Mother of the Year

 When I have a less than stellar moment of parenting, I always hear the lyrics to "Little Girls" from Annie circling in my head. Miss Hannigan sings, "...I'm an ordinary woman, with feelings...So how come I'm mother of the year?" (Serious Annie fans, I hope you are also singing along right now!) I might as well be wearing silk pajamas, ten dangly necklaces and letting my frizzed out bedhead hair catch the string hanging from a solitary lightbulb. Because sometimes I feel no better than dear Miss Hannigan.

 If you are super-judgey and living under the pretense that you are an awesome parent 110% of the time, feel free to read no further and continue on with your amazing life. 

 Whilst on our vacation in Minnesota - we were in the early preparations of bedtime, a process that can sometimes last for hours. I was down in the basement with Ayla and Jackson. Teeth were brushed, nails were clipped and general messiness was being wiped away. We came back upstairs and I asked, "Where is Elliot?"

 Then: DING DONG, the doorbell rang.

 Where was Elliot, indeed?

 Only walking across the street, pushing an empty stroller, sporting a bloody toe. And a poopy diaper. Not to mention he was the happiest toddler in the world.

 A kind neighbor saw him strolling along and thought we might want him back.

 Elliot managed to slip past three older cousins, two aunts and one uncle. He let himself out the back kitchen door, down the deck stairs, around the house and was apparently ready to explore the neighborhood. Cue music: "... Someday I'll land in the nuthouse, with all the nuts and the squirrels!"

 Luckily, it wasn't dark yet and Elliot hadn't made it further away from the house. Luckily, I still have custody for God's sake! I am lucky for a thousand and one reasons and don't think for a second that I don't realize this could have been a much scarier situation.

This is where I would like to keep this guy all day long!

 I share this story to hopefully lower the bar of expectations for parents of young children. They are insanely curious and always two steps ahead of us! Don't beat yourself up if you sometimes look at your life and wonder if you would be better suited as an evil ward of an orphanage, stirring gin in your bathtub.

Why a Boudoir Photo Session Is Good for the Soul

 In the midst of recovering from surgery and making appointments and trying to fulfill summer wishes for a family of 7... I realized it's been six months since my initial diagnosis. I know chemo felt like a lifetime, but has it really been six months? The hardest (or most helpful, honestly) part of life is that it just keeps MOVING. Kids have deadlines for school. We are fundraising for dance. We are trying to travel as normal and not miss *everything* just because my treatments are one hit after another. 

I think back to how I felt in those first weeks and how fearful I was of (1) straight up dying and (2) that my body was going to be completely ruined. I was ready to have major surgery to "solve" my cancer problem. So tearfully, I googled boudoir photographers in the area. Might seem stupid or vain to some - but I wanted photographic evidence of who I was in February 2023. Little did I know that I'd get chemotherapy first and then the surgery I was so trying to avoid. 

First, let me give all of the credit to Elizabeth Snyder photography. I knew she was the one I needed when she returned my initial inquiry with a call stating that she also has had cancer and a bilateral mastectomy. Who else could understand my concerns more? I drove to her house in early March ready for a full makeup and hair session, several outfit changes and the mental preparation to take photos in my underwear! During that time, any drive in the car involved tears and I cried the entire way there, wondering if I was going to look like the wreck I felt inside. 

She made me feel so comfortable and safe and beautiful. It was more than an emotional oasis. Even in the most normal circumstances - I recommend everyone take the time for themselves. I haven't taken photos of just myself since senior year 1998! 

Elizabeth's mission is to empower women and her expertise was very impressive. She took hundreds of photos - so when it came time to choose which images I wanted for my photo book, it was tough. My timeline with her is so oddly connected to steps along this cancer treatment. I chose the photos after chemo was completed - looking at myself with all that hair! Feels like yesterday and a million years ago. I picked up my photo book on the day my doctor confirmed that a mastectomy was the final surgical recommendation. How strange to look at my pictures, where I look normal and healthy, when I was about to basically shred my self image to pieces. 

I could write an entire post about how I'm feeling post-mastectomy. The emotional connection I had to my natural body; the mental gymnastics I am doing to witness what I see in the mirror now - knowing I can't go back, but the future does have options. I will write that post... but for now, I'm just expressing gratitude that my body IS resilient and I took the time/money to memorialize how I looked (and felt) at a very serious crossroads in my life. 

 

The Kindness Factor

 My experiences with mammography has been short lived, but intense. Over the past six months I have had five mammograms and two breast MRIs. The mammogram area at Roswell Park is like a depressing spa. They try to make your wait time minimal and usher you into two types of waiting areas. First is a locker room where you change into a gown and wait to be called. A TV is usually blaring some sort of daytime talk show and women are pleasant to one another. I talked about the Barbie movie and paper dolls with a sweet woman. Then you are called back to either get your mammogram or biopsy, you are either squished or poked and then wait in another area for radiology to check on the images. 

At the end of July, when I was in full SCANXIETY mode, I was sitting in this second waiting room because the radiologist wanted to get a more detailed image. Every woman is either sitting or standing in their blue robes, some make eye contact and some are in their own world. I talked with another woman about how she thought radiation was the worst part of her treatment, the scary stories of skin peeling off or burning. We share half smiles and I wonder about each persons' story. Are they five years out of treatment? Have they just gotten a diagnosis? Are they only at the cancer center because they are high risk? 

