Remember those? Take one moment and live as though it is in an entire lifetime? I've had a few of those lately.
For instance, I scheduled Joshua's 3 year well baby appointment for a Monday morning. As though I would be able to keep a Monday medical appointment that was not my own.
Christ suggests that this kind of thing means I'm getting back to regular life, carrying on as usual, and that it's a good sign that I don't hear "Monday" and think "Chemo barn."
I like the positive spin.
And it also works to cover the next HER moment: I wore a turtleneck to my protein appointment this week. As though the nurse wouldn't need to access my port that day. Usually, I wear a V-neck shirt and I just tug it to the side to let her stick me. This week, I was yanking my shirt far over just to give her a peak at the spot.
Next up: I ran some errands with the kids today, got them all buckled in to leave the parking lot of Party City, and discovered that my key was missing.
Not my keys. Just my key. The one that turns the car on. It wasn't attached to my ring with all the other keys that, now I realize, I wouldn't have minded losing right then.
It was nowhere. Not in the front seat. Not in the back. Not on the asphalt near my car. Not on the sidewalk. Not in the store where we had tread. How would I get home without a key?
I was so calm about it, I even thought, "Wow, you're being really patient, Amy!" Then I thought, "While you're at it, why don't you live this key-less moment as though it were a whole lifetime?"
Then I looked in the bag of things we'd bought for Gemma's birthday party, and there it was.
Final HER moment to share:
We came home from errands to our home after the Merry Maids had left. That's right. We have maids clean our house. It's almost the first thing I told Bryan after that first medical appointment to check out the "swollen lymph node." I said, "If this is cancer, we're getting a cleaning service."
And it's been wonderful. I've especially appreciated when their day here has fallen during a chemo week.
So, it's like, "Kids, keep this house clean! The Merry Maids were just here!"
Then I told Joshua to make potty.
Asking him if he had to go doesn't usually work. But if we remember to tell him every 2 hours, then he does pretty well. Many times, he'll say he doesn't have any potty and he'll carry himself with slumped shoulders and whining voice--oh the oppression!--to the bathroom. Then we'll hear him whiz for about 25 seconds straight. Yeah. "No potty."
Today, I told him to go. He dropped trou and went without fuss. Then found that his stool was not lined up right in front of the commode. And that the seat was down. So he just let it rip.
All over the wall. And mis-placed stool. And downed seat.
"Joshua!" I yelped when I saw. "The Merry Maids were just here!"
Here's one toy I would not give a 3 year old boy: A bottle with a squirt cap that is full of urine. "Here, son, squeeze this baby 'till it's empty, but only into a toilet, OK?"
But the choice to equip my child with a very similar toy wasn't mine to make.
I mopped up with a towel. Wiped up with a bleach rag. Thought to myself, "I am thankful that this is not my entire lifetime."
Showing posts with label HER Moments. Show all posts
Showing posts with label HER Moments. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Plans for Monday
Whoah!
It's Sunday night, and I haven't posted my story! In a Her Moment, I did write it, then brought the laptop upstairs to the desk where I plug in to the router, then plugged in and then. . .powered down and left the room.
Huh.
Sister #1, Laura, arrived here Saturday and hanging out with her is a lot more fun than sitting at the computer. Tomorrow, I will be doing both. That is, Laura and I shall BLOG LIVE and SIMULTANEOUSLY from the chemo barn!
So stay tuned on Monday. We should hit the blogosphere by 10 AM mountain time.
And Sunday's story will make a guest appearance on Tuesday.
It's Sunday night, and I haven't posted my story! In a Her Moment, I did write it, then brought the laptop upstairs to the desk where I plug in to the router, then plugged in and then. . .powered down and left the room.
Huh.
Sister #1, Laura, arrived here Saturday and hanging out with her is a lot more fun than sitting at the computer. Tomorrow, I will be doing both. That is, Laura and I shall BLOG LIVE and SIMULTANEOUSLY from the chemo barn!
So stay tuned on Monday. We should hit the blogosphere by 10 AM mountain time.
And Sunday's story will make a guest appearance on Tuesday.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
HER Moments
I'm introducing a new label here at The Big "C," in honor of Genentech literature, and the recommendation to "live each moment as though it were a full life."
Because I've been having a lot of "moments" lately.
I don't want to plead chemo-brain. That's just like pleading PMS, isn't it? I mean, my behavior is my behavior, regardless of what causes it.
But if I'm looking for an explanation . . .
The first HER moment was a few weeks ago when I planned to make tuna salad for dinner. This dish requires hard boiled eggs. I set them in the water. Turned the gas heat on.
And then left the house.
I don't even remember having a good intention at the time like, "Let me help Joshua get his shoes on for a minute," or "I'm just going to dash outside to make sure the kids are OK."
I just left the house. Sat down in front. Got to chatting with my neighbor, JenJen.
About, oh, an hour later, I smacked my head and said, "I'M BOILING EGGS!"
Raced inside. Smelled them. They were hard boiled, all right.
