I thank You

I have started this post many times. Each a little different and unfocused.  But then I found this on my fb newsfeed and knew it was what I needed to start with...

There's so much I could say, but that, above, says it in such a simple way.  I have much gratitude for you and so this post is dedicated to you..

I want to focus on where I am as I type this because I didn't plan on being here.  On Monday, the 17th, I sat on a shady porch in Ann Arbor and enjoyed a cup o' joe and a croissant. I had just left the Cancer Center a few minutes earlier with the parting words from my oncologist of "Pretend like it never happened."  Really?! Yes, that's what he said.  And he accepts that it would be difficult but I have survived 5 years post diagnosis and treatment and have remained in remission... I have beaten odds and along the way managed to grow my family by having a baby born on the exact day, three years after I collapsed, grown in understanding and grown immensely in what you all are familiar with - faith, hope and love.

When my birthday came this year, S threw me a surprise party.  It was great, I was completely thrown off and clueless of what I was walking into when I walked through my mud room door.  But there stood my family and friends and I was completely taken aback with the love.  As tradition, we say a prayer before eating. And usually I handoff to S but this was my day.  So we held hands and bowed our heads.  I started with "Dear God, thank you for..." I started crying as I talked about how grateful I was to see another birthday and then it hit me...it never occurred to me that I would ever see 40.  In the years of treatment and recovery, I honestly didn't think about it.  I always said I wanted to be around to see my kids grow up, get married and have their own families, but it was never in relation to concrete age and time...does that make  any sense?

But that's where it becomes very clear because instead of focusing on the number, I think I did okay by living in the moments that I was afforded.  Gratitude became far more important and intentional.  Not many people can say they were blessed to have people who would've done anything to help.  As private as I am, the experience taught me lessons I couldn't otherwise learn.  I learned to share and be more open.  I learned that being vulnerable was okay.  I learned that in the midst of chaos, pain, self-pity and loneliness, there was always something more, something greater, and I was grateful.

I am in a season of transition.  I feel the shift in the air.  Not moving away from the gratitude, but embracing it even more.  The people who surround me life me in ways I had not really understood.  Prime example was last week, sitting around a former student's kitchen table, surrounded by my former students who, at the time of my illness and treatment, raised the bar of expectations for my program and took care of me through their relentless drive to make sure that even though I wasn't there at work, I really was there at work (say what?)  :)  I never really knew how much they meant to me, until that moment, surrounded by them all these years later, laughing and talking about their daily lives and the future.  

So back to Monday, in the midst of my reveling in this news from my doctor, I sat, trying to hold back the fear.  What fear?  The one that grew because I was given the clearance to return to myself.  The problem I saw was where and who was I now?  I have been defined by my cancer since October 6, 2007.  What now?  All events leading up to the moment of me sitting in the shade, enjoying that breeze, were calculated and part of my story.  My transition has seamlessly been weaving through the days, weeks and months previous.  

I know...I know that I should've known (and I did at times)...but sometimes I'm a little hard-headed and stubborn.  It's hard for me to accept that I do good things, am good at things and am capable of making great things happen.  I'm much more confident in admitting that now, just as I have learned that I need to really let people know that.  Fear can strike many people down.  And I realize that my gratitude towards Him is what holds me together, keeps me strong and pushes me forward.  

Did I just raise your expectations of me now?  Yeah, I kind of dug myself into hole, didn't I?  But, again, I'm okay with that.  Because I need to be accountable for ensuring that all that proceeds from this point on, is purposeful, intentional, and Cristina-ish.  :)  I may never truly be able to "pretend like it never happened" but I can sure use it as a catapult to get me to the next level.  

Thank you for being by my side all these years (yes, the tears already started as I typed that).  Thank you for believing in my ability to overcome and be strong.  I've slipped many times through the years but you've never let me fall and there aren't enough words to express the gratitude for that.  

This picture was taken a couple of years ago, but these faces are my stronghold.  Being a wife and mother, that's who I am.  Being a daughter and sister, that's who I am.  Being an aunt, niece, cousin and friend, that's who I am.  I am a child of God and He has bestowed blessings and grace upon my life.  Luke 12:48 "To whom much is given, much will be required"...I have always known that if I survived, continued to survive beyond the treatment days, I would be expected to hold up my end of the deal.  And so time has continued to move for me so let us commence with yet another chapter in my life. 

