moving forward

So I'm sitting here staring at the clock knowing that I need to be at work in seven hours. I'm freezing cold mostly because I won't turn the furnace on. It's just me tonight and somehow I can't see heating this whole house for one. I actually went and got a hat and put it on and that really helped. My white house sweater is a standard sleep item.

I can count on one hand how many migraines I've had in my life and last night was one of them. I couldn't see straight, couldn't get out of the car and didn't even respond to any questioning by my husband. I woke up this morning and his side was cold and undisturbed and I found out that he had spent the night on the couch so he wouldn't wake me. He is always doing sweet things like that - he even had all the dishes clean by the time I woke up - but I'm not sure an earthquake would have woken me last night. Somehow between Nick's wedding and being the winner two years in a row at the Brown Family Game Night, my head was lightyears away.

Tomorrow Marlo and I will be putting up the Cancer Center Christmas tree. It's purple for survivorship this year and I'm really hoping more people came through with donations. If not, our tree is gonna be lookin pretty Charlie Brown-ish (except for the part about it being 12 feet tall). I got enough ribbon to wrap around the building, so hopefully things will work out. It's Christmas - they can't not work out.

I was reading some old instant message conversations tonight and was rolling through the reel of emotions. I was laughing over old school conversations with my friends, smiling at old amusement park talks with my now-husband, and sad over other talks. I am a fixer and when I can't fix it, I'm upset. I wouldn't say I'm controlling and I'm probably the least competitive person you'll find. I want to be happy, content, and I'm not the person looking for the top bar of the corporate ladder. It's when I see people in pain that I think that maybe I can take some of that on. Maybe I can make it better. I feel worse when I can't. I'm not looking to save the world or save anyone for that matter. I just want to have a simple purpose in this earth-bound life.

I'm nearly embarrassed to say that Family Guy is in my top three for TV shows. There is something about Brian that is oddly soothing. Something about his voice and what he has to say. Funny with soothing mixed in. I can't believe I'm saying that about a cartoon dog.

Marriage has been extremely good to me, to us. I watched a good friend get married this weekend and I hope that they have a similar experience to what we've had. We are not the typical newlyweds in any way. Actually, we feel like we've been married forever and act as though we have been. I am still learning how to be a supportive wife, but he has the husband role down pat. Now that I'm home alone tonight I feel lost. I had to call him and ask him a few things. I take for granted that he's here to take care of us. It's almost as if I never lived alone for the four years that I did. I don't remember becoming so dependent but I certainly have. I think it's a co-dependency actually.

I play the dulcimer. I don't think there's one single person on this earth that would say "dulcimer player" if they were asked to describe me. It's a new thing I started this year and I love it. Music is really challenging but I need to learn to think in new ways. I miss the learning environment. I find myself gravitating toward faster, folksy tunes. I've played "Happy Land" to death lately.

I got some texts from a few friends over Thanksgiving. It made me realize how much we've grown apart in many ways. I miss all of them.

I read an entire Mitch Album book while my husband was breaking in his new Guitar Hero two nights ago. There are multiple people that I wish I could have One More Day with. I'm blessed with the ability to spend current days with many people I love.

Grown-up Christmas Want: Furry slippers from Brookstone and a Curves membership
Childish: trip to Disney in the next two or three years


Maybe in our blind belief can we ever find the truth.

I'm supposed to be making cookies right now but somehow I'm just not in the mood. We're having 19 people over tomorrow and I'm worried if that many people can actually fit in our home. We've been cleaning and cooking and getting ready for my family to visit. Tom and Lauren come home today, David and crew will be visiting, and the Pods will follow. Grandma, Grandpa, Mom, Dad & Scott are rounding out the bunch. Scott just broke up with Marguerite so she'll be absent from the family for the first time in years.

