tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60766103807970125292024-02-21T23:10:11.807-05:00Remission StatementLife after cancer.Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.comBlogger88125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-84524637561220660002020-08-13T23:50:00.001-04:002020-08-13T23:50:42.849-04:00Continued Abnormalcy<div class="separator"><p style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;">We can all agree that 2020 is the worst episode of Punk'd ever, right? It's been a solid 5 months since the global pandemic hit the Northeastern US. And while our section of Pennsylvania is in a kinda green phase (closer to normal than red), our family takes this situation pretty seriously.</p></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguG0Ts1i8txdSZKk6R3obMHKvAJyfmuAygHHyLQiLA0efhXaUk7tSYeE8dT4s2FakqEy5x-9yJctNqs3oHa8wrgPlsZ3P56Mvi7T1TErTNEwGgLxe8mOdOsvV5fvcc6vSxmrJgnV1WTh8/w307-h410/0281F36D-A630-41A8-8708-7997A4DB8067.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="307" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">this is how we do groceries now?</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div></blockquote><div class="separator"><p style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">We don't really go out, except to pick up food or medicine, or to walk the dog.</p><p style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">We did rent a vacation house for a week in Delaware last month, but even there, we just went to the beach and back. Brought all of our groceries with us. And we even had the house treated with vital oxide (don't ask) before we arrived. I still felt nervous using the silverware in the kitchen without washing it myself first.</p></div><p style="text-align: center;"> <img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8kj0F_2qVYR5I8rBtcSM-zXEWiu2GU0qrvDRR9hVKFFoHlrDDktxhDzwgQbFTJI8TVcO2jai3CCQKNAP8ygx5jvzDD_YiI7kKNzjhmlDV-g6lGpJBWsYlWxJTmjCsR36KKtx-6v8iNLk/w328-h246/BBE59A44-AB1E-4862-B2B5-C90B7A58D7BF.heic" width="328" /></p><p>When I watch TV, it's pretty much all pre-covid shows, and my brain thinks that everyone is standing too close and rude for not wearing a mask.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="2021" height="394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQmTmETfCG0vpmeLAt3aEREtxWJsIjl8aEQLIkK7U_pFN4adyg85kvTHGVVMfg5YfmlQTKNKwixaQLCTIsbFFYUlqumUsneoVWEBcMrjv-n5jm2QM-vmRdy1pWolgbIvoiRLEeuwjUVeU/w410-h394/B74500C9-B62A-4AD6-A368-6D59E2C7B68A.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="410" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Clearly, my brain is having a challenging time adjusting to so many new realities:</p><p>The one where we can't go anywhere, hug anyone outside of our quaranteam (which for us, at least includes my parents), relax, put groceries away without disinfecting them, send our children to school or camp. Oh, also the allergies that give me a constant sore throat also send me into a panic every day.</p><p>The one where my children have a very VERY limited existence and can spend more than 7 consecutive hours talking to friends in one day. </p><p style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHKVywW9DBfHXCeRYIKFjZK_HydJRVk7Y5dFwEUKlxH4Ms0KV5ife06tN5jAScch6SSxnmvk5plWIG6Zpw6kQFwFxVvTEVXCJKjlT5HMtXtumrehXSF4Wkm5es-rpe0wbK5KWRwh8HaVM/w246-h328/D1B156C5-504D-455E-94B4-134DB573ECCC.heic" width="246" /></p><p>The one in which my dog wishes we would just leave already.</p><p>The one in which my phone never runs out of juice because, have I mentioned, I never go anywhere?</p><p>The one where we have a major presidential election in just a few short months and our choices are either Biden/Harris or a giant, loose, orange turd and his faithful nodder. </p><p>The one where all I want to do is scream and yet, I cannot get out there and protest.</p><p>The one where one of my very closest friends of 27 years is not alive. This one is really the hardest of all to grasp. It's been 10 days since she embarked on the next part of her journey without the rest of us. What I've come to realize about the process of grief is that it's really a process of changing your expectation about the world. I expected her to always be there in my world, and she was. I still expect her to be there, and my instinct is to call her or text her because my brain still thinks she IS there. So grief is like installing a new program that changes your expectations and instincts. But my brain is not just a computer, and changing it hurts, it even makes me want to vomit. You know how when you sleep (thank you, ativan the wonder drug) you forget, and when you wake up, you remember and the remembering stings every time.</p><p>I keep thinking that there are ways I can comfort myself but they mostly involve chocolate/wine/saturated fats and none of them involve bringing her back, so they all just suck.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ST8UnRtqUfpStooNa_gxni1D8PZuTi2Tt5QbVhebA93-mxT3-hCnNf42Rh3U7h7sWcokWHsfuMyDAZVWptdPUUW2VILsf0lZv5-LHvJ8kRlWSpWO91OgCi5hMgvkUvlbB_H19K9GfIk/w246-h328/B358D540-D68C-440F-BB9B-1D558E151B73.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;" width="246" /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><br />What even is this? It feels like the alternate reality of Back to the Future Part II. If only we had a Delorean or if we could get Sam from Quantum Leap to jump around (I'm thinking first we send him to 1619 to stop the birth of the TA slave trade, and go from there?).</p><p>Truly though, I can say my world has been rocked. I'm reverting back to the gratitude practice to help ground me. Let's see how many times a week (a month?) I can do it to help me find some calm.</p><p>Tonight I'm grateful to have finished a work project that I was feeling stuck on for the last few weeks and was due tomorrow. Curriculum to teach kids about friends. Couldn't have come at a more important time for me. Done.</p><p>I'm grateful that my dear, sweet friend heard my letter before she left this world. What a wonderful husband to have read it to her.</p><p>I'm grateful that we have fresh fruit and vegetables and coffee and milk and all the foods my children need. At night I can hear crickets and see fireflies outside. If I need a doctor, I can call one, and even have medicine sent right to my home. I sleep in a clean bed, and sometimes I even have time to watch a show on the telly.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm grateful for my sweet, soft puppers. I love to bury my nose in his little furry armpit and smooth his fluffy eyebrows. He's happiest when he's sitting on my lap getting belly rubs.<img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvDdjtjThhO3PvR5xr5ZEBZMk5hmbv6Ky1xyRpyNnzSrkORg6szz8-Q3hlDlXO8kfYLFKWaI7bSSc3nzecvLZf6j_vHYl8GDUGy8dGlMJOfP8mKlwehhfSKtamIZ6ZBSSiFwQL9zb-As/w307-h410/0D3730FE-6EB8-4402-9867-F17D72725412.heic" width="307" /><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DWSswNTsUy_fdDtd6M1zh4-39S2jbHRwqaLF1hUzVgrLe2pUMd5J__ZS9SrvJFmMuDVZiALJ5vLnd_1FCzofQW1OyEem_wAQVCyosjcnk4GdTcEHBmd3awrH14ADXq6dC0NggGF7zXE/w307-h410/149156C7-8FC8-41B7-BC84-BBF0942B7E1B.heic" width="307" /></p><p>I'm grateful for our neighbors, especially those who have kids the same age as Z, so his kindergarten experience won't be a complete loss. I'm actually a little bit excited about him finally getting to spend some regular time in the presence of peers, even if it is in this bizarro universe where you go to virtual school at your neighbor's house.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I'm grateful for this space to help sort through my thoughts and get them out of my head.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-43926578459955293522020-08-03T21:34:00.001-04:002020-08-03T21:34:19.925-04:00BFF4EAE<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">On so many levels, I hate when people say someone lost their battle with cancer. First off, who lost? We did. The world lost. And if someone lost, then someone won. I refuse to give cancer the satisfaction of a win since in the end, the cancer is gone, too. And those rogue fucking cells have no ability to revel in the heartbreak they leave behind. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">All that being said, the world lost an incredible person today. The best person, in fact. And it really stings.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">***</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">How many years counts as enough time to spend as someone’s friend? 5? 10? 25?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It seems to me that there is no amount of time that could ever be enough to share a friendship.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The memories of a 27 year friendship are endless: countless meals and cups of tea, hours and hours and hours of phone conversations (and polos), walks through the city, tears and worries shared, visits, sleepovers, meetups, messages, letters mailed, emails and texts sent, rides on the train, drives through 2 states, parties, drinks, pictures taken, hikes, adventures, theatre, new friends made, concerts, infertility struggles, pregnancies, miscarriages, births, parenting advice given, accomplishments celebrated, children’s videos watched over and over, and even diseases treated and survived.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">And yet, there’s never enough time.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I look back on a 27 year friendship and know that we took advantage of the time we did have together. We talked, we laughed, we vented, we cried, we anguished over all of the unknowns of the future, knowing full well we had such little control over what was to come.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Still here we are. The moment is here. The one I’d pushed away because imagining it is like imagining yourself without a part of your body: it’s impossible.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I know that we are so lucky. Particularly, me. I have been so lucky, to have been given a friend who both sought my advice and gave yours honestly to me (even if I kept the clear glasses or went with the tacky pink and purple tie dye). You shared and listened. You always showed up. Always. Answered the phone or jumped on a train (okay, maybe you didn’t jump, but you got on it). A bris in a snowstorm or a bowling birthday party were just 2 states away.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Remember how we used to meet in WSP in the West Village? We went to the pop shop or had lunch at café dojo, and then ran after Gwyneth Paltrow for an autograph when we spotted her minding her own business. Or when I’d come to Long Island and you picked me up from the train station in the Pontiac sunfire to go to the beach club and then listen to Rent or Les Mis in your room before I got back on the train to go home. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Later, I wore my doc martens to see your dorm room on the quad (stepped in those damn ginkgo berries and spent forever pouring bleach on them cause I thought it was barf) and we’d go to smokey joes and pretend to be 21. We made mixtapes. We blew our hair dried straight and go to a random NYE party – who was that guy I kissed? in the burbs, right? – and we danced and whispered and giggled and were only a tiny bit hungover the next day.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Arms linked, we still met in the city, after college, before and with kids. We took any opportunity to steal a few hours together, catching up, telling the real stories, the important stuff about boyfriends turned husbands, and families (extended families) and friends (or juicier, non-friends), the lack of sleep or parenting trials of the moment. We shared recipes (I still think of you when I make the strawberry spinach salad and the puff pastry brie appetizer) and went out to eat with our husbands. We sat next to Bode Miller and Morgan Beck in the 11<sup>th</sup> row at Book of Mormon, and stood in a giant stadium to see Beyonce fly through the air and we sang at the tops of our lungs.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Weddings – dress fittings and bachelorette weekends. Pregnancies and babies – so many memories that make me laugh looking back. No question our children were so wanted.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">And unbelievably, we went through cancer together, me first, thinking I had been able to take it for the rest of us, and you after. I was so so angry when I got the news from Naph. We were both young and had so much more to do. Unsurprisingly, we both turned out to be sensitive in mind and body, with a list of treatment side effects a mile long. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">You made changes and took care of yourself and your family. You went back to school and realized your dreams of being an artist. In between the scans and the appointments and the markers and the fucking trials, you thrived. You played tennis. You made travel plans. You published a book! You wasted no time.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">And in the meantime, we still made seeing each other a priority: lunch in the city or a sleepover at your new house, you could not have been a better friend to me. You were always someone I could trust with secrets, with fears, and to share in my joys, too. Friends who stand by your side for almost 3 decades are not easy to come by. Thank you for being an incredible friend to me. I hope I was able to provide some degree of support for these past 8 years, especially, on this roller coaster of uncertainty. <br /><br />I’m beyond grateful for the 27 years we’ve had. I’m furious for the years that were stolen from your girls and promise to do anything for them. I’ll share all of our memories (some will have to wait a few years though), saved letters, and show up for them. I’ll remind them how proud of them you are, on a field or on a stage, or as a friend, how endlessly you love them and that you wanted nothing more than to be with them always. I will make sure they know you would have done anything to see them into adulthood.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">We were supposed to be glamping this week.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I miss you already.<o:p></o:p></p>Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-14194811990605365112020-03-25T23:02:00.000-04:002020-03-25T23:02:52.347-04:00Day 16Hey y'all.<br />
<br />
Still here. Still home.<br />
<br />
My brain is all over the place, so I'm hoping that writing will be sort of meditative and help me sort some thoughts out.<br />
<br />
1. Bar Mitzvah.<br />
We had a family meeting last night (all family members age 12 and over attended) to discuss our plans to postpone officially, the age 12 child's Bar Mitzvah. We decided, as Team Family, to postpone it to 2021, as that plan was the "least sucky" option. I have been up and down about this, seeing as how I'd been planning it for the better part of a year, spent countless hours working on details for the entire weekend celebration (hosting family and friends for no fewer than 4 large meals). The child has been studying to read Torah for the past 3 years, and has worked for the past year on a daily-weekly basis practicing and preparing for this particular reading on this particular date. So it's not easy to just switch the date. Big bummer. But of course we want our friends and family to be able to safely attend. We are going to be SO ready to celebrate together next May. Sigh. We were so close and now it feels so far away. Oh, and also our original venue is no longer renting due to lack of staffing, so there's that.<br />
