She is more precious than rubies. Nothing you desire compares with her.*

I figured it would be a lot like the last 364 days.  Better yet, I hoped it would be like the last 364 days.  I hoped  3.15 would not impact me any differently than every other day since my mother died.  I couldn’t imagine missing her any more than the day before, or the one before that.  For example, my sister sent me a text the night before 3.15 and asked if I was thinking about mom.  I am still curious what answer she was expecting.  Sis, if you are reading, here is your answer.  What the @#!^& else would I be doing?  I think about her every day for god’s sake!

Everyone handles these situations differently.  I am not the type to get down in the well, or better yet, get a bottle of wine and ball up in the fetal position in a dark corner.  I got up and went to work like I do every day, like I attempted to do 3.15 last year.

I can remember every detail of that day.  I wore a sea foam green mock turtle neck with tan pants.  I can remember thinking, as I walked to the car that morning, I should have worn heels with those pants because they are just long enough to drag the ground a bit with the ballet flats I chose.  However, I was in a hurry to get the boys to their grandma’s and did not have time to change.

They boys go to their grandma’s every Monday.  They play with their cousins and at the end of the day the whole family comes together for a meal.  This has been a tradition for about five years now and even after the divorce I made sure the boys get to maintain this tradition, so they are with their dad on Monday nights.

I took the boys inside, gave hugs and kisses to them and headed back to my car.  One missed call.  From my step-dad.  No message.  It was 7:40 AM CT.  I knew I needed to remember the time.  I called him back knowing exactly what I was going to hear.  After all, we had all been waiting for this day.  Mom had been in so much pain since they found her brain tumor in January that we all prayed she would find peace.  My mom, being the tenacious woman I love, had things to do and say before she was ready to take her eternal sleep though.  On 3.15.10 she had done all she needed to do and said all she needed to say.  After taking her morning meds and talking with my step dad briefly, she closed her eyes for the last time.  My step-dad described to me, the details of the morning.  We cried together for a moment and I got busy.  First I called my sister, then my dad, then a close friend.

I went back inside the home of my former in-laws and before I could get the words out of my mouth, my former mother-in-law spoke for me.  Having lost a parent herself and knowing the situation, she could apparently read my face.  I later learned the boys were a little confused and in the afternoon had to clarify with their grandma that it was in fact their Nana that went to live with Jesus, and not mommy.

I think about my mother every day.  Although I don’t get to see her or speak to her daily like I would prefer, she has eternal life.  She is with me everywhere I go and softly encourages and motivates in all I do.  I can still see her face and hear her voice as if I saw her yesterday.  On 3.15.10, it felt like I had just seen her the day before.  On 3.15.11 it felt like I just got the phone call from my step-dad.

Proverbs 3:15

Let's Be Honest Here

I registered for our local Making Strides against Breast Cancer walk months ago. Maybe it was weeks. Either way, I had plenty of time to raise awareness and funds. I also had time to talk to my boys about Breast Cancer, and why we walk. G-Man asked big boy questions like “what is fund raising” and “what is charity”. He also asked about Cancer and how the doctors help those that are sick. The Babe asked the exact question I expected from him; “what are breasts”. You can imagine how delighted both boys were to hear me say “boobs”. They ran around saying “breasts, breasts, breasts”. Typical boys.

The three of us talked about the walk for days before it was scheduled. The morning of, the boys gathered their toys and snacks for their “walk” in the wagon while we all donned our pink. What I did not have time for during my preparation, was to reflect. I participate in stuff like this all the time so I did not think this time was any different. However, I never stopped to think about how it would feel when the volunteer handed me a sticker that said, “I walk for ______________”, let alone when I actually filled it in. I did not think about the questions the boys would ask about Mom on the drive to the walk. I was not prepared for my oldest son to look at me as I am filling out papers and stickers and say to me “I walk for you Mommy”. Can he possibly understand what he is saying?

The walk was only a 5k so they boys took turns in the wagon while the adults took turns pulling it. When I was not making sure the boys were warm enough, or not too hot, I thought. I thought about my mom, and her mom. I thought about all of the people at the event that donated time and money. I thought about how much I wished I could have spent that morning with my mom.

These events tend to bring out the community in some that otherwise know nothing of the concept. I acknowledge many participate in these events because they are good hearted. Some do it for recognition. Everyone has his or her own agenda. With that in mind, many people I spoke with that day; whether friends, volunteers, or otherwise, thanked me for walking. It was fine the first few times I heard it but after a while, it bothered me. I did not do it for them. I did not do it for recognition. Frankly, I did not do it for my mom. There are moments I feel my mom more closely than other days. That day was one of them. I will do whatever I can to feel her presence.

So truth be told, I walked for myself.

Wish You Were Here

Four days after my mother lost her battle with a brain tumor, I got a box in the mail from her.  You read that correctly.  No need to reread that sentence.  I had known the box would be coming but would never have guessed I would get it after she died.  Frankly I wasn't really thinking about it at this point in the process either.  The last time I visited Mom she had a list of things to do before she would allow herself to take her last breath.  One of the most important tasks to her was to purchase three necklaces, each with a silver cross.  One for me, my sister and my step-sister.

I opened the box and noticed Mom and Neal had sent my step-sister's necklace with mine.  A completely sensible thing to do since we live mere minutes from one another.  I felt like I should wait to open the box with Laura but could not contain my emotion and opened it by myself in my kitchen.  I was overcome by the simple beauty of the cross and what it represented to my mom and found myself crying as I drove West to Laura's house.  I apologized to Laura for my lack of patience as I held my hand over my necklace as she opened her box.

