who show up at my daughter's hospital room two days after she is diagnosed with cancer, with clean clothes, avocado burgers and their hearts.
First, the detrimental:
http://peacebang.blogspot.com/2006/07/chastening-rod.html
Brilliant post, exposing feelings, humility at perhaps being guilty herself, and big picture view of how this affects our denomination. Like PB, I am sure that I, too, have jumped "immediately to correct their credulous ignorance, greeting their enthusiasm with Important Information and establishing myself, not as a sister seeker, but as an Authority On the Subject."
Likewise, I have been in the position of working through my thoughts on something, only to have someone quash my sharing with condescension.
And, Arbitray hits on what I am passionate about in our churches. Covenant groups.
http://arbitrarymarks.com/wordpress/2006/07/10/if-you-are-a-uu-in-a-covenant-group/
I have been a member of our church's "Spiritual Parenting" covenant group for about 7 years. During that time, the group has grown from 3 couples to so many we need two groups. (Not all couples.) We have seen each other through a stillbirth, a divorce, several births, group members leaving and new ones joining, books as varied as the Dr. Phil family book to Voluntary Simplicity with Children to Stephen Covey's family book.
And oh yes ... the baby daughter of one of our families got cancer.
The friends that I have waxed rhapsodic about have come from this group. Without the group, I think we would have become friends, though I doubt we would achieved the level of friendship, of intimacy, that comes by being a member of such a group.
Women usually outnumber men in joining covenant groups, but this group has shown how much men need such a group, too. They have created their own relationships, as they share what it is to be a man, a father, and a husband in modern times. The Husband frequently says, "I like church ... but I *need* our SP group."
And you know, PeaceBang's post and Arbitrary's fit together. Because in a good, well-facilitated covenant group, you have the space to explore your spirituality, without being patronized. In our case, it is part of our covenant, that we are here to learn from each other, but not to teach each other. Perhaps that doesn't make sense. But we all understand it.
We all know that perhaps the biggest purpose of a covenant group is to give us the chance to learn to listen.
From that ... springs understanding, spring relationships, springs the kind of friends who show up at my daughter's hospital room two days after she is diagnosed with cancer, with clean clothes, avocado burgers and their hearts.
| and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana, solitary, in a wide flat space, | |
| Uttering joyous leaves all its life, without a friend, a lover, near, | |
| I know very well I could not. |
Sunday, July 09, 2006
Words from Whitman
When Lizard Eater got married, she asked her father to find a poem and read it in the ceremony. When he found his pick, he said, "Just listen. Then tell me what you think."
He read the below poem to me. I stood there, almost speechless, then said, "it's perfect."
"Not everyone will get it," he said. "They'll wonder why I'm reading that in a wedding."
"We'll know, "said I. "And some people will get it."
I have loved the poem ever since. And now, with my wonderful friends who have held me up, I think of it again.
He read the below poem to me. I stood there, almost speechless, then said, "it's perfect."
"Not everyone will get it," he said. "They'll wonder why I'm reading that in a wedding."
"We'll know, "said I. "And some people will get it."
I have loved the poem ever since. And now, with my wonderful friends who have held me up, I think of it again.
| I SAW in Louisiana a live-oak growing, | |
| All alone stood it, and the moss hung down from the branches; | |
| Without any companion it grew there, uttering joyous leaves of dark green, | |
| And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself; | |
| But I wonder’d how it could utter joyous leaves, standing alone there, without its friend, its lover near—for I knew I could not; | 5 |
| And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss, | |
| And brought it away—and I have placed it in sight in my room; | |
| It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends, | |
| (For I believe lately I think of little else than of them;) | |
| Yet it remains to me a curious token—it makes me think of manly love; | 10 |
| For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana, solitary, in a wide flat space, | |
| Uttering joyous leaves all its life, without a friend, a lover, near, | |
| I know very well I could not. |
Friday, July 07, 2006
Welcome Back, Normal
Normal changes to Not Normal very fast. You go to playgroup in the morning, and that evening they're taking you up to the Pediatric Oncology floor and you're thinking, "Wait! They must think my baby has cancer!"
Sequeing from Not Normal back to Normal happens very slowly. Imperceptibly.
Til one day, you're doing laundry. The aforementioned baby is on the floor in the laundry room, looking for things to stick in her mouth.
You're just folding laundry. Putting diapers in the dryer because the chemo is over and you don't have to use disposables anymore. You fold a blankie and think, hmmm, I don't need to keep stacks of blankies around. I was just using them for when Little Warrior threw up and she hasn't in more than a month.
And then you think, hey, this has been the first week since before January 18th for us to not have to go to doctor's office.
It's not Old Normal. It's New Normal. New Normal has meds thrice a day and scans every three months.
And you never ever make the joke you used to about how with your first child, everything is sterilized and you're all about safety, and by the fourth, you figure it's survival of the fittest.
But it feels familiar.
It feels like Normal.
Sequeing from Not Normal back to Normal happens very slowly. Imperceptibly.
Til one day, you're doing laundry. The aforementioned baby is on the floor in the laundry room, looking for things to stick in her mouth.
You're just folding laundry. Putting diapers in the dryer because the chemo is over and you don't have to use disposables anymore. You fold a blankie and think, hmmm, I don't need to keep stacks of blankies around. I was just using them for when Little Warrior threw up and she hasn't in more than a month.
And then you think, hey, this has been the first week since before January 18th for us to not have to go to doctor's office.
It's not Old Normal. It's New Normal. New Normal has meds thrice a day and scans every three months.
And you never ever make the joke you used to about how with your first child, everything is sterilized and you're all about safety, and by the fourth, you figure it's survival of the fittest.
But it feels familiar.
It feels like Normal.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
It's like the Unabomber Meets Bob Ross Meets That Freaky Guy in College Who Always Wanted You To Cry On His Shoulder
I just found this.
Run, do not walk to this site.
First, watch a Premade.
Then, make a Custom.
If you are somewhere public, suppress the urge to laugh hysterically.
http://www.brawnyman.com/innocentescapes/indexbroadband.html
*You remember Bob Ross. That really sweet guy who used to do the painting show on PBS with the soft voice talking about happy little trees.
Run, do not walk to this site.
First, watch a Premade.
Then, make a Custom.
If you are somewhere public, suppress the urge to laugh hysterically.
http://www.brawnyman.com/innocentescapes/indexbroadband.html
*You remember Bob Ross. That really sweet guy who used to do the painting show on PBS with the soft voice talking about happy little trees.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
When doing a Shot, always keep one's pinkie extended
No, of course I'm not letting Little Warrior do shots. She has to be at least two.
I did, however, allow her to suck on a wedge of lime. Apparently the chemo is still affecting her taste buds, because she thought that was pretty delish.
Got a call that her CT is on for next week; hopefully they'll get an MRI scheduled for the same time. We go out of town for 2 weeks, leaving on the 23rd, so I'm going to do all that is humanly possible to make sure we get the results BEFORE we leave.
You'll notice I said humanly. Not humanely. I make no promises.
Clothes, Irony, Etc.
Have just spent a pleasurable few moments of time catching up on Peacebang's site giving fashion tips for ministers.
Have reluctantly informed myself that the decision to carry on with seminary should not be based on the anticipation of dressing for the pulpit.
I remember watching Ally McBeal when it first began, and on one episode, perhaps it was the first, Ally said something about the real reason she and many colleagues became lawyers was for the opportunity to wear great clothes.
Tee-hee. That was definitely one of the attractions to my previous career, that of a marketing manager. "Polished" was definitely the order of the day, but since I was in the creative/advertising end of things, I could get away less conservative looks, such as some fabulous earrings or a trendy top.
In my current career, I try to not fall into the pitfall of mommy-wear, dressing like a sack of potatoes, but I do have a few limitations.
First: earrings must be some sort of stud-type, as anything that even remotely hangs down will be ripped from the lobes by the 13 month old.
Second: all outfits must be breastfeeding accessible. Actual breastfeeding tops are not necessary, as I am not generously endowed, but for nursing discreetly, no dresses nor form-fitting tops. However, tops must not be so loose that LW can play "flash the mommy".
Third: all shoes must be flat. When I am out and about* with Little Warrior, I am wearing her in one of my Mayawrap slings (somewhat color coordinated to my outfit, thankyourverymuch), but having those extra 16 lbs slung to my chest just does not work with heels.
*Okay, so for the last few months, it's been at the cancer clinic, not a trendy art boutique. Bite me.
And on the topic of dress ...
Was watching "Meet Me in St. Louis" for the billionth time and thought about the clothes of the turn of the century. Thought about clothes now. (Was wearing a tshirt and shorts at the time.) Marveled at irony that now, we have air conditioning, and washing machines/dryers/irons/dry cleaners, and we dress in a way that even the poorest of American society wouldn't have considered back at that time.
Huh.
Have reluctantly informed myself that the decision to carry on with seminary should not be based on the anticipation of dressing for the pulpit.
I remember watching Ally McBeal when it first began, and on one episode, perhaps it was the first, Ally said something about the real reason she and many colleagues became lawyers was for the opportunity to wear great clothes.
Tee-hee. That was definitely one of the attractions to my previous career, that of a marketing manager. "Polished" was definitely the order of the day, but since I was in the creative/advertising end of things, I could get away less conservative looks, such as some fabulous earrings or a trendy top.
In my current career, I try to not fall into the pitfall of mommy-wear, dressing like a sack of potatoes, but I do have a few limitations.
First: earrings must be some sort of stud-type, as anything that even remotely hangs down will be ripped from the lobes by the 13 month old.
Second: all outfits must be breastfeeding accessible. Actual breastfeeding tops are not necessary, as I am not generously endowed, but for nursing discreetly, no dresses nor form-fitting tops. However, tops must not be so loose that LW can play "flash the mommy".
Third: all shoes must be flat. When I am out and about* with Little Warrior, I am wearing her in one of my Mayawrap slings (somewhat color coordinated to my outfit, thankyourverymuch), but having those extra 16 lbs slung to my chest just does not work with heels.