<br />
2. Food.<br />
I read this article earlier about how when there is so much uncertainty, we must stay present and control the things within our control. Well anyone who knows me (or who has read even a few of these blog posts) knows my not so secret love affair with control. We are mad for each other. So I had been quarantine shopping for a few weeks before this all got serious here. We are not hoarders or couponers, but we've got toilet paper, and as we had been preparing to get rid of an extra freezer (we have an extra fridge/freezer in the basement, plus the former homeowner left a small freezer when she moved), we had space to fill up with frozen veggies and meat and fish. We can do all the hunkering when I feel like we've got enough food to eat without needing the grocery store. Still anxious though, bc there is so much uncertainty about getting food and not being able to feel safe and secure. It gives me a glimpse into the lives of people who are truly food insecure. And we have plenty! This is just one way my anxiety is manifested.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvFEi_OKwz_Wm58yewhpBiCj13FwQ9Nr3DcxsCnw5xILMTO_K-3XLL3mva-ATecdq4d_XmUw2lA1lPF5L2aKwsEXtvUk97dpof_OHcpBMaOOsVUp-6nVTQJWCLMl4EpC7E4ARZJN7uPvU/s1600/60668739865__F8D211CC-F414-4C4F-B840-669D7A1B3F28.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvFEi_OKwz_Wm58yewhpBiCj13FwQ9Nr3DcxsCnw5xILMTO_K-3XLL3mva-ATecdq4d_XmUw2lA1lPF5L2aKwsEXtvUk97dpof_OHcpBMaOOsVUp-6nVTQJWCLMl4EpC7E4ARZJN7uPvU/s320/60668739865__F8D211CC-F414-4C4F-B840-669D7A1B3F28.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quarantine Creative Work</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
3. Kids.<br />
The kids are okay. The big one is definitely bummed about not being able to see his friends at school, and occasionally frustrated at being stuck with us, but for the most part, he's been dealing okay, as long as his phone shuts off after 2 hours of usage. He has "enrichment" work offered by his teachers, but nothing truly concrete. We try to keep to a routine that is framed around mealtime. Between breakfast and lunch, he is supposed to do something academic, something creative, and some movement. Between lunch and dinner, it's the same. He seems to like the flexibility in that, and I'm just happy if he's busy and seems okay.<br />
The little one seems weirded out by all of this, but managing. He's quicker to cry than usual, and needs extra hugs and snuggles. He is having a very hard time with his response to the word "no" and averaging a few extra tantrums a day. Today he had his first virtual circle time with his preschool class and teacher, and that was definitely comforting. He'll have one every day at 9:30, so that's fabulous, and something to look forward to. I wish every kid could have access to some level of familiarity like this. They and we need it badly, this connection to normalcy.<br />
<br />
4. Movement.<br />
I had been on a great streak. I re-joined the gym in January and I'd been going 6-7 times a week since then. Trying to improve my heart health, trying to extend my lifespan. Now I feel like crawling under the bed. Which is not even possible because our bed is a built-in.<br />
<br />
5. Dog.<br />
He's the best, you guys. But even he is weirded out. My dad came by to pick up some groceries we added to our delivery order and the dog was basically crying at the window that my dad couldn't come in. I think he also doesn't know why we are here all day long. I'm guessing he needs his alone time too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSbA4OHYxpzY1nfrEEtUSDm_qgxA7l83tlqb0Bh1YjcZbPs89tbAW_rGdmLFD5EQSdP3pDT8r28oAmx7XlHHhUpU0ZSvDy_iTmr0hQTD4MdW-5s2HRgEZyzkNYI11J9_owGO46wAFLIFg/s1600/kQpp86vgR5SJsT7N%2525Bemag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSbA4OHYxpzY1nfrEEtUSDm_qgxA7l83tlqb0Bh1YjcZbPs89tbAW_rGdmLFD5EQSdP3pDT8r28oAmx7XlHHhUpU0ZSvDy_iTmr0hQTD4MdW-5s2HRgEZyzkNYI11J9_owGO46wAFLIFg/s400/kQpp86vgR5SJsT7N%2525Bemag.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
6. House.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJk_oTpeR2FNSkMaUGo7X1b0GiicQcqjqs7kJZh1d1plWFd_3IHGhpAzgnYdpNlzaLRj3Qlv1m9z6hfPls5ngMxZ7_gXF2ScyCMjFffAlzGc1HrjEGG2McHnntIH4t7Seg30zqfDP4k6I/s1600/fullsizeoutput_caf4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJk_oTpeR2FNSkMaUGo7X1b0GiicQcqjqs7kJZh1d1plWFd_3IHGhpAzgnYdpNlzaLRj3Qlv1m9z6hfPls5ngMxZ7_gXF2ScyCMjFffAlzGc1HrjEGG2McHnntIH4t7Seg30zqfDP4k6I/s320/fullsizeoutput_caf4.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rage walking at dusk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Well, I'll be honest, Dan has painted a purple wall, and we had time a few nights ago to put up artwork we hadn't had a chance to put up since we moved in. And since the bar mitzvah is now moved to next year, I'm wondering if we will be able to remodel the kitchen before then...? Is that out of the realm of possibility? My concern would be if we do the demo but can't finish it bc of another global pandemic. I never ever would've been saying those words 3 weeks ago.<br />
<br />
I hope all of you out there are hanging in and that you have food to eat and someone to make you laugh not too far away.<br />
<br />
xxooMiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-24994395123532911792020-03-19T00:14:00.003-04:002020-03-19T00:14:32.972-04:00Life in the time of CVWow. Just wow. Anyone on Earth right now is connected in the strangest way. We are connected because we cannot be together.<br />
<br />
I just keep thinking that this experience couldn't be any weirder, but my emotions change on an hourly basis.<br />
<br />
Since I process by talking (which becomes writing), I figured it would be healthy to fire up the old blog to both digest and keep a record of this bizarre and terrifying time.<br />
<br />
So.<br />
<br />
Today is Day 7 for our family's lockdown. We live in a suburb of Philadelphia, and our public school district closed down last Tuesday for the duration of the week. I am so grateful for this, that my husband and older child were not exposed to dozens of other kids who may or may not have been exposed unknowingly. I did work last Tuesday, I visited a few classes in Philadelphia, though luckily, that was prior to any known cases were discovered in the city.<br />
<br />
Since then, my big kid (J - age 12) has been home from school. Last week, he had one playdate at someone's home, and one playdate at an ice cream shop. After Wednesday of last week, he has had no in person contact with any other kids other than his brother (Z - age 5)<br />
<br />
**<br />
Sorry for the interruption. Despite us having to be at home all the time, I don't seem to be any less busy than I was 2 weeks ago.<br />
<br />
Today is actually Day 9 for our quarantine.<br />
<br />
Z's day consisted of reading stories with me in the morning (1 of which I videoed and shared on Facebook), doing a bit of journal writing, playing in the house, playing in the backyard, going for a scooter/walk with me and the dog, watching a few shows and playing a few ipad games. All in all pretty good. We are trying to help him stick to his school routine as much as possible since it comforts him. But also I want him to have fun and not feel worried, so I have set up lots of lovely activities and crafts throughout the house. Of course he just wants to be near me.<br />
<br />
J's day involved some schoolwork on the computer (he has enrichment activities assigned by his teachers), some doodling on the dry erase board, 15 minutes of playing soccer in the backyard before he came in to complain his cleats were too tight, and lots of talking to his friends on the newly downloaded app House Party. There may have been a meltdown on the deck because he reached that point in the day at about 3:00.<br />
<br />
As for me, today I was on kid duty. Dan was painting a purple wall in the living room. Adios, lilac wisteria! Welcome home, clean, modern, white wall. It was a monster wall, that borders a flight of steps but also goes way up high, as we have a ranch home that has super high ceilings with exposed beams. So even though we moved in almost 2 years ago, we hadn't been able to paint that damn wall yet.<br />
<br />If nothing else, we at least have time to work on house projects?<br />
<br />
Tomorrow I am planning on trying to get some work done, while also baking soft pretzels from scratch. I'm hoping to scoop down in my flour canister to the point where I have some whole wheat flour waiting for me to use to create a sourdough starter. I've never made sourdough bread before, but always wanted to, so wish me luck. I'll report back.<br />
<br />
Too tired to share emotions this evening, but hopefully I'll get a chance tomorrow, in between the baking, the working, the reading, the snuggles, and dog walks. It's easier to keep busy, less panic seeps in the cracks.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3_Z5IKMaz0-WiWjY6z8LA9TfS9W1pE7mYAtAoSLsf58FKpNsEgVnmc0cmPp6RH19jX_VekPoCvL1iYvxDlAWr8Si9FAzmEZ8rKLEvwKz7ay5F18tJnPNy49BB9tJvcsGLYHFk4fO4hg/s1600/60623880700__D4288428-3583-4BED-92AD-9DCC08D11BD7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp3_Z5IKMaz0-WiWjY6z8LA9TfS9W1pE7mYAtAoSLsf58FKpNsEgVnmc0cmPp6RH19jX_VekPoCvL1iYvxDlAWr8Si9FAzmEZ8rKLEvwKz7ay5F18tJnPNy49BB9tJvcsGLYHFk4fO4hg/s320/60623880700__D4288428-3583-4BED-92AD-9DCC08D11BD7.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">adolescent in his natural habitat<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmjJolqzG0-5yr6BL9tK9NGQeIhnKudLWbARj5PmnJAnCU37L1xy6cg1cB0u-4x2tIxFUq2YLVq_ZgNHHR7ZQaOpe-4f1fBFTVZaGSY9c2_ezfjt9vFlW33e-BdW6u953APc8NR05Wc4/s1600/fullsizeoutput_cab2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1365" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmjJolqzG0-5yr6BL9tK9NGQeIhnKudLWbARj5PmnJAnCU37L1xy6cg1cB0u-4x2tIxFUq2YLVq_ZgNHHR7ZQaOpe-4f1fBFTVZaGSY9c2_ezfjt9vFlW33e-BdW6u953APc8NR05Wc4/s320/fullsizeoutput_cab2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">iPad photos - I have 100 of these stored on my icloud account</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLfU90P_j_FfYJbXtK8kzjDxfuhxVxS8T6KVarRvazQDxEBZYtZs3D3ylVAUWw4D1BLodvYedtyiTE1HKxz3qY00f_MEDO64QUE_8GrtACLUljc1DJ-2rOBDwWRygcovYD8C6JK1Rp7c/s1600/GHceIynLSaSjLame4Xv58Q.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLfU90P_j_FfYJbXtK8kzjDxfuhxVxS8T6KVarRvazQDxEBZYtZs3D3ylVAUWw4D1BLodvYedtyiTE1HKxz3qY00f_MEDO64QUE_8GrtACLUljc1DJ-2rOBDwWRygcovYD8C6JK1Rp7c/s320/GHceIynLSaSjLame4Xv58Q.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pup and buttercups<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMjmNytWPpKvOEQMPwSaiWwF9pmXA6ksgtYT9jVlS1E5VSayZLWYZw6U3J-gaGxCgaamjnZ8iH-fKssvLFLE7j0R7uYJrtN39-V8nNNKrcyP9bRZqV4UTjLEhnPv0NpqK2IlRsRiILaE/s1600/YB0MNKrdS%2525OCHtEpPGtvNA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZMjmNytWPpKvOEQMPwSaiWwF9pmXA6ksgtYT9jVlS1E5VSayZLWYZw6U3J-gaGxCgaamjnZ8iH-fKssvLFLE7j0R7uYJrtN39-V8nNNKrcyP9bRZqV4UTjLEhnPv0NpqK2IlRsRiILaE/s320/YB0MNKrdS%2525OCHtEpPGtvNA.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a mountain from angry birds 2. (obviously)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwH0zu1AVLl_OT0GbIVlP1m898_9WI5U3Wdv_qlyP2tziMFFx6TwLj8JDpI1V8qYzIaR6NgUQ1DfXugXIbLq-GW-iPC_EroOJI_4eX6x65GGZPTYUcIMAoDK4AOAIl32gx6iLPzN1TEaY/s1600/zBAyrBJXQ2GpZSx9gLWP4w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwH0zu1AVLl_OT0GbIVlP1m898_9WI5U3Wdv_qlyP2tziMFFx6TwLj8JDpI1V8qYzIaR6NgUQ1DfXugXIbLq-GW-iPC_EroOJI_4eX6x65GGZPTYUcIMAoDK4AOAIl32gx6iLPzN1TEaY/s320/zBAyrBJXQ2GpZSx9gLWP4w.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Backyard time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-56384008993259485602020-02-24T22:25:00.001-05:002020-02-24T22:25:59.147-05:00Annual Wave<div style="text-align: center;">
Heyo! Still here! Tfu, tfu. </div>
<br />
Lots of updates since my last post almost 2 years ago, but I can see that there's been traffic, probably mostly from newly diagnosed fellow PMBCL patients (sent directly from our FB support group). If that's you, Hi!!<br />
<br />
If you're a friend of mine, and we've been in touch the past 10 years, I don't have any new information to share, but perhaps a little bit of wisdom and happiness.<br />
<br />
Since the last post, we have moved to a new house and adopted a new dog. We are all hopelessly in love with him (check out many more photos on his instagram page @RudyPrinceofFluff).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZ7sKMG8XuzavvsJA1g-u-j1mA3_jKsFQEJC67m1U2Z_WnHBoCNY3Q7KPNpKoi8EfieljS7aMEYubWKtgUNzq91IytB2cWB0OWgDYrL6DWCs6PL4XBTdjukikQUYqJJCqsU4HvHx1enI/s1600/JNpEvBxvTfunyLqhsiyNBg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZ7sKMG8XuzavvsJA1g-u-j1mA3_jKsFQEJC67m1U2Z_WnHBoCNY3Q7KPNpKoi8EfieljS7aMEYubWKtgUNzq91IytB2cWB0OWgDYrL6DWCs6PL4XBTdjukikQUYqJJCqsU4HvHx1enI/s320/JNpEvBxvTfunyLqhsiyNBg.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
I have a new job this year, working as the Program Manager for an incredible non-profit teaching health education, journalism, and media literacy skills to K-8 students.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocJFPptisgEAL63JzPGELqC-sMvN3lSlcNYgWBikmm0DE_Z6yFzaxjiqpv1RLfCTVggsi3wtjlzsaSfsPM4eYyTZNgAbFjR-Ie-AVH9leIYZs52cCl-cUjCYgsdkyZNvhhoqaDRcRunQ/s1600/bw3xnFy2RlejNJVgO2wR9g.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhocJFPptisgEAL63JzPGELqC-sMvN3lSlcNYgWBikmm0DE_Z6yFzaxjiqpv1RLfCTVggsi3wtjlzsaSfsPM4eYyTZNgAbFjR-Ie-AVH9leIYZs52cCl-cUjCYgsdkyZNvhhoqaDRcRunQ/s320/bw3xnFy2RlejNJVgO2wR9g.jpg" width="240" /></a>But what really brings me here tonight is that exactly 5 years ago, my amniotic sac had sprung a leak and I was watching Downton Abbey, waiting for active labor to kick in.<br />
<br />
My little fish had flipped back head down but wasn't sure if he really wanted to come out.<br />
<br />
Lucky for us, he did make his way into the world and we have been so so lucky to watch him grow into himself over the past 5 very brief years.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow he wakes up 5 whole years old. One whole hand!<br />
<br />
We can't stop time, it often feels like a boardwalk roller coaster. Get in and buckle up, or be left behind watching from the bottom. Sometimes it seems I'm doing both, especially when parenting.<br />
<br />
Life is busy, filled with small disasters, exhausting days, rewarding moments, fantastic friends, a little self care, and a never ending To Do list.<br />
<br />
I am so grateful to be here for all of it.<br />
<br />Carry on.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjnTsOz2HD0j_2FSLx_mr0Pe67JNy3Bk8eDQVk6TuE0WZAy_6hqBNkyUYYuCeQ4RT-w53cbJUexWxtboDZPkvHGumXkemT1IxjcJHNAIla2t3dgv8kKzoe370LHVeZ334ec60T2GRjQr4/s1600/oDYUpr%25253Q8WKuNnxmy2Omw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjnTsOz2HD0j_2FSLx_mr0Pe67JNy3Bk8eDQVk6TuE0WZAy_6hqBNkyUYYuCeQ4RT-w53cbJUexWxtboDZPkvHGumXkemT1IxjcJHNAIla2t3dgv8kKzoe370LHVeZ334ec60T2GRjQr4/s320/oDYUpr%25253Q8WKuNnxmy2Omw.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-7048505753968178602018-02-01T14:54:00.000-05:002018-02-01T22:07:20.046-05:00lessons learned <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwl6X-F5WXPqzyV5WSxWRUszp6P1f9EMl362nU1GrZEWZ8lyrjVYYJvqKWHrPex82My_LGNGqqIQRd4zw8LiW-crwGIyn79Lz1qVL9rPbQejtkKSruelv-BR0OzNOyvWhu2clKM_tHOg/s1600/Jury+Duty.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEwl6X-F5WXPqzyV5WSxWRUszp6P1f9EMl362nU1GrZEWZ8lyrjVYYJvqKWHrPex82My_LGNGqqIQRd4zw8LiW-crwGIyn79Lz1qVL9rPbQejtkKSruelv-BR0OzNOyvWhu2clKM_tHOg/s320/Jury+Duty.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