As I mentioned before, I was aware the box would be coming.  What I was not prepared for was the note that accompanied the box.  There were two notes actually.  One note to "the girls" from my mom and another to the doctors and nurses that cared for her.  I was able to contain myself at my place and waited to read them with Laura.  We sat together, now in her kitchen, and read the message she sent to us and the message of gratitude to the caregivers that gave us two more years with her.

For my country music fan friends, this story might remind you of a song by Mark Wills called Wish You Were Here:

Wish you were here, wish you could see this place
Wish you were near, I wish I could touch your face
The weather's nice, it's paradise
It's summertime all year and there's some folks we know
They say, "Hello, I miss you so, wish you were here"

My mom may not be here any longer in the physical form, but I know she is still here.  The cross I wear around my neck reminds me of her but even without it she is with me.  Everywhere.

Making Her List & Checking It Twice

I am a list maker. When I was younger, I considered my lists some sort of indication of how productive I was. It was the best feeling ever when I could toss out the list when everything was done. As I have aged though, I have realized I accomplish something important each time I cross off a task on the list. My list is never ending and I am never really able to toss the list all together. I always find something new to add.

Not all of us are list makers or planners. Some people are comfortable just taking things as they come. For control freaks like me, this would never do. If I could, I would always know what to expect. I would walk into a meeting at work with an agenda in hand and the meeting would follow it to the letter. Unfortunately, this never happens.

I am like my mother in many ways. Most of which I did not realize, or admit, until recently. My mother is a planner. A control freak I suppose. At the very least, mom is a list maker. Even now, in her weakest state, mom is making a list and checking it twice.

While visiting DC last weekend, Mom and I were talking and the conversation took a turn. I had prepared myself for the conversation but was still caught off guard. She began her requests with the question “what will you tell my grandsons about me?” She continued to tell me she did not want them to think she gave up. As I began to sob in her arms, I told her I was about to tell her the hardest thing I will ever tell anyone. I gave her permission to go to sleep and not wake up. I gave her permission to find peace and not be in pain any longer. I reminded her that, if in fact, she chooses to close her eyes and not open them again, that it is just her body giving up and not her spirit. Her spirit will live forever in everyone she has touched.

Mom went on to lay out what she wanted me to have of her material things. She wants to write a letter to one of her stepdaughters. She asked to speak to my boys and their dad. With each request she made, she checked something off her mental list. With each item she checked off the list, a weight was lifted.

Much like when you have a rough day and can’t sleep due to restlessness, Mom needs a clear mind to sleep soundly for eternity. She continued her list of requests with asking me to take care of my stepdad. Check. She asked me to work on my relationship with my sister. Check. She asked me to raise my boys with God and not be afraid to ask for help doing so. Check. She told me to be true to myself in everything I do. Check.

Unlike the lists I currently make, Mom’s list will end. When I look at the things on my list now, they all seem so trivial. Oil change, haircut, car tags, and cat food. My recent conversations with Mom have made me alter the things on my list a bit. Sure the things to do things to get done at some point, but I have added a few things as well. Call my sister more. Let the dishes sit until the boys go to bed. Write more. Sing louder. Talk more and text less. Nurture relationships.

Losing a parent is a part of life that some of us are lucky enough to avoid well into our adulthood. If I can find anything good about dealing with this in my early thirties, it is that I realize now, rather than later, that some things just aren’t as important as we make them. Just like kids growing into young adults, we all have to learn from our own mistakes no matter how hard our parents try to help us avoid making mistakes they made. My mother is still teaching me.

Making Her List & Checking It Twice

I am a list maker. When I was younger, I considered my lists some sort of indication of how productive I was. It was the best feeling ever when I could toss out the list when everything was done. As I have aged though, I have realized I accomplish something important each time I cross off a task on the list. My list is never ending and I am never really able to toss the list all together. I always find something new to add.

Not all of us are list makers or planners. Some people are comfortable just taking things as they come. For control freaks like me, this would never do. If I could, I would always know what to expect. I would walk into a meeting at work with an agenda in hand and the meeting would follow it to the letter. Unfortunately, this never happens.

I am like my mother in many ways. Most of which I did not realize, or admit, until recently. My mother is a planner. A control freak I suppose. At the very least, mom is a list maker. Even now, in her weakest state, mom is making a list and checking it twice.

While visiting DC last weekend, Mom and I were talking and the conversation took a turn. I had prepared myself for the conversation but was still caught off guard. She began her requests with the question “what will you tell my grandsons about me?” She continued to tell me she did not want them to think she gave up. As I began to sob in her arms, I told her I was about to tell her the hardest thing I will ever tell anyone. I gave her permission to go to sleep and not wake up. I gave her permission to find peace and not be in pain any longer. I reminded her that, if in fact, she chooses to close her eyes and not open them again, that it is just her body giving up and not her spirit. Her spirit will live forever in everyone she has touched.

Mom went on to lay out what she wanted me to have of her material things. She wants to write a letter to one of her stepdaughters. She asked to speak to my boys and their dad. With each request she made, she checked something off her mental list. With each item she checked off the list, a weight was lifted.

Much like when you have a rough day and can’t sleep due to restlessness, Mom needs a clear mind to sleep soundly for eternity. She continued her list of requests with asking me to take care of my stepdad. Check. She asked me to work on my relationship with my sister. Check. She asked me to raise my boys with God and not be afraid to ask for help doing so. Check. She told me to be true to myself in everything I do. Check.