*Okay, so for the last few months, it's been at the cancer clinic, not a trendy art boutique. Bite me.
And on the topic of dress ...
Was watching "Meet Me in St. Louis" for the billionth time and thought about the clothes of the turn of the century. Thought about clothes now. (Was wearing a tshirt and shorts at the time.) Marveled at irony that now, we have air conditioning, and washing machines/dryers/irons/dry cleaners, and we dress in a way that even the poorest of American society wouldn't have considered back at that time.
Huh.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Chocolate Cake Shots
July 3rd is apparently being good to many people, like myself (ay, caipirinha!) and Anne (Heck of a Job, Brownie!)
So, in honor of all mind-altering substances (cool words from someone who has never even had one toke of a joint), another recipe from Lizard Eater:
Chocolate Cake Shots
Okay, first of all, I swear this isn't a snipe hunt. When my brother gave me the recipe, I just knew he was pulling my leg. He wasn't. I'm not. Try it.
Layer equal parts vodka and Frangelico in a shot glass.
Take a lime and quarter it. Take a quarter and dip it in sugar. Sugar, not salt.
Bite and suck. Hold the juice. Take the shot. Hold it all in your mouth and count to four.
Swallow.
Tastes like you've just taken a bite of rich, dark, chocolate cake.
Warning: quite dangerous. The first time a person has this, they get a peculiar look on their face. Then they say, "Wow, it really does taste like chocolate cake!" Then they say, "Let me try it again to see if that happens the second time... fourth time ... eighth time ..."
Happy Day Before Independence Day. Hic.
So, in honor of all mind-altering substances (cool words from someone who has never even had one toke of a joint), another recipe from Lizard Eater:
Chocolate Cake Shots
Okay, first of all, I swear this isn't a snipe hunt. When my brother gave me the recipe, I just knew he was pulling my leg. He wasn't. I'm not. Try it.
Layer equal parts vodka and Frangelico in a shot glass.
Take a lime and quarter it. Take a quarter and dip it in sugar. Sugar, not salt.
Bite and suck. Hold the juice. Take the shot. Hold it all in your mouth and count to four.
Swallow.
Tastes like you've just taken a bite of rich, dark, chocolate cake.
Warning: quite dangerous. The first time a person has this, they get a peculiar look on their face. Then they say, "Wow, it really does taste like chocolate cake!" Then they say, "Let me try it again to see if that happens the second time... fourth time ... eighth time ..."
Happy Day Before Independence Day. Hic.
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Footprints In the Sand
Recently, I have heard folks both within my congregation and out in the wider UU world make statements that can be summarized as, "The reason why we meet as a church is NOT for community."
The community is great, they will hasten to add, but the raison d'etre is for spirituality, worshipping God, becoming more in relationship with the divine.
Okey-dokey.
For me, All Of This has given me a deeper, more profound appreciation for community.
During all of the ups and downs of dealing with our daughter's cancer, The Husband and I have agreed that what we have not felt is "alone."
We have further agreed that that had absolutely nothing to do with God. I'm glad that God helps others feel not alone, but the conventional definition of God has not been what sustained us.
You remember that old chestnut about Footprints in the Sand, right?
I like it when I was a kid, but when I got older, it began to grate on me. When I have gone through tough times before, it has made me feel stronger about myself that I could say, "I made it through that. On my own two feet." I was not carried.
Now, if like the story of looking back at the beach, I looked back on this period of my life, I know what I would see:
At least 50 sets of footprints with mine.
My community is like ever expanding circles. First and foremost, I have my husband; he is my best friend and my b'shert. Then, my family, who have flown down to be with us, stayed with our children, sent money for a maid. Then, my "posse," my tight circle of girlfriends. Then, my church community, who have brought casseroles, sent cards, even sent diapers. Then, my blogger friends, who have read my feeble writings, left comments, prayed for us.
Make that 100 sets of footprints.
Community ... ah, beloved community. Call that "God."
The community is great, they will hasten to add, but the raison d'etre is for spirituality, worshipping God, becoming more in relationship with the divine.
Okey-dokey.
For me, All Of This has given me a deeper, more profound appreciation for community.
During all of the ups and downs of dealing with our daughter's cancer, The Husband and I have agreed that what we have not felt is "alone."
We have further agreed that that had absolutely nothing to do with God. I'm glad that God helps others feel not alone, but the conventional definition of God has not been what sustained us.
You remember that old chestnut about Footprints in the Sand, right?
I like it when I was a kid, but when I got older, it began to grate on me. When I have gone through tough times before, it has made me feel stronger about myself that I could say, "I made it through that. On my own two feet." I was not carried.
Now, if like the story of looking back at the beach, I looked back on this period of my life, I know what I would see:
At least 50 sets of footprints with mine.
My community is like ever expanding circles. First and foremost, I have my husband; he is my best friend and my b'shert. Then, my family, who have flown down to be with us, stayed with our children, sent money for a maid. Then, my "posse," my tight circle of girlfriends. Then, my church community, who have brought casseroles, sent cards, even sent diapers. Then, my blogger friends, who have read my feeble writings, left comments, prayed for us.
Make that 100 sets of footprints.
Community ... ah, beloved community. Call that "God."
Friday, June 30, 2006
New Music
I just discovered the Ditty Bops. Hooray for happy music.
It's been a good music week. Just downloaded the Joey Ramone version of Wonderful World and now a new band to enjoy. Oh, and the Burt Bacharach/Elvis Costello "Who Are These People?"
Neil Young ain't the only pissed artist. Pretty cool hearing the dulcet tones of a BB song with words like:
This stupid mess we’re in just keeps getting worse
So many people dying needlessly
Looks like the liars may inherit the earth
Even pretending to pray
And getting away with it
Hooray for musicians.
It's been a good music week. Just downloaded the Joey Ramone version of Wonderful World and now a new band to enjoy. Oh, and the Burt Bacharach/Elvis Costello "Who Are These People?"
Neil Young ain't the only pissed artist. Pretty cool hearing the dulcet tones of a BB song with words like:
This stupid mess we’re in just keeps getting worse
So many people dying needlessly
Looks like the liars may inherit the earth
Even pretending to pray
And getting away with it
Hooray for musicians.
Hooray per pasta!
Huh. I babelfished "Hooray for pasta" in Italian, thinking it would be something cool sounding, like Viva la pasta or something. Nope. Hooray for pasta in Italian is Hooray per pasta.
"Le Big Mac."
Anyway, good day. Went and got (hopefully-prayerfully-knockwood-JuJu) Little Warrior's last blood count. And broke in my birthday gift, a pasta roller/cutter that fits my KitchenAid.
I am not in any way Martha Stewart. However, I really, REALLY like good food. So, for the last 16 years, I have spent quite a bit of time using my Atlas hand-cranked pasta roller/cutter.
OHMYGOD having an electric version is terrific. Frees up one hand, for one thing, making the whole process much simpler.
And for anyone who hasn't had homemade pasta ... run, don't walk, and get a roller/cutter. NOT an extruder. It's like a whole different beast than storebought. And if you do like I, and make semolina pasta ... well, the angels sing, the skies weep, however it goes.
We are being hopeful and thus, purchased tickets for The Husband to fly out at the end of July from and to New Mexico so we can go there to visit my parents. "But what about the results of her CT/MRI?" Well, we're hoping they're good.
Hey, what about that. We're being hopeful.
"Le Big Mac."
Anyway, good day. Went and got (hopefully-prayerfully-knockwood-JuJu) Little Warrior's last blood count. And broke in my birthday gift, a pasta roller/cutter that fits my KitchenAid.
I am not in any way Martha Stewart. However, I really, REALLY like good food. So, for the last 16 years, I have spent quite a bit of time using my Atlas hand-cranked pasta roller/cutter.
OHMYGOD having an electric version is terrific. Frees up one hand, for one thing, making the whole process much simpler.
And for anyone who hasn't had homemade pasta ... run, don't walk, and get a roller/cutter. NOT an extruder. It's like a whole different beast than storebought. And if you do like I, and make semolina pasta ... well, the angels sing, the skies weep, however it goes.
We are being hopeful and thus, purchased tickets for The Husband to fly out at the end of July from and to New Mexico so we can go there to visit my parents. "But what about the results of her CT/MRI?" Well, we're hoping they're good.
Hey, what about that. We're being hopeful.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Alien Baby
Little Warrior is sitting on the floor, sock in hand, very happily and diligently dusting the bottom of the coffee table.
This is not behavior she is imitating from watching me.
???
Has LW been sneaking out of bed at night to watch "Martha"?
This is not behavior she is imitating from watching me.
???
Has LW been sneaking out of bed at night to watch "Martha"?
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Birthday Season is Over
...thank God, my butt is begging for mercy.
It is hard to lose any weight when you have two birthday cakes each on four birthdays spread through May - June. For The Husband's and my birthday, he had peach cobbler and I had a sacher torte.
Anyway, today was The Princess's 7th birthday. 7 years ago today, my mother, The Husband and my always-will-be-childless-by-choice sister saw her born ... two hours after I arrived at the hospital, had my waters broken by some strange doctor, and then was informed, "Oh, we don't have any anesthesiologists in the hospital right now."
So, I can say that I have had natural childbirth. However, since I had to have it while strapped flat on my back (all the pain, none of the work-arounds, like walking), I can say that epidurals are marvelous things and I enjoyed them mightily on my next two births.
Can I get one now? No? Well, a caipirinha will work.
Made a "from scratch" cake, and it happens to be the same one my mom used to make for my brother, BigShot, every year.
Chocolatetown Special Cake
Ingredients:
* 1/2 cup HERSHEY'S Cocoa or HERSHEY'S SPECIAL DARK Cocoa
* 1/2 cup boiling water
* 2/3 cup shortening
* 1-3/4 cups sugar
* 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
* 2 eggs
* 2-1/4 cups all-purpose flour
* 1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda
* 1/2 teaspoon salt
* 1-1/3 cups buttermilk or sour milk*
* ONE-BOWL BUTTERCREAM FROSTING(recipe follows)
Directions:
1. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease and flour two 9-inch round baking pans.