Last week I went to Grandma and Grandpa's house because they were giving me some Christmas materials. I arrived to 7 or 8 huge packed bags. I asked my grandma what all of this was and she told me it was all Christmas materials that she didn't need. Now normally Grandma's house is decked out in Christmas gear by the middle of October. There's no one in town that has it on Grandma in the Christmas department. I looked around and saw no decorations. Baffled, I asked her what she was using. She gave me a long look and said words that I'll never forget.

"I'm just too tired."

It took everything I had in that moment to keep it together...to not cry and hold her hoping that she would never leave if I just stood there and wished for her to be healthy. She showed me her tree and it's adorned with the white icicle lights you hang outside your house and silver garland. Not one ornament. I am not sure how to handle this. Grandma has always been the Christmas lady. She literally works all year on Christmas. I'm just not ready for the torch. Thanksgiving I can handle now, but Christmas will always be hers.

In these past two weeks I've had the opportunity to reconnect with two former friends. One has been my friend since we were 5 years old and we boarded the bus together. The other was new to Manchester in middle school and we also rode the bus together. It has been an honor to get to know these ladies' new lives. I told the latter how sorry I was for not being very nice during a volleyball game in middle school. She had absolutely no memory of it but it has plagued me for years. There are memories I have where I have been much less than kind that I wish I could make right. The time I told David on the drama club trip to Chicago really mean words, the time I made fun of my friend's hair behind her back to the loudest girls in the school, every time I shouted a name to make fun of these twin girls, the time I had a charm bracelet and I accidently made my friend Melanie with a large nose the elephant on my bracelet - I really didn't realize what I did but I still want to apologize. The time I made fun of this girl's breath when all she wanted was to be my friend. The time I'd go along with someone else rather than standing up for myself. The time I made fun of someone for what they were wearing when it's probably all they could afford. For all the times I could have been better, all the times I could have talked things out. For all the horrible misunderstandings and hard feelings. My version of heaven would allow me to atone for each one. It's probably a selfish thing to ask for, and maybe it's because the one person that's wronged me in the worst way never said he was sorry. The only peace I have is that he's no longer living and I was able to go to his calling hours and make sure he'd never hurt anyone else again. What he did haunts me in my sleep and even though I've never committed an act to that degree I wonder if what I've done has ever kept someone else up. That's my worst fear.

This is also the week that I found out I will be the Cattle Baron feature survivor. It is so much pressure that I nearly declined. We'll see what it brings in the coming months.

Don't be afraid to stand out. That's how the lost get found.

Today is the last full day I'll be 25 years old and I can't help but to look back at age 25 and see the changes that have happened in my life. I rung in my birthday with a physical at Summa and started my job a day later. I'm not sure if it feels like I've been there a whole year. It almost feels as though I've been there my whole life. In a way, I have been.

Age 25 brought a house, a car, and a marriage - in that order. There is nowhere else in the world I'd rather be than in our little cape cod on Mackinaw Avenue. There is something about the smell of coffee in our 1955 kitchen, sitting in my front room all alone with my dulcimer, or laying in my papisan chair in my sunroom that says home to me. I haven't felt at home since I lived on Donner Drive. We haven't done much - carpet in the sun room, repair of the fireplace - but we haven't needed to either. Our furniture doesn't match. We keep the heat down to keep the bills low. All our plants are immature. It is our first home and if there is something that I have the opportunity to learn each day from the patients, it's to find joy in each thing.

I've had plenty of time to reflect this year - time to learn how to be a better person, a better wife, a better daughter. I have chosen things for me to do in my freetime that bring me peace. I have also accepted that we all make mistakes - sometimes big ones, sometimes small ones - but it's inevitable that if mistakes can be made, we make them. I start to worry when some of the people at the Center talk about the mistakes they've made. I wonder if they're thinking about the time they have left to make restitution. I wonder if they talk about it to ease some of the guilt. When I think of my mistakes I don't think about the occasional D I received in college or the way I've neglected my health. I think about if I've taken enough time for my grandparents, if I tell my husband I love him enough, if I've treated my friends right. It is the human condition that I stay up worried about when I stare at my alarm clock at 1:30 a.m. I think about Mr. Linder and how he always said that he didn't have many friends. That same man made me homemade apple pies. I regret missing our last catch-up call and even moreso regret only knowing of his death from the Beacon Journal. No services were held, no place to make a donation. No long list of those that had survived him. A near absence of the human experience. That may not have been the result of mistakes for him, but I hope I have learned from my mistakes in a way where I will be able to love and be loved guilt-free.

