Change

Change is good. That's what people say. But those people don't know about change with cancer.

When there's change with cancer, sometimes it's good, sometimes it's not. Today it's not.

We found out today that Mom's cancer has metastasized and is now in her colon. I still can't wrap my brain around it. I feel like I'm on the outside looking in. I didn't cry. I should have. I feel like it's not me in my body. I know it is though because it feels like there's someone stepping on my chest. That's anxiety. And stress. Funny thing is about those two things-when I feel like I'm not stressed, that's usually when I am stressed! It plays tricks.

It's hard being the only one. I know it's hard for my dad. It's the hardest for my mom. She's the fighter. She has the pain. She has the stress. She has the fatigue. Not me.

That's what I have to remember through all of this. If I play the woe is me card, I just have to think about my mom. She NEVER plays that card. Ever. She's strong. I want to be like her. Strong.

But change is hard. Especially when it's about f#!*ing cancer.

something I don't usually do

I did something I don't usually do today. I donated to something I don't know much about, but felt moved and pulled to donate to. It was in honor of my mom. To combat cancer with LOVE. Because in the end, LOVE WINS.

I was turned on to the Momastery blog by my friend, Lori. She kept posting things from the blog via Facebook and I was pulled in by the words she shared. They were always faith filled, inspirational words that helped move me through my day. This happened probably three or four times before I checked it out myself. Then I "liked" the page and now I get updates as they are posted.

Glennon, the woman behind Momastery is broken. Like all of us are. She shares her flaws. She shares her joys. She shares what most people would hide from anyone they could. Her words are filled with honesty and faith and love. She calls us all WARRIORS. And that's what we are in this world. Carrying on to do what's best for us in this messy life where, above all else, LOVE WINS (her words, not mine, but I might be making them mine now).

I was intrigued by a post she wrote yesterday about a Love Flash Mob. As I read it I thought, "Oh, that sounds nice. What amazing things she's been able to do through her blog/company/non-profit. Then I read today's post and was instantly drawn to the stories that were told. Today's Love Flash Mob was all about helping Mamas with cancer. You understand now, don't you?

So I did something I don't usually do and I donated to complete strangers. I'm usually more of the where-is-my-money-going-to-go kind of person. I mean I kind of know through the stories, but I don't really know. You know?

I donated in honor of my mom. Because I love her. And because I want to honor her. And because I want her to know I think about her all the time. And because I believe LOVE WINS, not cancer. Right, Mom? LOVE ALWAYS WINS. I love you. And thanks, Momastery, for giving us a place to honor those we love, even if it was in a small way today.

We can't wait!

**A past post I never got around to posting from January 23rd**

We really can't. I'll tell you why.

Pretty soon we get to go here.

 We're getting there by being on this.

And we'll also be trying out this.

Seriously. Seriously?! We are so lucky and blessed to be able to do this.

Here's how it all went down…
Early in November my dad and I went to a chemo appointment with Mom. It was a visit with Dr. Gall, which is why we tried to be there. We went through the whole appointment-how are you feeling? any new symptoms? any changes in how your body is handling side effects? All of the usual stuff was asked. Then at the end of the appointment he asked if we had any questions. I finally asked it.

"How long do we do this for?"

The long and the short of it: forever. FOREVER. Wait, what? Did I hear you right? Yup. Sure did. See then the doctor went on with all of the "Sometimes I give a chemo vacation. It could be 3 weeks, 3 months, 6 months; you never know. But really, this is just managing the disease. There are always miracles!" That's the word I held onto: miracles. It's always the word I think of. Miracles do happen. I know this. And we all-friends and family-pray for a miracle every day. In the meantime…this chemo/doctor thing is happening in the 2 weeks on/1 week off cycle until Mom's "Chemo Vacation."

After that news we went back to the chemo room, waiting for her drip to start and Mom says, "Well, where are we going?" Meaning, let's plan a trip. I had wondered if this was going to be a possibility. J and I had talked about it shortly before this November day. And here it was-we were starting to plan a trip.

If you know my parents, you know they love cruising. They love everything about being on a ship whether it's by themselves or with their cruisin' friends (love them dearly!), they love hanging by the pool, in the bars, finding their way through foreign lands; it's the best! So as we started talking about where we would go, it was only natural that going on a cruise came up. Then the decision on where to go and what cruise line to go on. After crunching numbers, looking at itineraries, and thinking about what could give us "the best" memories, we landed on a Disney Cruise. Woot! Woot! CAN. NOT. WAIT!

J and I have only been on one cruise before-when I was 8 weeks pregnant and couldn't fully enjoy everything the ship had to offer (I was on a self-proclaimed diet of cheese and ice cream!). We have talked about going on a Disney Cruise before, but the conversation is usually something like, "It's on our my bucket list. I would love to do it sometime, but probably not now."Never in a million years did I think we would be going this soon.

The kids, my parents, and J & I are just all so thrilled to be going. And with each other. We are blessed to be able to make these memories together. We get to see the kids reactions together. We get to go to a Pirate Party together. That's the best part about this trip is that we will be together. It can't come soon enough, with all of the COLD weather we've been having. We are definitely counting down, and…

WE CAN'T WAIT!

Definition

Defining something can be hard to do.
Defining something can also be easy to do.

Here...let's give it a try:

Ice cream is: sweet, delicious, my favorite treat
School is: fun, exciting, new
Love is: wonderful, indescribable, fulfilling

Now here's another definition for you-one that's been on my mind A LOT lately...

My mom is: loving, positive, giving, brave, forgiving, positive, a fighter, brave, a wife, positive, a sister,  brave, a mother-in-law, positive, a friend, brave...are you sensing the pattern here? Side note...the last time I "defined" my mom was when we had a 5 year survivor celebration. Interesting how words and events can come together. 