The above is what I see whenever I turn my phone on.  It's powerful for me and has caused me to reframe my thoughts, especially when I am in the midst of falling apart.  I find it appropriate to share with you because that is the message you have helped me learn all these years...

~c

return to the middle

I've decided to return here, to this space.  I need it for many reasons...the most is for the release of words that get stuck on the inside, words that eat away at my being and my core.  Although that seems a bit dramatic, I can only speak truth lately because I am too tired to make things seem okay..

Mother's Day 2013 has come and gone.  It was a nice day albeit cold.  I had my husband, kids, mom and in-laws.  Wow, that's rather impressive now that I type all that.  In the end, it was a good day but no different than any other.  I still cooked, cleaned, and washed clothes.  I saw messages of good cheer and happiness on fb.  I returned those that were sent to me.

And then I saw the article that someone had shared, the one that voiced the thoughts and feelings I had much more eloquently than I could have.  Because to be honest, I would have gone on a tirade about how annoying mother's day really is and what bs it was (see how I need a better way of releasing the words?).  I mean for one day a mother gets celebrated for the tireless work that goes on in a years time?  But of course, there are mothers who make sure that they get their props on a regular basis.  I am clearly not one of them.

I digress, though, because this article talked about the forced smiles that some of us have.  The joy that covers the sadness within.  Sadness from the loss that we have had.  And I was really okay with the article, until someone pointed out specifically the three wonderful kids I have...and I felt the pain in my stomach of the one I lost.  The tears are welling up as I type this.  And what hurts more?  Not even two weeks ago, I held a newborn in my arms and today I just got a message that someone is pregnant.  And I am happy for them.  Because I know they have suffered losses too.  But it doesn't take away or diminish the loss I experienced.

Sounds like I'm ungrateful for what I have.  And I'm not because I treasure and thank God every night for my blessings.  I feel more like a failure than anything because I couldn't provide the environment for that little one to grow.  As a mother, that's like one of the ultimate failures because isn't that what a mother is supposed to do?

And so I return here, to provide myself space to think through things and work through the struggles I find myself getting caught up in on a daily basis.  The work-life balance doesn't exist and I have accepted that.  But there's a point where I should be at least okay with the imbalance that I have, right?

waiting. done.

Logic sucks.  And yet we cannot really run away from it.  In some ways, feelings suck too.  Guess it's all relative.  In the past couple weeks, I have had to weigh heavily on which I could rely on regarding my waiting game.

Another appointment after the last post still left me unsure.  Even more emotional.  Angry.  Lost.  She is probably a really good doctor, but I felt no reassurance from her.  As we walked out of the office, I saw the doctor that delivered E.  I popped my head in to say 'hello'.  He turns and greets us and then asks what our visit was for.  So in we go, into his office, door closed, and we tell him where we are at.  Let me say that he is the husband of my original OB, who has since left the practice to pursue another venture.  His nature has always been one that puts a person to ease and I was so glad that he was the one to deliver E.  So we shared out story..and then he shared theirs where they had a miscarriage on their first pregnancy before they got their two.  The sharing of that story brought a feeling that I can't explain - possibly the point of him trying to make the connection, to lessen the feeling of being alone that made an impact.

So off we go to discuss some more.  Time is not our friend as we approach the holiday season and vacation.  From the conversation with Dr. L. we realize that assurance and understanding is key to our decision making.  I request another bloodtest to check the numbers.  At least if the numbers were going down, I knew it was close.  Instead when I call to get results, I get the reply that she needs to call me back as she can't interpret the numbers.  I should have known from that point something was wrong but I was giving her the benefit of the doubt.  Doctor ends up calling me herself.  The numbers are high, not the direction that I had expected.  Of course there is explanation for it.  The nurse went ahead and scheduled an ultrasound for me based on her own conversation with S.  As much as this doctor didn't think it was necessary, I went to the ultrasound.  I finally saw the empty sac.  I cried.  It had continued to grow and now measured 8 weeks and 5 days.