2. Stir together cocoa and water in small bowl until smooth. Beat shortening, sugar and vanilla in large bowl until fluffy. Add eggs; beat well. Stir together flour, baking soda and salt; add to shortening mixture alternately with buttermilk, beating until well blended. Add cocoa mixture; beat well. Pour batter into prepared pans.
3. Bake 30 to 35 minutes or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes; remove from pans to wire racks. Cool completely. Frost with ONE-BOWL BUTTERCREAM FROSTING. 8 to 10 servings.
* To Sour Milk: Use 4 teaspoons white vinegar plus milk to equal 1-1/3 cups.
ONE-BOWL BUTTERCREAM FROSTING
6 tablespoons butter or margarine, softened
2-2/3 cups powdered sugar
1/2 cup HERSHEY'S Cocoa or HERSHEY'S Dutch Processed Cocoa
1/3 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Beat butter in small bowl. Add powdered sugar and cocoa alternately with milk; beat to spreading consistency (additional milk may be needed). Stir in vanilla. About 2 cups frosting.
It is hard to lose any weight when you have two birthday cakes each on four birthdays spread through May - June. For The Husband's and my birthday, he had peach cobbler and I had a sacher torte.
Anyway, today was The Princess's 7th birthday. 7 years ago today, my mother, The Husband and my always-will-be-childless-by-choice sister saw her born ... two hours after I arrived at the hospital, had my waters broken by some strange doctor, and then was informed, "Oh, we don't have any anesthesiologists in the hospital right now."
So, I can say that I have had natural childbirth. However, since I had to have it while strapped flat on my back (all the pain, none of the work-arounds, like walking), I can say that epidurals are marvelous things and I enjoyed them mightily on my next two births.
Can I get one now? No? Well, a caipirinha will work.
Made a "from scratch" cake, and it happens to be the same one my mom used to make for my brother, BigShot, every year.
Chocolatetown Special Cake
Ingredients:
* 1/2 cup HERSHEY'S Cocoa or HERSHEY'S SPECIAL DARK Cocoa
* 1/2 cup boiling water
* 2/3 cup shortening
* 1-3/4 cups sugar
* 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
* 2 eggs
* 2-1/4 cups all-purpose flour
* 1-1/2 teaspoons baking soda
* 1/2 teaspoon salt
* 1-1/3 cups buttermilk or sour milk*
* ONE-BOWL BUTTERCREAM FROSTING(recipe follows)
Directions:
1. Heat oven to 350°F. Grease and flour two 9-inch round baking pans.
2. Stir together cocoa and water in small bowl until smooth. Beat shortening, sugar and vanilla in large bowl until fluffy. Add eggs; beat well. Stir together flour, baking soda and salt; add to shortening mixture alternately with buttermilk, beating until well blended. Add cocoa mixture; beat well. Pour batter into prepared pans.
3. Bake 30 to 35 minutes or until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes; remove from pans to wire racks. Cool completely. Frost with ONE-BOWL BUTTERCREAM FROSTING. 8 to 10 servings.
* To Sour Milk: Use 4 teaspoons white vinegar plus milk to equal 1-1/3 cups.
ONE-BOWL BUTTERCREAM FROSTING
6 tablespoons butter or margarine, softened
2-2/3 cups powdered sugar
1/2 cup HERSHEY'S Cocoa or HERSHEY'S Dutch Processed Cocoa
1/3 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Beat butter in small bowl. Add powdered sugar and cocoa alternately with milk; beat to spreading consistency (additional milk may be needed). Stir in vanilla. About 2 cups frosting.
DOUBLE THE RECIPE FOR THE FROSTING. Who are they kidding.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Menu bar code?
Anyone know of any good code for a drop down menu bar? I do web design, but am a graphics person, not a java person. I purchased from milonic.com but the menu bar is quite buggy, and it freezes on people running it on Explorer.
I officially "retired" from all this Little Warrior was diagnosed, but this was a prior client.
I wish the world would let me do nothing but tend to my sheep.
Welcome to life, kid.
I officially "retired" from all this Little Warrior was diagnosed, but this was a prior client.
I wish the world would let me do nothing but tend to my sheep.
Welcome to life, kid.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Program
Okay, back to regular life.
Get back to regular life.
Get back to regular life.
Huh. 'S not working.
I'm getting paralyzed again. Okay. Raise your right leg up, bend the knee, extend it forward ...
This is how to walk ...
Get back to regular life.
Get back to regular life.
Huh. 'S not working.
I'm getting paralyzed again. Okay. Raise your right leg up, bend the knee, extend it forward ...
This is how to walk ...
Breastfeeding a Baby with Cancer
When Little Warrior was first diagnosed with cancer, I searched everywhere for information on breastfeeding a baby with cancer. I googled all kinds of permutations of +breastfeeding +baby +cancer and all I got was articles about how if you (the mother) have cancer, you should stop breastfeeding. Or how breastfeeding could offer protection against you (the mother) developing breast cancer.
Not helpful.
At the hospital, which is a Children's Hospital, I tried to find someone who could talk to me about it, specifically, were there certain things I could eat that would help, or certain things I should avoid? The sum total of advice I received can be summarized in this quote from one doctor:
"Sure, you can go ahead and breastfeed."
Well, duh, Sherlock. If breastfeeding is best with a 'normal' child, I'm certainly not going to put a baby with cancer on formula.
So, for anyone who ever happens to google the topic, here's my experience:
My daughter was 7 months when diagnosed. She's 13 months now.
She was exclusively breastfed til she was about 11 months. We would have started her on solids earlier, but, probably because of the chemotherapy, she just wasn't interested.
I have breastfed in countless waiting rooms, doctors' offices and of course, in the hospital. Little Warrior even got one of her echocardiograms nursing. She was being fussy, and we didn't want to sedate her, so I hopped up on the table, put her on my lap, and latched her on. The tech had no problem doing her echo/doppler.
In the hospital, we had no problems. One nurse put a sign up on the door saying "Knock! Breastfeeding mother inside!" but that was a pain, since they'd knock, then wait for us to yell "come in." With a sleeping baby, not helpful. I'm discreet, so we just pulled the sign down. And I mean, come on. This is my fourth baby. Modesty went out the window 3 kids ago. I think a medical professional could handle a quick flash of boob.
We were pleasantly surprised that when we requested her hospital crib be replaced with a hospital bed so that I could sleep with her, they didn't even bat an eye.
We were also surprised that the lack of measurability of breastmilk wasn't a problem. After her surgeries, as soon as she had taken a certain amount of pedialyte, I was allowed to nurse her. They just weighed all of her diapers and used that for a gauge.
Only challenges: when she went through surgery, she couldn't nurse for about 4-5 days. As soon as you know you'll be in that type of situation, request a breastpump. No matter how stressed you are, pump. Make sure you're pumping every 3 hours. A friend of mine brought me up some "Nursing Mother Tea" and that helped. (Or just fenugreek tea.)
Other challenge: I had never gotten Little Warrior on to a bottle. Didn't really have the need, since I was a stay-at-home mum. The only time this was an issue was when we needed to get "contrast" down her or the pedialyte. Well, they make giant syringes that you can request. It's going to be a pain, and Baby is going to be mad at you, but it's better than doing an NG tube, in my opinion.
Whenever LW gets a CT scan, they sedate her. Coming out of that, they've never required her to do pedialyte. They just let her nurse. After she nurses for a while (with no throwing up), we're free to go.
End result of all this -- realizing that this is purely anecdotal: Little Warrior's blood counts never dropped below range. She was hospitalized once for infection, but it was probably due to e.coli being released in her system during surgery. (Very common.)
To my eyes, she got skinny, but the doctors never worried about it. And apparently the skinniness was due to the tumors eating up all her calories, because after the tumors were removed (but while still on chemo), she began gaining the weight back.
I'd like to take credit for any of that, but science just doesn't work that way. Who knows? Maybe it had nothing to do with it.
But, if you are breastfeeding your baby already and s/he has been diagnosed with cancer ... well, first of all, I send you a giant cyber hug. I am SO sorry you're facing that. But next, let me encourage you to keep nursing your baby if at all possible. I don't have any information on nutrition for you, other than to say be sure to drink loads of water and avoid alcohol, since it can interfere with chemo. For the first month or so, I also avoided caffeine, but I'll admit that fell by the wayside. I had about a cup of coffee every day. I say "about" because I make a cup of coffee, I lay it down somewhere, I find it later, I microwave it, I set it down, rinse, lather and repeat until I finally give up drinking it.
Good luck. God bless. Boobie love.
Not helpful.
At the hospital, which is a Children's Hospital, I tried to find someone who could talk to me about it, specifically, were there certain things I could eat that would help, or certain things I should avoid? The sum total of advice I received can be summarized in this quote from one doctor:
"Sure, you can go ahead and breastfeed."
Well, duh, Sherlock. If breastfeeding is best with a 'normal' child, I'm certainly not going to put a baby with cancer on formula.
So, for anyone who ever happens to google the topic, here's my experience:
My daughter was 7 months when diagnosed. She's 13 months now.
She was exclusively breastfed til she was about 11 months. We would have started her on solids earlier, but, probably because of the chemotherapy, she just wasn't interested.
I have breastfed in countless waiting rooms, doctors' offices and of course, in the hospital. Little Warrior even got one of her echocardiograms nursing. She was being fussy, and we didn't want to sedate her, so I hopped up on the table, put her on my lap, and latched her on. The tech had no problem doing her echo/doppler.
In the hospital, we had no problems. One nurse put a sign up on the door saying "Knock! Breastfeeding mother inside!" but that was a pain, since they'd knock, then wait for us to yell "come in." With a sleeping baby, not helpful. I'm discreet, so we just pulled the sign down. And I mean, come on. This is my fourth baby. Modesty went out the window 3 kids ago. I think a medical professional could handle a quick flash of boob.