In my last month of my 30s, I was summoned to report for jury duty.<br />
<br />
"You won't even have to report," they said.<br />
"You won't get selected," they said.<br />
"There will be lots of waiting around, you will be able to get work done," they said.<br />
<br />
Um, no. Long story short, I was selected and agreed to be the jury forewoman for a criminal trial. I was pretty much in shock throughout the whole first day - jury selection and then the majority of the trial proceedings. We were not permitted to speak to anyone - including other jurors - about the details of the case until after the trial was over. That was almost the hardest part. The second day, the lawyers completed their questions and gave closing arguments.<br />
<br />
Finally, deliberations began.<br />
<br />
Have you ever imagined being closed into a room with no windows with 11 strangers to try to agree on ONE single thing? How about FIVE things? I had never imagined this prior to now, but let me tell you it was a challenge. It took us almost 14 hours of deliberating to agree unanimously on each count.<br />
<br />
For me, the answers were very clear. I felt there were so many inconsistencies in the physical evidence and in the police documents that there was no way I could say the defendant was guilty across the board. But there were 5 separate charges we needed to come to a consensus on. And it turned out, we all had very strong convictions but not necessarily in the same direction.<br />
<br />
By the end, we found the defendant guilty on 3 charges and not guilty on 2.<br />
<br />
I learned a lot about working with others, who think very differently from myself.<br />
<br />
I learned...<br />
<br />
how few people understand systemic racism (or thinks about WHY someone may be dealing drugs, is poorly educated (within this first world country), has very limited choices for earning a living wage)<br />
<br />
how few people understand the dynamics of people who live on a different socioeconomic plane<br />
<br />
how hard it is for some people to follow the instructions given to them, requiring them to set aside emotions or "gut feelings"<br />
<br />
how people's fears can guide their decisions as opposed to compassion<br />
<br />
how people believe compassion means putting yourself in someone else's shoes, when really it could mean imagining an experience the way someone else may view it, NOT YOU<br />
<br />
how quickly people are to judge others based on CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE<br />
<br />
how few people understand what racism can sound like and look like<br />
<br />
how time consuming it can be to try to get someone who doesn't know you to see things your way<br />
<br />
how truly difficult it can be to get someone else to remember we are all innocent until PROVEN BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT guilty<br />
<br />
how gut wrenching it can be to pronounce someone guilty of a felony in a court of law, especially when you don't believe the law is ethical, but even when you do<br />
<br />
how much work we have yet to do to change the way our society functions.<br />
<br />
If we want to drastically reduce crime, poverty, we must drastically increase education. It is the only way forward. I double down in my career choices, and in the way I will choose to spend my professional time going forward.<br />
<br />
It brought tears to my eyes once I finally sat down, after I had answered the court's questions about how the jury decided on each count. It's still making my eyes sweat to think about how momentous a day yesterday was for the man whose fate we had a hand in deciding.<br />
<br />
***<br />
I know this blog was created as a post-cancer journal. Here I am, post-cancer, on the eve of my 40th birthday, continuing to learn about the world around me and the meaning of life. I still feel like I can never say thank you enough to those who supported me 7 years ago and continue to laugh, live, and love with me today. I know one thing for sure by now. We are only here for a short time, and so little is within our control. But what we can do is to help others. The only way I can return the love that was shown to me when I needed it is to show compassion and love to others. I will continue to do my best at that, growing and learning every day I get to gratefully do so, even into the next decade. I hope you'll join me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-39485024303323458902017-10-23T00:02:00.001-04:002017-10-23T00:02:59.007-04:00Still HereClearly, I go longer and longer between posting here (evident in the fact that I briefly forgot HOW to post here). I am hanging in over here, parenting, working, thinking of selling our house in the spring, getting used to being a no dog family. I have begun a number of blog posts in the past few months, but none ever made it to the orange publish button. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Since last November, I certainly do question how distantly into the future we can all realistically look. But there's not a ton of time for deep reflection. I love my children something fierce, but they require a lot of physical and emotional energy. Damn, if I don't worry in my free time, WHO WILL?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm currently on a no/low sugar detox (I may have cheated once or twice in the past 3 weeks), as my indulging and food-rewards had gotten out of hand. I definitely feel better, but I'm looking forward to feeling it in my pants as I zip them up without holding my breath. I'll keep you posted.</div>
<div>
<br />Still at the same place with my heart and lasting radiation effects. Still on my beta blocker, still sensitive to dehydration and poor circulation. But I'm still here, too. We discovered over the summer that high altitude living is not for me (had to ditch a trip to Colorado a week early due to altitude sickness in Boulder), and I would venture that would go for anyone who had radiation to the chest? I can live with sticking to sea level.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I turn 40 in less than 6 months. Yes, I'm celebrating, for sure (with a trip out west to the desert to chill in a hot tub under the stars). But I'm also starting to panic because my mammograms begin at 40. Is this going to give me PTSD from scanxiety? I promise if it does, you will be the first to know.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh0sDr4TaGTxns5gDynKlcVqiYlRECfKzsHQX4pr2j04Y5-909FTOa2qOX_RHr02fDo03OwRC1qMyiLJWlTxwciha19VuAnIN2nopvAl3H68c9nAQf1pdb8myr1_9_NqP7j5Yq03DBWhY/s1600/IMG_0617.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh0sDr4TaGTxns5gDynKlcVqiYlRECfKzsHQX4pr2j04Y5-909FTOa2qOX_RHr02fDo03OwRC1qMyiLJWlTxwciha19VuAnIN2nopvAl3H68c9nAQf1pdb8myr1_9_NqP7j5Yq03DBWhY/s320/IMG_0617.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOH6iZw_g1FwSUYtEHjcYj9UcyfzDbaiJC14E_uvLKpgiX3ZR81KjrFCCTz2rOIv7U8fZlGF6Cth8Bh7u9AZIqgE3jo_xmjNyNecPIu9AXR7nMKgajUcNxyXU0DpUA1l0ow-CVX3avw6E/s1600/IMG_0731.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOH6iZw_g1FwSUYtEHjcYj9UcyfzDbaiJC14E_uvLKpgiX3ZR81KjrFCCTz2rOIv7U8fZlGF6Cth8Bh7u9AZIqgE3jo_xmjNyNecPIu9AXR7nMKgajUcNxyXU0DpUA1l0ow-CVX3avw6E/s320/IMG_0731.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLNA2iDRCiSJeIfjgjxi-Z9VxFFqwTZ1VL_rrxducAbU_H45vY00EM4hq_-pSF__j2GE4U5TPyfMgohu9miSUbaHihmLEB86uGO0JNmtm6ot1A_2a58CCz63h95Eb21ULAu6ggR1EiXZU/s1600/IMG_0923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLNA2iDRCiSJeIfjgjxi-Z9VxFFqwTZ1VL_rrxducAbU_H45vY00EM4hq_-pSF__j2GE4U5TPyfMgohu9miSUbaHihmLEB86uGO0JNmtm6ot1A_2a58CCz63h95Eb21ULAu6ggR1EiXZU/s320/IMG_0923.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig1-3zRSMbyc0_W8C0dt1Df5dx0lZsr8SMeBOT8rucjt4DCiP2AONZ3RGqMYi7FdcUtCFpfdqFcPgrOZcGnfglpBH9XHsyiNflXrs7oqd3zHQYCxQBE6Cp9DsChtxny3TQHKhseeQkZq4/s1600/IMG_0979.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig1-3zRSMbyc0_W8C0dt1Df5dx0lZsr8SMeBOT8rucjt4DCiP2AONZ3RGqMYi7FdcUtCFpfdqFcPgrOZcGnfglpBH9XHsyiNflXrs7oqd3zHQYCxQBE6Cp9DsChtxny3TQHKhseeQkZq4/s320/IMG_0979.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-39404738812529541372017-04-02T20:35:00.001-04:002017-04-02T21:11:12.492-04:00Our MooshuWaiting for results again. But this time, it's not my bloodwork in the lab. It's our almost 14 year old dog, Mooshu. The vet predicts lymphoma, based upon his giant tumor under his jowl. When I heard that, my heart lept. Seriously? He has to have it, too?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVc26q6ojIaU1ZQfyBcbDlbQS1jEPhK82_hAgalLuQYqw7FudozcSLMr-ouVPD9HYN1ndA31wefhF4Wgv_m4nJSxZS3Z35seXXDx6fHHprX_mJheEVYXWvD4PsHVekCxi2a8ljC6M3vHM/s1600/IMG_6186.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVc26q6ojIaU1ZQfyBcbDlbQS1jEPhK82_hAgalLuQYqw7FudozcSLMr-ouVPD9HYN1ndA31wefhF4Wgv_m4nJSxZS3Z35seXXDx6fHHprX_mJheEVYXWvD4PsHVekCxi2a8ljC6M3vHM/s320/IMG_6186.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We've been through a lot together. 3 homes, 2 kids, 1 major illness, new cars, countless dog beds, dishes licked clean, crumbs inhaled, tap dances performed for food, trips to Pittsburgh with him nestled in the way back, snuggles, bowls of chicken and rice, cottage cheese, ear infections, walks with snow booties, quick pees, and so much love.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSagQPl6IR_vIYPj1dkQyfNz34PKtKGNWmScDel3H1eDerLJF1A8-_y9bpZPIsbkgPo6qkWeiJqiPah-_yn_mpeSAYj5CYOAx6-Y0sWpesFaE-nlmGzNTEV5Kt70EciL6cgnkmkGCkzM/s1600/IMG_6157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSagQPl6IR_vIYPj1dkQyfNz34PKtKGNWmScDel3H1eDerLJF1A8-_y9bpZPIsbkgPo6qkWeiJqiPah-_yn_mpeSAYj5CYOAx6-Y0sWpesFaE-nlmGzNTEV5Kt70EciL6cgnkmkGCkzM/s320/IMG_6157.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I don't know what I'll miss most. Will it be him sun bathing quietly? Whimpering in his sleep, dreaming about running after a squirrel? Will it be the way he knows when I'm cutting carrots for lunches and he walks into the kitchen to see if I will share (I will)? The way he smells like stale corn chips when he curls up in front of the radiator in the winter? The way he knows when my mom is coming over and waits patiently at the door? Or how he gives my dad a better reaction than us when we return from vacation? It will probably be the way he lets the boys snuggle up against him, and how he has taught them to care for animals. How Judah and Zevi have never known life without him, a family fixture.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcsraXr0LP9Mrpku5YRDY4hSefYfYKtbFRU63QkMNqXQFOyooKVte1g0hblmm_DEyjFFIJMJvt9UHd2kjAxN30l5nczQGgUptIxV-vR3Hjko8GyXwR7HGqf1IUSJUX3x5VOQMTimCJQwI/s1600/IMG_6167.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcsraXr0LP9Mrpku5YRDY4hSefYfYKtbFRU63QkMNqXQFOyooKVte1g0hblmm_DEyjFFIJMJvt9UHd2kjAxN30l5nczQGgUptIxV-vR3Hjko8GyXwR7HGqf1IUSJUX3x5VOQMTimCJQwI/s320/IMG_6167.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We knew he was getting old (we think 14 in July), but he's been around forever, so it's been impossible to imagine life or our family without him.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3I_hE2mj9_EIJTojCw5WTzCiowEEIxSKdYl8jDKFzE8dKpcRE02lLAahnxz6pYQCp-BJ0l0NwPMfwdaLBxeNmB97bRWLuKHqm_nhc6Mysj5eg-xsx1xbYPha9acXe-S5SFhyMINgfb-w/s1600/IMG_6147.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3I_hE2mj9_EIJTojCw5WTzCiowEEIxSKdYl8jDKFzE8dKpcRE02lLAahnxz6pYQCp-BJ0l0NwPMfwdaLBxeNmB97bRWLuKHqm_nhc6Mysj5eg-xsx1xbYPha9acXe-S5SFhyMINgfb-w/s320/IMG_6147.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
When Dan and I first rescued him 13 years ago, in April 2004, he was a scrawny, caramel and white speckled puppy at the SPCA in North Philly. We had just gone to look at the dogs there, not to actually bring one home. But I saw him and fell in love. We went home to sleep on it, and the next morning, we were back at the shelter when it opened. He stunk up the car, stunk up the house, destroyed brown paper bags and dog beds, learned not to eat too much sugar (that's a whole other story), loved food of all types (including cucumbers and lettuce), refused to go out in the rain, kept your feet warm under the dining room table, always knew which visiting child to sit next to (slash nudge into dropping food for him).<br />
<br />
Mooshie wasn't super excited to welcome babies into the house. They were noisy and they crawled around his house. He once lifted his lip at Judah when he was about to crawl into his space under the table. I caught him and he caught it from me, and never did it again. Same exact thing happened when Zevi began to crawl. One warning, we nipped it. We never allowed any baby or child to mistreat Mooshu, nor did we let them walk around the house with food, taunting him with treats he couldn't (but eventually would) enjoy.<br />
<br />
He's survived 2 bouts of chocolate poisoning, eating a few shoelaces (if you need to make your dog vomit, I can coach you through it) and seasonal bouts with hound dog ear infections. Before children, he lost a piece of his ear at the dog park (we still don't know how it happened), and I came home to what looked like a murder scene at the house, as he'd been shaking his cut ear every time the cut began to clot and itch. The vet hospital called us to come and get him as soon as he woke from his stitches because no one could think while Mooshie was howling.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfcstjhmzX69OHZqP2th4XmFn2NsCryWTwbbKm-8S2iXdcza35SXtDPyM5vVOtd1MDGXQondlfqkQEggb_znuxDK3GWFvZUB052dqSHsFGe-9MYkaPsu-OG3lHzLmd6Pv0Q53gJrgt5Jg/s1600/IMG_6153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfcstjhmzX69OHZqP2th4XmFn2NsCryWTwbbKm-8S2iXdcza35SXtDPyM5vVOtd1MDGXQondlfqkQEggb_znuxDK3GWFvZUB052dqSHsFGe-9MYkaPsu-OG3lHzLmd6Pv0Q53gJrgt5Jg/s320/IMG_6153.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Oh, the howl. Mooshu's bay was voted best of the Philly dog park in 2004. He liked to turn his head upside down and howl at his friends in the park. He howled to show his joy, to let everyone know he had arrived, to establish his presence. You could hear him howling from a few blocks away and know he had met another dog on his walk.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweRV1_YKeUHQo_5_koAHKrVOYbjKuL70lvBWecYkv4b-rYmIahbffK_aRobzNdu87jDoN0hU8TRLWohJDQryfbnwewiIcufKW0cemt6ITZMcXXEcGG7gllQfvD7NR8N0gNV0RSBgBERM/s1600/0300209739671819905068191014053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjweRV1_YKeUHQo_5_koAHKrVOYbjKuL70lvBWecYkv4b-rYmIahbffK_aRobzNdu87jDoN0hU8TRLWohJDQryfbnwewiIcufKW0cemt6ITZMcXXEcGG7gllQfvD7NR8N0gNV0RSBgBERM/s320/0300209739671819905068191014053.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpD3MPOqyg_eJckEHAdAMEY7EJSji2S5IvL6FINsRYs9olE2TBC2HmtkNLwSBxtaIeyKnXYiiUv37b1YVSKT2tdNOTQ7eBjLeMd0YQjRVylK0tqi5QO8ADwKiWwwxYszQST_w-jgZurjQ/s1600/IMG_6361.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpD3MPOqyg_eJckEHAdAMEY7EJSji2S5IvL6FINsRYs9olE2TBC2HmtkNLwSBxtaIeyKnXYiiUv37b1YVSKT2tdNOTQ7eBjLeMd0YQjRVylK0tqi5QO8ADwKiWwwxYszQST_w-jgZurjQ/s320/IMG_6361.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjyNk2TH0x2FgYIuIofSFRO4XI1ft4Aok-lQZkvV3Z6JhVdhw1z765Tw-YCMHOtJmS3f9HEfRBjLEfY7EwWDfgEIvU5p9NNoUYeyZvkZVFLQO4x7SQAFSVK2YKtH6uPtGAZbDzska-4KI/s1600/0300209739671819905068191016674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjyNk2TH0x2FgYIuIofSFRO4XI1ft4Aok-lQZkvV3Z6JhVdhw1z765Tw-YCMHOtJmS3f9HEfRBjLEfY7EwWDfgEIvU5p9NNoUYeyZvkZVFLQO4x7SQAFSVK2YKtH6uPtGAZbDzska-4KI/s320/0300209739671819905068191016674.