Unlike the lists I currently make, Mom’s list will end. When I look at the things on my list now, they all seem so trivial. Oil change, haircut, car tags, and cat food. My recent conversations with Mom have made me alter the things on my list a bit. Sure the things to do things to get done at some point, but I have added a few things as well. Call my sister more. Let the dishes sit until the boys go to bed. Write more. Sing louder. Talk more and text less. Nurture relationships.

Losing a parent is a part of life that some of us are lucky enough to avoid well into our adulthood. If I can find anything good about dealing with this in my early thirties, it is that I realize now, rather than later, that some things just aren’t as important as we make them. Just like kids growing into young adults, we all have to learn from our own mistakes no matter how hard our parents try to help us avoid making mistakes they made. My mother is still teaching me.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T. Find Out What It Means To Me

I was barely nineteen when my mom met the man I now call my step dad. The irony of the situation is my mom hasn’t been married for about fifteen years. Mom and Neal met when they were both still married to other people. Imagine my dismay when I learned of their indiscretion. My self- righteous nineteen year old self could not fathom what on earth they were thinking when they made the conscious decision to disrespect their current commitments. After all, in all of my nineteen years I had acquired more wisdom than either of them in their combined years (insert sarcasm here).

Mom and Neal were transferred to my birth state of North Carolina in 1997 and I soon followed them from Missouri my sophomore year of college. The decision to live with my mom and her new beau was not a difficult decision; after all, I had no money to speak of and no prospects of a job. Upon arriving to my new home it was obvious Neal had a way about him. To put it lightly, Neal and I did not always get along. There were many times the man made me cry at the dinner table. His comments or questions were never an attempt to hurt me, but to make me think. The only problem I had is his efforts worked.

Neal was, and still is, a stubborn man. He likes things a certain way and rightfully so. Neal has been in the construction industry for nearly forty years. He manages projects. He manages people. He facilitates. Although he has not been on his current job site for almost three weeks, Neal is still managing and facilitating. This time though, he is not constructing another East Coast hotel. This time he is facilitating the care of the love of his life. I watch this man bath my mother, rub lotion on her, take her to the bathroom and then I watch him quietly fall apart. I watch this big, strong construction man, with his wrinkled face and callused hands from years on the job, cry like an infant, and my breaking heart melts.

During my last visit east to visit my mother, Neal and I were walking from the hospital to the car after seeing Mom. I carefully brought up the subject of how mom wanted to be “taken care of”. It was my vain attempt to bring up burial services at a very emotional time. Neal laughed and said “your mom always said you and I were more alike than we want to admit”, “I was just thinking about turning her car in since her lease is up in two months”. We continued our walk to the car in silence.

Neal has three children from his marriage. Like me, his children were not pleased about how his relationship with my mother began. In their defense, Neal had been married to their mother for nearly thirty years. My mother, on the other hand, was married to husband number four and frankly my sister and I were not all that impressed with him. All of Neal’s children; two girls and one boy, live with their families in the town which I currently live. Laura is married with two teenage boys and runs a daycare out of her home. My two boys have had the privilege of being in her care during infancy. She is an example to mothers, daughters, wives, sisters and friends, and has forgiven her father. I am so lucky to say she is part of my family. Although I do not have a relationship with Laura’s brother and sister, I know what kind of people they are because I know their sister and their father. One day I hope they will see what I see in their dad. What I see in their father is a devoted, compassionate man. A man of conviction. A man that has my undying gratitude and respect.

Visiting Hours

Thirty four years ago yesterday, my mother was in a hospital in Charlotte North Carolina. She walked in as a wife and mother to a four year old daughter. Upon admittance, she brought her quick wit, and I am sure she immediately had the nurses doing her bidding as if it was the very thing they were put on earth to do. I can only imagine the pain my mother was in while she was in that hospital in 1976. Medicine was not as advanced back then, but giving birth to a child that was overdue was a relief with or without an epidural. Visitors came from miles and states away to see mom and the new addition to the family. They brought with them well wishes and congratulations. After all, the birth of a child is an exciting time that everyone wants to share. Mom walked out of the hospital with her husband and her two baby girls. She may not have had all of her strength back yet, but she had enough strength stored in her that during the next 34 years she would teach me what it means to be strong.

Yesterday morning I walked into a hospital in Fairfax Virginia. I walked in as a mother to a four and a half year old boy and a three year old boy. I held the hand of a man I have known as my stepfather for the last fifteen years. I thought of my mother as a rode the elevator to her room. I dug in my heels and tried to muster every bit of strength she gave me and I walked in the room she has lived in for over a week. I saw a woman that resembled my mother. Just days ago, this same woman thought Bush was the President and the date was May 2007. I said hello to this woman and she said “hi, baby”. There’s my mom.

I talked to my mom for a couple of hours before her radiation treatment. I tried to get her to stop messing with the stitches where the shunt had been placed in her head. I reminded her, as she has me so many times, to stop picking. I tried to lighten the mood with a joke here and there and at one point my mom flipped me off as her crooked smile curled. She was still in there. As I painted my mom’s fingernails I found myself counting them. I recalled counting the fingers and toes of my boys as I held them in the hospital after delivery and just being happy they were all there. I felt the same way about mom.

As my mother napped after radiation I sat with my stepdad in a small office near mom’s room. The two of us sat across from a doctor that would soon tell us the fate of my mother. The fate of a woman, that in her early 40’s beat breast cancer with one hand tied behind her back. The same woman, that in the last two years, all but beat an unbeatable lung cancer. The same woman that is called mother, sister, wife, daughter, friend and Senior Vice President of Sales.