To see a tv screen that I have watched through the years show me each of my babies, I felt dejected to see that sac just empty.  But I needed that confirmation.  I needed to see it for myself.  It would have a miracle to see anything else in there, but I do believe in them...but not this time.

Friday I called the nurse to tell her to put me on the schedule for either Monday or Tuesday as later in the week didn't work with the kids schedule and the nearness of the holidays.  I wanted Dr. L. but he was already booked solid for Monday.  I was scheduled for the new doctor.  The nurse already knew I needed to meet her so she scheduled the appointment before I spoke with her.  I had many hopes that I would be able to call on Monday and cancel everything.  Nothing.  So frustrating.

I met the doctor Monday afternoon.  Matter of fact answers.  Inflection in the appropriate spots.  Although I didn't know her, I was okay with it.  Maybe it was best that she didn't know me either.

My original surgical time was 2:30 Tuesday.  I was bumped up to 10:30.  As we drove down Woodward, all I could think of was the day we drove down to have E.  Such a different thing to know that we were not going there to have a baby.  We checked in a little before 8:30 at the Cancer Center (yeah, I laughed...of all places, the alternative surgical suite was in that building..talk about feeling like I was getting kicked in the shins).  In the hour of so that I was alone in the pre-op, I think I was pretty okay.  The only times I shed tears were when I would see the procedure listed on the paperwork I had to sign.  Dilalation and cutterage with suction for an empty sac.  Uggg.  She finally came.  She met S.  She asked if we wanted to send the tissue to be examined.  I started to cry.  I felt her hand on my leg, rubbing it to say it was okay.  I cried some more.  Somebody please wake me up from this nightmare!  Apparently they could possibly determine why it was not viable.  He didn't want it.  Part of me did...I needed answers.  I told her no.  Anesthesia started to work.  I remember him kissing me and then nothing until I was trying to wake up.

11:24 I saw on the clock.  Nurse said I had been there for about 30 minutes already so it had gone quickly. I was just glad I was waking up on my own for once.  I was calm.  I didn't cry.  They got him.  He looked relieved to see me.  After that things moved quickly.  Changing.  Leaving.  Driving away and leaving a part of me there.  I slept most of the afternoon.  Back to normal activities with the kids when they got home.

I don't know what will happen the next few days.  I have to move forward for my kids and family.  December 18, 2012 - another marker day in my life.  I think I have way too many marker days for someone my age...but I guess that would be totally on-point for me then, eh?

waiting

They say patience is a virtue.  I've never been good at the waiting game.  But I've been waiting...it will be a week tomorrow.  In many ways I don't want to publish this post.  I think I have accepted my fate, but I still haven't really.  I guess the longer my wait, the more I try to make those deals with God that are fruitless, but they are human reactions.

So what's with the ambiguity about?  Why am I so vague?  Because the flip side is that I have not accepted my fate.  Last Tuesday, I was by a calendar, nine weeks and five days pregnant.  Did I say that?  Yes, I said that.  Last week, I was to head into my first (and last) OB appointment.  I was nervous.  I wasn't ready.  I had figured the worst that would come from it was that we were going to have multiples.  Instead, I received the complete opposite.  No multiples.  An empty sac measuring seven weeks and a five days.  ((exhale))

So where do I go from that?  That was not the diagnosis I was expecting.  I was expecting the actual due date.  I was expecting the pictures.  I was expecting that we were going to devise this plan of sharing the news with the family...

I was relatively calm.  I think I was more in shock than anything.  I rationalized, internalized, and rationalized some more.  I did my usual.  I shrunk into myself and wanted to hide.  I felt like a failure.  I felt rejected.  I felt bewilderment.  Only when I felt his hands squeeze my leg did I even let out a whimper and then a tear escaped from the corners of my eyes.

I am a board member at UMCC for their Patient and Family Advisory Board.  I was at a meeting the other evening and was listening to the story of one of the other members.  She is the sister of the patient.  Her sister's story was the story that I had feared when I learned of my diagnosis.  A mother of three kids under the age of 10 at the time, with stage IV cancer.  She was terminal, which was not my fate, but something that haunts me to this day.  And then to top it off, I learned that she had lost a daughter at 2 weeks to cancer....really devastating as I recalled my own fears when I learned that E was on her way.  That night would have been her sister's 51st birthday....

