Movin’ On…

How would anyone think that in the middle of a cancer diagnosis and the tests, labs, surgeries, and multiple doctors’ visits that went along with it that I would have time to find a new job? I managed it anyway. I remember when I was leaving another school where I had only been a few months before being appointed assistant principal, there was another employee leaving the school after being there for something like 20 years. The principal used a term to describe it that fits perfectly here…bittersweet. That’s the way I feel about this move. I have so many friends and memories that I’m leaving behind at Goolsby (not that they’re really being left behind), but I’m also going to where I already have friends and a new experience awaiting. This is a lateral move for me; but in a way, it’s a financial and emotional raise. I’m moving from a nine month school to a year-round school (financial), and I’ll be driving eight miles a day instead of 40 (financial and emotional). It’s ironic that Harmon was my second teaching assignment. I taught third grade there from 1992-1994 so it seems fitting that I’m returning there. I will miss so many folks at Goolsby. Some were friends before I even went there as AP, and they will remain so. Some were new friends made over time getting to know them, and others became bonded friends with the cancer sharing. My favorite part of being an administrator is the mentoring of new teachers. I didn’t get to do much of that at Goolsby, but Carla, Michelle, Erik, and Jolyne were pleasures to work with. I feel that I played some small part in their development from novice to not-so-novice. I understand that Harmon has numerous new teachers, and I hope I will be able to do the same with them. I’m looking forward to working with my old friends who are already there: principal, office manager, and math strategist. I know it will be a very busy job, and I truly look forward to that. Sometimes in life, change is called for; and this is one of those times for me. I wish all of the Goolsby staff the very best. All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go, I’m standing here outside the door. Already, I’m so lonesome I could die. ‘Cause I’m leaving on a jet plane, don’t know when I’ll be back again. Oh, Babe, I hate to go….Oops, got carried away…no jet plane…just goin’ across town in my Escape…Vaya con Dios!

Backtracking…

Lil Ole Me pointed out that although I mentioned the needles in the nipple story in the Chemo post, I had never actually told it elsewhere in the blog. So…now I’m backtracking to make sense of that reference…here it is…When I had my pre-op appointment with my surgeon (soap opera doctor) before the lumpectomy…Oh my, wasn’t I a neophyte then, knowing little of hospitals, surgeries, etc….at that point only having had a biopsy (child’s play in hind sight and an angiogram that still scares the hell out of me)… Anyway, I asked the doctor what to expect when I got to the hospital. He replied that after check-in I would go to pre-op and then go to the lab for a test. He explained that some dye would be inserted in the breast for him to be able to look for the right lymph nodes (sentinel node, I think it was), aligned with the tumor. He said it would sting. When I went to pre-register at the hospital and talked to the nurse, I asked her about the dye thing and the sting. She said…qualifier…that all health professionals seem to use…”Well, I’ve never had it done,”… but I understand from other women that it hurts. O.K. we went from sting to hurt. Once in the hospital and all pre-op done…Here’s an aside…the nurse had a difficult time getting the IV needle in. It really hurt and continued to hurt throughout the day…Actually, I asked anyone who would listen if it looked right because it hurt; and, secretly, I didn’t want anything