“The oncology department is no longer going to follow your mother’s case”. “Palliative Care”. “Six Months will be a shock”. “A list of hospice companies”. They will offer my mother 10 radiation treatments and plan to send her home with hospice. There is nothing more they can do for her. The tumor in her brain that has metastasized from her lungs is incurable and due to the critical location is inoperable. Chemo would make her worse and the radiation buys us some time, but no one can tell me how much time.

Each time I visit my mother now, I wonder if it will be the last. Each time she closes her eyes I wonder if she will open them again. Each time someone says I am just like my mother I say thank you.

Like my mother 34 years ago, I walked out of the hospital a different person. I am still a mother, daughter, sister and friend, but I am stronger because of my mother.

What they don't know & Other lies we tell

I will not deny the fact that I lie on occasion.  I try to make myself feel better at night by rationalizing my motives.  Typically my lies are to protect people.  Sure, the person in question is often myself, but that is not the point.  My point, if I even have one, is that lies do serve a purpose.  The infamous "they" that I would like to track down and tie to a kitchen chair, say "the truth shall set you free".   I am not sure people are paying attention to who needs to be set free when they actually tell the truth though.

I lie to my kids. " Honey, Incredible Pizza is not open right now", when in fact, this is just my way of getting out of having to take them to the indoor carnival of hell.  Of course they are open; they are open all the time, even in the middle of the night while I have nightmares about going there.

I lie to my friends.  I know I know.  If I can't be honest with them, then what can I expect in return.  Well frankly, I do not want to know if those jeans make me look fat!  I don't tell my friends what I think they want to hear, I tell them things that make them feel good about themselves.

I lie to my clients (not you though:).  Don't worry!  I can spin this in my favor too.  I would much rather under promise and over deliver so this is really not lying but setting the right expectation.

I lie to myself, about a lot of things.  Denial manifests itself in many forms; my mother being my current affliction.  I knew she was sick even before the phone call.  Looking back, all the signs pointed to a place I did not want to visit again.  When she was formally diagnosed, I ignored the fact that it sounded bad.  Being an enabler of sorts, my mother did not help matters by leaving out some "minor" details of her condition.

After lying to herself for 30 or more years about the effects of smoking, Mom is now in her second year of treatment.  She has begun to ration details of her condition to us like food stamps in an attempt to prevent us from gorging ourselves.  The whole thing reminds me of that scene from A Few Good Men. "I want the truth? You can't handle the truth!"  I realize she does not want to be a statistic, or focus on how many years she may or may not have left.  I also realize, though, that we all need to be realistic; the controlling planner in me needs to know what to expect.  Under promise, over deliver.

Cancer is the worst kind of thief.  It does not hide itself like a coward; cancer is brazen with it's movement and leaves us cold and vulnerable in it's wake.  It moves in the daylight and does not stop until it gets what it wants from you.  What it takes is far more than it ever sets out to gain.

As a mother, I try to imagine what I would tell my children in Mom's position.  No matter how old my children get, I want to protect them from harm.  Sure, life happens, but why can't I do my part to prevent pain when I can?  As a wife, would I say to my husband "hey babe, it's not lookin so good".  Would I want my friends to feel sorry for me as my hair falls out and I lose my energy?  Like my mother, I would not want my life, and that of others, to be consumed by my illness.

If there is a moral here, it is this: What we don't know really doesn't hurt us.

What they don't know & Other lies we tell

I will not deny the fact that I lie on occasion.  I try to make myself feel better at night by rationalizing my motives.  Typically my lies are to protect people.  Sure, the person in question is often myself, but that is not the point.  My point, if I even have one, is that lies do serve a purpose.  The infamous "they" that I would like to track down and tie to a kitchen chair, say "the truth shall set you free".   I am not sure people are paying attention to who needs to be set free when they actually tell the truth though.

I lie to my kids. " Honey, Incredible Pizza is not open right now", when in fact, this is just my way of getting out of having to take them to the indoor carnival of hell.  Of course they are open; they are open all the time, even in the middle of the night while I have nightmares about going there.

I lie to my friends.  I know I know.  If I can't be honest with them, then what can I expect in return.  Well frankly, I do not want to know if those jeans make me look fat!  I don't tell my friends what I think they want to hear, I tell them things that make them feel good about themselves.

I lie to my clients (not you though:).  Don't worry!  I can spin this in my favor too.  I would much rather under promise and over deliver so this is really not lying but setting the right expectation.

I lie to myself, about a lot of things.  Denial manifests itself in many forms; my mother being my current affliction.  I knew she was sick even before the phone call.  Looking back, all the signs pointed to a place I did not want to visit again.  When she was formally diagnosed, I ignored the fact that it sounded bad.  Being an enabler of sorts, my mother did not help matters by leaving out some "minor" details of her condition.

After lying to herself for 30 or more years about the effects of smoking, Mom is now in her second year of treatment.  She has begun to ration details of her condition to us like food stamps in an attempt to prevent us from gorging ourselves.  The whole thing reminds me of that scene from A Few Good Men. "I want the truth? You can't handle the truth!"  I realize she does not want to be a statistic, or focus on how many years she may or may not have left.  I also realize, though, that we all need to be realistic; the controlling planner in me needs to know what to expect.  Under promise, over deliver.

Cancer is the worst kind of thief.  It does not hide itself like a coward; cancer is brazen with it's movement and leaves us cold and vulnerable in it's wake.  It moves in the daylight and does not stop until it gets what it wants from you.  What it takes is far more than it ever sets out to gain.

