We watch a fair amount of Mary Poppins ("Mary Puffins") in my house. In twenty five minute increments and usually the same twenty five minutes. Over and over again. I'm complaining, I know.
Today is a grab bag.
First, thank you for the laughs last week. You get credit for some good ones. My friend's son who had lots of questions about Jesus. Most delightfully, who is she and is a manger the same thing as a hotel?
I also heard from my high school french teacher. A lovely, wise and supportive note with one small editorial note - "'f'ed' is not french." A stickler for precision, I love it!
Thursday we made the decision to proceed with treatment at Georgetown. We are in the capable hands of a fierce Canadian. And she likes hockey. That gets some mileage in my house. Particularly with Miles.
Earlier in the day, I took Ian to my Company holiday party as a baby shield. I had broken the news at work and needed to give myself and my coworkers a bit of a distraction. Ian was a trooper - sweating and smiling in his (toasty) santa suit. I was surprised and a bit saddened by the discomfort I noticed in people. I mean cancer sucks for me and my family, but it had never dawned on me that it would make people uncomfortable with me.
I'm not sure what to say about that. Roughly I'd approximate that it divides the world into two categories: those who have grieved and those who have not. It seems that the people capable of talking to me understood that nothing could be or needed to be said. For you fortunate others, know that words of comfort, distraction and obscenities are all appropriate openings. I would also be happy to discuss anything else. Dental procedures and laundry sound riveting these days.
Our Thursday was hard in the way that the lives of working parents are hard. Jim and I had work. Miles had a family cookie party at school. Miles needed to go to the doctor for a walk-in appointment. School, sick, childcare and work juggling.
The cancer stuff was the hard+. The oncology appointment lasted more than three hours. This was the details appointment. As a general rule, I process information fairly well, but I was completely overloaded. I told Jim, for the first time since the diagnosis I was ready to collapse from exhaustion. I just could hardly function. Getting home and into the house took more energy than I had.
I start chemo on December 30. I still haven't read my book on how to be a person with cancer. I've been told I'll feel 85% instead of 100%. We'll see and I'll keep you posted, but I'm cautiously optimistic. Before the diagnosis I hadn't slept through the night since Ian was born in July. I'm fairly certain I've operated at 85% before. Of course, I did have my hair and I know it sounds crazy, but I'm guessing it will be harder without it.
I've been advised by various wise folks that I need a kick in the butt in addition to all the hugs I've been getting. That I need to focus on the fight.
I'm trying (I love me some Star Wars, but no Yoda, please). I was never the fastest or smartest in the crowd. But I have some fortitude. I am confident in my strength. I am cultivating the fire in the belly, the fight, the battle mentality. Hence, the best foot forward, spit spot. I'm getting there. I will get there.
We'll talk about Jim in another blog but let me assure you he has ferocity in spades. People, do not cut him off in an intersection or pause too long at a stop sign in Mount Pleasant these days. He has the fire in the belly.
Miles is sitting with me and just said "Santa is so silly because he laughs like this: ho, ho, ho." On that note, off to carry on while cultivating fire in belly and unparalleled and unchecked optimism.