to impede the administration of drugs that would put me out for this surgery. She could not have done it exactly right, because I had a huge bruise on my inner arm for more than a week later. Anyway, pretty soon they came to get me for the lab. Krista was able to come along and wait with me in the hallway before they took me in. They said she could wait just a little ways away and they would get her back when I came out. So, I got rolled into the lab. A nice girl, named Marisol prepped me for the insertion of the dye. I asked her about it. Again, I got the qualifier and a similar response that it hurts. When I asked about the intensity and longevity of the hurt, she said it would be four different needle insertions into the nipple, but that it was quick and when it was over, it was over. I was thinking that I could probably handle that. In came the doctor. He was Asian. Absolutely no offense, bias, prejudice here, but this was a day after an Asian man’s picture had been all over the news for killing 32 people at Virginia Tech. The doctor reminded me of the pictures of that murderer. He came around and asked if I knew what he was going to do. I repeated the four-needles-directly-into-the-nipple scenario. He then said, completely dead pan, “This is going to hurt!” I thought he was semi-kidding or something and would continue on with some misnomer, but he appeared to be quite, quite serious. I probably said, “O.K.” and answered in the affirmative when he asked if I was ready? Were there choices here? I don’t think so… So, he walked around in back of me, I imagine to get the four needles. When he came around again, approaching from the back, he asked the girl if she was ready. Yes, she was. He approached my left side. Again, completely dead pan, he said, “You might want to grab a hold of something.” I asked, “Are you kidding because you’re scaring me?” He replied that he was not kidding, that some women have a reflex action. Looking back, I’m thinking some women have come up with a jab to the jaw, which I think he deserved for talking to me like that, but anyway…I said, “What would you like me to hold on to?” Oh, believe me, if only I could relive that moment…I wouldn’t have to ask what to grab a hold of….you know that old joke about the old lady and the dentist…she grabs a hold of something of his and says, “Now, Mr. Dentist, if you hurt me, I’ll hurt you!” Anyway, Marisol stepped in at that point and said, “You can hold on to me, “ and she took my right hand in hers. With my left hand I grabbed the rail under the bed. He inserted the first needle…yeah, it hurt, but it wasn’t earthshattering…second needle…Dr. Personality says, “You’re doing very well. Some people are screaming by now.” Third needle, fourth needle, all done. He left. I got wheeled back into the hallway to wait for when they would bring me back in to take the pictures of the dye. Krista came back, and I told her the story of the doctor. When I got wheeled back into the lab room, there was another young man there, I said to Marisol, “Can you believe what that doctor said to me?” She said she had just been telling the other young man about it. I guess it was not a regular occurrence for the radiologist to try to scare the hell out of the patient right before a procedure. So, now you can see why the oncology nurse at the Institute telling me that she was going to sting me didn’t exactly send me running to the nearest exit. Actually, one more comment about her…I don’t think it was appropriate for her to tell me that when you’re in my situation, you have to expect to be poked and prodded. I think a better response would have been that she’s seen this many times, it’s no big deal, and it would only take a minute. Philosophizing about where I am in life right now was probably not what I needed that day…