As a mother, I try to imagine what I would tell my children in Mom's position.  No matter how old my children get, I want to protect them from harm.  Sure, life happens, but why can't I do my part to prevent pain when I can?  As a wife, would I say to my husband "hey babe, it's not lookin so good".  Would I want my friends to feel sorry for me as my hair falls out and I lose my energy?  Like my mother, I would not want my life, and that of others, to be consumed by my illness.

If there is a moral here, it is this: What we don't know really doesn't hurt us.

The Icing On The Chemo

I am not sure how she does it. I feel like I take copious notes and I know I do not get all the information she gives me. How does my mom keep track of the schedule, the drugs, the tests. How does she pay attention to what the nurses are telling her while she sits in a recliner dressed up like a science experiment?

I have been bad about documenting mom's progress. It is true, "out of sight, out of mind". I suppose after our visit to DC in April I felt relieved. Mom had energy and responded well to the treatment. The inflammation was decreasing and the tumor was not growing. I felt safe. Don't get me wrong, I knew "we", meaning mom, was not out of the woods. I didn't want my thoughts, or our phone conversations to be surrounded by this intruder. That is how I looked at this cancer. The intruder that took my mother's immortality. Isn't that what we think of our parents? That they will live forever and be just a call away forever? Or is that what is known as "taking it for granted".

They finally figured out the intruder had a name. Not just cancer. We now now the intruder's full name. You know how the media tacks on a middle name or initial to the criminal. Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wayne Gacy, etc. Mom's intruder, AKA Adenocarcinoma of the lung. This type of cancer is very common and is typical in non smokers and you guessed it; those that have quit. Makes you think twice about quitting huh?

The new information has allowed mom's doctors to have a more defined approach to her treatment. The new regime includes three weeks of treatment; one on each Friday. Then a Friday off. The desire is to shrink the tumor to a very small size. Hopefully small enough that other methods can be introduced to the fight. Radiation and Cyber Knife are two that are in the discussion fold at this time.

Although it is a base line, her blood work is looking good. The real story will be told with a CT scan being done in four weeks.One of the cancer factors that was 1996, dropped to 589, then to 529, went up to 645 and now is 208!! That is great news. The LDH that was at 25 is now at 16.9. So she currently has good factors. The white cell count had dropped below 1000 but corrected itself and is now up to 1108. They will not give her shots until after it stays below 1000 for 2 weeks. This concerns me a little because mom is prone to infection anyway. She always has a sinus infection and for the last year or so was always on an antibiotic. The red blood cells are good but a little thin-they are running a new lab test this week to determine if they want to start mom on liquid iron. This is not that surprising since mom has had issues with thin blood as long as I can remember. What can be an issue here is hemorrhaging. Mom hemorrhaged pretty badly giving birth to my sister at only 5-ish pounds and was experiencing some nose bleeds when they changed her treatment a few weeks back. She had a staph infection in her nose and they ended up having to cauterize some blood vessels up there. As if she didn't have enough going on.

The doctor is very pleased with the results to date and is in shock mom is still working 10-12 hour days while going through chemo. He mentioned in his whole case load he has two patients that are still working.

Oh wait! Make that one...Mom got FIRED today.
*That is all I am allowed to say at this point. I will update you all when I can.

The Icing On The Chemo

I am not sure how she does it. I feel like I take copious notes and I know I do not get all the information she gives me. How does my mom keep track of the schedule, the drugs, the tests. How does she pay attention to what the nurses are telling her while she sits in a recliner dressed up like a science experiment?

I have been bad about documenting mom's progress. It is true, "out of sight, out of mind". I suppose after our visit to DC in April I felt relieved. Mom had energy and responded well to the treatment. The inflammation was decreasing and the tumor was not growing. I felt safe. Don't get me wrong, I knew "we", meaning mom, was not out of the woods. I didn't want my thoughts, or our phone conversations to be surrounded by this intruder. That is how I looked at this cancer. The intruder that took my mother's immortality. Isn't that what we think of our parents? That they will live forever and be just a call away forever? Or is that what is known as "taking it for granted".

They finally figured out the intruder had a name. Not just cancer. We now now the intruder's full name. You know how the media tacks on a middle name or initial to the criminal. Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wayne Gacy, etc. Mom's intruder, AKA Adenocarcinoma of the lung. This type of cancer is very common and is typical in non smokers and you guessed it; those that have quit. Makes you think twice about quitting huh?

The new information has allowed mom's doctors to have a more defined approach to her treatment. The new regime includes three weeks of treatment; one on each Friday. Then a Friday off. The desire is to shrink the tumor to a very small size. Hopefully small enough that other methods can be introduced to the fight. Radiation and Cyber Knife are two that are in the discussion fold at this time.

Although it is a base line, her blood work is looking good. The real story will be told with a CT scan being done in four weeks.One of the cancer factors that was 1996, dropped to 589, then to 529, went up to 645 and now is 208!! That is great news. The LDH that was at 25 is now at 16.9. So she currently has good factors. The white cell count had dropped below 1000 but corrected itself and is now up to 1108. They will not give her shots until after it stays below 1000 for 2 weeks. This concerns me a little because mom is prone to infection anyway. She always has a sinus infection and for the last year or so was always on an antibiotic. The red blood cells are good but a little thin-they are running a new lab test this week to determine if they want to start mom on liquid iron. This is not that surprising since mom has had issues with thin blood as long as I can remember. What can be an issue here is hemorrhaging. Mom hemorrhaged pretty badly giving birth to my sister at only 5-ish pounds and was experiencing some nose bleeds when they changed her treatment a few weeks back. She had a staph infection in her nose and they ended up having to cauterize some blood vessels up there. As if she didn't have enough going on.