We painted the living room and family room over the weekend.  He pulled the piano away from the wall and there was my poster signed by family and friends my celebration of life party after treatment.  I turned away from it quickly as I felt the tears sting.  The emotions of that time just rushed forward.  I would think that I would have moved on and yet I still feel like I'm standing still.  The tears still burn, the pain still reverberates in my bones,  my breath still goes shallow and my chest tightens.  Why can I not get beyond this??

I am a five year survivor.  Five years.  I have been blessed over and over, everyday.  And then I get hit with the pain that others have - this member's sister story, A's daily turmoil, story upon story of those who have lost and I realize that I have not done enough, no where near.  I have drowned in my own sorrow each time.  Yes, I feel pathetic...

I stayed beyond the meeting end to help a staff member with a project she was doing.  She was creating a video for her advocacy class.  On white boards that we were to hold up, we were to write what we wished we had known during our treatment.  My sign simply stated "I wish I had known more than I was told."  That statement was simple, yet holds so much.  There is still much I don't know.  And honestly, sometimes I don't want to know more.  A double-edged sword.

selfish

Dictionary.com defines the following:

self·ish

   [sel-fish]  Show IPA

adjective

1.

devoted to or caring only for oneself; concerned primarily with one's own interests, benefits, welfare, etc., regardless of others.

2.

characterized by or manifesting concern or care only for oneself: selfish motives.

The reason I'm talking about it?  Because that's what I was called today.  I scoffed at it when I heard it.  I actually laughed inside and thought that I had been called worst things.  But to see this definition here...well, it sucks to see it, but I don't think I can deny the truth of it.  I shrug my shoulders and accept it.  What more can I do?

I'm sentimental.  I keep things for sentimental reasons.  I have not thrown away my cancer files yet because I am not ready.  [Although, they may have been thrown out already, in which case, I can go back to being bent out of shape because I am selfish.]  I have many things that are the kids things (notes/pictures they've drawn me, things they've made, etc.) because they did those things.  Hell, I even found a box of rose petals that came from a bouquet that he had given me in years past.  Well, if I were actually organized, I would have a spot for all those things.  Unfortunately, life happens and with that, I don't get organized and it gets everywhere.

My basement is full of stuff.  You can still see the floor, but there's stuff everywhere.  I get in moments where I do go down there and clean it up.  Those moments are few in between.  I don't deny telling him to go down there and just start cleaning...I just don't think I told him to start going through my stuff and throwing my things out.  Why?  Because I wouldn't say something like that because I know how I am.  But of course, that's what happened.  And yes, I'm upset.  I'm furious.  I could care less about the work stuff that gets thrown out, I'm mad because of the things that are sentimental to me.

And let me preface this with this:  I am extremely emotional right now.  Hormonally I am a train-wreck just by that.  But truly, I've been sad all day because it's my grandfather's birthday.  I had a rough time with N today as he was emotional and sad, which is not like him.  My mother is ill and can't really take care of E anymore.  Saturday is E's second birthday, which means it's been five years for me.  Five frickin' years.  I had thought that at some point, these anniversaries, or birthdays as they call it, would get easier.  It doesn't.  I had thought that it would just be always be happy because it is E's birthday and I am so glad that it's her day..but I'm selfish, so of course, I would cast a shadow on that.  I'm bitter right now.  I'm angry.  Frustrated.  Tired.  Selfish.

Every year, around this time, I fall apart.  Dammit.  I don't expect pity.  I expect understanding.  But instead, I usually get the 'get over it' thing, it's been x years now.  It ain't that easy.  I hold on to things because I fear never having the chance again of having A write me note or N to draw me a picture or E to trace her hand.  I fear that the ticket stubs to that Tigers game that imprints the great day we had with the kids will forever be lost because I can't pull those memories because I can't remember and need the triggers of these little things to help me.

