Jude doing the limbo. Bend at your waist, or just flop your head and giggle.
I don't know what the deal is with off-the-shoulder t-shirts. Ben says they've been doing this for a few days and call it a cave man game.
Future Harley dude.
We've had a pretty nice day. The boys have been so happy to be at home together. Sam is still warming up to the school routine and he asked me several times this morning, "Is there no school today?" He likes school but I think he was ready for a day off. These pictures are from this afternoon. My boys are so funny.
I'm the last one up tonight and had planned to read the book I just started, but realized I need to write a little and get some things off my brain.
Tuesday I will go in for round 4 of chemo. This weekend is prime time for me: 12 days past the last treatment, at the peak well-feeling. At my best I'm running at about 75% of healthy Susan mojo. Since I've pretty well narrowed my responsibilities to 1) enjoy what I can, 2) be nice to Ben, 3) take care of the kids and 4) clean the house enough to keep us from making each other ill, 75% is almost enough.
I'm still picking up new side effects though, and that is discouraging. New this week: a rash on my chest. I don't feel it -- no itchiness -- but it doesn't look great. It will tax my creative fashion juices tomorrow to dress for church. Most of my September apparel does not involve turtlenecks.
Eating is still more of an issue than I'd like. I'm sensitive to cold enough that it would be painful to eat ice cream. I'm sorry Dove bar in my freezer. I long for you, but it is not meant to be. Will you wait for me until February?
I was told early on that since chemotherapy kills fast-growing cells, it not only kills cancer cells but also some useful stuff that helps keep digestive processes working smoothly. I have a small arsenal of drugs to treat a variety of digestive disorders and use one of them most days. Including today. It's crummy.
No doubt everybody's life is an accumulation of good stuff and bad stuff. I know it's normal to be happy about some parts of my life and sad about others. Right now it all feels so smashed together that I don't know whether I'm enjoying my adorable, hilarious, happy children and our new home and all the blessings of being here or if I'm desperately sad that I have to split my time between this and cancer murder nastiness.
3 comments:
You're in both places at once. And the two extremes are both enhanced and tempered by the other. It sounds strange, I know. . . .
My mom died when Joe was 3 months old. Later that week, Joe learned to laugh out loud. Not a giggle or a chortle, but a loud, belly-ripping laugh. How can you not participate in that? I will never forget my dad playing with his grandson in a mirror, laughing together over and over at each other's reflection at the worst of that very sad time. We inched a bit off the despair mark that day.
This experience will change you. I know you are needing to get through this day-by-day now, but you, dear one, will emerge with greater strength, wisdom, hope, empathy, and gratitude. And there's another paradox--strengthened and tenderized at the same time.
Keep on hanging on. This cancer is rotten business, and we'll all be relieved when the cancer killing is behind you. We are praying for all of you. And as my Norwegian grandma never failed to respond to any calamity, "It could be worse." And it could. . . can you imagine going through this without the love of your adorable, hilarious, happy children? Without your husband? Without your faith?
Laurie, you write the loveliest things. Your comments mean a lot to me. One of these days (when this is over!) we'll be in Bloomington to see the grands and I would love to see you. Guessing you are not too long a drive from the twin cities? I'm foggy on MN geography.
How fun! That would be great! We're about an hour south, sixty rural miles or so.
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