We were pleasantly surprised that when we requested her hospital crib be replaced with a hospital bed so that I could sleep with her, they didn't even bat an eye.
We were also surprised that the lack of measurability of breastmilk wasn't a problem. After her surgeries, as soon as she had taken a certain amount of pedialyte, I was allowed to nurse her. They just weighed all of her diapers and used that for a gauge.
Only challenges: when she went through surgery, she couldn't nurse for about 4-5 days. As soon as you know you'll be in that type of situation, request a breastpump. No matter how stressed you are, pump. Make sure you're pumping every 3 hours. A friend of mine brought me up some "Nursing Mother Tea" and that helped. (Or just fenugreek tea.)
Other challenge: I had never gotten Little Warrior on to a bottle. Didn't really have the need, since I was a stay-at-home mum. The only time this was an issue was when we needed to get "contrast" down her or the pedialyte. Well, they make giant syringes that you can request. It's going to be a pain, and Baby is going to be mad at you, but it's better than doing an NG tube, in my opinion.
Whenever LW gets a CT scan, they sedate her. Coming out of that, they've never required her to do pedialyte. They just let her nurse. After she nurses for a while (with no throwing up), we're free to go.
End result of all this -- realizing that this is purely anecdotal: Little Warrior's blood counts never dropped below range. She was hospitalized once for infection, but it was probably due to e.coli being released in her system during surgery. (Very common.)
To my eyes, she got skinny, but the doctors never worried about it. And apparently the skinniness was due to the tumors eating up all her calories, because after the tumors were removed (but while still on chemo), she began gaining the weight back.
I'd like to take credit for any of that, but science just doesn't work that way. Who knows? Maybe it had nothing to do with it.
But, if you are breastfeeding your baby already and s/he has been diagnosed with cancer ... well, first of all, I send you a giant cyber hug. I am SO sorry you're facing that. But next, let me encourage you to keep nursing your baby if at all possible. I don't have any information on nutrition for you, other than to say be sure to drink loads of water and avoid alcohol, since it can interfere with chemo. For the first month or so, I also avoided caffeine, but I'll admit that fell by the wayside. I had about a cup of coffee every day. I say "about" because I make a cup of coffee, I lay it down somewhere, I find it later, I microwave it, I set it down, rinse, lather and repeat until I finally give up drinking it.
Good luck. God bless. Boobie love.
What Her Shirt Says
To Do List:
Beat Cancer
Learn to Crawl
Take Over Earth
She's done #2. Hopefully done #1. And judging by her sauciness, #3 is just a matter of time.
Beat Cancer
Learn to Crawl
Take Over Earth
She's done #2. Hopefully done #1. And judging by her sauciness, #3 is just a matter of time.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
2Cool and Little Warrior
Okay, I'm only going to leave this picture up briefly, but it's just too cute, I had to share. This is Little Warrior expressing her delight at the new hair color of "2Cool" who used to babysit the other kids but is now either away at college or on some brainiac science internship. She came in town for the weekend, got her hair done and came out for a visit. How cool is that? 2Cool is just the most amazing young woman and this housewife is madly jealous over the purple hair.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Lion in the House, Conclusion
The Husband and I watched the conclusion of "Lion in the House."
WTF did we watch that????
It's a very good documentary. Extremely real.
WTF did we watch that.
WTF did we watch that????
It's a very good documentary. Extremely real.
WTF did we watch that.
A Blessing for a Plain-Brown-Paper-Wrapped Package
Huh.
Right as I'm questioning any sort of call to ministry, I get a request to give a blessing. To what used to be euphemistically referred to as a "marital aid."
Damn, God sure works in mysterious ways.
Tee-hee.
Note: I have been quite "Blue" this week. Interesting. Going from being "blue" to being "Blue." Quite possibly a sign of healing.
Or just being a 12 year old boy trapped in a 37 year old mother-of-4's body.
Right as I'm questioning any sort of call to ministry, I get a request to give a blessing. To what used to be euphemistically referred to as a "marital aid."
Damn, God sure works in mysterious ways.
Tee-hee.
Note: I have been quite "Blue" this week. Interesting. Going from being "blue" to being "Blue." Quite possibly a sign of healing.
Or just being a 12 year old boy trapped in a 37 year old mother-of-4's body.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
"Lion in the House"
Oh, and the first of two episodes of Independent Lens (PBS) with the "Lion in the House" documentary was good. All about childhood cancer, like I haven't gotten enough of that already. The Husband and I were bitchin' at the tv, since the description for tonight's episode said something about a family with a good outcome learning how to "be normal" again. I guess it's in the next episode because it sure as heck wasn't on this one.
Good show, though. Unflinching.
Good show, though. Unflinching.
Sabbatical. Time Limit: Unknown.
I'm not going back into the pulpit. At least, not anytime soon.
Now that Little Warrior is hopefully-knock-wood-prayerfully-JuJu at the end of treatment, I have been contacted by some of the churches I do lay speaking for, about getting on their Fall schedule.
Have decided: nope.
I can't imagine getting in the pulpit. The only reason to stand up in front of a congregation is if you have something to say. For perhaps the first time in my life, I have nothing to say.
Maybe this will change.
Whatever.
Now that Little Warrior is hopefully-knock-wood-prayerfully-JuJu at the end of treatment, I have been contacted by some of the churches I do lay speaking for, about getting on their Fall schedule.
Have decided: nope.
I can't imagine getting in the pulpit. The only reason to stand up in front of a congregation is if you have something to say. For perhaps the first time in my life, I have nothing to say.
Maybe this will change.
Whatever.
God in the form of BusyLady
I have contended for a long time that where I see God is in the face of other people, and today God came in the form of my friend BusyLady.
BusyLady is, as you can imagine, a busy lady. She has enough energy for 10 people, and uses it for good, through her professional work as a counselor for hurt children, her volunteer work at our church, and through being an awesome mom.
She also lost one of her sons about 10 years ago. Acute Myelogenous Leukemia.
She came for a visit today, bringing her daughter to play with my hellions, enchiladas for my freezer, muffins and donuts for us, and incredible dessert for The Husband and I -- grown-up "Ding Dongs." Dark chocolate glaze ... yum. Stop your dirty remarks.
The last time she came to visit was when I had just received the call scheduling Little Warrior's surgery. I opened the door to her and burst into tears.
Happily, I didn't do that this time, though we both got teary at various times, having the conversation that only two people who have both gone through having a child with cancer can have.
She said SO many things I needed to hear. It was like being at the knee of the man on the mountaintop.
She is probably the most compassionate, thoughtful person I know, but she doesn't mind stating an opinion. Such as the whole issue of "things happen so we can learn lessons." F-- that! Yes, you can and should learn lessons along the way. But that doesn't mean it was worth it. Let me state that again ...
THERE IS NO LESSON THAT I LEARNED THROUGH THIS THAT WAS WORTH IT.
If I could take back the whole experience and not have the lessons, would I? Would we? Yup, we both agreed. In a heartbeat.
This part of the conversation came up because she recently helped put together a Mother's Day service with another friend. There was apparently something in it that said something about being a mother, and things happening so we can learn lessons. She swiftly changed that, explaining to the other friend, "This is very, very hurtful to any parent who has gone through a serious illness with their child."
Had I not gone through All Of This, I wouldn't have understood, either. That's one of those differences between being an adult and having cancer yourself, and your child having it. I know myself: I know that if I survived cancer, I would be like Linda Ellerbee, claiming that cancer was a gift to me, that it made the rest of my life better.
(As I've mentioned before, if I were not a survivor, I don't think I would consider it to be such a great gift.)
But if you're a parent, even if your child survives, you don't consider cancer to be a gift.
Well, there I go, attempting to speak for millions of people. Perhaps there are some parents who would disagree. But not me.
And not BusyLady.
I feel completely refreshed. What a wonderful gift she has. What a wonderful gift she is.
BusyLady is, as you can imagine, a busy lady. She has enough energy for 10 people, and uses it for good, through her professional work as a counselor for hurt children, her volunteer work at our church, and through being an awesome mom.
She also lost one of her sons about 10 years ago. Acute Myelogenous Leukemia.
She came for a visit today, bringing her daughter to play with my hellions, enchiladas for my freezer, muffins and donuts for us, and incredible dessert for The Husband and I -- grown-up "Ding Dongs." Dark chocolate glaze ... yum. Stop your dirty remarks.
The last time she came to visit was when I had just received the call scheduling Little Warrior's surgery. I opened the door to her and burst into tears.
Happily, I didn't do that this time, though we both got teary at various times, having the conversation that only two people who have both gone through having a child with cancer can have.
She said SO many things I needed to hear. It was like being at the knee of the man on the mountaintop.
She is probably the most compassionate, thoughtful person I know, but she doesn't mind stating an opinion. Such as the whole issue of "things happen so we can learn lessons." F-- that! Yes, you can and should learn lessons along the way. But that doesn't mean it was worth it. Let me state that again ...
THERE IS NO LESSON THAT I LEARNED THROUGH THIS THAT WAS WORTH IT.
If I could take back the whole experience and not have the lessons, would I? Would we? Yup, we both agreed. In a heartbeat.
This part of the conversation came up because she recently helped put together a Mother's Day service with another friend. There was apparently something in it that said something about being a mother, and things happening so we can learn lessons. She swiftly changed that, explaining to the other friend, "This is very, very hurtful to any parent who has gone through a serious illness with their child."
Had I not gone through All Of This, I wouldn't have understood, either. That's one of those differences between being an adult and having cancer yourself, and your child having it. I know myself: I know that if I survived cancer, I would be like Linda Ellerbee, claiming that cancer was a gift to me, that it made the rest of my life better.
(As I've mentioned before, if I were not a survivor, I don't think I would consider it to be such a great gift.)