Gahh.  This post is totally everywhere.  That's how I feel but I suppose that doesn't help me with much.  I started this off to laugh at the notion that I was selfish.  Me, selfish?  Really?  I don't do much for myself, I don't know how to be by myself when I have time for myself, I try to make everyone happy.  Awesome to know that that equates to being selfish.  Obviously it's time to go back to therapy.  I'm totally screwed up.  I actually felt good a few days ago because I thought that I was headed in the right direction.  Yeah, good joke on me, right?  Actually, since I wrote this whole post about me, guess it must be true.  Because if I really cared about someone outside of myself, I wouldn't spent this whole time talking about me.

'Twas the Night Before Kindergarten, 2nd edition

Dear Noa,

You are sound asleep in your bed. I watch over you as you hold onto your new tiger friend, as you breathe deep and burrow into your pillow. I am amazed at how much you've grown. And I hope you continue to learn, everyday, just how much I am proud of you, how I think the world of you, how I love you.

It's only been on a couple occasions that you have implied that you are a little bit nervous. At those moments I realize that you are still a little person, despite how big we all know you to be. At those moments, I realize that I still have a chance to feel your little arms wrap around me for just a moment longer, that your shy smile really is your armor, and that your strength really is so very strong. You are your own little man even though you try so hard to do everything your big brother does. I already know that you're figuring that out...I see you watching, learning and growing with your brother.

I think you are excited to be in the same school with him. I think you two will be better friends. I hope that you two are able to be strong for one another, to lift each other on not so good days, and celebrate one another on those really great days. And at the end of all those days, your little sister will be peeking out the car window looking and waiting for you, smiling and pointing as soon as she sees you.

I don't know how to tell you that I'm so glad to be able to see you go to kindergarten. I'm not really ready though. Part of me just wants to keep you really close in my arms. But I know you're ready to keep growing...and I want you to keep stretching. You are such a great kid! I can't wait to hear about your day when I come to get you. I can't wait to see all the things you'll do and learn this year.

Remember that I am always here for you. More importantly, remember that God loves you and He is always with you.

Love,
Mom

is enough enough?

There comes a point and time when I’ve had enough – enough of being tired, of thinking, of fixing, of saying yes to things that I want to say no to, of yelling, of cursing, of curling up and balling my eyes out, of feeling the strain on my back from the different muscles that ache from the duress, of staring at the wall, of staring at a computer screen, of scrolling through emails that only talk about more things that I have to do and get done, of…of…of…

I am there.

As I type this, my surroundings include the sound of a little girl telling her mom about which playscape she is about to conquer.  I hear the buzz of insects as they communicate their plans.  The numerous amount of flying bugs are my co-workers as they flit about my laptop screen and strewn papers.  My desk is a poly-wood picnic table.  My light is natural from way up above.  And my ceiling sways in the gentle breeze.  Nice, eh?  Yeah.  I thought so too.  That’s why I decided that my office needed to connect today.  It needed to breathe.  Because sometime, that’s what we need to find a little bit of motivation to keep going, to complete a thought (wish it could be the thought and maybe I had it but didn’t realize it was the thought), to recharge even for a moment, to determine that what I do really is worth it. 

Honestly I wish I had my kids with me.  Just beyond my laptop screen is the sandbox that the boys love to play in.  Trucks are waiting to be filled with sand.  The digger is itching to be used.  To the right, the swings sway ever so gently, wanting a little person to sit in the worn seat and let the recognized squeak speak.  I realize how much time I have lost with my kids when I sit here.  Those days of being tired and not taking time off so that they can run in places like this makes me sad.  I came here because it is familiar.  I haven’t been here since the boys were probably 6 and 2.  After treatment.  I laid on a bench and looked up, never truly seeing how beautiful the leaves were and how dynamic the light filtered through the spaces as they protected this little play-yard.

Fast forward to today…the breaths I take are heavy and labored.  The need to hold my head between my hands and stop the urge to cry are strong.  I’ve reached my point of enough.  I’m stretched to be successful, to be it all, to be superwoman, and I.am.not.able.  Being here reminds me of all the things that I want to have for my kids.  I am sad.  So that is the topping on the cake, I guess.  Not only do I feel overwhelmed at work, I now am overwhelmed by the things that I have yet to achieve for my family.  The ability to have my boys just walk down to this park and run off their steam.  For them to ride their bikes beyond the driveway.

Sometimes I wish I could ride my own bike beyond the driveway...