The doctor is very pleased with the results to date and is in shock mom is still working 10-12 hour days while going through chemo. He mentioned in his whole case load he has two patients that are still working.

Oh wait! Make that one...Mom got FIRED today.
*That is all I am allowed to say at this point. I will update you all when I can.

Chemo Chronicles-Cycle Two Day Five

Good news! Mom visited the doctor Friday for the first treatment in her second cycle of four. The blood tests showed that what was once a high level of Cancer in her system of 1900 is now 700! Without getting too technical, or even remembering all the medical jargon, the bottom line is she is responding to the chemo. Her doctor examined her and noted that her infected lymph nodes are already experiencing a surprising decrease in inflammation.

My sister, with her husband and their four month old daughter, was able to visit Mom last week. I hope she got as much out of it as I did.

Chemo Chronicles-Cycle Two Day Five

Good news! Mom visited the doctor Friday for the first treatment in her second cycle of four. The blood tests showed that what was once a high level of Cancer in her system of 1900 is now 700! Without getting too technical, or even remembering all the medical jargon, the bottom line is she is responding to the chemo. Her doctor examined her and noted that her infected lymph nodes are already experiencing a surprising decrease in inflammation.

My sister, with her husband and their four month old daughter, was able to visit Mom last week. I hope she got as much out of it as I did.

Chemo Chronicles-Cycle One Day Two

Today the plan is to keep things low key. The nurse told mom if she was going to have a "bad" day it would be Sunday. I compared t to a car wreck; the third day is usually the day that the pain sets in. The nurse said if anything mom will begin to come off the anti pain and nausea meds and be tired. I did not want mom to over do it today so we decided to do some light shopping while Daddy and Papa Johnson took the boys to the Air and Space Museum. I love DC; so much to do and most of it is free. Almost makes me want to move here; almost.

So the first stop on our agenda is the wig lady. Ironically the wig lady, Bobette, is from my home town of KC! We called her yesterday and she seemed very excited to meet peeps from her home town. She and her husband moved here two years ago with Sprint and she has run her business out f her home for about a year. Bobette has a rich family history with a mother that worked for the USDA in KC and was voted Business Person of the year a few years back, a father that was inducted into the Negro Baseball Hall of fame as an umpire, a jazz singing brother that sang back up for Barry Manilow, and a daughter that was recruited to the WNBA as a player for UMKC. Oh, and she used to be married to a KC Chiefs player. Remember the last post that said my mom and I are talkers...we were only with Bobette a couple of hours but we left with a new best friend!

Back to the wigs. We decided to shop for wigs while mom still had hair. The last thing I would want to do while loosing my hair is to look for more. Not only would I be insecure, but worn out. Shopping early allows mom some time to get it cut, colored, and styled. I would love toe like Dolly Parton and have my hair done for me while I get ready then just pop a different identity on each day.

We tried on a few different colors and styles Mom opted for two wigs that closely match her current color; one short and one a little longer. She wore the shorter one out the door to get used to it. I was surprised how real it looked and felt.

After the wig lady we headed to old Leesburg. I love little towns like this; quaint with little boutiques and pubs. Shop owners that know the regulars by name and the best local bakeries. We stop at a little thrift store I like as well as a children's boutique and a dress shop. We had some retail therapy and bought the boys some new shoes and clothes for the fall. I found a handful of items at the thrift store too. Mom didn't find much for herself but I am not convinced that is why she went; I think she just needed to get out and feel "normal".

Mom was in great spirits today, Every now and then she would act winded and need to sit down and drink some water. I reminded her on a number of occasions to not over do it. When she was done she told me it was time to go home. She said she did not want to nap today to make sure she slept through the night; last night the storied made her a little restless and the Benedryl didn't seem to help with sleeping. We will see how it goes tonight.

Chemo Chronicles-Cycle One Day Two

Today the plan is to keep things low key. The nurse told mom if she was going to have a "bad" day it would be Sunday. I compared t to a car wreck; the third day is usually the day that the pain sets in. The nurse said if anything mom will begin to come off the anti pain and nausea meds and be tired. I did not want mom to over do it today so we decided to do some light shopping while Daddy and Papa Johnson took the boys to the Air and Space Museum. I love DC; so much to do and most of it is free. Almost makes me want to move here; almost.

So the first stop on our agenda is the wig lady. Ironically the wig lady, Bobette, is from my home town of KC! We called her yesterday and she seemed very excited to meet peeps from her home town. She and her husband moved here two years ago with Sprint and she has run her business out f her home for about a year. Bobette has a rich family history with a mother that worked for the USDA in KC and was voted Business Person of the year a few years back, a father that was inducted into the Negro Baseball Hall of fame as an umpire, a jazz singing brother that sang back up for Barry Manilow, and a daughter that was recruited to the WNBA as a player for UMKC. Oh, and she used to be married to a KC Chiefs player. Remember the last post that said my mom and I are talkers...we were only with Bobette a couple of hours but we left with a new best friend!

Back to the wigs. We decided to shop for wigs while mom still had hair. The last thing I would want to do while loosing my hair is to look for more. Not only would I be insecure, but worn out. Shopping early allows mom some time to get it cut, colored, and styled. I would love toe like Dolly Parton and have my hair done for me while I get ready then just pop a different identity on each day.

We tried on a few different colors and styles Mom opted for two wigs that closely match her current color; one short and one a little longer. She wore the shorter one out the door to get used to it. I was surprised how real it looked and felt.