The water was gone, the pot was black and the eggs were cracked and burned within their shells.
After dousing them with cold water and opening all the windows, I went back outside. The whole cul-de-sac was stinky.
We ate out that night.
The most recent HER moment was yesterday. I had a meeting to go to at our church to be trained as a leader for AWANA. I knew it was on September 1. I'd told Bryan the kids and I would be gone that evening so he'd have a night to himself. I got ready for it as though it were a big night out. I wore not only a wig, but a skirt and blouse, too.
Buckled the kids in. Drove up to the church. Into the parking lot and Gemma said, "There aren't a lot of cars here, Mom."
No. That's because last night was August 31, not September 1. It's not like I didn't know. Chris mentioned during the protein treatment, 'Can you believe tomorrow's September 1 already?' and I wrote the date "August 31" in my homeschool notebook that afternoon.
Despite the clear evidence I knew the date to be one in August and not September, and despite my knowing that the meeting was scheduled for September 1, I went to the meeting anyway.
So. 2 more moments I could live as though they were a full life. Or, er, 2 full lives, I guess.
Because I've been having a lot of "moments" lately.
I don't want to plead chemo-brain. That's just like pleading PMS, isn't it? I mean, my behavior is my behavior, regardless of what causes it.
But if I'm looking for an explanation . . .
The first HER moment was a few weeks ago when I planned to make tuna salad for dinner. This dish requires hard boiled eggs. I set them in the water. Turned the gas heat on.
And then left the house.
I don't even remember having a good intention at the time like, "Let me help Joshua get his shoes on for a minute," or "I'm just going to dash outside to make sure the kids are OK."
I just left the house. Sat down in front. Got to chatting with my neighbor, JenJen.
About, oh, an hour later, I smacked my head and said, "I'M BOILING EGGS!"
Raced inside. Smelled them. They were hard boiled, all right.
The water was gone, the pot was black and the eggs were cracked and burned within their shells.
After dousing them with cold water and opening all the windows, I went back outside. The whole cul-de-sac was stinky.
We ate out that night.
The most recent HER moment was yesterday. I had a meeting to go to at our church to be trained as a leader for AWANA. I knew it was on September 1. I'd told Bryan the kids and I would be gone that evening so he'd have a night to himself. I got ready for it as though it were a big night out. I wore not only a wig, but a skirt and blouse, too.
Buckled the kids in. Drove up to the church. Into the parking lot and Gemma said, "There aren't a lot of cars here, Mom."
No. That's because last night was August 31, not September 1. It's not like I didn't know. Chris mentioned during the protein treatment, 'Can you believe tomorrow's September 1 already?' and I wrote the date "August 31" in my homeschool notebook that afternoon.
Despite the clear evidence I knew the date to be one in August and not September, and despite my knowing that the meeting was scheduled for September 1, I went to the meeting anyway.
So. 2 more moments I could live as though they were a full life. Or, er, 2 full lives, I guess.
Hercepting Part III: HER Diary
I'm not done with their literature yet. Well. I'm done reading it. But I'm not done making fun of it.
I meant for yesterday's post to be on the funny side, and as I continue today, please see me smiling as I write this. It's all very grim in some sense. But it's also pretty amusing. When I unpacked it weeks ago, after my meeting with She Who Shall Not Be Named, Bryan looked at the stack and asked, "What are you going to do with this?"
Heh heh: Blog fodder.
My favorite item in the bag (OK, wait a sec, about that bag. . . I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with it. It's clearly a Breast Cancer Bag. And because it's the over the shoulder/backpack hybrid, it's even kind of shaped like a breast. It has the archer girl embroidered on it. Where do I take a bag like this? I suppose it would be received as another item in the vast array of breast cancer support-pink, and THAT is a blog entry for a future day. I don't know. Maybe it's cute.)
My favorite item in the bag is one titled "my diary." Smaller case letters. Because that's a little more chic than upper case. Archer girl is shooting a line through the title. The front and back covers are hot pink.
I am told on the inside, next to the picture of a pink ribbon and under the phrase "especially for you," that "This diary is for you to record your thoughts and experiences during your treatment."
Oh. OK. So I turn the page to find it labeled "week 1," and on the first line is the direction, "Start your journey here."
Oh! Directions! For how to get through breast cancer! Thanks, Genentech!
What should I do during weeks 1 through 8, because I'm already on week 9 (at the time of getting this diary).
Well, week 2. . . On the opposite page. No directions that week.
Week 3, "Reach out for support." Nothing on week 4. Maybe they didn't have the budget to come up with directions for the even weeks.
Week 5, "Consider joining a support group." Oh. Maybe that's for the people who spent weeks 3 and 4 "reaching out for support," but not finding it. Damn. Now they've wasted 2 weeks when Genentech could have told them to join a support group during week 3!
Week 7, "Keep going." Geez! I really wish I'd had my meeting with She Who Shall Not Be Named earlier, so that I would have read this in time for week 7 because during week 7, I was thinking, "Hmm, maybe I should stop doing what I need to do to save my life--" and hearing that Genentech thinks I should "keep going" would have been a real help right about then.