Among the other things that have happened this past year include a trip to Charlotte, a trip to Houston, becoming elected to a national board of directors, learning how to play an instrument, going to the ER with the stomach flu, an extra 10 lbs, lots of roller coasters, an opportunity to speak to a college class, and many other memorable happenings. I hope that 26 brings me more opportunities to learn. Maybe it'll be an opportunity to learn the hard way; maybe an easier way. I hope for the same roof over our heads, new food in our cupboards, flowers in our beds, and the patience and chance to talk with someone each day. I hope I am able to right my wrongs, apologize to those I've crossed, and the ability to love deeply. They may be lullaby dreams, but I believe they can come true.

Don't let your light go down, don't let your fire go out.

At no point in my childhood did I say that I wanted to be the Coordinator of Guest Services and the Cancer Resource Library at Summa Health System. Most of my childhood I wanted to be a pilot or a news anchor. Occasionally it was a lawyer or a florist. At the end of high school, my dream was to be a nurse. Most of us find that we're working in professions that we didn't dream about when we were younger and most of us are in jobs that we didn't even know existed. When I tell people what I do, I usually define it as "patient education," but many folks still ask me what it is that I do and I find it hard to tell them because it's a job that changes by the day. I never have the same day twice. Sometimes that's exciting, other times it's frustrating because it's hard to predict. So, to actually explain my job, I'll give you a look at a day in my life.

Friday, September 4, 2009

5:15 am - Alarm goes off. Every day I start out with some sort of Republican talk radio program that I despise. I nudge my husband to get up - this is actually his wake-up call - and I ask myself why I'm listening to this because neither one of us are Republicans.

6:17 am -  My husband kisses me goodbye and I tell him to be safe. He thinks I get up at this point, but I don't. I'm back asleep in seconds, happy that the WNIR morning show is on now that it's past 6:00

6:40 am - I begrudgingly get up silently cursing the morning. I hope to make it to Starbucks or Panera on the way, but I always seem to be just on time. I never have those extra 10 minutes. I go downstairs and get a shower, make my way back up, turn on the Today show, and finish getting ready to leave the house no later than 7:42 am for my morning commute downtown.

8:52 am - I've answered my emails, filled my tumbler with tea, and have started working on my new HTML-based newsletter for the Cancer Center. A woman approaches my desk with a journal redemption coupon and she's wearing a Summa badge. She asks for a treatment planner for herself and I find that she's been recently diagnosed with breast cancer. I get the planner and show her how to use it quickly, recognizing that she's headed in to work. I wonder how she's going to think about anything else this morning knowing that if I were in that situation, I'd struggle.

10:05 am - I've seen this gentleman come in to the Center everyday for the past two weeks now. I know he is receiving radiation treatment, and each day he stops at my desk to tell me that "it could get anyone - even you." He has no idea I've been ill too. I understand his fear and surprise, but feel as though something is off. Most of what he says is heavily sprinkled with cursing and I suppose he's spoken like this for so long that he no longer recognizes it. He's somewhat unkempt and around his early 50s. A lady follows him - I haven't seen her before - and stops at my desk to ask me where she can find free resources. I talk with her for a little while and make sure she has pamphlets of helpful agencies. She tells me that the man is her son and that he suffers from lead poisoning. She goes on to say that he worked at a factory with excess dyes and now has lung cancer that has spread to his brain, shoulders, and spine. The woman is fearful that his lung will be removed and comments that he'll surely die because "we only have one lung." I assure her we have two. She can't believe it and wants to call her sister immediately. Instead, she starts a 15-minute long rant on the evils of modern medicine, drug companies, and "spineless scientists" who have the cure for cancer but won't make it known. She leaves when someone else stops at the desk and I make a note to refer her to our social worker.