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3vEDwIsMjVzOJIW2fUhLSlNRGpgudL6kTgEmInmwIyz4sjSHZS_WKwe-ZZPbxkyiz1x1knUKSImCV1NBKhFsX_TKiInGzVgxOmDCAixp0G_PyZNzPqCGg3f4FjlEQzy7rP88H3msP64/s1600/IMG_4747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3vEDwIsMjVzOJIW2fUhLSlNRGpgudL6kTgEmInmwIyz4sjSHZS_WKwe-ZZPbxkyiz1x1knUKSImCV1NBKhFsX_TKiInGzVgxOmDCAixp0G_PyZNzPqCGg3f4FjlEQzy7rP88H3msP64/s320/IMG_4747.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KdHQR8eMaQjrZI9LIWTxBaHk3XOZftItHB1ovRfGtcSrw0sjO20ATsZ5eZhAcLi1D1lKs7kGZpplF6OmUu0pW-bgFsHURPlvJFFpRu2YRBof9DoDqLwVmgk-40r-_Fus-_-BszOWDAc/s1600/IMG_1063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0KdHQR8eMaQjrZI9LIWTxBaHk3XOZftItHB1ovRfGtcSrw0sjO20ATsZ5eZhAcLi1D1lKs7kGZpplF6OmUu0pW-bgFsHURPlvJFFpRu2YRBof9DoDqLwVmgk-40r-_Fus-_-BszOWDAc/s320/IMG_1063.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigL0BZ6AylvPqWkrvfenmYQMGN43MyATTgYP5IEOPMKdcAzZXj5IT7l6MwYdgiTYIiq7L_ekfY5mbKQrWRKACpwOUzSPLG00i8-cUTee081h4WOcM8DuKNEDsRhPk3tV2nea_fvLSt7vg/s1600/IMG_1042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigL0BZ6AylvPqWkrvfenmYQMGN43MyATTgYP5IEOPMKdcAzZXj5IT7l6MwYdgiTYIiq7L_ekfY5mbKQrWRKACpwOUzSPLG00i8-cUTee081h4WOcM8DuKNEDsRhPk3tV2nea_fvLSt7vg/s320/IMG_1042.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho1AA86o6CzUVupuL_tww1soZgU-G__mhkRycGNefxFmw_fcoE722RwHBwiZOSK1RB2shgCwlzzeowA4ZqsGN4lHQagIfsaB-lgpIwCY1AxmAy_uSJ-4fmNy85DLORv_3K7ZxR3BQCOhk/s1600/IMG_1265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho1AA86o6CzUVupuL_tww1soZgU-G__mhkRycGNefxFmw_fcoE722RwHBwiZOSK1RB2shgCwlzzeowA4ZqsGN4lHQagIfsaB-lgpIwCY1AxmAy_uSJ-4fmNy85DLORv_3K7ZxR3BQCOhk/s320/IMG_1265.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz2moVB-6nVBpSVECwQwkh-EqY77TaaVY7du8yD0i7UyFhQSUGl1r2h1e1gkZle19ljnjt7BBE6u3ZVIxSavY2EDcjHAHyMK_ZmvZ4GnR6wKIDeR9IBzDXBL7lnpA5uA40L8Qd2aRndAU/s1600/IMG_4319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz2moVB-6nVBpSVECwQwkh-EqY77TaaVY7du8yD0i7UyFhQSUGl1r2h1e1gkZle19ljnjt7BBE6u3ZVIxSavY2EDcjHAHyMK_ZmvZ4GnR6wKIDeR9IBzDXBL7lnpA5uA40L8Qd2aRndAU/s320/IMG_4319.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhussKsDCkEHEzHQ9jAShe3QjjsQkGkLQKkIZkY54qEeY02MWYUEhzy_rimVefGASS-raVcdB37Mp-o7HCQkT66YE0UVidbXHOxUg5zXAJLWqr-MFNKKgsRxYy66Ru8oMoh2vikqa9oXXc/s1600/IMG_4141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhussKsDCkEHEzHQ9jAShe3QjjsQkGkLQKkIZkY54qEeY02MWYUEhzy_rimVefGASS-raVcdB37Mp-o7HCQkT66YE0UVidbXHOxUg5zXAJLWqr-MFNKKgsRxYy66Ru8oMoh2vikqa9oXXc/s320/IMG_4141.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWaqMSwcSDsuJal6WHAYXA8v1ERG2apLBHoqNllpk8WtwHAXXCZTBwo5bNv9wKjwheUDUfrTuExdHdvYg6ZEED4Bj_ZWsSygdyUW_QvZCffgH12I0NV3Qxs90Q6Q6mbQuKGHOr1yRxCUw/s1600/IMG_1840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWaqMSwcSDsuJal6WHAYXA8v1ERG2apLBHoqNllpk8WtwHAXXCZTBwo5bNv9wKjwheUDUfrTuExdHdvYg6ZEED4Bj_ZWsSygdyUW_QvZCffgH12I0NV3Qxs90Q6Q6mbQuKGHOr1yRxCUw/s320/IMG_1840.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mzlRbmNUdJSXwdFyskhpBlhPgGdUQ5DmmTZWcddBplKMvy8-C2x1Pnmi6aL59uRylAZAy5z2jfk8Ila_Eo_XnPHvotd8CngL78vopmPD-PPjfxqpqvmM2uZ386Z6nvYWYzpmLvXMk24/s1600/IMG_1390.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9mzlRbmNUdJSXwdFyskhpBlhPgGdUQ5DmmTZWcddBplKMvy8-C2x1Pnmi6aL59uRylAZAy5z2jfk8Ila_Eo_XnPHvotd8CngL78vopmPD-PPjfxqpqvmM2uZ386Z6nvYWYzpmLvXMk24/s320/IMG_1390.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFOQaGE1Lslg_DzLoJxDpN32kssfgkdPVZP8xMxLYXg0hqfanK6ohFTDHEOnUbNV92w65ZAbiQ4CbsCCLG4QJlxndAw3cGjLNq6YaUQniChSfQTA3IJruME2vkUGccneLm8zn-2K2Q5mo/s1600/IMG_2057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFOQaGE1Lslg_DzLoJxDpN32kssfgkdPVZP8xMxLYXg0hqfanK6ohFTDHEOnUbNV92w65ZAbiQ4CbsCCLG4QJlxndAw3cGjLNq6YaUQniChSfQTA3IJruME2vkUGccneLm8zn-2K2Q5mo/s320/IMG_2057.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Our first baby, I will miss his reassuring presence in the house. I will miss him following me into whatever room I'm working in, cleaning in, cooking in, talking on the phone in. I'll miss his clickety clacking around the house, his waiting for a missing family member before proceeding on a walk, the way he communicates with us, staring, motioning, whining, and more recently, panting, until we finally understand what he needs.<br />
<br />
And now that we know what he needs, it's so hard to say goodbye.<br />
<br />
We will love him forever and ever, our Mooshie.Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-44482115634310259482016-10-24T23:26:00.003-04:002016-10-24T23:26:25.635-04:00Present DayOnce in a while, it's a good idea to take a step back and remember how far you've come.<br />
<br />
We are settled into our hectic but loving life as a family of 4, toddler in tow. I continue to work part time while the baby goes to daycare and my mom. Judah is now 9 and almost out of elementary school. The past year and a half is kind of a blur, and while the day to day responsibilities and routines can be rewarding, they can also swallow you up. In the current world (election) mood, tension is contagious. All of social media is like a giant pulsing pit of anxiety that I need to escape.<br />
<br />
I try to retreat to my corner with my small and large munchkins, and just focus on being present, but it can be a challenge.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9d1q_ItVnMJEs5evqGZgJ6-xM6YUjVCjecasRBt85rKc4cUFJdwBYHVU6Ai-IbBaYiZwbsgjpdb33O-5fkQyV1cbtI5sXI0IwkAxJeotJohh1A2kieJ-opYIZFKk9uXg8bjVqZrkc_kU/s1600/IMG_3267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9d1q_ItVnMJEs5evqGZgJ6-xM6YUjVCjecasRBt85rKc4cUFJdwBYHVU6Ai-IbBaYiZwbsgjpdb33O-5fkQyV1cbtI5sXI0IwkAxJeotJohh1A2kieJ-opYIZFKk9uXg8bjVqZrkc_kU/s400/IMG_3267.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">smallest munchkin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFDGoXeYFhULGFc9qNQBbeykLBY4C8ATYcx_paxMfWLePULaEl-WHzOgtKa9MLDjpCENFz3gsEoIQuCeN3RGyZkFhRCOxnZknuITDpbmKL_I7xCnybvbTutWfnLB38-BkjXe_-iUbALAo/s1600/IMG_2383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFDGoXeYFhULGFc9qNQBbeykLBY4C8ATYcx_paxMfWLePULaEl-WHzOgtKa9MLDjpCENFz3gsEoIQuCeN3RGyZkFhRCOxnZknuITDpbmKL_I7xCnybvbTutWfnLB38-BkjXe_-iUbALAo/s400/IMG_2383.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">soccer stars</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKGsQRuEDKfU_i17Uw7BF8_7kPAmUU-7N84ELmW4XPmb6AdqwyRvVZTECwcV21uwbVDKkpsosxdndxGED5rqE1Q6k0sK8pkWWTc0u12u0a_9ym5yWV0Gpkuowgwok_RJT5v_wLHha7Ow/s1600/IMG_3183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKGsQRuEDKfU_i17Uw7BF8_7kPAmUU-7N84ELmW4XPmb6AdqwyRvVZTECwcV21uwbVDKkpsosxdndxGED5rqE1Q6k0sK8pkWWTc0u12u0a_9ym5yWV0Gpkuowgwok_RJT5v_wLHha7Ow/s400/IMG_3183.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">biggest munchkin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
October 24 happens to be the anniversary of the very first Light the Night walk I did to support LLS. I'm looking forward to being able to participate again in 2017 (no special reason other than scheduling and parenting responsibilities have presented conflicts for the past few years), because it's still hard to admit, but we are all so vulnerable and need to know we have community to lean on in time of need. I don't want to need it ever again, but I know it is my duty to be that community for others.<br />
<br />
It's been 6 years since treatment ended, but I haven't been able to shake the tempting-fate feeling that ebbs and flows and makes me never want to use words like "cured" or "that's all in the past". While logically, I understand that saying such things would have zero bearing on my cells going haywire, I am still not taking any chances.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Tonight, I was organizing some files and bookmarks on my laptop (truth: so Judah can independently access his Hebrew homework website) when the blog bookmark called out to me. I go so long between posts that I doubt anyone reads them anymore. But I couldn't forget reading others' stories into the wee hours of the steroid-induced insomniac mornings and wondering why they stopped writing. Of course, I vowed to never stop writing, lest someone else wonder.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-73534464161219029262015-12-27T11:08:00.001-05:002015-12-27T11:08:03.104-05:005 Years LaterHere we are again. It's the end of December. The year is 2015 (sounds so futuristic, right?), and it has been exactly 5 years since I last entered the radiation room for a zap. Technically that means I am cured. 5 years post-treatment with no recurrence = cured = wonderful, superstar fantastic.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure it's that easy. 5 years does not mean I don't still think about it coming back. Or having a new kind of cancer as payment for the rads I took to kill cancer #1. As my onc always says, "there's no such thing as a free lunch." And those words ring in my ears.<br />
<br />
During chemo, I remember thinking about this giant dance party we would hold after treatment had ended. We would invite all of our friends and celebrate the end of cancer! There would be loud music, and cupcakes, all of my favorite people, and maybe some glow sticks. But then we got to the end of chemo, and I realized I might need radiation, which indeed I did. Then I had to wait another 3 months for a scan to find out if the radiation had been effective, which, thankfully, it was. There were more tests and scans to follow. The results were positive but felt awfully temporary. And there was not much I could do to change that fact.<br />
<br />
For me, that's what is so scary about having cancer. It's a brutal reminder that all living things are temporary, and mostly out of our hands.<br />
<br />
I guess what I'm trying to say is that while I am obviously quite glad to be here to celebrate my 5th cancerversary, the whole ordeal still doesn't feel over. The question lingers: when will I have to pay for my lunch?<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
How has life changed since 2010? The two biggies are of course different job and new baby. The rest is just stuff. Judah is a big kid - no more toddler - in 3rd grade. He even wrote a story about a baby bird named Beaky whose mother was diagnosed with lymphoma. Our experience together comes up in unpredictable ways. Gratefully, he doesn't seem too worse for the wear. Zev is our newest miracle. Standing tall at 10 months, he uttered his first intentional word last week: "Judah" (was there ever a doubt?) and loves to make all kinds of sounds, crawl, eat, sing, kiss, and snuggle. We cannot stop eating his pudgy arms and legs, and nibbling his round, soft cheeks. Tfu, tfu.<br />
<br />
My favorite time of day is between 7 and 8 when we're on vacation and snuggling in bed together. The gratitude can be overwhelming.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNhEZY8juVl06Dnj5HuswUTKJUy23C_ldhr5rh852UHbxP27kPmETirwcDw7lHyxIKiEmi6jxJD_rIhYfFWB131vMYc6unF2i0PZVEW3hRUYJt-0Xta6mbeN5SjqsoN00Pctpuz5MmLaA/s1600/IMG_4622.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNhEZY8juVl06Dnj5HuswUTKJUy23C_ldhr5rh852UHbxP27kPmETirwcDw7lHyxIKiEmi6jxJD_rIhYfFWB131vMYc6unF2i0PZVEW3hRUYJt-0Xta6mbeN5SjqsoN00Pctpuz5MmLaA/s320/IMG_4622.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I won't go into too much detail about the worries that pop up on a daily basis - mainly they have transferred from being about me back to being about the boys. It's so easy to give into the anxiety and let it run me over, but Dan is good about trying to bring me back to Earth. Mostly. Plus we are lucky to have a solid pediatrician (who is also a friend), who both takes me seriously and quells my nervous, new-again mama fears.<br />
<br />
I come back to write this update to make sure that those members of the club who stumble upon this blog see that the story does continue past the last treatment. There are plenty of challenges along the way, but oh, the rewards are sweet.<br />
<br />
None of us know what the future holds - and that is MY scariest part - so for today I will eat something delicious and toast to how far we've come. L'chaim!<br />
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-45224526871300900462015-08-26T22:32:00.001-04:002015-08-26T22:32:33.725-04:00Turning One-Half<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVL-ZtA61x43V0LQoniXQ5f0aYwkINwMCOq57rx1b5MREHridQQBDHzi5vg1ewKIRb9Pb3nyCd8PA4kNNa91KM-m-J_DRJXgZcJQwhSIYjbuzV-wC_vFAIl_EPH_SSSvPccTRoxpMZZc/s1600/IMG_9455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIVL-ZtA61x43V0LQoniXQ5f0aYwkINwMCOq57rx1b5MREHridQQBDHzi5vg1ewKIRb9Pb3nyCd8PA4kNNa91KM-m-J_DRJXgZcJQwhSIYjbuzV-wC_vFAIl_EPH_SSSvPccTRoxpMZZc/s320/IMG_9455.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit to Judah B.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-align: center;">We have made it halfway through little Zevi's first year! Cookies for all! This milestone calls for an update in numbers:</span><br />
<br />
2 - teeth currently poking through those little baby gums<br />
3 - naps taken (by Zev) each day<br />
11 - hours slept at night (though not uninterrupted)<br />
26 - weeks since birth<br />
4 - times he's rolled over (months ago)<br />
6 - foods he's tasted (peaches, sweet potatos, avocado, bananas, watermelon, and of course PRUNES)<br />
3 - usual paci replacements throughout the night<br />
24 - cloth diapers purchased<br />
7 - visits to the beach<br />
57 - calls to the doctor (roughly)<br />
8 - types of formula attempted<br />
<br />
It has been a roller coaster 6 months for sure. Zev is a sweet, happy, snuggly boo boo, who adores his big brother, and is happiest in his nightly bath.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5az8GF8nhCouoWBXLxP8W0pTzCBWtsTQ5-kqZJ1lzOVBoM42gMc9kzXc10Tx-BU8bOo2CI-qzRgqNjpoHEN2dws_0rM9ZBzCcqQqLaDebfnnPcgg9Sym6Z-s65BQUX-SQlTMO1wYi9k/s1600/IMG_3897.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5az8GF8nhCouoWBXLxP8W0pTzCBWtsTQ5-kqZJ1lzOVBoM42gMc9kzXc10Tx-BU8bOo2CI-qzRgqNjpoHEN2dws_0rM9ZBzCcqQqLaDebfnnPcgg9Sym6Z-s65BQUX-SQlTMO1wYi9k/s320/IMG_3897.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">beach nap</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Feeding has been a struggle, especially recently, as he seems to be dairy intolerant, refuses the special (expensive) formulas, and is stopped up by the soy. He's got an appointment with a GI specialist next month to help us out in that area. He enjoys standing up (all the time), and shoving anything within reach into his mouth. We all smother him with kisses and will do anything for a giggle, though a good night of sleep comes in a close second.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvdcq_siTIXUXfAM_LpPTI_bFaORlksLVSbJOm70o-hImvKgXX0ZbdDxg8MpzJYRbdCbZKTCrK2bRc8mjHpDp2mMFn7Yh-OVT1OPU3tsVjPgb9uuN3VL_cGHSC-7di6BW4u90X67FVu9I/s1600/IMG_3675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvdcq_siTIXUXfAM_LpPTI_bFaORlksLVSbJOm70o-hImvKgXX0ZbdDxg8MpzJYRbdCbZKTCrK2bRc8mjHpDp2mMFn7Yh-OVT1OPU3tsVjPgb9uuN3VL_cGHSC-7di6BW4u90X67FVu9I/s320/IMG_3675.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">wake up! wake up!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Never a boring baby, Zevi likes to keep us on our toes. He hasn't been rolling over (since he did it a few times many months ago), so we've been on the hunt for a reason he doesn't want to put weight on his arms. It was decided at today's appointment with one of the top pediatric orthopedic surgeons in the country that we are going to give him PT and OT and see if a bit more time will do the trick. He is doing a great job stressing out his mommy (Dan is much better at not worrying than I am).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQait30RP6DKGC7CTDKa8m2vuBYVW1K_vg0pulerMJFT-tm2Ba092IjxOSIldlvI8bBE_MhVq6IDMJvHc1YJIZbqPAvRePMZH6D6aYRualif1p7rC-1cXf99aMfLy6Tu26eWe1QBDu4o/s1600/IMG_9649.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAQait30RP6DKGC7CTDKa8m2vuBYVW1K_vg0pulerMJFT-tm2Ba092IjxOSIldlvI8bBE_MhVq6IDMJvHc1YJIZbqPAvRePMZH6D6aYRualif1p7rC-1cXf99aMfLy6Tu26eWe1QBDu4o/s320/IMG_9649.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Judah has been growing into a caring and helpful big brother, and it's delightful to watch them together, cooing at each other behind us in the car. It's fabulous when Judah can reach the pacifier and put an end to screaming in the backseat.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFW9De9wLfnzVGgYfEM3ifhdrgS4HsVHlpthSOosDRS-BDE9bdHLpKVwI9_sOupMCno3pfowSkJydSE516rLkpiMUYIvyjP-UQ4IvfzDE3J-Rmz_MhvyXGG-X1xcb2gOBOgcYhXo8DUs/s1600/IMG_3882.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFW9De9wLfnzVGgYfEM3ifhdrgS4HsVHlpthSOosDRS-BDE9bdHLpKVwI9_sOupMCno3pfowSkJydSE516rLkpiMUYIvyjP-UQ4IvfzDE3J-Rmz_MhvyXGG-X1xcb2gOBOgcYhXo8DUs/s320/IMG_3882.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ridin in the car</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In a nutshell, that's been our summer: Judah at camp, trying desperately to get Zev to nap/eat/roll over, hit the pool, visit the beach, the mountains, the family members we don't get to see very often. Now that we're venturing into the second half of the year, the start of daycare a few days a week, Judah to 3rd grade, and a return to work for the grown ups, I'm hoping to get into that routine I've been wishing for the past 6 months. I actually enjoy some sameness in my every day life - predictability at its finest.<br />