After the wig lady we headed to old Leesburg. I love little towns like this; quaint with little boutiques and pubs. Shop owners that know the regulars by name and the best local bakeries. We stop at a little thrift store I like as well as a children's boutique and a dress shop. We had some retail therapy and bought the boys some new shoes and clothes for the fall. I found a handful of items at the thrift store too. Mom didn't find much for herself but I am not convinced that is why she went; I think she just needed to get out and feel "normal".

Mom was in great spirits today, Every now and then she would act winded and need to sit down and drink some water. I reminded her on a number of occasions to not over do it. When she was done she told me it was time to go home. She said she did not want to nap today to make sure she slept through the night; last night the storied made her a little restless and the Benedryl didn't seem to help with sleeping. We will see how it goes tonight.

Chemo Chronicles-Cycle One Day One

We wake to a dreary, cold, rainy day in Leesburg; seems only appropriate for what our morning holds. Mom’s appointment is scheduled for 9am so we leave around twenty til. We stop at Harris Teeter to get a coffee and danish before heading to the doctor’s office. I miss Harris Teeter. I miss Hannaford. I miss grocery stores that make you like to go to the store. Stores that offer specialty items and wide aisles. Stores with big organic sections. But I digress.

So we get to the doctor’s office and check in. They take us back to a little lounge area with about ten recliners for patients and not as comfortable chairs for companions. Mom’s nurse Marla greets us and we talk about what to expect. Marla gives mom information about “cranial prostethetic devices”. Mom and I decide looking for a wig early in the treatment might be beneficial. It is probably a good idea to get one while she still has all of her hair and is not too self conscious about getting out. She says she might just cut her hair really short ad start wearing it to work now. She starts the IV with the anti-nausea meds for 15 minutes, then a steroid, then zantac, then Benadryl. The prep part takes about an hour then we move on to the good stuff. They start the taxateer slowly to make sure she does not have any adverse reactions, which she doesn’t. Once we complete the taxateer we move on to carboplatin.

When we first arrived in the lounge there was one other patient there and the place was a little somber. I guess it would be under the circumstances. Mom and I are kind of chatty so I hoped we won’t bug anyone. I mentioned to the guy next to us to let us know if we need to close our curtain so we would not bother him. He smiled and warmed up; said he didn’t mind our banter. More patients began to arrive. An elderly woman with a woman that had to be her sister came in for about a half hour. A middle age man came in and greeted the man next to us as if they had seen each other before. He said he was in for a long one today and looked like it with his bag of goodies to keep him feed, watered, and entertained. A woman with a head kerchief came in with her husband. It was obvious this was not her first treatment and after starting a conversation with her we learned she had twin 27 year old boys that did not live far from here and one was getting married in June. She is getting treated for lymphoma. A guy came in that seemed to be in his mid forties; he was handsome and jovial. He flirted with the nurses and laughed a lot. He had been here before. I told mom she needs to sit by him when she can. I liked him. He had a good attitude and acted like this was just another thing on his to do list today. I was drawn to him and couldn’t help by watch him. The elderly man on the other side of mom told his nurse he has a drink before diner every night; a martini to be exact, on the rocks. She advised him to not drink the night before or after treatment just to be safe. He was a character.

The husband helps his wife to the restroom. Mom reads allure magazine. I blog. My sister sends a text checking in. Mom fidgets. The nurses attend to patients. Mom has to pee. There is lots of chatter in the room. What was once a room filled with silence and sobriety is filled with laughter and teasing. Although there is an underlying feeling of uncertainty and seriousness this place is filled with hope. The nurses are informative and helpful. The patients are talkative at times and then at times you can tell they want to be left with their thoughts. On the way in to the office mom said her thoughts were of being out of control; unaware of how the process would work today. I compared it to the first day of school. No matter how old I get the first day o school or a new job always make me anxious. Once I get through the first day and know what to expect I feel much better. Hopefully mom will feel the same way.

*The picture is poor becasue I sent Daddy with the camera and I used my cell phone.

Chemo Chronicles-Cycle One Day One

We wake to a dreary, cold, rainy day in Leesburg; seems only appropriate for what our morning holds. Mom’s appointment is scheduled for 9am so we leave around twenty til. We stop at Harris Teeter to get a coffee and danish before heading to the doctor’s office. I miss Harris Teeter. I miss Hannaford. I miss grocery stores that make you like to go to the store. Stores that offer specialty items and wide aisles. Stores with big organic sections. But I digress.

So we get to the doctor’s office and check in. They take us back to a little lounge area with about ten recliners for patients and not as comfortable chairs for companions. Mom’s nurse Marla greets us and we talk about what to expect. Marla gives mom information about “cranial prostethetic devices”. Mom and I decide looking for a wig early in the treatment might be beneficial. It is probably a good idea to get one while she still has all of her hair and is not too self conscious about getting out. She says she might just cut her hair really short ad start wearing it to work now. She starts the IV with the anti-nausea meds for 15 minutes, then a steroid, then zantac, then Benadryl. The prep part takes about an hour then we move on to the good stuff. They start the taxateer slowly to make sure she does not have any adverse reactions, which she doesn’t. Once we complete the taxateer we move on to carboplatin.