This is what we are dealing with right now, at this point in September of this year:

Do you see what it says on that container? Yup. You read it right. Chemotherapy waste-must be incinerated. Burned. No where else to go but up in smoke. We're back here again...doing this thing...after 8 years of not doing it. And in those 8 years I really thought we were done. I really didn't think we would be back here, sitting in this chair-

taking naps while the "icky" medicine attacks the sick cells to make mom better. Neither did she. Neither did my dad. Neither did anyone for that matter. No one wants to think it will happen again.

But back to the Definition of My Mom...brave and positive. Did you notice how many times that came up. It's because I think about it all. The. Time. Just how brave she is. How she marches into this chemo room, hoping that her corner chair is open (so she can see everything that's going on and all of her angels who sit with her can have enough room), ready to take on the medicine that will (in our minds) put her into remission for the time being-or at least shrink all of those ugly cancer spots to 1 or 2 instead of the many that spot her bones in her body. Brave. To know that her hair would fall out. To know that she probably couldn't taste. To know and understand that this time it's different. Brave. Because there isn't a way to really get rid of it. No surgery. No radiation. Just the medicine to fight those cancer cells tooth and nail. Oh...and prayer.

Did I mention that we are people of faith? If you know us, you would know that. We pray every night at our house. And Mamma is always a part of our prayers. Sometimes it's general like, "We pray that Mamma feels better." But sometimes it's specific like, "Please help the medicine fight off the cancer. Please help the doctors and guide them to know what's best." We pray. She prays. Dad prays. Friends and family pray. That brings me to that second word that came up again and again: Positive. Positive in all aspects.

When we first found out about this road we were (once again) going down, it didn't feel different than the last time. It felt the same: we will fight this. We will beat this. Nothing will stop us from getting rid of this again. Yes, there were tears. But there was NEVER, I mean NEVER the thought that this would be any different. You're reading between the lines-we never talked and still haven't talked about what is to come. Some may say that's denial. True, but when the doctor doesn't even tell you what's to come, why worry? As I was able to tell friends, some in person, others over the phone, some wondered, "What's the prognosis?" See, when you are surrounded by positivity and prayer, that doesn't matter. What matters is the here and now. What will they do for her? What's the treatment going to be like? Until the time comes where it is absolutely necessary to think about prognosis, we will spend our time and energy fighting and living our lives, thank you very much! 

Fighting something like cancer seems to be more uplifting when you have kids around. See, A & C weren't around the last time we fought this. In fact, at the tail end of Mom's chemo, we found out we were expecting. God works in those mysterious ways sometimes. You know, with the timing and everything. But now we have these 2 seven year olds who only know Mom as Mamma. They hug her and love her just the same as before. Before school started I brought them with to see what chemo was all about. We talked about the medicine. We talked about the port (A thought Mamma had her chest cut open to get her chemo, so it was a good visual to really see it in person). We had snacks (A's favorite part). And that was it! Seeing this through the eyes of children can change a person's perspective. That's because you can't dwell on it. The kids are moving on with activities and school. They know Mom goes in for treatments, but when they see her, they still talk to her the same as before she was sick. We don't talk about it in a "hush, hush" sort of way. We're really matter of fact about it. I think it helps us all.

So definitions...defining some things can be oh-so-hard, while others can be oh-so-easy. I know what it's like to try to define my mom because I see it and hear it every day. I only hope to be like her as I get older: to have the courage to fight anything that is presented to me. Because that's what she's doing. And I love her even more for it.  

How do you tell them?

How do you tell your kids that their Mamma has cancer? Yeah, I wasn't too sure either. But, leave it up to my mom to do the talking. She was great.

The kids know a little bit about mom having had cancer before they were born. They have seen pictures of her without hair. That's about all they really know about her being sick. I wasn't quite sure how they would take it since we haven't had anyone else in our family who has had cancer.

A was the first one to understand what Mom was saying...

A: So your cancer is back?
Mom: Yup.
A: I don't want your cancer to be back.
Mom: Either do I.
A: Will you loose your hair?
Mom: Maybe.
A: What else will happen?
Mom: They'll give me special medicine to help make me better. And I'll need lots of hugs to make me feel better.
*cue the hugs*

Through all of this, C didn't say much. That's kind of what I figured from him. He was more concerned about playing games on Mamma's phone, since that's what Mammas let you do, you know. Mom told A there was a book and she wanted me to read it to her right away. I think it helped a little bit, walking through the emotions we all might feel, how Mom might look different, etc. All of the appearance and how she feels stuff is yet to be seen. All I know is that her belly hurts-different from before-when nothing hurt at all.

The kids will definitely be a bright spot through all of this. They'll bring Mom back to a good place. On her down days, seeing them will bring a smile to her face. On her good days, they'll help make things even better (since gooder isn't a word).

A wanted to see Mamma's wigs from before. Mom already said she's not wearing any if she looses her hair. Good for her! I remember how hot and uncomfortable they were for her. A tried them on the head my mom still has. She was funny about not putting them on herself. :)

We will get through this season of life. Just like we did 8 years ago. It's crazy to think that 9 months ago everything checked out ok. That 5 months ago we were hyper-focused on the heart. And now we're here. AGAIN. Brutal. No one signed up for this. No one wants to be here. But here we are. And ready for the fight of our lives. So to you, ugly cancer spots, hear this:

We are ready to fight you! So to you, ugly cancer cells floating around...this time we are armed with 7 year olds who don't know any better. We have 7 year olds who will pray every day and every night for their Mamma. You don't stand a chance against us!