But if you're a parent, even if your child survives, you don't consider cancer to be a gift.
Well, there I go, attempting to speak for millions of people. Perhaps there are some parents who would disagree. But not me.
And not BusyLady.
I feel completely refreshed. What a wonderful gift she has. What a wonderful gift she is.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Identity
So, who am I going to be now?
Obviously, this has changed me. Fairly obviously, I will now also be looked at a bit differently by those who know of our past 6 months.
Obviously, I should be me.
Not so obvious anymore -- who is that, exactly?
Obviously, this has changed me. Fairly obviously, I will now also be looked at a bit differently by those who know of our past 6 months.
Obviously, I should be me.
Not so obvious anymore -- who is that, exactly?
You Say It's Your Birthday. It's My Birthday, Too, Yeah.
Tomorrow is The Husband's birthday.
Tomorrow is my birthday.
That's not a typo. Or a metaphor.
We were in college together, on the fencing team, when I found this out. Sitting around with other team members, eating Chicago-style pizza and drinking Shiner Bock, we were talking about genealogical signs. "I'm a Gemini," sez me. "So am I!" sez he, "When's your birthday?" "June 20." "Me, too!" he says in amazement.
I didn't believe him. Figured that was one of the worst lines I'd ever heard.
He showed me his license. I still didn't believe him. I'd never met someone who shared my birthday before.
It was such a gift from the universe, my b'shert and I having the same birthday. He's exactly one year older. I tease him that I was his first birthday present.
In truth, it is the other way around. From my 10th birthday until when I met him, my birthdays were not a real celebration. Three days before my 10th birthday, my 23-year old brother committed suicide. So you can imagine the feelings swirling around our home every year at that time.
Not that my family didn't try. In fact, on my 10th birthday, just the day after my brother's funeral, my other brother took me and two friends to see a movie. Superman. Won't ever forget that. How smart and loving was he, to do that?
Through the years, we'd have cake and presents, sometimes a party. But it always felt forced. I'm sure my parents would have loved to just hole up under the covers that time of year. But they pushed on.
So, you can connect the dots here. To share the same birthday with my best friend ... it gave me my birthday back. And every year, it's like a little gift from the heavens saying, "You two are special. You were meant to be each other's."
It's been a heck of a year. In only 6 months. But I had him to share it with, dividing the sorrows, multiplying the joys.
Happy Birthday to us.
Tomorrow is my birthday.
That's not a typo. Or a metaphor.
We were in college together, on the fencing team, when I found this out. Sitting around with other team members, eating Chicago-style pizza and drinking Shiner Bock, we were talking about genealogical signs. "I'm a Gemini," sez me. "So am I!" sez he, "When's your birthday?" "June 20." "Me, too!" he says in amazement.
I didn't believe him. Figured that was one of the worst lines I'd ever heard.
He showed me his license. I still didn't believe him. I'd never met someone who shared my birthday before.
It was such a gift from the universe, my b'shert and I having the same birthday. He's exactly one year older. I tease him that I was his first birthday present.
In truth, it is the other way around. From my 10th birthday until when I met him, my birthdays were not a real celebration. Three days before my 10th birthday, my 23-year old brother committed suicide. So you can imagine the feelings swirling around our home every year at that time.
Not that my family didn't try. In fact, on my 10th birthday, just the day after my brother's funeral, my other brother took me and two friends to see a movie. Superman. Won't ever forget that. How smart and loving was he, to do that?
Through the years, we'd have cake and presents, sometimes a party. But it always felt forced. I'm sure my parents would have loved to just hole up under the covers that time of year. But they pushed on.
So, you can connect the dots here. To share the same birthday with my best friend ... it gave me my birthday back. And every year, it's like a little gift from the heavens saying, "You two are special. You were meant to be each other's."
It's been a heck of a year. In only 6 months. But I had him to share it with, dividing the sorrows, multiplying the joys.
Happy Birthday to us.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Believe
On the Thursday morning post, in detailing what happens at a chemo appointment, I wrote:
Well, here's what happens if there isn't any:
Move Little Warrior in all different positions trying to get blood to come back. Hold her down. Hold her up. Forward. Back. Arm up. Arm down. (All the while, LW is screaming her head off -- who wouldn't be?)
Pull out needle. Restick it in. Repeat the above. No??? Still???
Consult with nurses. Go to see doctor. Wait for doctor. Talk to doctor. Doctor says you have to reschedule and come back tomorrow for an alteplase treatment (Drano for your veins).
Come back the next day. Wait two hours. Get alteplase treatment and wait the necessary two hours. Repeat paragraph beginning "Move Little Warrior ..." STILL???
Consult with nurses who say Little Warrior will have to get her chemo via IV (bad). Wait. Nurse comes back and says, "We're going to try it one more time." Puts in more alteplase. Waits one hour. Nurse tries again, repeating over and over, "This will work, thankyouJesus. This will work, thankyouJesus."
Jesus responds and pink comes back through the tube. Then blood.
You love the sight of blood now. ThankyouJesus.
Get chemo. Drive home.
In the rush hour traffic, you flash back to that day in January, when you also sat in rush hour traffic. With Little Warrior in her seat. As you tried to get to the Children's Hospital because there was something showing up on an xray and holy shit they're saying it might be cancer. They're Saying It Might Be Cancer. If you repeat it enough times, maybe it will start to make sense. Maybe you'll be able to believe it. You couldn't stop crying.
You're not crying now. Little Warrior just finished what is hopefully-knock-wood-thankyouJesus her last chemo treatment.
They say the cancer is gone.
They say the cancer is gone.
They say the cancer is gone.
Maybe, if you repeat it enough times, it will start to make sense.
Maybe you'll even be able to believe it.
Hold breath and say prayers that there is blood return after sticking the needle in her.
Well, here's what happens if there isn't any:
Move Little Warrior in all different positions trying to get blood to come back. Hold her down. Hold her up. Forward. Back. Arm up. Arm down. (All the while, LW is screaming her head off -- who wouldn't be?)
Pull out needle. Restick it in. Repeat the above. No??? Still???
Consult with nurses. Go to see doctor. Wait for doctor. Talk to doctor. Doctor says you have to reschedule and come back tomorrow for an alteplase treatment (Drano for your veins).
Come back the next day. Wait two hours. Get alteplase treatment and wait the necessary two hours. Repeat paragraph beginning "Move Little Warrior ..." STILL???
Consult with nurses who say Little Warrior will have to get her chemo via IV (bad). Wait. Nurse comes back and says, "We're going to try it one more time." Puts in more alteplase. Waits one hour. Nurse tries again, repeating over and over, "This will work, thankyouJesus. This will work, thankyouJesus."
Jesus responds and pink comes back through the tube. Then blood.
You love the sight of blood now. ThankyouJesus.
Get chemo. Drive home.
In the rush hour traffic, you flash back to that day in January, when you also sat in rush hour traffic. With Little Warrior in her seat. As you tried to get to the Children's Hospital because there was something showing up on an xray and holy shit they're saying it might be cancer. They're Saying It Might Be Cancer. If you repeat it enough times, maybe it will start to make sense. Maybe you'll be able to believe it. You couldn't stop crying.
You're not crying now. Little Warrior just finished what is hopefully-knock-wood-thankyouJesus her last chemo treatment.
They say the cancer is gone.
They say the cancer is gone.
They say the cancer is gone.
Maybe, if you repeat it enough times, it will start to make sense.
Maybe you'll even be able to believe it.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Not So Fast ...
Nothing bad, but we couldn't get The Last Chemo yesterday. Little Warrior's port didn't have a blood return, so we had to go get a chest Xray to make sure it was still in the same place. It was, so we go back this morning for altaplase treatment to dissolve the clot, then, after two hours, chemo.
But it's all looking good. The Husband asked The Oncologist about future treatment if it recurred, and The Onc said, "I'm not even thinking about that." Which is what we wanted to hear.
Fun with a baby in a waiting room ...
But it's all looking good. The Husband asked The Oncologist about future treatment if it recurred, and The Onc said, "I'm not even thinking about that." Which is what we wanted to hear.
Fun with a baby in a waiting room ...
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Hopefully, knock wood, pray pray, Last Chemo
Little Warrior is waving goodbye to the Teletubbies and softly saying, "Ba-ba!"
It's just to effing cute.
So, today's the day. (Hopefully) Last Chemo (knock wood) (please, God).
Her appointment is at 1:15. Here's how it works:
Get to Clinic. Sign in. Go sit down. Wait between 10 - 30 minutes. Get called back to sign forms. Go to Infusion area, sign in and sit down. Wait between 20 - 40 minutes. Get called back so that LW's port can be accessed and blood drawn. Hold breath and say prayers that there is blood return after sticking the needle in her. Loop up the tubes and securely bandage up her port site so she can't pull it out. Go back to the infusion waiting room. Wait about an hour while they examine her blood.
Get called back to see the doctor. Wait 30 minutes in the doctor's examining room, trying to keep LW from eating the ear-scope thingies or launching herself off the exam table. (Note to self: go charge up DVD player after this post.)
See doctor. Ask doctor list of questions. Realize that if doctor ever shows alarm, you're going to be really freaked out, because in all this, he's always acted quite laid-back. Nice man.
Go back to infusion area. Wait 30-60 minutes for the chemo to be prepared and nurse to bring it.
Get anti-nausea drug in port. Then a saline flush. Then Vincristine. Then Dactinomycin. The Zofran (nausea) is put on about a 7 minute drip, but the actual chemo just goes in with a push. Boom, boom. Saline flush. Heparin push.
Stop at the Candlelighter's Desk on the way out to see if there are any parking validations left. At $10 a visit, very valuable.
And there's our day. Oh, mixed in that is something very important:
Walk around with Little Warrior in the sling. Get oohs and aahs from all the nurses. Be told over and over that she's the prettiest baby in the world. Watch adults begin talking baby talk.
Long day? Yep. Any complaints? Nope. The fact that we live where we can get this, the fact the we have the resources to do so ... no complaints here.