<br />
For tonight, breathing in the end of summer air, counting my blessings and heading off to bed.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-63122138056159790452015-03-25T18:24:00.000-04:002015-03-25T18:24:29.807-04:00A Moment to Debrief (aka Birth Story Details Ahead)As most of you probably already know, our long awaited miracle baby has arrived! We welcomed baby Zev into the world 1 month ago tonight, and I haven't had a minute to write about it since then. Today, I have approximately 5 minutes while the baby sleeps (uh oh, he's starting to wake..) and Judah watches movie #3, as he's home sick.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioJQ4F7zeKkuCRo5MZeJz4tio-0u0trSBB5VQ7UZRhwJl7BERManGmXDTbV9FiCa0rBw7tEWihzT92JWU59KgO_J7zi8KSreFrzvLaB6vLyU0n7ePl28VrEkkjy6KL2FUtCn83vFQjVqc/s1600/IMG_2246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioJQ4F7zeKkuCRo5MZeJz4tio-0u0trSBB5VQ7UZRhwJl7BERManGmXDTbV9FiCa0rBw7tEWihzT92JWU59KgO_J7zi8KSreFrzvLaB6vLyU0n7ePl28VrEkkjy6KL2FUtCn83vFQjVqc/s1600/IMG_2246.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
You may recall the baby was breech at our week 38 check up. We did everything we could think of to get him to flip back head down, and found out we were successful at the following check up. I was thrilled to be able to cancel the scheduled c-section, as I feared I would have to undergo general anesthesia, to which history has proven I do not respond well.<br />
<br />
In order to get things moving as quickly as possible, I went in the next day for some aggressive acupuncture and an induction massage. I figured if they didn't work, at least I would be relaxed. But that night, I sprung a leak and it looked as though labor was beginning. Mild contractions kept me up most of the night and at 4:30 the next morning, I woke Dan and told him it was time to head over to the hospital. I had called my doctor several times with no call back. (That's a whole other story and a half.)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0U8GLUl5LEE6AIlSs5CQt2hFyAM_pdP3Ghad6L1hFUUXbML63_LyQNPkxoWyv7mfvYGCRK8XfUN8kXV1s3x8nDrcxpxvJ9DWP9vnIXsVxqJQ-58uCXgGwSGZAb6JOJ3HH5COWxzuMvW0/s1600/IMG_2254.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0U8GLUl5LEE6AIlSs5CQt2hFyAM_pdP3Ghad6L1hFUUXbML63_LyQNPkxoWyv7mfvYGCRK8XfUN8kXV1s3x8nDrcxpxvJ9DWP9vnIXsVxqJQ-58uCXgGwSGZAb6JOJ3HH5COWxzuMvW0/s1600/IMG_2254.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my husband brought tools to the hospital so he could assemble my birthing stool there. and I had to snap a photo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'll make a very long story short. The hours that followed involved an absurd number of interventions, and cords and wires being hooked up to me (IV, pitocin, oxygen, lead attached to the baby's head, intra-uterine catheter to increase fluids in the uterus during labor, 2 epidurals... did I miss something?), but baby Zev was finally born around 9:00 that night. I still can't believe it happened, and we have a small -and very cute- creature now living in our house.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQACo_RPkwl1DjK1nqn1xGv0qxC6XVLoDizjV3DH_a8JC0ROxQmBsWmX6LeBEKkwv84ONCBCiR6730v6azRHsCZW4rFh0vcWh8Ifubya84tIU4HIlhGQ2oAyALwXB-c7tx5klQy4PQj7w/s1600/IMG_8120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQACo_RPkwl1DjK1nqn1xGv0qxC6XVLoDizjV3DH_a8JC0ROxQmBsWmX6LeBEKkwv84ONCBCiR6730v6azRHsCZW4rFh0vcWh8Ifubya84tIU4HIlhGQ2oAyALwXB-c7tx5klQy4PQj7w/s1600/IMG_8120.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">a first glimpse</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQlgAwc4_fJjQ73vhJ8k_3df_Vk4JvVhXD-E-rrxgiEBcfyjfZmR5Rt_5E9aZPyCQzsOutPzKDyqnjy6tonHuG5FuvcFCV6mI6PiUoecdFBd8OYvxG8uekJSbFLjMWp-Pfujx3fW5H_hQ/s1600/IMG_2260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQlgAwc4_fJjQ73vhJ8k_3df_Vk4JvVhXD-E-rrxgiEBcfyjfZmR5Rt_5E9aZPyCQzsOutPzKDyqnjy6tonHuG5FuvcFCV6mI6PiUoecdFBd8OYvxG8uekJSbFLjMWp-Pfujx3fW5H_hQ/s1600/IMG_2260.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">proud papa</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNKUW6FOdJzRUd-4uHD43N2VJajDcfjlPeXevU6E3QRij0RVpgj1v2-BiTjmHK3gJwX_xFnYwtWFL-4Visdxw8d7Bi-ScvL4Fr88ptdCUasRHW-ApKQdfCO6Q_r4YK8tMF5DP1Oi9x8o/s1600/IMG_8131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBNKUW6FOdJzRUd-4uHD43N2VJajDcfjlPeXevU6E3QRij0RVpgj1v2-BiTjmHK3gJwX_xFnYwtWFL-4Visdxw8d7Bi-ScvL4Fr88ptdCUasRHW-ApKQdfCO6Q_r4YK8tMF5DP1Oi9x8o/s1600/IMG_8131.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">happy mama</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
One major part of mothering that I had been looking forward to was nursing this baby. I was pretty determined, as Judah had refused to nurse and I was devastated. Well, don't you know it, baby Zev is such a good little nurser! He didn't have the same issues during delivery as Judah did (um, with getting stuck in the birth canal for 3 hours), so he had no problems turning his head. All was going great with breastfeeding until we discovered 2 weeks after birth that my supply is low. This is probably due to the radiation I had to my chest - the fact that my left side only has about 1/2 ounce of milk is the biggest clue - but his birth having been induced probably didn't help either. This low supply issue was even more distressing when I think about how much milk I had when Judah was born, and he wouldn't take any of it!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8yXFdtsqttYA2frbZJuc1UcWOkzOyg4VGzl6TE5Itf4_BSzTTIimxIZTe17qyqKNbq-9rMBaaK22n_iCjIQhcp-mk5ZQcRcPHq6L-enPjwXGcCe6wgIJ5PDvEmHXZ6CPZyvCLsXt4dC8/s1600/IMG_2510.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8yXFdtsqttYA2frbZJuc1UcWOkzOyg4VGzl6TE5Itf4_BSzTTIimxIZTe17qyqKNbq-9rMBaaK22n_iCjIQhcp-mk5ZQcRcPHq6L-enPjwXGcCe6wgIJ5PDvEmHXZ6CPZyvCLsXt4dC8/s1600/IMG_2510.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I was very upset when we first found out that we needed to supplement Zev's diet with formula, but am now in a place of acceptance, especially since he has been gaining weight nicely since we started. After a checkup at the oncologist's office, I was reminded to prioritize. Baby eating is most important. I am still nursing and then offering a bottle after each feed.<br />
<br />
We're working on that whole sleeping at night thing. Some nights are better than others, and Dan is a huge help. We're both pretty good at dropping off to sleep at a moment's notice, but I would not put our level of functioning at an all time high.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLlQWxtwAc85T3rj0XaSIES-aL4rqR8aZ-YQfZkjruHcx-TbT9jJMmsPMgFSt6U5hzvztC-B5a_wBY7zbD1BJywFO_-odvJ0S7aUE5FwvrspdCAdqfTtMG1CzuCFMSscMKTsCPzvjw0dQ/s1600/IMG_8144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLlQWxtwAc85T3rj0XaSIES-aL4rqR8aZ-YQfZkjruHcx-TbT9jJMmsPMgFSt6U5hzvztC-B5a_wBY7zbD1BJywFO_-odvJ0S7aUE5FwvrspdCAdqfTtMG1CzuCFMSscMKTsCPzvjw0dQ/s1600/IMG_8144.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">not so bad</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
To answer questions about Zev's big brother, Judah is doing great. Except for today, when he woke up with a fever, he's been an amazing help. He is understanding about our need to give attention to the baby, and seems to be quite relieved that the crying and diapers aren't as bad as he feared.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ8kPzO8N0_Xh93RzLPflnFhni7VOMD-F7BlklQo9yML4aQi9q5XJt9lPVYNZPxD7k0eUScBWOCwZjzHx2tdFXG6-doqzi-01UNLQAuS3c6qC5kLBX3Nl6XaPCRq1FQOo2aDECRztRMLo/s1600/IMG_2528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ8kPzO8N0_Xh93RzLPflnFhni7VOMD-F7BlklQo9yML4aQi9q5XJt9lPVYNZPxD7k0eUScBWOCwZjzHx2tdFXG6-doqzi-01UNLQAuS3c6qC5kLBX3Nl6XaPCRq1FQOo2aDECRztRMLo/s1600/IMG_2528.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">little brother</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Thank you to all of you who have sent delicious meals, gifts, advice, and warm wishes of joy and encouragement. We feel very very lucky (and did I mention still in shock?) to have been given this incredible gift, and most precious addition to our family.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbIfGtVtmh82y2FRCbbhdaJw4TJrLNizm8lCsd3pvUFQOGYaBCbSdzZKhdkbCEu0PWXPZG4AcTotJu4CVDt2w04HXQ4dCG9XpUZ9oSOiiGb4_g_YH9HvmX7ixooGtau5-c_Tnz535WZco/s1600/IMG_2538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbIfGtVtmh82y2FRCbbhdaJw4TJrLNizm8lCsd3pvUFQOGYaBCbSdzZKhdkbCEu0PWXPZG4AcTotJu4CVDt2w04HXQ4dCG9XpUZ9oSOiiGb4_g_YH9HvmX7ixooGtau5-c_Tnz535WZco/s1600/IMG_2538.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our little love</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-28221854219851876752015-02-24T17:30:00.002-05:002015-02-24T17:30:05.709-05:00A Fish Who Swims and A Woman With Low IQWe are now 39 weeks and 6 days pregnant. Just yesterday, we found out that our efforts were successful and Little Fish has turned back head down! Now we need to have him fast before he discovers he can swim back the other way.<br />
<br />
For future reference, we exhausted the following list of ways to turn a breech baby last week, but I cannot say which did the trick:<br />
<br />
- burned moxibustion sticks near my pinky toes<br />
- swam/did hand stands in the warm therapy pool at the Ambler Y (don't believe me? I had a witness)<br />
- placed a bag of frozen peas on the top of my belly while playing lovely music and shining a flashlight near the bottom...<br />
- acupuncture<br />
- massage/reflexology<br />
- chiropractor/webster technique<br />
- inversion positions c/o spinning babies<br />
- visualization<br />
<br />
Thus the c-section, previously scheduled for tomorrow, has been cancelled and now we are back to the regular waiting game. I promise to keep the world posted. Hopefully we will have a February baby!<br />
<br />
*****<br />
And on a completely different note, I present to you an exchange I had with a woman I never met in an elevator this afternoon.<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Stranger: Oh, I was just about to ask you what you were carrying, but then I realized what you’re carrying! Ha ha ha.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Me: Ha ha.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Stranger: When are you due? Tonight?</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Me: Tomorrow.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Stranger: What are you having?</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Me (thinking – Um, A BABY?): A boy.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Stranger: Oh, I had three boys!</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Me: Yes, I have a boy at home.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Stranger: How old is he?</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Me: Almost 8.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Stranger: Oh, I did it better than that (yes she really said that), I had mine all within 3 and 1/2 years of each other.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Me: Well, we started trying for this baby 6 years ago.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Stranger (ignoring me): One of my sons has an 8 1/2 yo and a 3 1/2 yo. It’s bad because they have different interests. One wants to play baseball while the other one wants to color.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Me: You can have that with any 2 children.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Stranger: Hmm. Well, good luck!</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Please excuse the all caps but SERIOUSLY, LADY?? WHO SAYS THIS TO SOMEONE THEY’VE NEVER MET? THE DAY BEFORE THEIR DUE DATE? HOW DO YOU TIE YOUR SHOES IN THE MORNING?? Any explanation you can offer as to why some people have no filter would be appreciated.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Tahoma, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<br /></div>
Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-64198056164258207752015-02-17T20:31:00.001-05:002015-02-17T20:33:29.799-05:00Life in the Ninth MonthOne day and one week away from our due date, yesterday we were surprised at our weekly OB checkup to discover that our little peanut thinks he is a salmon and has decided to flip into a breech position. Upon checking via ultrasound and seeing his head appear at the top of my belly, my first utterances were profanity laced. After all, he'd been head down since 18 weeks. This was an unexpected turn of events to say the least.<br />
<br />
Initially, we chose to schedule an <a href="http://www.webmd.com/baby/external-cephalic-version-version-for-breech-position" target="_blank">ECV</a> (where the doctor attempts to manually turn the baby head down from the outside) for Thursday, thinking it was worth a try. Once getting home and doing some research, I began to fall apart, assuming this was a setup for disaster.<br />
<br />
Since then, I've scoured the interwebs and asked friends for suggestions to help turn the baby back where he belongs. Using <a href="http://spinningbabies.com/baby-positions/breech-bottoms-up" target="_blank">Spinning Babies</a> last night and today, seeing a chiropractor experienced in helping breech babies to turn head down, getting started on <a href="http://www.acupuncturetoday.com/abc/moxibustion.php" target="_blank">moxibustion</a>, back to acupuncture tomorrow as well as attempting headstands in the pool, turning him back around is now my full time job.<br />
<br />
I cancelled the risky ECV procedure and decided instead to schedule a c-section as our backup plan for next week. I felt uncomfortable trying to manually force him into a position he - for whatever reason - was uncomfortable in a few days ago. And with a mild success rate at that!<br />
<br />