Dear Ann,

If you want to join the family, let’s take care of it this week. As I prepare to leave the Goolsby family, I would love to take you and yours along symbolically. Have your twin, Kim Y. draw up the paperwork, and bring it by this week. What could possibly be better than one set of twins? Two, of course!

Dottie

The First Chemo…

I made it through the first chemo treatment. I think I made it through better than Susan did. She met me at the Institute. We saw the doctor. He said my MUGA Scan came out good…67%…I questioned that…Susan said, “She’s a teacher. 67% doesn’t sound that good.” He said that, in fact, it was quite good. He asked about the previous infection I had at the surgical site the last time I saw him. I said I had taken antibiotics and everything was fine. He checked it to make sure. He answered any questions we had. He said if I had any nausea to just come out there the next day or two and he would shut it down in 15 minutes. That was reassuring. Susan explained about how busy I am, working at school in the daytime and teaching classes at night and asked if there was anything else preventative to keep me from getting sick. The doctor said there was and he would have the nurse give me some samples and a prescription. He said to take two pills (one every 12 hours) for the next two days to prevent nausea. We discussed that I had only a small window of opportunity in my day to be sick. I would only be able to throw up, if necessary, between about 1:30-3:00. Next, we went to the Chemo Room. It was pretty much what I imagined it to be…reclining chairs for patients and other chairs for escorts and some paraphernalia for hooking you up to chemo drugs. Our nurse’s name was also Susan. She had some difficulty with the port and was unable, at first, to get anything started with it. She was working around the bandages. Finally, she said that maybe something was twisted under there, and she took the bandage off. As soon as she moved something, my arm felt better; I think there must have been something twisted. She said she would start with a bag of anti-nausea medication. She began talking about all the possible effects of the drugs. The list was endless, and each new “if this, then that…” sounded worse than the one before. I turned to Susan, my daughter, and said, “Do I have to do this?” And I really meant did I have to do it at all? I meant I want to just get up out of this chair and leave. I’d been through enough all ready…everything that preceded this day, including the port placement less than 24 hours earlier. I’m not sure what happened then, but I think Susan distracted the nurse, Susan; or she distracted me. Either way, the nurse quit going on with all of the possible, horrible things that could happen to me, which I figured was going to be within moments of leaving the building. I then realized that she already had medication going into my body through the port, and it was probably too late to cancel the treatment. I remember Danette telling me that her first chemo was a surreal experience and thinking, “I’m having chemo!.” I would agree with her that it’s certainly not for real. It’s very difficult to explain how your feelings work through all of these experiences. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how children who suffer unmentionable, on-going abuse from a family member or family friend, take themselves out of the experience. Sometimes I think they create another personality that goes through the abuse so that it’s not really happening to them. That’s the way I feel about what I’ve been doing. It hasn’t really been me, not the me I’ve known all my life, because that person could not possibly have endured all of this. The person I know, the real me, who’s scared of the dentist, scared of all things medical including: doctors, nurses, hospitals, procedures, operations, labs, and even medications. That’s why when Krista tells me how strong I am, I deny it, because the person I know to be me has not been going through these experiences. Some other Dottie or, more likely, Dorothy has been doing it for me. Just when things calmed down during the chemo (mostly the talk by the nurse) and I was showing Susan how to play Brainage on my new pink Nintendo DS, all of a sudden, a change happened. The nurse, who was dressed in navy blue scrubs, began to approach our area. She now had on a light blue smock, sort of backwards, tied in the back; and she was putting on blue gloves. She had two scary looking needle-like containers in her hands, and they were filled with a deep, blood-red liquid. I commented about her new outfit, and she replied that it was poison and she couldn’t get it on her. Highly encouraging since she now was going to put that directly into my body through the wide open port. She said that before she would begin, she would get me some ice that I would need to chew on seriously, consistenly without giving my mouth a chance to mellow or relax. Here came the warning/reason: people on chemo develop mouth sores. Chewing on ice while the drug is administered constricts the blood vessels in your mouth area so that, hopefully, the poison doesn’t get into them and cause you mouth sores. I wished I had gone to the bathroom before we started this whole procedure. But, early on, the nurse had said it would only take an hour. She lied. Chewing on ice like there’s no tomorrow is quite uncomfortable for your mouth and also other parts if you didn’t go to the bathroom before you started. She had to hold the container of poison the whole time it was being injected into the IV. I don’t know why they can’t just hang it up on the cart like the other medicines, and I don’t really care; but it made it seem a whole