10:27 am - A couple I've seen often at the Center approach my desk while the earlier lady is talking and ask about free September programming. After showing them the list and offering to enroll them, they sign up for the Passive Muscle Relaxation class taking place next week. Before they leave, the husband of the couple pulls out his harmonica and plays "Amazing Grace." I clap and those waiting in the lobby follow. I've heard him play before, but this is the first time he's played specifically for me.

11:17 am - I head upstairs to the Infusion suite to meet with a new patient. She is a sweet woman still largely unsure of what this experience will bring her. I offer the planner and other resources and leave by getting her a cup of coffee and a blanket.

11:48 am - Mr. Nicholas, one of the men that drives a Summa Shuttle, comes in with a bag of parking tokens. I take them and visit each suite with their individual deliveries like I do every day. There are nearly 200 tokens.

1:03 pm - I see my husband pull up in my little blue car in front of the Cancer Center. I lock my drawers, pull my desk door shut, and put out my "If no one is available..." sign. I hop in the car and we head to Subway for five dollar footlongs.

1:27 pm - My pager goes off. It's my boss. She tells me that I better leave early today since it's so beautiful outside. I agree and Joshua promptly takes me back to work, both of us hoping for an early start to a long weekend. I send a thank you to God for being lucky enough to have a boss to tell me to go home because it's nice out.

2:35 pm - I finish the HTML emails and the paper format of other fliers I've been working on. I send them off to my boss and Dr. Reimer for approval to send to Corporate Communications for publication. I finish up my notes on the Library's daily visitors and make sure that I've restocked the brochures.

3:37 pm - One of the nurses from Radiation Oncology approaches me asking me what we should do with the beautiful flowers brought in by one of our patients earlier in the week. This past Wednesday, a former patient brought in two dozen roses and I set them up in vases around the Center. I get them together, groom them, and tell her I'll pass them out to the patients. One by one, I visit each chair, give them a white rose, and offer coffee, tea, something else to drink, snacks, pillows, and blankets. They each smile - hardly able to believe that they are the recipient of a flower and I am happier than they are. They are all appreciative and I silently thank my friend that brought them in for this opportunity. I usually don't have flowers, but every evening at around this time, I visit each of the patients and get them and their families whatever they need. It is my favorite part of each day.

4:07 pm - I take the short walk to my Mazda5 in Lot H and begin the journey home knowing that I need to leave work at work. I'll return a few days later ready to see my friends with coffee, books, and parking tokens in hand.


Oh that's easy - it's because we're kindred spirits.

Last Wednesday morning I woke up feeling as though I had been disturbed by the deepest sleep I had ever had. I moped through my morning routine and found difficulty even getting dressed, into the car, and out to work. Throughout the day I was met with "how are you feeling" or "you look tired today" comments of well-meaning coworkers and patients, but all in all I just felt tired, not sick. I left work at about 5:00, dropped some balloons off at Stewart's Caring Place, and made my way home. Josh greeted me, but I told him I needed to lay down. Something wasn't quite right. The last thing from my mind was that I'd be in the ER two hours later with a nasty bout of the stomach flu.

If you've ever had the stomach flu you know that this is what true nightmares are made of. My lowest point was laying on the Emergency Room bathroom floor surrounded by my own vomit. I felt bad for the employee that had to clean up, but I tried my best to make it in the blue baggie they gave me at check-in. After 13 bouts of getting sick from both ends of the spectrum within 2 hours, I was feeling pretty depleted. Prescriptions in hand, Josh took me home at around midnight and I didn't leave my bed the entire next day. Friday went a little better and at about 2:00 in the afternoon I made it downstairs. I stayed awake parts of the day and was able to eat some applesauce. Saturday came and I had toast, two unbreaded chicken fingers, and a couple spoonfuls of rice. I woke up this morning feeling wonderful, nearly 90%, and was thrilled to come downstairs and see what Josh and I could enjoy together today. I looked in the guest room (where he's been sleeping since Wednesday) and there was no sign of him. I turned the corner and saw him in the family room laying on the couch clutching a trash can.

