I Say It's My Birthday

Today, at about 8:00 p.m., I will be 36 years old. Every year I remember that I was born during prime-time TV because my dad has so often told me that the nurses who delivered me were eager to finish up so they could watch the television premiere of The Poseidon Adventure. My dad, who is hilarious, e-mailed me this synopsis: "about the SS Poseidon: A big cruise boat in a storm. I remember it had: Gene Hackman, Ernest Borgnine and a big fat Shelly Winters. It was on TV at 8:30 that night you were born...all the nurses wanted to see it and you were getting in the way."

I'm celebrating in style this year, hooked up to the chemo pump all day and probably spending most of it in bed. On my 35th birthday, Jude had surgery for a ruptured appendix. If we have another medical issue on Oct. 27 next year, I might start to fear the anniversary of my birth.

The photo above is from a couple years ago. Check out all the hair!

Thirty-six strikes me as a more interesting landmark year than most. To wit:

• I have reached child/adult equilibrium: 18 years living with parents, 18 years living away from them.
• I have known Ben for half of my life. We met in marching band my first year at Northwestern.
• 20 years of driving! No moving violations...yet.
• Four years to prepare for turning 40. Getting older is fine with me, but I'd like to do something challenging that I CHOOSE (cancer is challenging, but....) around that birthday. Run a 10K? Overseas trip? Run a 10K overseas? I've made almost no steps toward either so the possibilities are wiiiiiiide open. By then Sam would probably run with me and be at the finish line eating doughnuts before I get there. But I would still be older and wiser.

Those iTunes Folks Get Rich

So, I'm sitting for chemo round 7. It's generally boring. I spend a few hours here every two weeks and am starting to feel quite at home. A couple of times I've almost dozed off waiting 10 minutes for the oncologist. There's a pillow on the exam table, why not nap?

It's also a little depressing. I feel ok right now, but as soon as I leave here I'll start to feel nasty again. The nurses here are great. They chat while they work, with patients and each other. They are unfailingly kind. Today I was near tears driving here, so bummed that I'm doing this again. But then I came in and the nurses were chatting about movies and laughing about their differing opinions. I am thankful for the energy they invest in making the hours here encouraging.

I'm also listening to some music on my computer and have plenty of time to browse iTunes. I came across a new Mavis Staples album that is nice for right now so I bought it. iTunes is the best use ever of the urge to impulse buy. I like it and I'm a little sorry I figured out how it works. At least Mavis is here to encourage me and share my pain. She sounds like a woman who knows life is hard and God is faithful.

Halfway

As my kind and encouraging Facebook friends know, today was a rough day for me. I'm not bouncing back quite as swiftly as I did on the last couple rounds of chemo and I think I'm frustrated with how long this takes.

I am precisely in the middle. Six down, six to go. It seemed like a helpful landmark at first but now it seems more like I'm in the most discouraging portion of a long tunnel: I'm tired and want to get out, but turning around and going back will take as long as plugging away to the end. So I shrug my shoulders and plod along dutifully, hoping the end of the tunnel will be worth the hike.

I have taken good health for granted most of my life and now I am daily aware of chronic illness. Yesterday I took Sam with me to the bookstore to spend a giftcard (on a new cookbook! always fun) and my nose started bleeding while we were looking around. 1. It's embarrassing to walk around the bookstore pressing a couple of cheap, bloody tissues to your nose and 2. It takes the fun out of browsing.

A friend pointed me to a web site called ChronicBabe, "For Babes, who just happen to have chronic illness". I like the spirit of the site: optimistic, take-charge, there's-more-to-your-life-than-sickness. The fact that it exists, however, illuminates the energy suck of chronic illness. If you want your life to be more than the sickness you have to work at it.

I have as much help as anyone could possibly hope for. As much emotional and spiritual support as I need. There's nothing *more* that could be done to support me. I just want to be done. Today is a heavy sigh day. Here's hoping tomorrow will feel better.

Short-Term Memory Lapses

I had my sixth chemotherapy treatment on Tuesday. I slept most of Wed-Fri, feeling like complete sludge. I spent those days in bed thinking that might be the rest of my life: lying in bed feeling crappy and listening to someone else have fun with my kids.

Today (Saturday) I woke up feeling much better. Still some side-effects, but not the comatose-state fatigue. Now I think my life will be fine and isn't it nice to live in my house with my cute little kids and my sweet husband?