lot more ominous with her sitting in front of me with the blue smock and blue gloves injecting the poison. I finished the ice. She finished the container. I said I could wait to go to the bathroom, but my daughter said that was silly and it would only take a minute and I should go, so I had her come with me. We wheeled the IV cart in with us. When I noted that the nurse had another vial of the poison, she noted that I would have to chew another cup of ice. It had been a gigantic relief to my mouth, gums, tongue, and teeth to have relief from the first cup of ice. We waited for the next cup, and I began chewing; and she began injecting. I don’t know where the part is about reclining in the recliner and relaxing, napping, etc. while you have chemo. That’s pretty hard to do when you’re pounding down two 16 oz cups of ice chips. After the red poison, she hooked up another medication and got that started and left us alone. There was a man there with his wife when we came in. He waited a very long time for a doctor to come in; and we were almost done before he ever got started. Another older man who had a couple of visitors with him had a very long treatment. His friends or family brought him lunch, which he ate, while having chemo. Around the corner was a very young man all hooked up, and he appeared to sleep through it all. Maybe, no ice chips for him. Finally, when we were done, the nurse put a small bandage on the port area and then covered it with transparent bandages and said I could shower and whatever but to keep it covered for the seven days, as they had advised at the hospital the day before. We left. Susan went back to work, and I went home. I prepared for my evening university classes and left. When I say that I made it though chemo better than Susan did that could be because she doesn’t know my trick, the one about how that’s not really me undergoing all these things; it’s some alter ego that I’ve never met who could sit and chew ice chips and talk about Brainage on the DS while having poison inserted into her body through a whole in her arm. So, I understand from Susan’s dad that she called him while I was at my UNLV classes and demanded to know where exactly on campus I was so she could come over there and check on me. He denied knowledge of my whereabouts on campus and told her that he was sitting by the phone ready to come to my assistance if I needed it. We had agreed on that before I left for class; he could be there within minutes, if need be. The next night Susan did come to UNLV and sat through my classes with me. I introduced her as my daughter who was babysit
ting me. My students understood, because they are aware of my situation. I must admit it was comforting to have her there and know that if whatever happened, she could help me out. I think it is not something I should get used to though because I really need to feel that I can continue to function and do what I’ve always done on my own. One of my students turned to me and told me that her mother is an oncology nurse and she told her she couldn’t believe I had come to class the night before (the day of the chemo). So, I think the chemo had a profound effect on my daughter, Susan. I wish it didn’t. I wish I didn’t have to impose these horrendous experiences on the very people I spent my life protecting from horrendous experiences. That is one of the worse things about all of this…what it does to the people who love you…Next time, I’ll explain to Susan to send her alter ego like I do…then it’s all not only surreal, but unreal because it doesn’t really happen to you. I didn’t get physically sick from the chemo, but I certainly got something. I can’t explain it. I didn’t feel good. I didn’t feel right. I tried to drink a lot like the doctor said, but that was hard because I’m not a water drinker or even someone who constantly has to have liquid in their hands. Anyway, I drank as much as I could. I didn’t lose my appetite, but I looked for comfort foods. I found honey on crackers to be pretty rewarding. By the weekend, I was pretty tired. On Sunday, when we went to Starbucks, I knew I wasn’t all right when nothing sounded appealing, not even a vanilla bean or green tea frappuccino. When I literally could not decide on anything to order, I knew I should just go home; and I did. On Wednesday, the eighth day after my first chemo treatment, I knew when I got up that I felt more like myself than I had since the day of the treatment. I realized on that day how really pretty bad I had felt on all the previous days. On the day before I had to have blood drawn from the port. The nurse had some issues with it and said she was going to have to sting me to make sure that it got all cleaned up and didn’t get infected. She said I probably shouldn’t have kept it covered for all those days. Go figure. When she was through stinging me she philosophized about how when you’re in this situation getting poked and prodded is all part of the process. I wanted to say, “Is that all you’ve got? Remember the doctor who inserted four needles directly into the nipple? She couldn’t hold a candle to him. So, bring on the sting, lady; I’ve had worse than you. So that’s the story of my first chemo treatment. I don’t know if I have more than one alter ego or alternate personality, but I can tell you this…one of them better step up for the next treatment because I’m not doing it! When I leave the Institute after the next treatment,uh the same one can come along or another can take over, but I’m not doing those seven days following it either. I’m going to be at a Starbucks enjoying…you know what…not a tall, not a grande, but a damn Venti Vanilla Bean Frappucino and load on the whip! See you there… 