If we he refuses to turn on his own, we will simply yank him. A c-section is not my first choice for many reasons, but whatever is the safest for everyone is what will have to happen. Having consulted my cardiologist, he feels I can trust my doctors to take care of both the baby and me. I'm trying to keep that in mind and regain some sense of balance. After working hard the past few months to psych myself up for labor and delivery (which did not include a head up kid) and actually even feeling prepared for it, I now feel thrown off course.<br />
<br />
I do not like surprises. Not very good at rolling with the punches. And this breech business is just one more reminder to me in a series of MANY that I have very little control over major events in my life. Cancelling the ECV made me feel just a teensy bit more in control and gave me a few more days to try to get him to turn on his own. If I go into labor on my own before that happens, I'll still end up with a c-section. But *hopefully* it will be on our terms, and no one else's.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7-Pun80EcTw-aqZBAxavUmlHxsm-mYp_QsQpqwq8wCzOIFzWCjeOKD6k9nK4IZo-QMKurt_DdRjS2lY4ehTCQ6LwkxnGyl835McTUlMMO1oG5VXeaBwHmPhvb7vE7J1O36sQ0bPiMhE/s1600/IMG_2173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg7-Pun80EcTw-aqZBAxavUmlHxsm-mYp_QsQpqwq8wCzOIFzWCjeOKD6k9nK4IZo-QMKurt_DdRjS2lY4ehTCQ6LwkxnGyl835McTUlMMO1oG5VXeaBwHmPhvb7vE7J1O36sQ0bPiMhE/s1600/IMG_2173.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The bottom line (no pun intended) is that I still have no idea how this will play out. Stay tuned, hope to meet this little fish sooner or later. Whichever works best. Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-5953632699969513632014-12-27T21:22:00.004-05:002014-12-27T21:22:41.904-05:004 Years LaterOn this date in 2010, I honestly don't remember how I was feeling upon waking up in the morning. I had my final radiation treatment planned for that afternoon at 4, and I'm sure on one hand, I was ready to be done. On the other hand, once you get to the end of a treatment plan, a terrifying wait lies ahead. You must wait to find out if the treatment worked.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1EMqQcv6i4hMuIpH9PDEF0Z4ym1laohes6Ifeb5f6WMocPizn0mxJzPLnwygJj6iUPT5W4hsifmOYQvbeiptiJsHEm40ZlRq4dXFHZDU5EFRz6xg6uVJ1L4p22Ik8mV9MtmuXBioljE/s1600/IMG_1137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG1EMqQcv6i4hMuIpH9PDEF0Z4ym1laohes6Ifeb5f6WMocPizn0mxJzPLnwygJj6iUPT5W4hsifmOYQvbeiptiJsHEm40ZlRq4dXFHZDU5EFRz6xg6uVJ1L4p22Ik8mV9MtmuXBioljE/s1600/IMG_1137.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">don't move. this invisible burning beam won't hurt a bit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWrGOPIKJPCou8XgFYssS-DluY2YXXO7viPPHT_ha8tZuVY9vCKCV1BhGYU15FiGn6-cFNAFtpEq8OaaVzZ8SHP8By-PSLbGnyaJeadBKaWrlwtAUDXaHjGXrnmU9s__cq1SfkOsqmlWw/s1600/IMG_0014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWrGOPIKJPCou8XgFYssS-DluY2YXXO7viPPHT_ha8tZuVY9vCKCV1BhGYU15FiGn6-cFNAFtpEq8OaaVzZ8SHP8By-PSLbGnyaJeadBKaWrlwtAUDXaHjGXrnmU9s__cq1SfkOsqmlWw/s1600/IMG_0014.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hair is growing back. candles are lighting the darkness.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKD4b42GYxSmwIdYPFsy5dx4DWHhyphenhyphenWdSCppMPXkC7K-0NV13mmdePEpGgWad5UlVvaRzZBAJTHM7M9VM7z75ZugxcrHkgJW7iC7E15VhvZhWtJMJ0iLVsW-Kny9G_yGuDvNibDCT1VoA/s1600/IMG_1165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUKD4b42GYxSmwIdYPFsy5dx4DWHhyphenhyphenWdSCppMPXkC7K-0NV13mmdePEpGgWad5UlVvaRzZBAJTHM7M9VM7z75ZugxcrHkgJW7iC7E15VhvZhWtJMJ0iLVsW-Kny9G_yGuDvNibDCT1VoA/s1600/IMG_1165.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">we made it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
When I first started out in chemo, I recall wanting to throw a huge End of Cancer dance party and invite the whole team to join me. But as I moved closer to the end of treatment, I realized that you cannot predict the end of cancer. And that is terrifying. We never went through with that dance party, instead settling for impromptu kitchen dance parties, and trips we won to Disney and Hawaii.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsh5HfH4cHKoBD820ATu1dtGzyNpFnPj-arTHU2DywYq1n32zN9xU-yz_kUZUxXDOAac0tgNPqcJPywvt5j4VWqols9wtgIFU6mfeDaVUt-du99JwF_tyqXxNHSG96fQIHlLNHNP6jIQ/s1600/IMG_0029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsh5HfH4cHKoBD820ATu1dtGzyNpFnPj-arTHU2DywYq1n32zN9xU-yz_kUZUxXDOAac0tgNPqcJPywvt5j4VWqols9wtgIFU6mfeDaVUt-du99JwF_tyqXxNHSG96fQIHlLNHNP6jIQ/s1600/IMG_0029.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this just might be the happiest place on earth</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8VqXjUYoDSq1Y5wqYzt45pq0jkzwezk5_OBOiOhl6kZxeq8_BbeOrnRGzdywYMx1q_-cxKLDew7WzF6eF_fMvG9DB1Q6N4IlKMx59g3Q-Cy6jcXQ2CfyYTdjr8crIHfMO9tRALWooVaA/s1600/IMG_7682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8VqXjUYoDSq1Y5wqYzt45pq0jkzwezk5_OBOiOhl6kZxeq8_BbeOrnRGzdywYMx1q_-cxKLDew7WzF6eF_fMvG9DB1Q6N4IlKMx59g3Q-Cy6jcXQ2CfyYTdjr8crIHfMO9tRALWooVaA/s1600/IMG_7682.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">no, wait. I spoke too soon.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As much as things changed after that, life went on, thank goodness. I changed my job (a few times) and Judah started school. Dan and I continued to work on growing our family, very uncertain as to how it might/if it might ever happen.<br />
<br />
It feels as though every month of the year there is another cancerversary - diagnosis day, first day of chemo, last day of chemo, end of radiation, scan results, and on and on. You cannot know what seeing those dates on the calendar will feel like until you get there. And they seem to change meaning with each blessed passing year.<br />
<br />
This year, December 27th brings exhaustion (and disbelief) of being 31 weeks pregnant. I'm not sure I've really accepted what is on the horizon as I was way more prepared for a different path. That being said, the whole "dark cloud" feeling hasn't fully passed either. Once scary things have happened, it's hard to believe they won't happen again. The scariest thing staring me in the face on today's cancerversary is, of course, labor. I've got 8 more weeks to go and the promise that delivery #2 won't be as traumatizing as #1 (a whole other can of worms). Note: no horror stories please. Not helpful.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfq2NVwUPRus32b0BnKaESZgOsHvWM2WwiM5gwahsdQGPCJf8jqkQWwkMT8-vi6LTSLwgWkHnT1FgCG-hwoPBiGZ4Xe6Ju0IAWzEmQrQz4uOjsBJivmlBF3kNRIK2TZj8JXX6d3L7BYfk/s1600/IMG_2005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfq2NVwUPRus32b0BnKaESZgOsHvWM2WwiM5gwahsdQGPCJf8jqkQWwkMT8-vi6LTSLwgWkHnT1FgCG-hwoPBiGZ4Xe6Ju0IAWzEmQrQz4uOjsBJivmlBF3kNRIK2TZj8JXX6d3L7BYfk/s1600/IMG_2005.jpg" height="640" width="380" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
In the meantime, tonight we are enjoying 4 years cancer free, looking ahead to 2015 and the many new adventures about to begin. Thanks again to all of you on Team Mama Mia - without a doubt the best cheerleaders there are. <br />
<br />
Sending wishes to all of you for a very happy and healthy new year.Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-24308385207768459112014-10-14T19:47:00.000-04:002014-10-14T20:15:56.857-04:00The LatestI've been kind of quiet on the blog the past few months. Actually, that's not entirely accurate. I have written posts, but not published them. Didn't feel right.<br />
<br />
But I guess it's time I did publish one. So here goes. What is happening in the life of this cancer survivor?<br />
<br />
It's October and it just dawned on me that a few weeks ago, we passed the 4th anniversary of finishing up chemo. Sometimes it feels like every month holds a different kind of cancerversary. Fortunately, they are going more and more unnoticed.<br />
<br />
School is in full swing, I am working in 3 different schools, and trying to keep up. We are on our last day of no screens and no sports for Judah after his scary concussion last week. It was up there in my top 3 most panic-inducing experiences since my journey with parenthood began. I don't even want to go into detail reliving it, I'll just say he is back to himself in all aspects. I'm not sure I'm ready to send him out into the world of recess and gym and soccer and outdoor play without a helmet, but I'll do my best.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to The News in our house at the moment: if all goes as we are hoping and planning for, we are quite thrilled (as well as shocked and slightly terrified) to be expecting a baby brother for Judah to join the family in February. It still doesn't feel possible, and there are still some moments when the excitement turns to fear. After working on this for the past 5 years - through cancer and surgeries and procedures and medications, more blood tests than I could ever count - I was much more emotionally prepared for this to NOT happen. So I'm still getting used to the idea that it IS happening.<br />
<br />
I finally feel movement each day (this baby already moves more than Judah did...) and that is reassuring. But I haven't lost the nagging suspicion that something bad is lurking around the bend.<br />
<br />
While I am very, very glad that things are progressing well and the baby is growing right on target, I do not, by any means, feel safe or certain that everything will continue in that direction. The cancer ptsd definitely rears its head at times like this. Not even that I'm focused on the cancer returning (or a new cancer sprouting), but more that life is so unpredictable. There always seems to be a new danger to fear, waiting for the moment my guard is down.<br />
<br />
I've been fairly protective of this information for the past few months, mainly sharing with people upon seeing them. Dan would describe me as pessimistic, anxious, and irrationally superstitious. But I have made some progress in the spirit of being optimistic. I knitted a blanket (Judah's idea). And I have even written a few times in a journal. Ha!<br />
<br />
I can recognize that no matter what happens, I would regret not enjoying this time.<br />
<br />
Choosing hope.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIoPYhkeSvaMzQYGeW9bfMCJxXYUqFaxvgb_GdZ1wIrHYa43vewt1w6y5Y8LSXahGiOPnypQPLWQfERCz_SkgB9hSa15HTw_Fbujj0wkNLY7Q2fALJd-cEcoBEjBlgECLa_KIdSel9Rk/s1600/IMG_7798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIoPYhkeSvaMzQYGeW9bfMCJxXYUqFaxvgb_GdZ1wIrHYa43vewt1w6y5Y8LSXahGiOPnypQPLWQfERCz_SkgB9hSa15HTw_Fbujj0wkNLY7Q2fALJd-cEcoBEjBlgECLa_KIdSel9Rk/s1600/IMG_7798.JPG" height="400" width="365" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-49749146736713282512014-09-23T09:35:00.002-04:002014-09-23T09:35:31.023-04:00A New YearHappy Fall, my bloggy friends. A friend wrote me an email the other day, saying that she was catching up on my blog, which alerted me to the fact that I haven't written on here since May. Yikes! Though I'm not sure I have anything truly profound to share, an update seems in order.<br />
<br />
Today is the first day of Autumn. Later this week Dan and I will celebrate our 9th anniversary alongside Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. School began a few weeks ago and I have been a bit overwhelmed trying to get my schedule together, as I have been assigned to work with teachers in 3 different schools, on 3 different projects, with 3 different schedules and 12 teachers in total. Add that to no parking available in Center City (Philadelphia) and you have a bit of a puzzle for me to solve.<br />
<br />
I have good feelings about the upcoming year. My friend <a href="https://www.facebook.com/vegouttv" target="_blank">Patti</a> and I are working on sending out messages of positivity into the universe, willing things to come into our lives. I mean, we are seeking new houses, feelings of peace, less financial worries, you know, that whole everything-will-be-okay sensation.<br />
<br />
Last week, I saw my oncologist last week at my 6 month check up. We waited for more than 40 minutes in the exam room to see him and I was getting a little annoyed at what felt like wasted time, until I realized that someone else was having a problem. It's not like the doctor was out having coffee. Someone else was in need and my only issue was having to wait too long to see him. As <a href="https://www.facebook.com/momastery" target="_blank">Glennon Doyle Melton likes to say: perspectacles</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvo-Oe4TQzW4DosyeXyxrtEKQH5WYi9fGdKc7IPU4UlsSuyiYp_xA4MismZ9Yj-BJfvyWHh0WEMUSiOkZueNbSyw6bFkWeXEHE3SAsckPBm5KdSGG5RzhJW21v0bpzuXUMLpItAcpDvU/s1600/IMG_1335.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrvo-Oe4TQzW4DosyeXyxrtEKQH5WYi9fGdKc7IPU4UlsSuyiYp_xA4MismZ9Yj-BJfvyWHh0WEMUSiOkZueNbSyw6bFkWeXEHE3SAsckPBm5KdSGG5RzhJW21v0bpzuXUMLpItAcpDvU/s1600/IMG_1335.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We are now coming up on 4 years since treatment. September 30 will be exactly 4 years since the final round of chemo, and this December will make 4 years since radiation. 4 YEARS. Judah is in 2nd Grade, a big and real person. We traveled to Toronto and Niagara Falls this summer, and will hopefully have a few more adventures in 5775 (2014-2015). It's all a work in progress, the parenting, the job, the relationships. And though overwhelming at times, I am lucky to be here in the muck of it all.<br />
<br />
This year's mantra is: I am doing my best, I am doing my best.<br />
<br />
Sending out love and apples and sweet thoughts to you and your family. L'shana tova!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhXOYKKpA6Eoqb3JY4N12oe2vfUnSv37q9DIRj3U5WoSjGiOBEmBvpUOJKoM9Rj1k1U3QzwKjNutS7oH8lH9_JAIqT1WfQTQmwznTax6e43Rq8M_bRdW_kSQfnUnaiB3Z_yp0w77CVcHs/s1600/apples-with-heart-cut-out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhXOYKKpA6Eoqb3JY4N12oe2vfUnSv37q9DIRj3U5WoSjGiOBEmBvpUOJKoM9Rj1k1U3QzwKjNutS7oH8lH9_JAIqT1WfQTQmwznTax6e43Rq8M_bRdW_kSQfnUnaiB3Z_yp0w77CVcHs/s1600/apples-with-heart-cut-out.jpg" height="280" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.puzzlemobi.com/puzzle.php?image=images/puzzle/apples-with-heart-cut-out.jpg#.VCF2amRdX6c" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">source</span></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-2023780877341853572014-05-25T17:55:00.001-04:002014-05-25T22:14:55.757-04:00Memorial DayBecause we have nothing better to spend our money on, the house decided to spring a leak. Thinking the boys were getting ready to wash the car (for the first time since 2013), I was surprised to hear Dan stomping down the basement stairs. Upon further investigation, Judah informed me that when they went to go use the hose, water began to spray out into the garage, like a sprinkler from the ceiling. Hmm. Thanks a lot, Ice Storm 2014. The gift that keeps on giving.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2cmV7wtJ4PD-6R7Brz2dT3l4M-FHtsW1_EW1mj4Z-gvvYRci98r4kauDdPWFqTpLsyTXcZJ7EdOkS46wcHyI1uMCy29-f7USaoB4G0kKgcUSuNR6o5MO3MKIkFBqPaa2qECSP5AKQeNE/s1600/frozencars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2cmV7wtJ4PD-6R7Brz2dT3l4M-FHtsW1_EW1mj4Z-gvvYRci98r4kauDdPWFqTpLsyTXcZJ7EdOkS46wcHyI1uMCy29-f7USaoB4G0kKgcUSuNR6o5MO3MKIkFBqPaa2qECSP5AKQeNE/s1600/frozencars.jpg" height="226" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.protectedhome.com/preventing-frozen-pipes.html" target="_blank">not our frozen porsche</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Me, I'm just getting ready for another May 26th. Tomorrow marks 4 years since I heard my doctor say, "Your bloodwork looks normal, but you have a mass in your chest." Hard to believe it's been 4 eventful, roller coaster, bald-n-hairy years. It simultaneously feels like a lifetime and like no time has passed. There's even a moment here and there where I can't believe it happened at all, almost like I'm still in shock.<br />