 I don't know if it's my headscarf that draws people to talk to me, or reach out - but I've been stopped by more strangers recently than while I was actively in chemotherapy treatment. While I was sitting, ignorant of the next news I was going to be thrown into, a woman walked by me and stopped. She put her hand on my shoulder, kind of from behind my back. 

"It will be OK."

Because she was still touching me, it was hard to turn around and face her completely. But she continued to tell me, "It's going to be okay. I saw you in the waiting room and I'm praying for you."

"I promise, it will be ok."

Then she said, "I hope you don't mind that I talked to you" and I muttered something like, "Of course, I appreciate it." Then she was on her way. I hadn't seen her in the waiting room or come out of any of the offices - she really could have been a mirage. But her kindness broke me for the day. It wasn't until a stranger started to comfort me that I started to cry. All of the worry, the anticipation, the underlying current of misery. The thoughts of mortality, of all I cannot control. 

Sometimes the bad news gets me. I got through the news of my diagnosis until the word "Chemo" was stated. I got through most of my first appointment at Roswell until they talked about putting the port in my chest. I got through chemo without crying until the halfway point. I am generally holding it together... that is, until someone is kind. I've cried more over nice packages sent to my house than anything else. 

Whoever that stranger was, she found a way to burrow into my deep fears. Will any of this be okay? We certainly don't know that for sure. But I know that time will continue to unfold and I'll continue to work through every hurdle and setback and new information. 

All of this circles around the ideas of strength or bravery or "warrior" status. I am only trying to hold it together for the sake of sanity and for the sake of my family. I will be honest that most cancer patients do not enjoy this metaphor that we are fighting on a journey or that we are SO STRONG. I personally hate crying and feeling sad and will try any sort of mental rationale to tell myself why whatever fresh hell I'm in the middle of will sort itself out. I've been through a lot of garbage situations in my life and I think the concept of "strength" is a coping mechanism. I don't know how to not be calm or resolute because the alternative just feels like throwing more fuel into the chaos fire. 

That is, until someone goes out of their way to be kind. A kind word, an authentic show of compassion, acknowledgement of my fears. Then I'm a bit of mess. So just a warning: Please bring Kleenex if you are going to be nice to me. 

The Beach Week that Giveth & Giveth

"It was as if my eyes were a camera and I was photographing the moment, knowing that I would keep that photograph forever."

Holden Beach Week 2023 - time holds still. 

The Good News, Explained

Yes I'm finished with chemo and all scans have shown that my tumors are "essentially resolved". 

No, I haven't beaten cancer. I completed step one out of about six and every bit of good news has come with not-so-awesome news. 

On my last day of chemotherapy - one of the doctors felt the need to remind me that hormone blocking therapy AND a chemo pill would definitely be in my future. I don't know if they mean to stress people out or temper expectations or if they just sometimes put their medical foot in their medical mouth. I've researched the shit out of breast cancer, so I knew this already. But do you have to remind me, like on my bell ringing day?!? 

Anyways, on the day of my most recent mammogram - the radiologist broke the news that my tumors had shrunk down to nothing AND that there were still suspicious areas to biopsy... All in about 30 seconds. Good news and not-so-awesome news. 

I know that any medical diagnosis is full of twists and turns, and while I appreciate everyone's curiosity - I can't predict what steps are next and how long they will take. I'm still unsure exactly what my surgery will entail and they cannot predict the length of radiation until pathology from surgery comes back. So it's just decision after decision, and changing my expectations. 

My surgeon seemed to be the best at explaining my scans and giving us a moment to celebrate and express relief that chemotherapy was very effective. 

This information was really clarifying to me - it shows how doctors rate the effectiveness of chemotherapy. They had warned me a few times that estrogen-receptive cancer does not always respond well. And that was my biggest fear going in - I just wanted chemo to work. I am a 5! 

No invasive cancer cells are present. BUT, and this brought me down until I understood it... I still have "ductal carcinoma in situ". There were several calcifications and a 1 cm mass that needed to be biopsied. I had that procedure last week and it was extremely nerve wracking. If anyone wants to talk in detail about stereotactic biopsy - I can now add that to my cancer resume. 

That was me, not looking so cute, as the radiologist said "I tried to use enough lidocaine, tell me if it starts to pinch". This is while a 9 gauge needle is deep in my breast. 😱

So while I do have cancer "in situ", it doesn't respond to chemo because it's not yet invasive. The cell makeup is different. It's still in there and it's been added to list of items/areas that need to be removed during surgery. 

A lot of advice is given to stay away from Google... But it's been helpful for me to keep gathering data. Even if it's scary. The medical reports make much more sense. I had a scary grade 3 tumor and will need years of hormone therapy. I Google symptoms and read comments from women in cancer support groups, and sometimes I need to put the phone down and slow my heart rate. But it's still better than just winging it. I want to have the potential questions in my head before meeting with doctors. It makes me a better patient. 

Before all of this, my knowledge of cancer was pretty much non existent. I thought that the end of chemo or the end of radiation marked a type of victory. It really doesn't. I will forever be unsure of whether this will come back - I am going to treat my body like a ticking time bomb and will have to manage my symptoms and hormones as if this was a chronic illness. I share this because I hope we can all become better informed and be better support to anyone with a cancer diagnosis. A lot of the work goes on *after* treatment. 

I'm going to take this temporary win and keep Googling and keep making the best decisions I can.