I think I feel the worst now knowing I gave my husband such a bad ordeal for the next few days. I went to Walgreens and asked some off hand advice from the pharmacist and while he told that he couldn't say it was okay for Josh to take my medications, he did tell me that his blood pressure medicine wouldn't interfere with the stomach flu prescriptions. I was grateful, hoping we could get ahead of this thing, and rushed home to make sure he had some liquids and medicine.

Married life is a funny thing. Love alone will not get you through it, at least not for us. You have to be partners - maybe best friends if you like that term - and you have to be willing to work together and sacrifice through everything. It isn't 50/50. It's 100/100. Since I was sick, I had to give up 16 hours of my PTO and now we have to cancel our Myrtle Beach vacation in September because I won't have enough hours off. That's big sacrifice on his part. In marriage you have to have discussions about what to do with the vine-ish flowers growing in the garden that's trying to wrap themselves around the other bushes. You have to talk about where to spend money and how. You have to take turn doing the dishes because there's no dishwasher and you have to get the other on the mend when they have the stomach flu. Stomach flu is a family affair, the highly contagious illness that sweeps through you with this nasty bite only to slowly creep away. It is times like this where I am the most upset because I am the most powerless. I cannot make him feel better no matter what I do and as his wife, that's my job. Here's to hoping we can empty the ginger ale and crackers from our cupboards and get back to life as quickly as the flu came in.

Is it a flower? I thought we planted flowers. No, it's a weed. I looked it up. It's a weed flower-maker.

I think at some point in our lives we meet someone who helps shape our self-image, both good and bad. We pick up their nuances, their tag lines, and sometimes even feel compelled to act the way they act or think the way they think. I met one of these people when I was young and they had a controlling influence over me for quite some time. They were a strong personality and I had gravitated toward that for years. I would bend over backwards to fit my schedule to this person's, my thoughts to theirs, while all the meanwhile just hoping - praying - to feel as their equal. Many of the decisions I made then I made with this person in mind, thinking that we were the closest of friends. At that time in my life, I didn't understand what mutual friendship meant, and felt that if I got to talk on the phone, then I was getting my share. I didn't recognize what many others saw and I often blew off loved ones' warnings and concerns. This person was physically around during trying times in my life and we made many good memories together. I often let those trump the ones where I was alone in my room upset over what had just transpired in the cases of my feelings being hurt. I didn't recognize controlling tendancies as such and I'm sure that other people could say the same.

I had believed that this person would unconditionally accept me. I had major differences, but if anyone could, it was this person. I remember the night before my third reconstructive surgery and this person refused to talk to me, refused to wish me good luck, because they believed I was doing it in vain. I vividly remember the day when I wasn't pretty enough, and somehow that made me not good enough either. I kept that close to heart for years.

After parting ways, I had a weight on my heart that just wouldn't disappear. Months later awful things had happened and I had turned to strangers for help rather than to my former companion. I was so confused and so hurt that I wasn't sure what to do. A month after a particularly difficult time, I met the man that became my husband several weeks ago. He helped me with a lot of those issues, but I was so afraid that there would be no way he could understand me if my former friend couldn't. Somehow he did and in time my former friend and I mended our fences.

It has been nearly a year since I've seen this former friend and months since we've spoken. I hear how they talk with other people or the friendships that have gone off the deep end and finally I can see with open eyes that this person is not someone healthy for my life. Years ago I might have said that they would always "hold a place in my life," but truthfully I don't want them to. We have gone separate ways for the better, and even if this person is reading this, I think they would agree. Even though we had spent some good times together these last few years, sometimes people grow apart and sometimes that's best.

I believe that there are different kinds of toxic relationships. Many in a loving capacity, but some in a way of friendship. Regardless, they are best left out at sea, no matter how hard it can be to break those strings. A lot of times, we think we'll sink if we cut bait, but most often it's our chance to swim. I think it is hardest when two people are so magnetic that they actually repel. I am watching someone I care about in that situation now.