First, the Port Placement…

Jay cleared his calendar to escort me to Summerlin Hospital for the port placement. The port gets inserted into your arm to provide easy, continued access for administering chemo drugs, drawing blood, etc. I’ve now been to hospitals so many times that it’s getting to be old hat. I signed in and filled out paperwork. There was a very unhappy, loud man in the registration area. I think of things like that as being bad omens. We must, however, learn to not think of these things as bad luck or portents of bad things to come. It would seem that someone should have tried to address his needs or remove him to some other area where people are not already nervous for themselves or their loved ones about to go in for some surgical procedure. When I went into preop, the man in the area next to me was constantly moaning, as though in a lot of pain. Eventually, the nurse said he was there for the same procedure I was. I can’t imagine having to undergo a procedure when already in that much pain. Imagine how happy I was to hear that I could keep my underwear and sweat pants on. For every other procedure, no matter what part of my body, all clothing had to be removed. I felt as if this was a true gift, a good omen, keeping the bottom part of my body covered in my own clothes. I knew the IV was not going to go well, when the nurse kept swabbing and swabbing looking for a good vein. She decided on my right hand. I was correct; it did not go well. She totally hurt my hand and gave me a big bruise, first inserting the IV and then taking it out to look for a better spot. I could also tell that we would be running a little late since the man next to me was scheduled before me, and he had not gone by 10:00, which was my scheduled time. Jay and Joe came in and visited with me, while we waited. I have a new pink Nintendo DS, with a new Brainage game, of which I am truly enjoying the challenge. I showed Jay how to play, but I don’t think he had time for it. Finally, it was my turn to go. The doctor did not come and see me first; that seemed not quite right. Jay and Joe were shown where they could wait for me to come out of the procedure before being taken to recovery, where they would not be able to come in. I was wheeled into what looked like a cubby hole of a room with an office attached. I asked about the doctor, and they said, “Oh, here he is right here.” He introduced himself and turned back to his conversation with whoever was in the office. I almost wanted to ask, like are you kidding, this is where you’re going to do this procedure? But then came those familiar words, “As soon as you can, slide over on to the table.”…Those skinny little tables that allow the workers close access to you. The nurse was very nice. Some young assistant started preparing my arm; they said the drugs were coming; and I don’t remember much after that. I didn’t have an anesthesia to put me out, but the relaxing drugs did it anyway. I woke up feeling someone constantly pushing on my upper inner right arm. I asked how it was going, and they said they said they had about five minutes to go. I said it couldn’t have been forty minutes already, and someone responded that it had been 35 minutes. What I didn’t know at this time was that a lady from Jay’s work had told him that the port placement was the worse procedure she had endured, out of everything else. So, Jay and Joe were probably dreading what they were going to see when I passed them on my way to the recovery room. They must have been quite relieved when I seemed fine and asked Jay for my bag with the DS, ipod, and Gameboy in it. I had a huge bandage on my arm, but I felt fine. I played games and waited for the time to pass to go home. As the day wore on, and the numbness left my arm, it became quite uncomfortable. I took my trusty Extra Strength Tylenol and tried to sleep through the night, unable to turn right due to the port or left, still due to the mastectomy. The next day would be my first chemo treatment…things to look forward to…

Preparing for Chemo

I had two more chemo-related office visits this week. First, I was able to reschedule a visit to my dentist. It seems that it’s not recommended to have dental work while undergoing chemo. So, thank goodness, I got my teeth cleaned before I start. My dentist also gave my teeth a check-up. He had some suggestions for me…when my mouth gets dry (from chemo) and I want to suck on candy, choose sugar-free…good tip! It turns out that he went through chemo as a child and has never had a recurrence. He also said there were toothpastes, mouthwashes, etc. that are recommended for use. I already had some of those from the Cancer Institute Boutique. The other procedure was at the Institute…a MUGA scan. This test shows how my heart pumps blood. This was for baseline data because, evidently, chemo drugs can be damaging to the heart. Hmmm, my cardiologist is probably right…some day I’ll be back seeing him; and in the end, I’ll have a heart attack or stroke. My heart doctor has a warped sense of humor or a lousy bed-side manner; I’m not sure which. The last thing I wanted during the last week of school was one more test; but I didn’t have any choice. This routine is getting way to familiar. Go in and have an IV put in. Have something injected. Wait for 20 minutes. Go back in for more injections. Lay down on a table that’s as flat as a pancake. There is a 4×4 pillow, and they do put something under your bent knees to help the back. This time three electrodes were hooked up to my chest area. She said it would be from 10 to 20 minutes. I so hoped for 10. Be slid under the camera, and let the pictures begin. It got over soon enough, and I pulled myself together to go back to school. Next week, more things to look forward to…a port placement. I didn’t think that was such a big deal until I called the hospital and asked questions about it. Let’s see. Get there at 9:00, pre-register, pre-op, etc. 10:00 procedure, probably 45 minutes. Recovery Room for one hour. Bring a driver because of the drugs, oh, great…drugs…I don’t think I do that well coming out of drugs (based on my recent experiences). She said you can’t drive until the next day because if you had an accident, you could be arrested for DUI because of having those drugs in your system. I asked, but it’s o.k. to put this stuff in my body the day before chemo. Of course, she said that is fine. She said I will go home with a big bandage on my arm, with the access to the port there, ready for chemo the next day. I hope it’s not as bad as it sounds. I still can’t sleep on my left side. If this does in my right side…oh well, it’s not like I have a choice. Someday, I’ll look back on this and maybe not remember it or at least think of it as a minor interruption. The main thing is to get going with the chemo so I can begin to feel a little secure about no other cancer finding its way into some organ. Danette continues to inspire me. She recommended ice chips for during chemo and mint Mentos for later, if I feel queasy. Her get-through-it and get-on-with-life attitude helps keep me positive through all of this. I’m grateful for her friendship and support as well as all of the continued support I receive from the school community and beyond. 