Tonight, we'll be celebrating. "Going Off Treatment." Granted, "last chemo" has a better ring to it, but The Husband and I can't quite cross that superstition line.
It's just to effing cute.
So, today's the day. (Hopefully) Last Chemo (knock wood) (please, God).
Her appointment is at 1:15. Here's how it works:
Get to Clinic. Sign in. Go sit down. Wait between 10 - 30 minutes. Get called back to sign forms. Go to Infusion area, sign in and sit down. Wait between 20 - 40 minutes. Get called back so that LW's port can be accessed and blood drawn. Hold breath and say prayers that there is blood return after sticking the needle in her. Loop up the tubes and securely bandage up her port site so she can't pull it out. Go back to the infusion waiting room. Wait about an hour while they examine her blood.
Get called back to see the doctor. Wait 30 minutes in the doctor's examining room, trying to keep LW from eating the ear-scope thingies or launching herself off the exam table. (Note to self: go charge up DVD player after this post.)
See doctor. Ask doctor list of questions. Realize that if doctor ever shows alarm, you're going to be really freaked out, because in all this, he's always acted quite laid-back. Nice man.
Go back to infusion area. Wait 30-60 minutes for the chemo to be prepared and nurse to bring it.
Get anti-nausea drug in port. Then a saline flush. Then Vincristine. Then Dactinomycin. The Zofran (nausea) is put on about a 7 minute drip, but the actual chemo just goes in with a push. Boom, boom. Saline flush. Heparin push.
Stop at the Candlelighter's Desk on the way out to see if there are any parking validations left. At $10 a visit, very valuable.
And there's our day. Oh, mixed in that is something very important:
Walk around with Little Warrior in the sling. Get oohs and aahs from all the nurses. Be told over and over that she's the prettiest baby in the world. Watch adults begin talking baby talk.
Long day? Yep. Any complaints? Nope. The fact that we live where we can get this, the fact the we have the resources to do so ... no complaints here.
Tonight, we'll be celebrating. "Going Off Treatment." Granted, "last chemo" has a better ring to it, but The Husband and I can't quite cross that superstition line.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
On Caitlin Flanagan (phhhbt)
I just read Caitlin Flanagan's book "To Hell With All That" -- primarily because I'm a masochist who will read the two extremes of feminism and anti-feminism (I even read the Dr. Laura book, for cripes-sake) and bore my husband by shouting out "neither of these camps represent me!"
And, I will admit, there have been times when I've been surprised to find something good in a book that I thought for sure I'd hate. No, not the Dr. Laura book. It was stupid and mean, not surprisingly. But I read "The Surrendered Wife," the book darling of many fundamentalist conservatives and was shocked to find that not only did it make some good points, but I couldn't figure out why the fundies liked it. (I won't go into all that now. Just check it out from the library and give it a chance. It's more about "don't take on everything, allow your partner to genuinely partner with you" than surrendering. But you can see how her title is more eye-catching than mine.)
Anyway, so I checked out the Flanagan book, since it's getting lots of press. I did hate it, but not for the reasons I thought I would -- the press invariably picks up her quotes about there being something lost when Mom works -- but because it was such an odd book. The kind of book where you would think an editor would say, "Um, I don't get your point?"
Happily, since I don't have the time right now, someone has done a much better job than I at discussing this:
http://www.salon.com/books/review/2006/04/12/flanagan/index.html
More later, from the Feminist-Stay-At-Home-Mom-in-Tennis-Shoes.
And, I will admit, there have been times when I've been surprised to find something good in a book that I thought for sure I'd hate. No, not the Dr. Laura book. It was stupid and mean, not surprisingly. But I read "The Surrendered Wife," the book darling of many fundamentalist conservatives and was shocked to find that not only did it make some good points, but I couldn't figure out why the fundies liked it. (I won't go into all that now. Just check it out from the library and give it a chance. It's more about "don't take on everything, allow your partner to genuinely partner with you" than surrendering. But you can see how her title is more eye-catching than mine.)
Anyway, so I checked out the Flanagan book, since it's getting lots of press. I did hate it, but not for the reasons I thought I would -- the press invariably picks up her quotes about there being something lost when Mom works -- but because it was such an odd book. The kind of book where you would think an editor would say, "Um, I don't get your point?"
Happily, since I don't have the time right now, someone has done a much better job than I at discussing this:
http://www.salon.com/books/review/2006/04/12/flanagan/index.html
More later, from the Feminist-Stay-At-Home-Mom-in-Tennis-Shoes.
Piss, vinegar, and fear
Little Warrior is looking so good. Pudgy, and showing some piss 'n vinegar. Last night, I sat down with a bowl of cheerios for myself and a cup of cheerios for her. Well, she crawled over and began taking handfuls of mine. (Luckily, I like mine without milk.) I explained, 'LW's cheerios, Mama's cheerios ...' LW grabbed onto my bowl with both hands and I'm not entirely sure what she said, but I don't believe she was echoing my words. And frankly, I believe she used language not becoming a young lady.
I tried to wrest my bowl away from her, unsuccessfully, and somewhere in the confusion, she also managed to get my spoon away from me.
So ...
I ate Cheerios out of the box, by the handful, while LW very carefully maneuvered the spoon in the bowl to dump cheerios on the floor.
We're so proud. Using a spoon at 12 months.
But,
I'm afraid to be happy.
I'm afraid to be hopeful.
This goes against my personality. I am an "eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die" kind of person. We can't really prepare for the worst, emotionally, so we should enjoy today.
I'm trying to.
I tried to wrest my bowl away from her, unsuccessfully, and somewhere in the confusion, she also managed to get my spoon away from me.
So ...
I ate Cheerios out of the box, by the handful, while LW very carefully maneuvered the spoon in the bowl to dump cheerios on the floor.
We're so proud. Using a spoon at 12 months.
But,
I'm afraid to be happy.
I'm afraid to be hopeful.
This goes against my personality. I am an "eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die" kind of person. We can't really prepare for the worst, emotionally, so we should enjoy today.
I'm trying to.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
I just stepped over part of a castle ...
...a Barbie castle to be precise. It is behind our living room couch, with assorted paraphenalia scattered about. Ken is lying face down amongst a crown and some little dishes. Christmas Cookin' Barbie is on her back, her arms stretched toward the heavens in supplication. Birthday Barbie is away from all the rest; the newest in the neighborhood, the others think she is snobbish, but she's probably just shy. And Fairy Barbie is twisted in an odd, unnatural position, obviously the victim of foul play.
The other flotsam and jetsam of Bo Peep's 4th birthday are scattered around the rest of the living room. The kids are in the kitchen, eating the leftover hot dogs and cake. (Strawberry with chocolate frosting and chocolate with butter-rum buttercream frosting.)
Mom ate way too much today and is here, at the computer, nursing a Coke zero. Little Warrior is in her high chair, suspiciously looking from her cheerios to the cake that the others have. Mom needs to learn how to make Crisco (non-dairy) frosting.
The Husband is putting dishes in the dishwasher. Such a nice man. And smart, too, since he didn't eat his stomach to distension.
Thank you for Today.
The other flotsam and jetsam of Bo Peep's 4th birthday are scattered around the rest of the living room. The kids are in the kitchen, eating the leftover hot dogs and cake. (Strawberry with chocolate frosting and chocolate with butter-rum buttercream frosting.)
Mom ate way too much today and is here, at the computer, nursing a Coke zero. Little Warrior is in her high chair, suspiciously looking from her cheerios to the cake that the others have. Mom needs to learn how to make Crisco (non-dairy) frosting.
The Husband is putting dishes in the dishwasher. Such a nice man. And smart, too, since he didn't eat his stomach to distension.
Thank you for Today.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
Friday, June 09, 2006
"Small Bald Circus Freaks"
Watched the "Autopsy" episode of House last night, dealing with a terminal 9 year old cancer patient. (No, not from my TIVO word list. I got addicted to House while we were in the hospital, and I'm eagerly watching all episodes, new and old.)
Freakin' GREAT episode. Poetic, with the episode being bookended with Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful" at the start and Elvis Costello doing the same song at the end.
(Note: I am so tired of falling in love with songs that are unavailable. I am like a straight woman who keeps getting crushes on gay men. First, it was Dave Matthew's "Glory, Glory" from For the Love of Winn Dixie. Now, Elvis Costello doing "Beautiful." Neither one are available. $%#!!)
Anyway, I relate to House's disdain of sacred cows, his rejection of sloppy sentimentality. I can be the biggest sap in the world, but I think that often what masquerades as sentimentality is dishonest. We don't want to get down into our real emotions. It's messy and scary. Or we're afraid that our true monster selves will be revealed.
Cancer, Baby wrote a terrific essay about this (and was lambasted for it), specifically on the topic of "survivor worship." I share the thoughts she had (sadly, she passed away recently) -- the flip side of survivor worship and any of the accompanying platitudes -- "He fought cancer and WON! He's a WINNER!" -- is the flip side. So, if you fought cancer and died, does that mean you're a loser?
Don't get me wrong -- I know that attitude can make a difference. But sometimes, it can't.
I remember being in a study group several years ago that was reading Conversations with God. One of the flakier members of my group asserted that one cannot die until one "chooses" to do so.
What a load of crap.
So, Dr. Greg House is fighting any sentimentality about this little girl with terminal cancer. He says he doesn't buy into the whole brave little patient spiel, that there have to be whiny, bratty little cancer patients, too. (Parents will be the first to agree with this. In fact, some have nicknamed the bratty behavior "Stinky Cheese.")
But, he gets to know this little girl. A very special, matter-of-fact, appallingly brave little girl. And despite his vow not to go see her leave the hospital -- the "parade of small bald circus freaks" -- he has to. She has affected him.
Because the truth is, there is an amazing amount of bravery that these kids have. And a lot of wisdom and maturity they get along the way.
When I was a child, I spake as a child ... well, when I was a kid, I read The Diary of Anne Frank. And totally didn't get it. Why was she considered a hero? I asked. She was just writing about normal everyday things.