It is as though I have no short-term memory. What I feel today generalizes into the rest of my life. I *know* what is coming - another round 8 days from now, and another 3-4 days in bed - but I don't feel it.

Now to make the want-to-do list for the next week: Try out pirate costumes on all the boys (everyone has finally agreed to Halloween pirateness, which is centered on possession of a sword). Enjoy another week of gorgeous fall weather. Declutter my house. Finish reading The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. Carve a pumpkin. The next time I come around, the weather might be too cold for me to hang around outside. I'd head south if my oncologist would come with me!

Lovely Week Overdone

I have had a delightful week. One of the perks of being sick every other week is that I procrastinate less on the good weeks. I've got about 8-9 well days and this time I smashed them full.

My brother and sister-in-law visited this weekend - always fun - and the weather was purrrrrfect. We visited a pumpkin farm complete with a few farm animals that the kids got to feed. There was a dance party during which Jamie & Elisabeth taught the boys how to salsa dance. Watching the boys try to do simple dance steps AND shake their hips is hilarious. It's more of a rumpus shake.

I made a couple of trips due north to visit friends in Wisconsin; hosted some moms & kids from Jude & Owen's preschool for a morning of play in our enormous yard. A night out with Ben ("The Town" is a good flick).

Each activity is quite reasonable - a couple of hours of family fun in an otherwise quiet day. It seems, however, to be a little much for me right now. Saturday morning I fell asleep unexpectedly for three hours. I just get so hopelessly tired sometimes. It's hard to keep the brakes on for months on end when there are cute little boys and delightful friends involved. It makes me want to AARGH.

It also makes me happy that there are so many wonderful, happy things in my life. It appears that my cup runneth over.

Cancer Murder, Round 5

DING! DING! End the round!

I'm mostly over the side-effects of round 5, which I had a week ago. My hands are peeling and gross but otherwise I'm in reasonably good shape.

One of the nicest things that happens for me almost every day is that I get snail mail. There are several people who regularly send me cardsand other folks who write occasionally to let me know they are thinking of me and praying for me. I LOVE snail mail.

I'm a heavy user of electronic communication and I love the convenience and frequency of it. But nothing beats a hand-written letter in my mailbox. The time it takes to put anything in the mail makes me feel loved. I aspire to write much more than I actually do, so I appreciate being at the top of other people's correspondence lists.

Another nice thing: I'll get to see a lot of out-of-town friends and family in the next month. For the next three rounds I am expecting a friend, then my mom, then my in-laws to be at our house to help with the kids on my bad days. In my non-cancer life I enjoy company; right now I feel deeply loved that anyone would come spend several days living here to help our family cope with the stress of chemo.

It seems like now that we're settled into a routine of school and work and living in our newish home I am able to recover from chemo in a shorter time. For the last couple of rounds I've had about 3 ugly days and by Saturday things start looking better. Before that I was having about 5 ugly days, including Sundays. It's hard to be out of commission on Sunday when you are married to a pastor.

I suspect, in spite of this improved perspective, that treatment days will continue to be sad for me. I can't think of a way to avoid sadness and discouragement when I'm opting in to feeling crummy for the better part of a week. Praise God that I know the sadness will pass, and that chemo will end.

Quotable

Owen, at midnight, sobbing in the hallway like his (non-existent) puppy just died.

Me: "Why are you crying Owen?"

O: "Because I don't want to sleeeeeep!"

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Jude, on seeing a framed photograph of my parents that we unpacked this weekend, "Hey! There's Nana and Pop-Pop! Now I don't have to miss them because I can just see them right here!"

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Sam, while getting ready to leave for school: "Is today the mile run?"

Ben: "No, you already did the mile run. Remember?"

Sam: "Oh. I want to do it again!"

Ben: "Would you like to go running with me sometime?"

Sam: "Oh yeah! That's what I really wished."

Halloween Pumpkins, Squires Style

It amuses me endlessly to watch the boys all do the same project. Here are some jack-o-lanterns we made (last weekend, when I was at my energy peak).

Far left, Owen's pumpkin. I did all the cutting, he did all the gluing. Roughly half a glue stick required.

Middle, Sam's pumpkin. He made this on his own except for the cutting of the mouth. He drew so many fierce teeth that he needed help with that.

Far right, Jude's pumpkin. I think of it as Zorro pumpkin. Jude did all the cutting and precision is not his strong suit. Enthusiasm and pride, he's got plenty.