<br />
In many ways, so much has changed since May 26, 2010. I work at a different job, Dan and I parent a 1st grader (instead of a pre-schooler), I blog, have 6 new scars + an autonomic nervous system disorder, we got to bring Judah to Hawaii, Israel, California, Florida, we finally got rid of the white car... I'm sure there's more, but it might require hypnosis to retrieve from the depths of my mind.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24aWc79PFlSlgwDIEoXiYSqpKd2KPXjCYSS5DCcIxP1hClsKoqCRm2ZkCW5CoHWw8BEm4L17I9B_f-y-8CjnlH2z-1e6mxTBxFbVUlEvx4IsQKmwdlBjnciVVnModysUVrr4RhoaFJlY/s1600/IMG_0127.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24aWc79PFlSlgwDIEoXiYSqpKd2KPXjCYSS5DCcIxP1hClsKoqCRm2ZkCW5CoHWw8BEm4L17I9B_f-y-8CjnlH2z-1e6mxTBxFbVUlEvx4IsQKmwdlBjnciVVnModysUVrr4RhoaFJlY/s1600/IMG_0127.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">little monkey at age 3</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
All that being said, my life looks a lot like it did in early 2010. We are still trying to have another kid. Same house, healthy food, and thank goodness (tfoo, tfoo) the 3 of us are still truckin'. I lost my hair, but it grew back (I finally don't have bangs anymore).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YStx-urOVUUBa1TeDIdu99R4RxLQ0qGg4hwudssyCsk_C3b15AtyTs-EvaAOyu4RtOChn0TxVwpTMiVmBUzmnldRPwtjX0kdif3li8DhYtS7JfaEc6gdmooMCg5IDjkLbnIZ1kOYv3U/s1600/IMG_0283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6YStx-urOVUUBa1TeDIdu99R4RxLQ0qGg4hwudssyCsk_C3b15AtyTs-EvaAOyu4RtOChn0TxVwpTMiVmBUzmnldRPwtjX0kdif3li8DhYtS7JfaEc6gdmooMCg5IDjkLbnIZ1kOYv3U/s1600/IMG_0283.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">waiting for gelati - May 2010</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This time of year, I can't help but think back to 4 years ago, and the memories I have of small moments just before the mayhem ensued. A trip to Rita's after dinner when Judah was small enough to carry while we stood in line. My hacking cough. A night at the Phillies game - it hurt to swallow the cheesesteak my brother walked to the other side of the stadium to find. Laying on my left side so I could breathe. Using a hairbrush on my back/stomach/legs/arms/feet to try and quiet the unscratchable itch. The bright sunshine as I waited on the curb for Dan and my dad to come and pick me up after getting some shocking news at the doctor's office.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-COq_ElDoV5PcVe9fbp1KRuiL1ZiYhn9XuBhv_7K1XZPHeshesU5T9lztGomn2W-OOPAS6O0Apncy-O_Tf4akBZQrGtfP1l_RrdABmWCqLmrNoz1hoJi87ClhV4VoPhd6CL50kfKvzg/s1600/IMG_0383.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-COq_ElDoV5PcVe9fbp1KRuiL1ZiYhn9XuBhv_7K1XZPHeshesU5T9lztGomn2W-OOPAS6O0Apncy-O_Tf4akBZQrGtfP1l_RrdABmWCqLmrNoz1hoJi87ClhV4VoPhd6CL50kfKvzg/s1600/IMG_0383.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our view from the hall of fame club</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Those are all memories. Today is 2014 and I do not have cancer. In fact, I'm told there is a higher chance of me being struck by lightning than to have a recurrence of Primary Mediastinal Large B Cell Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.<br />
<br />
The crisis at hand is no longer cancer, which turned out to be less a bump in the road, more a traumatizing detour. As time passed, there has been less and less panic about what a recurrence would mean and more fear about other uncertainties (racing heart, finding a job, growing our family).<br />
<br />
Here we stand, 4 years later, dealing again/still with the frustration of secondary infertility: wanting to rewind, fast forward, and pause all at the same time. Despite the scars, the tears, and the fears, I am quite grateful to be here to tell the tale.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI7ma6khh4KqnxtljaIEM1D2Rf6fFjP6DQ9i1J2akJtSO8_hlORY7_OS09OL9iJuG80UL9Hq1NjXBjeC-5P_07jQUh5s-99Q8oZ7ErD2OJBpZ7N0kEaUJ_Om7p0gL86GH0EHrqQwj1ycI/s1600/IMG_6797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI7ma6khh4KqnxtljaIEM1D2Rf6fFjP6DQ9i1J2akJtSO8_hlORY7_OS09OL9iJuG80UL9Hq1NjXBjeC-5P_07jQUh5s-99Q8oZ7ErD2OJBpZ7N0kEaUJ_Om7p0gL86GH0EHrqQwj1ycI/s1600/IMG_6797.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">May 2014</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-17902803363556276842014-05-13T17:07:00.003-04:002014-05-13T17:08:32.210-04:00Time for a New Career Path? The end of the school year is creeping closer. This afternoon, I am writing a lesson which includes reading aloud the book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Duchess-Whimsy-Randall-Seve/dp/0399250956" target="_blank">The Duchess of Whimsy</a> to a 1st grade class. In order to demonstrate the meaning of "whimsy", I have designed and created this amazing masterpiece (using only a fire fighter hat, 2 fake flower leis and strategically placed scotch tape).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNtF3G8yf2PR0YvB6N-c1VPHvPijPiBR4jyZNPWZowFZjASihUvv9s0XO7YAn9grqfGloo3jRAJUddhwS7YgInlTs2PbxYzSaux6nQLgpFRrgTdXg_aAJqEqmhaaI9tDzcD7gq_RCskag/s1600/Photo+on+5-13-14+at+4.59+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNtF3G8yf2PR0YvB6N-c1VPHvPijPiBR4jyZNPWZowFZjASihUvv9s0XO7YAn9grqfGloo3jRAJUddhwS7YgInlTs2PbxYzSaux6nQLgpFRrgTdXg_aAJqEqmhaaI9tDzcD7gq_RCskag/s1600/Photo+on+5-13-14+at+4.59+PM.jpg" height="267" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What kind of degree does one need to become a Hat Designer? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I actually quite like wearing it on the front part of my head, like a fascinator. I have been wearing it for the past 15 minutes and don't plan on taking it off anytime soon. Duchess of Cambridge, you best put your order in quickly, this hat is a limited edition.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-25716240831888332492014-03-20T00:33:00.000-04:002014-03-20T00:33:03.587-04:00LizToday I got a piece of terrible news about a dear virtual friend. She was a real friend to me, a fellow Lymphoma survivor, but I never did meet her in person. Liz seemed to know everything about everything important. Blood cancers, treatment, recovery, parenting, ethics, taking care of strangers. No situation was too big for her to offer her support and encouragement.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I first came in contact with her, she was posting lots of information on behalf of a group called Patients Against Lymphoma. That group dissolved and she went on her own, advocating for and educating Lymphoma patients and their families through a new name: Hope For Lymphoma. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She moderated a number of support groups and was active in her local government. Every once in a while she'd disappear from FB due to real life circumstances (Hurricane Sandy, the death of a friend's 14 year old daughter, illness in her family), but she'd always come back with some timely posts - occasionally snarky, always smart. She offered me lots of advice and was a blog reader. We shared private messages and she always wrote with pride of her 3 children (youngest is finishing his senior year in high school), while she appreciated the anecdotes and photos I posted of my own Mr. J. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Absent from the online scene for the past few weeks, I did not think anything major was going on. The last time I'd checked in with her (last August), she explained that she'd taken a break from facebook to spend time with her family and friends following the accidental death of her friend's teenager). Totally understandable. </div>
<div>
<br />But then today, her mother let her friends know that Liz died on Monday, following a few weeks with flu-like symptoms and then a massive heart attack.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am totally in shock about it, but it's all I've been thinking about since I read the news. I can't help thinking this should be national news. The world should know that someone so warm and caring, smart and generous, was here. She was a helper to others, because she knew that's the only way to get through this short and unpredictable time we have here together. I don't know if I can get a blurb into the New York Times, so for now, this will have to do.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am grateful that I had the opportunity to connect with someone who brought so much to the table. She devoted so much of her time and energy to other people - usually other people who were experiencing the toughest challenges of their lives - and she made those lives better. I hope her children know how proud they made her and how highly she thought of them. The lesson she left with me is that one person can have a huge impact. Not money, nor fame, but talking to others and sharing knowledge. The world is certainly a better place because she has been here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thank you, Liz. </div>
Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-16188919444177477492014-03-12T11:16:00.000-04:002014-03-12T11:16:08.507-04:00Hard Choices<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHO1BumsqZIGbkSsN7JVUZauesT5j78bTeXWdFsnss8z-4V1zvzau4PGVJ7GsSqvE7l70py_Ti_eRA0FWff2UHRCOyjvVujhD-Evxx-gb5rEP9rOjgQPfBpTPpoBf5enTMPtCJq_GkV8/s1600/IMG_0040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKHO1BumsqZIGbkSsN7JVUZauesT5j78bTeXWdFsnss8z-4V1zvzau4PGVJ7GsSqvE7l70py_Ti_eRA0FWff2UHRCOyjvVujhD-Evxx-gb5rEP9rOjgQPfBpTPpoBf5enTMPtCJq_GkV8/s1600/IMG_0040.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">anyone else nauseated by this sign?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the spirit of both openness (my aunt pronounced me Master of Communication yesterday) and honesty about life after cancer, I am taking a cue from <a href="http://blog.oncofertility.northwestern.edu/2011/03/gina-shaw-survivor-mom-and-book-author-about-having-kids-after-cancer/" target="_blank">Gina Shaw</a>, author of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Having-Children-After-Cancer-Treatment/dp/158761054X" target="_blank">Having Children After Cancer</a>.<br />
<br />
Last week, I had my 6 month check up with Dr. Henry, my main oncologist. After updating him on my health ups and downs (see <a href="http://remissionstatement.blogspot.com/2013/10/true-story_15.html" target="_blank"><i>E. Coli 0157</i> </a>and <a href="http://remissionstatement.blogspot.com/2014/02/all-lady-bits.html" target="_blank">Surgery on my Reproductive Parts 2.0</a>), he took a gander at my bloodwork results (they work fast over there, not just same day results, but same HOUR results) and declared them "pristine".<br />
<br />
While clearly the news was all good coming from my onc, it was super depressing to even sit in the waiting room. I didn't realize how anxious I was until the little vitals cart showed my heart rate was up around 100. Keep in mind I take a pill for that. Hmm.<br />
<br />
I did mention to the doc that we are still trying for another kid, though no luck yet. And Dan and I have set a deadline for changing course. That detail, however, I will keep between us. The deadline is there, though. And if you know me, you know I like to have a plan. A plan I have checked and double checked for all possible snafus. A plan that is a stage for success.<br />
<br />
That kind of plan is virtually impossible to create when dealing with infertility. No one, even the best planners, can predict outcomes or prepare for all of the unexpected twists and turns along the way. Of course there are statistics, but I'm not a number, I am a person. We can use those stats to help make our decisions, but not to predict the future.<br />
<br />
Hey, I fully recognize we are lucky to live in a day and age when we <i>have</i> options before us. The scary part is choosing the right one. Yes, I know, we will only know in hindsight which was right, what was meant to be, blah blah blah. But there certainly is a great deal of unknown with all of the options of assisted reproductive technology.<br />
<br />
Donor egg or own egg IVF? Donor embryo? Adoption? Bali or Fiji? (I wish - that's the kind of decision I'm game to make.)<br />
<br />
Clearly, if these are our choices, the biggest challenge in the near future is making a big and bold decision. We have to take into consideration everyone's health. The risks vs. possible benefits. COST (Jeez, domestic adoption is expensive). We know what the end goal is: a happy and healthy (larger) family. It's how to get there that is leaving question clouds in the air over our heads.<br />
<br />
***<br />
I leave you with one request. If you know someone struggling to grow their family, take a few minutes and read <a href="http://www.hipsterhomemaker.com/things-you-never-say-to-a-person-struggling-with-infertility/#sthash.iHjlKFtX.dpbs" target="_blank">THIS</a>, as she says it all so I don't have to. I would just add one thing to the bottom of her post (filed under: DOs). In place of advice, I will never turn down a foot rub. Thanks!<br />
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-31248605660207717862014-02-21T15:47:00.001-05:002014-02-21T16:24:34.221-05:00All the Lady Bits<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSkOndjgOf3Y7Fl8Zd3az3fvF6-A2sDMw6TRY-eG0clFNGM9K4PoVtwpyGlqJRhHQ5atahpZ2VybdIcrRCu7LJ4mY2CbF8n8MYjPduVqdvJpi3yx_W0u40oqPqP2yg512jSHABH1lV6M/s1600/IMG_5981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSkOndjgOf3Y7Fl8Zd3az3fvF6-A2sDMw6TRY-eG0clFNGM9K4PoVtwpyGlqJRhHQ5atahpZ2VybdIcrRCu7LJ4mY2CbF8n8MYjPduVqdvJpi3yx_W0u40oqPqP2yg512jSHABH1lV6M/s1600/IMG_5981.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">an actual variety of apples. this has nothing to do with anything but I had to share it with all of you.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Back from my actual post-op appointment with the surgeon. Here is the (somewhat) complete report:<br />
1. All cysts, polyps, and endometriosis have been cleared from the reproductive system. "You really needed that." - the doctor<br />
2. All parts removed and sent for testing returned negative for anything harmful. Benign is the word of the week.<br />
3. The surgeon was so proud of her handiwork, she told me I should wear only bikinis from now on. (I will tuck this into my back pocket and continue to wear the high neck suits that cover my field of radiation as well as those "tiger" stretch marks - thanks, Judah.)<br />
4. She still thinks I am an old lady at age 36. No time to waste!!<br />
<br />
Good news, yes. I am mostly feeling groovy about it. Of course being not dead and being told you are not in danger of being dead in the near future are both truly wonderful. Anyone who's had a near death experience appreciates being not dead in a way that perhaps others do not. But it's hard to keep a positive frame of mind about fertility when we've been at this for 5 years. Whatever small shred of optimism left the building months/years ago. You can call what's leftover pessimism if you want, but I choose <i>realism</i>.<br />
<br />