Week 9, "Stay hopeful." Again, really helpful. Not as helpful as week 11, "Stay positive."
This diary is truly. . .and artifact. Of something. Week 13 is "Challenge yourself with a crossword puzzle."
?????
Has a crossword ever helped anyone feel better about herself if she weren't already a person who does crossword puzzles?
Every odd week offers a little gem. Some of it is actually bad medical advice: Week 35, "Take time for yourself with a relaxing bubble bath." Uh, Genentech? Stepping into a hot bath after having your lymph nodes removed could trigger lymphedema in that arm. I know your yoga models wouldn't have a concern about that, but those of us whose lives actually need saving by your drug are now kind of limited that way.
OK, OK, you get the picture.
On the last page are "inspirational quotes." And here's your chance to play along!
There are 3 quotes. I'll tell you who wrote/said the first 2. For the 3rd one, how about we play 20 Questions in the comments section?
"Laughter is teh shortest distance between 2 people" - Victor Borge
"When I discover who I am, I'll be free" - Ralph Ellison
And the one that you will guess over:
"Let your light shine--shine within you so that it can shine on someone else. Let your light shine." -- ??????
Rules:
1. You are all on the same team. I'll log in to answer Yes or No to whatever questions are in the comments section. Not sure how painstaking that will be, but I'll try to check often.
2. NO USE OF THE INTERNET. You're only data set for guessing should be my answers to your questions.
3. Go!
I meant for yesterday's post to be on the funny side, and as I continue today, please see me smiling as I write this. It's all very grim in some sense. But it's also pretty amusing. When I unpacked it weeks ago, after my meeting with She Who Shall Not Be Named, Bryan looked at the stack and asked, "What are you going to do with this?"
Heh heh: Blog fodder.
My favorite item in the bag (OK, wait a sec, about that bag. . . I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with it. It's clearly a Breast Cancer Bag. And because it's the over the shoulder/backpack hybrid, it's even kind of shaped like a breast. It has the archer girl embroidered on it. Where do I take a bag like this? I suppose it would be received as another item in the vast array of breast cancer support-pink, and THAT is a blog entry for a future day. I don't know. Maybe it's cute.)
My favorite item in the bag is one titled "my diary." Smaller case letters. Because that's a little more chic than upper case. Archer girl is shooting a line through the title. The front and back covers are hot pink.
I am told on the inside, next to the picture of a pink ribbon and under the phrase "especially for you," that "This diary is for you to record your thoughts and experiences during your treatment."
Oh. OK. So I turn the page to find it labeled "week 1," and on the first line is the direction, "Start your journey here."
Oh! Directions! For how to get through breast cancer! Thanks, Genentech!
What should I do during weeks 1 through 8, because I'm already on week 9 (at the time of getting this diary).
Well, week 2. . . On the opposite page. No directions that week.
Week 3, "Reach out for support." Nothing on week 4. Maybe they didn't have the budget to come up with directions for the even weeks.
Week 5, "Consider joining a support group." Oh. Maybe that's for the people who spent weeks 3 and 4 "reaching out for support," but not finding it. Damn. Now they've wasted 2 weeks when Genentech could have told them to join a support group during week 3!
Week 7, "Keep going." Geez! I really wish I'd had my meeting with She Who Shall Not Be Named earlier, so that I would have read this in time for week 7 because during week 7, I was thinking, "Hmm, maybe I should stop doing what I need to do to save my life--" and hearing that Genentech thinks I should "keep going" would have been a real help right about then.
Week 9, "Stay hopeful." Again, really helpful. Not as helpful as week 11, "Stay positive."
This diary is truly. . .and artifact. Of something. Week 13 is "Challenge yourself with a crossword puzzle."
?????
Has a crossword ever helped anyone feel better about herself if she weren't already a person who does crossword puzzles?
Every odd week offers a little gem. Some of it is actually bad medical advice: Week 35, "Take time for yourself with a relaxing bubble bath." Uh, Genentech? Stepping into a hot bath after having your lymph nodes removed could trigger lymphedema in that arm. I know your yoga models wouldn't have a concern about that, but those of us whose lives actually need saving by your drug are now kind of limited that way.
OK, OK, you get the picture.
On the last page are "inspirational quotes." And here's your chance to play along!
There are 3 quotes. I'll tell you who wrote/said the first 2. For the 3rd one, how about we play 20 Questions in the comments section?
"Laughter is teh shortest distance between 2 people" - Victor Borge
"When I discover who I am, I'll be free" - Ralph Ellison
And the one that you will guess over:
"Let your light shine--shine within you so that it can shine on someone else. Let your light shine." -- ??????
Rules:
1. You are all on the same team. I'll log in to answer Yes or No to whatever questions are in the comments section. Not sure how painstaking that will be, but I'll try to check often.
2. NO USE OF THE INTERNET. You're only data set for guessing should be my answers to your questions.
3. Go!
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