Without trying to be, I think we can all have the potential to be toxic to someone else's life. I know that I have been and I trust that those people are leading fulfilled lives with me far off their radar.

Ten years ago today a CT scan found three cancerous tumors in my lung. Less than a week later I was the proud new owner of another scar - this one only 6 or 7 inches long. I can now recognize that I had never been more beautiful than I was that day nor have I been since.

Walk on, till fear turns to faith and faith becomes sight
Move on through the pain, move on to the place
Where weakness ends, where strength begins

I'm sitting in our family room watching my husband and his 10-year-old cousin battle it out on NCAA 2008 for PS2. I haven't touched a video game since playing Guitar Hero once last year and the only games I can manage to play are for systems that were developed when I was a child. Nick is spending the night and Josh is taking him to Cedar Point for the day. I feel myself entering mother mode - laying out towels and soap, making sure the cooler is ready with plenty of ice packs, and sitting on the sidelines cheering Nick on in his video game endeavors. I am enjoying the role of older cousin and hope that Nick and the rest of our many cousins enjoy coming over. It's as close to kids as I've been.

The last several weeks have been productive. We finished the guest bedroom and are three pictures away from finishing the office. I'm prepping the family room for the back wall's new paint (since we took down those ugly shelves) and I've spackled about half of it. We got some things in the attic, planted new plants and seeds, and layed the mulch. We even put in solar-powered lights for fun. With all that productivity, I've seen my family multiple times. Last night, Mom and Dad brought one of Mom's famous lasagnas over and it's going fast. We saw lots of Brown family members today at Nathan's graduation party and took wedding pictures - I can't believe it's been nearly a month already since we got married.

The month has brought a lot of special things, but sad things too. An entry wouldn't be complete without talking about my friends at City and many of them are doing okay. Sadly, I attended Mr. Lou's* calling hours a couple weeks ago. I sat with him and his wife in hospice on a Friday afternoon and he was non-responsive. She talked the whole time and seemed somewhat prepared, though I don't think you can ever prepare for the pending death of the man you've been in love with and married to for the past 52 years. I stayed for about 45 minutes, made sure she had the support she needed, and heard on Saturday that he died hours after I left. I was honored to be able to spend time with him in some of those last hours; we had spent so much time together since the end of last year. I hope that I'm able to give as much of myself to these families as I can with keeping enough back for me and my husband. I'm still learning how to balance and how to respond to people in a way where I can handle it emotionally.

On a side note, Five Guys Burgers and Fries is A+ awesome.

What, no lecture?
Nah, you're a big boy. But no gettin' on me if I'm not gettin' on you.

Before we headed to Charlotte on Thursday evening, we stopped in Tallmadge to attend Mr. Fisherman's* calling hours. His wife, Barb, called me Tuesday morning to let me know that he had passed during the night Monday. I had such a strong feeling over these last couple months that things wouldn't turn out well and as I looked at family photos around the funeral home, I wished even more and more that I had known him outside of the Center. He was one of my heroes and that is a word that I don't use easily. I have not seen Mrs. Carr* or Millie* and I haven't seen their children either. Millie's* son usually has some down-home, old-fashioned advice for me whenever I see him, and I'm missing out on my daily dose. Mr. Bear* is doing better - we are still counting down until June 2010 together for his 90th birthday. Actually, I think he'll make it. Mr. Lou* was entered into Summa Hospice on Friday and it is looking like the sad end to a long, 3 year battle. They are an amazing family who actually is connected to my family. They got us a kind wedding gift and I know that I'll always think of him when I see it. Another patient's wife made an absolutely stunning blanket for me and I'd use her name but forget what I call her on my blog. I've tried to call her a couple times since I missed her when she brought it in. I miss my hugs from her since her husband finished treatment. He has home care now and I miss them both dearly. I got into work 20 minutes early today since I couldn't wait to be there. Not being at the Center is like not being home - I miss my very extended family, patients and employees.