I will say, with certainty, that there is one thing that helps keep the grooviness going. Knowing that people are rooting for you - whatever the goal may be - makes it easier to endure the potholes, detours, giant speed bumps, sharp turns, and wrong turns along the way. This is an extended thank you to all in the FB world who chime in and click LIKE for good news. I know some people prefer to handle their private lives, well, privately. I was never a private person, so that was not really an option. But I think it's always helped me to feel like part of a community.<br />
<br />
I am a member of a few closed FB support groups, that have been the main reason I stick with it when I'm feeling sorry for myself. A few months ago, I read a little story by Anne Lamott (she posted it as a status update) and the moral of the piece was this:<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><b>If you want to have loving feelings, do loving things.</b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.800000190734863px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><br />
<br />
For some reason, it stuck. I don't always/often get a chance to practice that, and sometimes/usually the negativity wins out and I recite my s*#t list to my mom a la telephone. But the support groups are a way to send the love out. And I notice that it often/usually comes back.<br />
<br />
With gratitude for being on my groovy team.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-77786101425967053632014-02-12T19:44:00.000-05:002014-02-12T19:48:00.582-05:00Post Op<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVdbQYnMPdqrt59errkvx_HBeJa3lLnUosp5AMvOWFNgPrrdhYtXn_KF5sHwCfSWeTMfi_Ax7VAixhNpMaoylf96k-tMFGkwteKUNDE7iOPypLMMSShrb9kRGJimWwOIYeFn8UuqVmWKA/s1600/IMG_4258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVdbQYnMPdqrt59errkvx_HBeJa3lLnUosp5AMvOWFNgPrrdhYtXn_KF5sHwCfSWeTMfi_Ax7VAixhNpMaoylf96k-tMFGkwteKUNDE7iOPypLMMSShrb9kRGJimWwOIYeFn8UuqVmWKA/s1600/IMG_4258.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">last week's loveliness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Ice Storm? Check.<br />
Power outage? Check.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1BL4AZdti2g69uT2rselkJNFpWApICuWDflZXQ4he0N79HHLLK5eyfsSCZzkEOJF7a__GOuyBj3SVL6nTV79XlRLLDtO4WnNmyqrXlpaZShcarsNRt-XA06zWewB2wwuHXM752Odf8o8/s1600/IMG_4254.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1BL4AZdti2g69uT2rselkJNFpWApICuWDflZXQ4he0N79HHLLK5eyfsSCZzkEOJF7a__GOuyBj3SVL6nTV79XlRLLDtO4WnNmyqrXlpaZShcarsNRt-XA06zWewB2wwuHXM752Odf8o8/s1600/IMG_4254.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">superstorm superhero ICE CUBE</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJTc0nu6VD0lJYG6QNVogKcn8RpLyQv6cOtwQVyAxyEbEi2LEEJ71iNAzWrE02UlGmHE1GQhCpFJwUCVWT7MuXC4IudF565RiWs4zmU4mENhUKSMyBYCC8hp7EQFr_qWiVIwR6qu97yc/s1600/IMG_4262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJTc0nu6VD0lJYG6QNVogKcn8RpLyQv6cOtwQVyAxyEbEi2LEEJ71iNAzWrE02UlGmHE1GQhCpFJwUCVWT7MuXC4IudF565RiWs4zmU4mENhUKSMyBYCC8hp7EQFr_qWiVIwR6qu97yc/s1600/IMG_4262.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">meet: our makeshift fridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Power/heat restoration? Check.<br />
Surgery? Check.<br />
Phone/wifi/cable restoration? Check.<br />
Snow day tomorrow? Check.<br />
<br />
Basically the only thing <i>not</i> happening around these parts is work. But who needs money anyway? We are now in day 2 of recovering from the surgery we had been planning for a few weeks.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaPoRhKfgK6lx0-5XNJ2TVZ6Al4oU_gsiVQXjC3K0OSJk9dFFEeZHkz_NXJtnj0zLfGHyvINRlLToTrZ2ay6W2-tlj14nUapEF6PUhGGfK3TR3Jm8Nnwm3ZrWqddwE-MFjoUF2zqSWQE/s1600/photo+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieaPoRhKfgK6lx0-5XNJ2TVZ6Al4oU_gsiVQXjC3K0OSJk9dFFEeZHkz_NXJtnj0zLfGHyvINRlLToTrZ2ay6W2-tlj14nUapEF6PUhGGfK3TR3Jm8Nnwm3ZrWqddwE-MFjoUF2zqSWQE/s1600/photo+1.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">one fine hairnet</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Though it took an extra hour to complete, the procedure was successful and the surgeon reports that my insides are now squeaky clean. Sore, but clean. And though I do have experience with anesthesia in the past (see <i>surgical biopsy</i>), my reaction has not been too dramatic. This week, however, presented some fresh fun post-op. I woke quite groggy, nauseous, and dizzy. Typically this starts to subside in an hour or so, but not the case for me. I was unable to get up for a few hours, and even then it was a bit tricky. They decided to keep me overnight at the hospital (though it was supposed to be outpatient), and got me a bed - lickety split - by 2 am. Then, my blood pressure dropped, everyone came to my room, they ordered me some extra fluids and labs, yadda yadda. Never a dull moment.<br />
<br />
Now, I have come a long way from assuming my death was imminent (see <i>cancer diagnosis 2010</i>) and I am usually not feeling terrified on a regular basis. Anymore. But this was like a throwback to 3 years ago and I was worried. Do you ever find it hard to tell the difference between fear and instinct? I frequently cannot differentiate between the two and they dress up as the same feeling. Luckily, I allowed the doctors and my family members to lead the way and I pushed off the fears I was having about this surgery. I went through with it, as recommended by all parties, and I am now gratefully on the other side.<br />
<br />
What did I learn from this week?<br />
#1. That maybe my fear/instinct isn't always 100% in predicting the future. I was watching <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0101698/" target="_blank">Defending Your Life</a> last night (yes we own it - for emergencies like when the cable is out) and caught this super resonant quote:<br />
<br />
"Fear is like a giant fog, it sits on your brain and blocks everything: real feelings, true happiness, real joy. They can't get through that fog. But you lift it, and buddy, you're in for the ride of your life."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/eQmJl1CQx2o?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
#2. I also learned that my body is not made of the same stuff as it was before treatment. I am not one of those people who goes on to run marathons and become a champion athlete after surviving cancer. I am alive and that is the marathon I'm running. As long as I can stay away from anesthesia and hospitals in general, I think I'll be ok.<br />
<br />
#3. Finally, I learned that everything that was removed from my insides is now hanging at some pathology lab in New Jersey, percolating in a petri dish and hopefully turning into absolutely nothing remarkable. More waiting for those answers.<br />
<br />
I have 4 new scars to add to my permanent collection, but they are small, I think. Still haven't removed the bandages. Shoulder/back/neck pain is intense, but that's why they made prescription drugs. My guys are now at home for the next 24 hours due to yet another <b>much needed</b> snow day. Can you hear the sarcasm dripping from my voice? No lie, I <u>am</u> glad they're both here to keep me company. Plus the cable's back. So as long as we've got power, we're in business.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://gameofthrones.wikia.com/wiki/Winter_is_Coming_(motto)" target="_blank">Winter is Coming</a><br />
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-91464808761920608602014-01-19T11:18:00.000-05:002014-01-19T12:28:55.846-05:00What it is.Losing your fertility to cancer is like a sucker punch. It's not bad enough your cells went rogue in the first place, you had to lose your hair, change directions in your career, develop post-treatment (potentially lifelong) disorders, and have an increased chance for secondary cancers. No, the universe says, better make sure your entire life's trajectory is altered and prevent you from bearing anymore of those pesky offspring, even though there is no evidence that your cancer was caused by genetics.<br />
<br />
I've not been exactly mum about our struggles to have another child, but I know I haven't been completely forthcoming either. It bothers me both ways. If I share all the gory details, which no one truly wants to read about, I've overshared. If I share nothing, it makes it seem that infertility (especially after cancer) is something shameful. Or that I have any control over? Or that I'm failing and can't bear to share my failure with my friends and family.<br />
<br />
I am nothing if not a big mouth for a cause. For this reason, you can consider this post my "coming out" for infertility. Yes, it's true. We have struggled for years, with the help of multiple (I've lost count) doctors, acupuncturists, herbalists, massage therapists, healers, meditation and yoga classes, shots, pills, yadda yadda. Whatever there is to try, we've tried it (stopped short of <a href="http://www.webmd.com/infertility-and-reproduction/guide/in-vitro-fertilization" target="_blank">IVF</a>). Including <a href="https://arvigotherapy.com/" target="_blank">traditional Mayan</a> and <a href="http://www.ivillage.com/vaginal-steaming-spa-treatment/4-a-543070" target="_blank">Korean therapies</a>. Because, hey, why not? Maybe they know something I don't.<br />
<br />
And I have vowed that we are not going to walk into 2015 doing the same things we were doing going into 2009, 2010 or 2012 or 2013 or 2014 (I skipped over that loathsome cancer year). So this is it, folks. It's now or never. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4OWC0mDqd5KQ-0KouEZu0z8mlvv8msJrX5XxD3hx4RciCTsiRpp8peoXRDHmd1YFyuCNVlLkagmkLZyLvEFCG_iruCeMGXeheSjTcKZys5tSFgDyQ80NjxMieYCOfu85HkFIXKhlFGZk/s1600/IMG_6171.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4OWC0mDqd5KQ-0KouEZu0z8mlvv8msJrX5XxD3hx4RciCTsiRpp8peoXRDHmd1YFyuCNVlLkagmkLZyLvEFCG_iruCeMGXeheSjTcKZys5tSFgDyQ80NjxMieYCOfu85HkFIXKhlFGZk/s1600/IMG_6171.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">happy 2014</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
What does this mean? It means we are on our last doctor. It means we will make some bold moves this year and possibly try some things that are scary, especially for someone with my history of reactions to medications. And it means (most likely) that we will be grieving the loss of having a biological sibling for our amazing child. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtMDMU_PFonGuybqND2NraibE0sJT5yTbUG-kXrJjkj__wGNeZy1R4Yyuzop1hcqHfYRJ0Qq87dJ4LAT4QjHQ1AscBi72xw1aiafsUoguWu8yOCZFmPWCli5Fv3Nvsw7sb4J7ICLugLFc/s1600/IMG_0505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtMDMU_PFonGuybqND2NraibE0sJT5yTbUG-kXrJjkj__wGNeZy1R4Yyuzop1hcqHfYRJ0Qq87dJ4LAT4QjHQ1AscBi72xw1aiafsUoguWu8yOCZFmPWCli5Fv3Nvsw7sb4J7ICLugLFc/s1600/IMG_0505.JPG" height="306" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Judah's family portrait from a few years ago when he pretended to have a sister named Hannah.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But it also means we may be closer to finding our second child, whoever, wherever he or she may be (perhaps not even a twinkle in an eye yet). Dan, ever the optimist, always feels we are closer to, rather than farther from. As time continues to pass, I'm not so sure.<br />
<br />
Ever the planner, I am trying to prepare myself for what I feel is inevitable. Of course I am so grateful for Judah, our absolute gem and miracle. But his existence does not negate my lifelong hopes and dreams of being a mother multiple times over. I am sad to lose out on being pregnant again, to miss the opportunity to bond with another baby like I did with Judah, to miss nursing (Judah had a bit of an issue..), to have another child with the love of my life made of pieces of each of us.<br />
<br />
I know some parents are not as attached to this idea of genetics and pregnancy. And for them, it may have been a quick move to adopt. But adoption is no walk in the proverbial park either. There is even more uncertainty than in pregnancy involved. No control over the pre-natal environment. High, high cost (for domestic infant adoption - upwards of $30K). Home studies, wait time, birth families that could change their minds before finalization... I don't think most of us dream of going down this path.<br />
<br />
We will, though, if that is where our road leads. Before we turn onto Adoption Avenue, I am scheduled to have some good old surgery mid-February! Back to the OR for me, to investigate (hopefully for the last time) that same stinking cyst (<a href="http://remissionstatement.blogspot.com/2013/07/no-fun.html" target="_blank">think back to last June</a>), and a few other non-rent payers that have taken up shop. I had hoped that at least chemo could've killed the endometriosis, too, but it looks like not. Of course, no one is talking cancer, per se, but I am on guard. The bits to be removed will all be sent to pathology for further investigation and to confirm that there are no cancerous cells found within. <br />
<br />
I hope that one day, perhaps in the not-so-distant future, I will have some profound wisdom to share about the emotional and physical adventures my body has experienced over the past 5 years. So far, the only things I've learned is that life is too short, there's no such thing as a free lunch (though perhaps <a href="http://teammamamia.blogspot.com/2011/02/aloha.html" target="_blank">a free trip to Hawaii</a>), and the internet is a black hole of time suckage. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitXM11rjfeRP0u5ESkDkk8r6L86HjqAz3o39Uy0rJkC2DKqFsLD-l4MyWRua9dIMxSFEQZyB2i18Lt2H-Z3VlbeNbL2HxRat-RO81xCM6UEjWppGbHbPiu8QhkZXiNXTtq7UgZMTjWCTE/s1600/IMG_7682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitXM11rjfeRP0u5ESkDkk8r6L86HjqAz3o39Uy0rJkC2DKqFsLD-l4MyWRua9dIMxSFEQZyB2i18Lt2H-Z3VlbeNbL2HxRat-RO81xCM6UEjWppGbHbPiu8QhkZXiNXTtq7UgZMTjWCTE/s1600/IMG_7682.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Thanks to you for keeping up with my never ending dramatics. Stay tuned for Season 37. Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6076610380797012529.post-8137775526483692822013-12-28T12:35:00.002-05:002013-12-28T12:36:35.627-05:00ForgottenYesterday, December 27th, was my third cancerversary. It marked 3 years since the end of my treatment (chemo and radiation). The most spectacular thing about reaching this milestone is that I forgot entirely about it until I was falling asleep last night. <br />
<br />
This is to say to all of those people right now struggling to get to recovery, it is possible to get to a place where you are not only NOT thinking about cancer every day, but you can even forget about it completely.<br />
<br />
Granted, I suffer from a poor memory (is that a side effect of chemo? or getting older?), and we happen to be on vacation at the moment and I am happily immersed in feeling as far away from my normal self as I can. We have no routine, simply reading, eating everything in sight, and playing in the sun. It is, shall we say, <b>not bad</b>. <br />
<br />
I am grateful today for the brain's ability to heal in a way I did not think it could.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjieikYrw-ILURX6u35hbcz92D8yOFIMW621p1fNir2r8ij39x7V4GW1yvl-pb98WsTaFrRZU-Zg28r-EKXIJRPUGPi3jMz4g_ZeB43n0_WSyT8TfUQHo-I-tfoFTs9Wud-erRd4DAHm2w/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjieikYrw-ILURX6u35hbcz92D8yOFIMW621p1fNir2r8ij39x7V4GW1yvl-pb98WsTaFrRZU-Zg28r-EKXIJRPUGPi3jMz4g_ZeB43n0_WSyT8TfUQHo-I-tfoFTs9Wud-erRd4DAHm2w/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">vitamin D</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Miahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12751227707896591822noreply@blogger.com0