And now I have put away my childish things. And I understand that what made Anne a hero was her ability to write about the normal everyday things ... while in an attic ... while hiding for her life.
Little Warrior is amazing. I have to force medicine down her three times a day. 5 times, if it's a Bactrim day. She fights me tooth and nail. And after we're done, she cuddles with me. And plays. And tries to climb up the step from the living room into the entryway.
She knows, if she can just climb that one step, the world will be hers.
Freakin' GREAT episode. Poetic, with the episode being bookended with Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful" at the start and Elvis Costello doing the same song at the end.
(Note: I am so tired of falling in love with songs that are unavailable. I am like a straight woman who keeps getting crushes on gay men. First, it was Dave Matthew's "Glory, Glory" from For the Love of Winn Dixie. Now, Elvis Costello doing "Beautiful." Neither one are available. $%#!!)
Anyway, I relate to House's disdain of sacred cows, his rejection of sloppy sentimentality. I can be the biggest sap in the world, but I think that often what masquerades as sentimentality is dishonest. We don't want to get down into our real emotions. It's messy and scary. Or we're afraid that our true monster selves will be revealed.
Cancer, Baby wrote a terrific essay about this (and was lambasted for it), specifically on the topic of "survivor worship." I share the thoughts she had (sadly, she passed away recently) -- the flip side of survivor worship and any of the accompanying platitudes -- "He fought cancer and WON! He's a WINNER!" -- is the flip side. So, if you fought cancer and died, does that mean you're a loser?
Don't get me wrong -- I know that attitude can make a difference. But sometimes, it can't.
I remember being in a study group several years ago that was reading Conversations with God. One of the flakier members of my group asserted that one cannot die until one "chooses" to do so.
What a load of crap.
So, Dr. Greg House is fighting any sentimentality about this little girl with terminal cancer. He says he doesn't buy into the whole brave little patient spiel, that there have to be whiny, bratty little cancer patients, too. (Parents will be the first to agree with this. In fact, some have nicknamed the bratty behavior "Stinky Cheese.")
But, he gets to know this little girl. A very special, matter-of-fact, appallingly brave little girl. And despite his vow not to go see her leave the hospital -- the "parade of small bald circus freaks" -- he has to. She has affected him.
Because the truth is, there is an amazing amount of bravery that these kids have. And a lot of wisdom and maturity they get along the way.
When I was a child, I spake as a child ... well, when I was a kid, I read The Diary of Anne Frank. And totally didn't get it. Why was she considered a hero? I asked. She was just writing about normal everyday things.
And now I have put away my childish things. And I understand that what made Anne a hero was her ability to write about the normal everyday things ... while in an attic ... while hiding for her life.
Little Warrior is amazing. I have to force medicine down her three times a day. 5 times, if it's a Bactrim day. She fights me tooth and nail. And after we're done, she cuddles with me. And plays. And tries to climb up the step from the living room into the entryway.
She knows, if she can just climb that one step, the world will be hers.
Pavlovian Pizza
I think that for most people who went to the college in the past 20 years, we have a Pavlovian urge towards takeout pizza when life gets stressful.
We were repeatedly conditioned for this non-homey comfort food. When things got stressful, it was time to order a pizza. Cramming for 3 exams at midnight? Call Domino's! Boyfriend done you wrong? Dial up Pizza Hut!
So now, as an adult, when stress hits, it's time for pizza. That was what happened to me the other night. I had a perfectly good soup ready to heat up for dinner, but after the stress of doctors not really making me feel better about Little Warrior's CT, I turned to The Husband and said, "I need pizza."
And it tasted terrific. Am eating cold pizza now, with hot coffee, one of the world's truly unappreciated breakfasts.
Granted, when I got this urge for pizza, I didn't know that it would result in 12 hours of stress and worrying about whether we should take LW to the ER.
Hi, Irony.
---
Note: yesterday, as I was washing the "severe gastrointestinal symptoms" off of LW's butt, back, feet, hands and neck, I sent out a grin to Rev. Sean. And it still might be the tomatoes. Per our pediatrician: "Don't give her any dairy. And if you give her anything tomato and she reacts, don't give her tomato anymore."
Sometimes, low-tech is quite refreshing.
We were repeatedly conditioned for this non-homey comfort food. When things got stressful, it was time to order a pizza. Cramming for 3 exams at midnight? Call Domino's! Boyfriend done you wrong? Dial up Pizza Hut!
So now, as an adult, when stress hits, it's time for pizza. That was what happened to me the other night. I had a perfectly good soup ready to heat up for dinner, but after the stress of doctors not really making me feel better about Little Warrior's CT, I turned to The Husband and said, "I need pizza."
And it tasted terrific. Am eating cold pizza now, with hot coffee, one of the world's truly unappreciated breakfasts.
Granted, when I got this urge for pizza, I didn't know that it would result in 12 hours of stress and worrying about whether we should take LW to the ER.
Hi, Irony.
---
Note: yesterday, as I was washing the "severe gastrointestinal symptoms" off of LW's butt, back, feet, hands and neck, I sent out a grin to Rev. Sean. And it still might be the tomatoes. Per our pediatrician: "Don't give her any dairy. And if you give her anything tomato and she reacts, don't give her tomato anymore."
Sometimes, low-tech is quite refreshing.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Didn't see that coming ...
Gave Little Warrior a few bites of pizza. Specifically, little bits of cheese. Which she'd had last week.
Rash around the mouth. Eyes puffing up. Her crying. Red ears. Vomiting. Rash slowly going down the length of her body.
Can we say "dairy allergy"?
Which none of my other kids had, nor The Husband or I.
She's fine now, almost back to normal. I'll call the clinic in the morning, plus I already have an appointment with the kids' pediatrician for tomorrow. (Yes, we would have rushed her to the ER had there been any breathing difficulties.)
God DAMN it. What, cardiomyopathy and cancer weren't enough?
Rash around the mouth. Eyes puffing up. Her crying. Red ears. Vomiting. Rash slowly going down the length of her body.
Can we say "dairy allergy"?
Which none of my other kids had, nor The Husband or I.
She's fine now, almost back to normal. I'll call the clinic in the morning, plus I already have an appointment with the kids' pediatrician for tomorrow. (Yes, we would have rushed her to the ER had there been any breathing difficulties.)
God DAMN it. What, cardiomyopathy and cancer weren't enough?
A Clash of Coincidences, or More Fun With Tivo
With Tivo, you can program in "wish list" words to see what shows come up with those words (or actors' names). It's like Google for tv.
I'm lazy about deleting my wish list words, which is why "Christmas" and "Halloween" are still on there.
Interesting tidbit: on just about any day throughout the year, you can watch a Christmas or Halloween episode of some show. For some reason, now, that seems remotely comforting. If I need it to be Christmas today, it can be.
One of my other wish list words: cancer. I don't know why. It's the same motivation that lead me to watch pregnancy shows while pregnant or baby shows when one of my babies was first born. I want to see other people going through what I am, in some fashion.
Which explains why today, I watched the episode of Murphy Brown wherein she buys a wig and joins a breast-cancer support group, and "The Doctor," a really good movie made in 1991 starring William Hurt as an insensitive ass of a doctor who gets cancer.
Predictable? Sure it is. Doesn't mean that I don't wish every single medical student would watch it.
Got a call from a BabyDoc today. By BabyDoc, I don't mean someone who treats doctors. I mean one of those interns / fellows/ apparently-12-year-olds-that-they-give-medical-degrees-to-these days.
The oncology team had a meeting today and discussed Little Warrior's last CT. Overall, nothing bad. However, there are some "abnormal" areas near where they cut on her kidneys. Most likely, these are the nephrogenic rests that we suspected would be there. This isn't bad, in and of itself. These "rests" can turn into cancer, but they don't necessarily.
Right now, they just need a baseline so that they can compare future CT scans. So, they may do an MRI on Little Warrior. Nothing to worry about yet. Not that that's stopping me.
By the way, a few weeks ago, I wrote about how I don't believe in the "power of prayer" in the traditional sense.
That doesn't mean I don't pray anyway.
I'm lazy about deleting my wish list words, which is why "Christmas" and "Halloween" are still on there.
Interesting tidbit: on just about any day throughout the year, you can watch a Christmas or Halloween episode of some show. For some reason, now, that seems remotely comforting. If I need it to be Christmas today, it can be.
One of my other wish list words: cancer. I don't know why. It's the same motivation that lead me to watch pregnancy shows while pregnant or baby shows when one of my babies was first born. I want to see other people going through what I am, in some fashion.
Which explains why today, I watched the episode of Murphy Brown wherein she buys a wig and joins a breast-cancer support group, and "The Doctor," a really good movie made in 1991 starring William Hurt as an insensitive ass of a doctor who gets cancer.
Predictable? Sure it is. Doesn't mean that I don't wish every single medical student would watch it.
Got a call from a BabyDoc today. By BabyDoc, I don't mean someone who treats doctors. I mean one of those interns / fellows/ apparently-12-year-olds-that-they-give-medical-degrees-to-these days.
The oncology team had a meeting today and discussed Little Warrior's last CT. Overall, nothing bad. However, there are some "abnormal" areas near where they cut on her kidneys. Most likely, these are the nephrogenic rests that we suspected would be there. This isn't bad, in and of itself. These "rests" can turn into cancer, but they don't necessarily.
Right now, they just need a baseline so that they can compare future CT scans. So, they may do an MRI on Little Warrior. Nothing to worry about yet. Not that that's stopping me.
By the way, a few weeks ago, I wrote about how I don't believe in the "power of prayer" in the traditional sense.
That doesn't mean I don't pray anyway.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
It's looking good
The radiologist and another doc report that her CT looks clear. Tomorrow, since she is such an interesting case, her CT will be perused by all the hospital oncologists at one of their presentations.