When we first arrived in the lounge there was one other patient there and the place was a little somber. I guess it would be under the circumstances. Mom and I are kind of chatty so I hoped we won’t bug anyone. I mentioned to the guy next to us to let us know if we need to close our curtain so we would not bother him. He smiled and warmed up; said he didn’t mind our banter. More patients began to arrive. An elderly woman with a woman that had to be her sister came in for about a half hour. A middle age man came in and greeted the man next to us as if they had seen each other before. He said he was in for a long one today and looked like it with his bag of goodies to keep him feed, watered, and entertained. A woman with a head kerchief came in with her husband. It was obvious this was not her first treatment and after starting a conversation with her we learned she had twin 27 year old boys that did not live far from here and one was getting married in June. She is getting treated for lymphoma. A guy came in that seemed to be in his mid forties; he was handsome and jovial. He flirted with the nurses and laughed a lot. He had been here before. I told mom she needs to sit by him when she can. I liked him. He had a good attitude and acted like this was just another thing on his to do list today. I was drawn to him and couldn’t help by watch him. The elderly man on the other side of mom told his nurse he has a drink before diner every night; a martini to be exact, on the rocks. She advised him to not drink the night before or after treatment just to be safe. He was a character.

The husband helps his wife to the restroom. Mom reads allure magazine. I blog. My sister sends a text checking in. Mom fidgets. The nurses attend to patients. Mom has to pee. There is lots of chatter in the room. What was once a room filled with silence and sobriety is filled with laughter and teasing. Although there is an underlying feeling of uncertainty and seriousness this place is filled with hope. The nurses are informative and helpful. The patients are talkative at times and then at times you can tell they want to be left with their thoughts. On the way in to the office mom said her thoughts were of being out of control; unaware of how the process would work today. I compared it to the first day of school. No matter how old I get the first day o school or a new job always make me anxious. Once I get through the first day and know what to expect I feel much better. Hopefully mom will feel the same way.

*The picture is poor becasue I sent Daddy with the camera and I used my cell phone.

As Wordless As Wednesday Can Get

Mom's first chemo treatment is Friday. We are all headed to KC to fly to DC. We will be there until Monday.

Little Man is very excited to fly in a plane. He has flown over a dozen times already but not since he was about 15 months old. I asked him if he wanted to take his stuffed puppies Suzie and Demetri and he said yes, and Buzz, Woody and the microphone. I guess he just wants to have all the comforts of home while away...

(He decided it was time to go after bath)




I Don't Care How You Get Here...


You can reach me by railway, you can reach me by trailway
You can reach me on an airplane, you can reach me with your mind
You can reach me by caravan, cross the desert like an Arab man
I don't care how you get here, just - get here if you can


You can reach me by sail boat, climb a tree and swing rope to rope
Take a sled and slide down the slope, into these arms of mine
You can jump on a speedy colt, cross the border in a blaze of hope
I don't care how you get here, just - get here if you can



There are hills and mountains between us
Always something to get over
If I had my way, surely you would be closer
I need you closer



You can windsurf into my life, take me up on a carpet ride
You can make it in a big balloon, but you better make it soon
You can reach me by caravan, cross the desert like an Arab man
I don't care how you get here, just - get here if you can
I don't care how you get here, just -- get here if - you can.

As Wordless As Wednesday Can Get

Mom's first chemo treatment is Friday. We are all headed to KC to fly to DC. We will be there until Monday.

Little Man is very excited to fly in a plane. He has flown over a dozen times already but not since he was about 15 months old. I asked him if he wanted to take his stuffed puppies Suzie and Demetri and he said yes, and Buzz, Woody and the microphone. I guess he just wants to have all the comforts of home while away...

(He decided it was time to go after bath)




I Don't Care How You Get Here...


You can reach me by railway, you can reach me by trailway
You can reach me on an airplane, you can reach me with your mind
You can reach me by caravan, cross the desert like an Arab man
I don't care how you get here, just - get here if you can


You can reach me by sail boat, climb a tree and swing rope to rope
Take a sled and slide down the slope, into these arms of mine
You can jump on a speedy colt, cross the border in a blaze of hope
I don't care how you get here, just - get here if you can



There are hills and mountains between us
Always something to get over
If I had my way, surely you would be closer
I need you closer



You can windsurf into my life, take me up on a carpet ride
You can make it in a big balloon, but you better make it soon
You can reach me by caravan, cross the desert like an Arab man
I don't care how you get here, just - get here if you can
I don't care how you get here, just -- get here if - you can.

Time Warp

For those of you that are new here check out this post before reading on. The rest of this will make much more sense.

So it has been almost four weeks since my mom called and told me she had Cancer again. I have not had much to post about this situation because I have no more info today than I did when I found out. Mom had a biopsy two weeks ago this coming Monday. The results showed it was Breast Cancer that had moved to her lungs. The weird thing about this is the fact that there is nothing on her breast and tests come up clear. So the Cancer currently resides in her lymph nodes and lungs; as far as we know. The doctors are baffled at the characteristics of this Cancer and are waiting for a second test to be run by specialists on another part of the biopsy.

Here is where I get frustrated. Weren't the first people to look at the biopsy "specialists" or is that just reserved for certain cases? Shouldn't every patient get a specialist?

Where is the sense of urgency here? It has been almost four weeks and they still have not diagnosed what this is. The sooner we get a diagnosis the faster we can start treatment.

To add to my frustration the insurance company is being a pain in the arse and dictating what types of tests will be run and when. It is unfortunate that my mother's Cancer history causes her issues with future health care. Insurance providers are the devil; I won't even get into my run in with them for one of my knee surgeries.

I try to stay supportive but I want to shake my mom and say "Why aren't you banging on these doors saying give me answers?" She is a grown woman and can take care of herself. Her boyfriend of 14 years can take care of her too. I hate feeling helpless and out of control. I can only imagine how mom feels.

I love creative ways to fight the cause. Mama Source is a community of moms that provides resources for moms on a local and national level. When a new member joins they donate to the Breast Cancer Fund. It is free to join and a great way to join the fight. Many of you already received an invite from me so be sure to forward it on to your friends and family.