Adoption

It’s official! Kim Y. has been adopted into the family. I signed the papers the other day. I think she wanted more than the “unofficially adopted” status. You can tell she fits right in. The other day, she and Ann brought in a basket of goodies to make up for me missing Teacher Appreciation Week. Kim asked if I could tell which two things she added to the basket. I knew within seconds that the pink rubber duckie was her idea. Then she pointed out her other contribution…Uncle John’s Ahh-Inspiring Bathroom Reader. Yep, she definitely fits with this family. In some of Teresa’s blog comments, I’m sensing a little sibling rivalry. No need for that…there’s plenty of love to go around…

New, Proud Mom.

Teresa,

I loved reading your blog about your move to the bay area. You really had been in the Reno area since you left for UNR in 1998; that was a long time. It must have been emotionally difficult, and I’m sure it still feels a little strange in your new place. Thinking back, I realized that until you went away to college, you had lived your whole life in the same house. That was not true for the rest of the family(except for Krista, of course). Let me tell you about the moves before you were born. In April, 1961 when your dad and I got married we moved into a studio apartment in East Hartford, CT. Your dad moved in first, just a little bit before the wedding, as we began to pay rent. I grew up in a pretty big house; that studio was sooooo small. There were actually large, accordion-type doors that opened and closed to separate the bedroom. In other words, it was really one large room. (I guess that’s what studio infers.) A couple of months later I was pregnant, and I convinced your dad that we could not fit a baby, much less all the paraphernalia that comes with one, into that little studio. So, we moved to the bottom half of a duplex house also in East Hartford. That was glorious. You actually had to raise your voice to call the other person who was in another room. The baby, Kathi, never saw the inside of the duplex. That was because before she was ever born, your dad got a new job that would take us to Poughkeepsie, NY in January. With Kathi due in February, My obstetrician said I should not move. In hindsight, that was ridiculous. I was 19 years old (19, Kathi!) and in good health. I should have gone with your father, but what did I know? So, for about three weeks, your father commuted. He drove to East Hartford every Friday night and back to Poughkeepsie on Sunday afternoon. You know, he always did like driving. I think he was attracted to me in the first place because we lived 60 miles from each other; and if we went on a date on the weekend, he drove 60 miles just to pick me up. Anyway, I digress from the moving story. For the last week of my first pregnancy your grandmother came and stayed with me in case I would go into labor. Thank goodness that didn’t happen. I’m not sure she could have handled it; and I was only 20 by then (and actually knew little of what to expect for labor and delivery.) One Friday night your dad arrived in East Hartford, and I conveniently went into labor. He drove me to the hospital in West Harford, and Kathi was born early Saturday morning. Interestingly enough, the first person, other than your father, to see Kathi was my father. He had never been particularly active in my life, having been divorced from my mother since I was three. He must have been overjoyed about the birth of his first grandchild to make the trip to West Hartford and be the first one there. When I checked out of the hospital, I went to stay with my mother until I would check back in with the doctor and be ready to move to Poughkeepsie. In the meantime, your father bought our first house, sight unseen by me. It turned out to be quite a darling little house, a model home, with lots of extra decorating. After three weeks, your dad, Kathi, and I moved to the new house in Poughkeepsie. On the way, we stopped in Torrington and had Kathi baptized in the church your father and his family had always attended. His brother and sister-in-law were the Godparents. We lived in our first house until shortly before Jay was born. Our next move was to Hyde Park, NY, because your father transferred to a job in Kingston. The new house was set way back on a country road with a virtual forest of pine trees for a back yard. We didn’t stay there long. Our next move was to a rental house in North Haven, CT. I think we were there for maybe two years. The owners decided to sell so we moved a few miles away to another rental. It was on a cul de sac, and we became friends with the neighbors. We didn’t stay there long either; your dad transferred a lot. Next, we were going to be on the move to Las Vegas. Jay was three then. I was two months pregnant. The movers came and boxed up everything in the house. I began to miscarry. The doctor said that I should not get on an airplane to make the move out west. Your father had to leave; he was driving one of our cars to Las Vegas (surprise that he was driving that far), and he had to be there to start his job on the intended date. Once again, I went home to my mother with three little kids in tow. I ended up in the hospital in my home town having a D & C. Due to the emotional trauma, I told your dad I couldn’t make the flight and move on my own with three little kids so he flew back, and we all then flew to Las Vegas together. I remember that we stayed in a motel called the Desert Rose for a day or two until our furniture arrived at the rental house (another house selected by your father, sight unseen by me). This was a tri-level house that we moved into in October. By April, the upstairs was so hot, it was unbearable, so your father began looking for another house. The next one we bought. It was in a nice neighborhood and had a 20 by 40 pool in the backyard. Four years later, we outgrew that house when John was born. We got by, crowded for awhile, and then your father found a repo house on the other side of town. The windows were all boarded up. I remember the first time we went to look at it, we could barely see because no light could get in. So, when John was 3 ½ we moved to the two story house on the corner lot, where you spent 18 years.