Silly doctors. The reason why she is so interesting is because she keeps saying, "Wowwww" at everything we do. And she wants to eat palak paneer rather than cheerios. And when you make an "Mwwah" kissing sound at her, she'll bump her head up against your lips to get kisses.
But hey, they can think she's an interesting case if it helps the next Little Warrior.
Silly doctors. The reason why she is so interesting is because she keeps saying, "Wowwww" at everything we do. And she wants to eat palak paneer rather than cheerios. And when you make an "Mwwah" kissing sound at her, she'll bump her head up against your lips to get kisses.
But hey, they can think she's an interesting case if it helps the next Little Warrior.
Monday, June 05, 2006
No CT results. Chocolate.
The oncologist is in Japan. Which is why we haven't heard anything.
Grr.
Well, while I'm waiting, howsabout some "lighter" recipes that aren't too bad? Both for chocoholics. First, brownies. Simple. Buy any brownie mix and rather than water, oil and egg, mix in a heaping cup of plain, low-fat or fat-free yogurt. Might need to add a bit of water, but I'm sure you know what brownie batter is supposed to look like. Bake as directed. A little tangy, but not bad at all.
Chocolate spread: make some yogurt cheese by draining low-fat plain yogurt in cheesecloth overnight. Mix together some cocoa powder, a bit of granulated sugar (could use Splenda, if you're into that) and hot water to make a thick chocolate syrup. Well, between a syrup and a paste. Mix with some of the yogurt. No, no measurements. You're smart. You can figure out what you like. Eat it heaped up on a graham cracker. Or:
Chocolate no-crust cheesecake: Mix together an egg, some vanilla, and about three big spoonfuls of the chocolate yogurt cheese. Pour in a custard cup or some single-serving thing you have that's oven-proof. Put that in a larger pan that you've poured some water in. Bake at 350 for about 30 minutes.
Grr.
Well, while I'm waiting, howsabout some "lighter" recipes that aren't too bad? Both for chocoholics. First, brownies. Simple. Buy any brownie mix and rather than water, oil and egg, mix in a heaping cup of plain, low-fat or fat-free yogurt. Might need to add a bit of water, but I'm sure you know what brownie batter is supposed to look like. Bake as directed. A little tangy, but not bad at all.
Chocolate spread: make some yogurt cheese by draining low-fat plain yogurt in cheesecloth overnight. Mix together some cocoa powder, a bit of granulated sugar (could use Splenda, if you're into that) and hot water to make a thick chocolate syrup. Well, between a syrup and a paste. Mix with some of the yogurt. No, no measurements. You're smart. You can figure out what you like. Eat it heaped up on a graham cracker. Or:
Chocolate no-crust cheesecake: Mix together an egg, some vanilla, and about three big spoonfuls of the chocolate yogurt cheese. Pour in a custard cup or some single-serving thing you have that's oven-proof. Put that in a larger pan that you've poured some water in. Bake at 350 for about 30 minutes.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
National Cancer Survivors' Day
Today is National Cancer Survivors' Day. Perhaps Little Warrior could celebrate this already, hopefully she's been cancer-free since her surgery.
But, we just don't know.
Maybe next year we'll be celebrating this. I'll bake a cake.
We still haven't received the results of her CT scan back yet.
But, we just don't know.
Maybe next year we'll be celebrating this. I'll bake a cake.
We still haven't received the results of her CT scan back yet.
"The Girl Can Fry Fish"
The Husband went out Friday on his yearly overnight fishing trip with his buddy, Nice Guy. And if you think this wife missed the opportunity to crack "Brokeback Mountain" jokes, you are sorely mistaken.
Caught enough fish to feed three adults and three children, heavily supplemented with sweet tater fries and (groan with me) fried dill pickles. We only fry about twice a year, so when we do, we fry everything in sight. Wait, where's the dog?
Growing up, I had tons of fresh fish, and never any purchased fish, since Daddy was, and is, a fisherman. Once The Husband married into the family, Daddy taught him the proper way to clean a fish, and me, how to cook it. (If it's a dry or fish that can be strong, like sheepshead, be sure and soak it in buttermilk. If it's moist like trout, don't soak it in anything.) Toss it with cornmeal/flour, then fry 'em up at the hottest temp your fryer will go to.
"I saw your wife the other day, uu huh, and she's ugly..."
"Yeah, but she sure can cook!"
Or fry fish.
---
Best Way to Fry Pickles
Get some good, sour dill pickles and cut 'em in chunks. "Hamburger slices" are too thin, so cut them yourself.
Crush yourself some Cap'n Crunch cereal real fine.
Set out three bowls: first, flour. Second, egg. Third, the cereal crumbs.
Dip pickle chunks in flour, then egg, then cereal.
Deep fry real hot.
Enjoy. And ignore any jokes about trailer trash.
Caught enough fish to feed three adults and three children, heavily supplemented with sweet tater fries and (groan with me) fried dill pickles. We only fry about twice a year, so when we do, we fry everything in sight. Wait, where's the dog?
Growing up, I had tons of fresh fish, and never any purchased fish, since Daddy was, and is, a fisherman. Once The Husband married into the family, Daddy taught him the proper way to clean a fish, and me, how to cook it. (If it's a dry or fish that can be strong, like sheepshead, be sure and soak it in buttermilk. If it's moist like trout, don't soak it in anything.) Toss it with cornmeal/flour, then fry 'em up at the hottest temp your fryer will go to.
"I saw your wife the other day, uu huh, and she's ugly..."
"Yeah, but she sure can cook!"
Or fry fish.
---
Best Way to Fry Pickles
Get some good, sour dill pickles and cut 'em in chunks. "Hamburger slices" are too thin, so cut them yourself.
Crush yourself some Cap'n Crunch cereal real fine.
Set out three bowls: first, flour. Second, egg. Third, the cereal crumbs.
Dip pickle chunks in flour, then egg, then cereal.
Deep fry real hot.
Enjoy. And ignore any jokes about trailer trash.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
The Secret Handshake
Had an interesting experience today.
Rather than going downtown to The Big Medical Clinic where Little Warrior gets her care, I was able to just go 10 minutes away to a pedi office, since all she needed was to get blood drawn.
While I was signing in and talking to the receptionist, there was a pharmaceutical salesman standing there. You know the type -- very polished, very manly.
"I couldn't help overhearing," says he. "I have a child being treated at The Big Medical Center, but you can get the blood draws done here?"
Yep, says I, then ask him what his child is being treated for.
He gives me the little wave-off that I know I have given others not in the Childhood Cancer World and says, "Oh, it's this rare thing called rhabdomyosarcoma."
I point to Little Warrior. "Wilms Tumor."
I remember hearing about how Masons supposedly have some secret "sign" they can give each other. It has been mythologized in stories such as how Sam Houston and Santa Anna met up and gave each other "the sign," and thus didn't kill each other.
We had given each other "the sign." As soon as I said "tumor," he knew that we were in the same club. The club that no one wants to join, but once you're in, you're in. So, we began chatting, exchanging when our children were diagnosed, finding out that we knew some of the same doctors (both are categorized as "solid tumors" which affects which doctors you see), etc.
He looked at Little Warrior. And cried. This big ole polished, manly guy. I figured it was because his son was diagnosed more recently than LW. And with a condition considered to be more serious than Wilms. But explained himself. "I can handle it, my son having this. But seeing other kids with it. Your baby ..."
So, we each had insight for the other. Mine was simple -- he now knows that he can get blood draws out by his house, a highly useful bit of info. His was deeper. I have been a bit surprised at the clinic that the other moms (it's almost always mothers, not fathers) weren't friendlier. I'd seen some chat with others, but not with me. I found this odd, since I'm usually the type that complete strangers come up and chat with in the grocery store. I finally figured that maybe it was because they've seen me breastfeeding my baby. Hey, nothing else made sense!
Except this ... perhaps, even for the moms whose children have cancer, seeing a baby with cancer is just a little too much. A little too raw.
I don't know. But I feel a bit more kind about it, so I guess that's all that matters.
Rather than going downtown to The Big Medical Clinic where Little Warrior gets her care, I was able to just go 10 minutes away to a pedi office, since all she needed was to get blood drawn.
While I was signing in and talking to the receptionist, there was a pharmaceutical salesman standing there. You know the type -- very polished, very manly.
"I couldn't help overhearing," says he. "I have a child being treated at The Big Medical Center, but you can get the blood draws done here?"
Yep, says I, then ask him what his child is being treated for.
He gives me the little wave-off that I know I have given others not in the Childhood Cancer World and says, "Oh, it's this rare thing called rhabdomyosarcoma."
I point to Little Warrior. "Wilms Tumor."
I remember hearing about how Masons supposedly have some secret "sign" they can give each other. It has been mythologized in stories such as how Sam Houston and Santa Anna met up and gave each other "the sign," and thus didn't kill each other.
We had given each other "the sign." As soon as I said "tumor," he knew that we were in the same club. The club that no one wants to join, but once you're in, you're in. So, we began chatting, exchanging when our children were diagnosed, finding out that we knew some of the same doctors (both are categorized as "solid tumors" which affects which doctors you see), etc.
He looked at Little Warrior. And cried. This big ole polished, manly guy. I figured it was because his son was diagnosed more recently than LW. And with a condition considered to be more serious than Wilms. But explained himself. "I can handle it, my son having this. But seeing other kids with it. Your baby ..."
So, we each had insight for the other. Mine was simple -- he now knows that he can get blood draws out by his house, a highly useful bit of info. His was deeper. I have been a bit surprised at the clinic that the other moms (it's almost always mothers, not fathers) weren't friendlier. I'd seen some chat with others, but not with me. I found this odd, since I'm usually the type that complete strangers come up and chat with in the grocery store. I finally figured that maybe it was because they've seen me breastfeeding my baby. Hey, nothing else made sense!
Except this ... perhaps, even for the moms whose children have cancer, seeing a baby with cancer is just a little too much. A little too raw.
I don't know. But I feel a bit more kind about it, so I guess that's all that matters.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