Just a little history of family moves…

Love,

Mom

A Good Weekend…

So far this is a good weekend. What could make it good? The further away you get from surgeries, doctors, labs, scans, etc., the better things get in your life. You begin to feel like yourself again. I had this discussion with Danette yesterday about the in-between times…like right now for me…I’m in-between procedures. I love Danette. She is a wonderful inspiration to me. She’s a cancer survivor, and she had it so young. She just had all her annual tests, and everything came up good. Yay! She understands the notion of the in-between times…the return to normalcy in your life even though you know there’s more stuff to come. During the in-between times you get to live life as you did before all this happened to you. In other words, you’re normal again. Danette said that my next move to chemo is all about prevention, that actually I’m cancer free right now…the cancer’s gone, and the chemo will make sure of it. I like her thinking! I’m getting ready to teach summer school at the university. That is one of my true joys in life. I’m preparing for two back-to-back classes that will meet Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday for five weeks. I love the preparation and the planning. One of the classes is a children’s lit class, my favorite. My first read-aloud is always Lottie’s Dream. It is the story of a woman who more than anything wanted to live near the ocean. Although life’s circumstances didn’t allow her to do that, she did all the right things, being a loving wife and mother; and for a time she gave up on her dream. Then, in her later years, she finally got to do what she always wanted to do…live by the sea. The book always makes me think of Dottie’s Dream to get a doctorate and become a university professor. I couldn’t quite make the professor title; but I did get the doctorate, and I do get to teach university classes. I could never complain about my life. I got to have those six phenomenal children. Then I went on to become a teacher, earn a doctorate, co-author a book, and then become a school administrator. I’ve already fit several lives into one. So, this weekend is an in-between time, and I feel normal. This next week I just have to visit my surgeon to make sure the infection is gone, and then, hopefully, I will get a few more in-between days. The following week I get the port inserted and start chemo. After that, I will be getting ready to wear my thick, full, red-highlighted, spiky wig. I hope that will not be as traumatic as it sounds. That little love of my life, J.J. called me this morning. I was talking to Susan and went off her call to answer his. He said something I didn’t understand at all, and I said I would call him back later. When his mom answered, she said he had been watching Dora the Explorer. On the show someone has said, “Hello Grandmother” in Spanish. That is what he was trying out on me when he called earlier. No wonder I didn’t know what he was saying. Isn’t that just the best part about a five-year-old…you just never know what they’re going to think of next.