I can't believe the wedding is over. I posted pictures on Facebook today (and thank you to all of you for the beautifully kind words and well wishes) and it was fun to relive some of the poses again. My mom tells her friends that it was a fairy tale wedding from my dress to the little church and it really was. I'm looking forward to all these new beginnings - including the unpacking, dinner making, and lounging. This weekend looks perfect for planting flowers which I have been looking forward to since we put an offer on our house in January.

Friends here know that I love Starbucks mugs and find symbolism with them. I'm not sure if I've talked about this before, but if I buy a mug in your presence, that means I'm remembering the moment. For some reason, my mug collection takes me back to where I was when I got the mug, who I was with, or what I was up against at the time. I often use my mug that says "inspiring" on the inside when I'm stuck since I bought it when I was in a grad school Master's Project rut. I think I've psyched myself out thinking that it helps. I was hoping to find a mug this past weekend or last weekend to mark our wedding, but didn't get to a Starbucks. If you see a good one out there or have one, let me know. I've got giftcards :)

What do you say when they tell you those things?

Honestly, I say very little because I know that nothing I could say in that moment could make things any better. Nothing I could do would change anything. I listen. Think about the last time you talked to someone or wrote to someone about something heartbreaking or upsetting. Were you looking for an answer? A real answer? Even if you asked a question? Probably not; you just needed the peace that came with getting out what you needed to get out. Maybe you couldn't cry but needed to or maybe you just needed to process the pain you felt in that pivotal moment. It's where silence is broken and life is lived. It's emotion brought to life, not always to words, but to life, and that's why I'm here. You'll do fine when someone brings their moment to you. Just be there, because in actuality, that's all they're really looking for.

I'm marrying my best friend tomorrow. Today was my last day as a single girl, the last day I got to sign the name I was given at birth, and the last time conducting my day as "me" instead of "we." I feel very blessed that God has given me the gifts that He has - I have a beautiful home, a job that I love, and someone that loves me no matter how much I mess up or how goofy I look when I'm kicking back watching TV. We don't fight, he's consistent, and he's much more than I've ever deserved. I'm not sure why I get to love him.

Some of my friends at the hospital are doing well but others aren't. Mr. Fisherman* was sent to home hospice and I'm not even sure if he's still with us. Ellen* is doing wonderfully and today was her last day of chemo. We celebrated her very, very long road yesterday. Mrs. Carr* looks worse each time I see her and I hope that she can just work through each day as it comes. Millie* is doing well, but with her pancreatic ca diagnosis, I know that won't last long.

I stopped to pause tonight - just me thinking within myself - and I'm happy. I smiled. I'm at the right place in my life. There is no extra stress, no roller coaster of emotions, no tears. I don't have to wonder if my friends will disappear because of most of them have moved on to the next step in their lives and we're all still connected. Jen's in California, Claudia will soon follow to Seattle, but we stay in touch in our hearts and that's what counts. I stay connected in prayer and I am content with my life. That's actually a well-kept secret, contentment. I am so happy with what I have and I don't want or need any more. Not too many folks can say that truthfully but I'm blessed enough to be able to.

Almost doesn't count.
Love keeps no record of wrongs.

Add me to the masses that will miss Kutner on House. I, like probably many others, quickly Googled to see if Kal Penn was actually gone or just what the deal was. There are thousands posting online about how well they liked Kutner, how sorry they were to see him go, and while I'm glad that folks identify with characters online, I'm saddened to recognize the stark difference between losing a doctor on House and losing one of our patients. I've lost a lot of new friends over the past few months and I don't get to see those that mourn their loss. Maybe I see something on CarePages, maybe I'll get a note from one of their children, but for those of them that have left and for those that are on their way, there really isn't any closure. It happens similarly to how 13 and Foreman found Kutner - he's just gone. That's it. Little warning.

My pager goes off probably 10-12 times a day. Sometimes it's a water control issue or a code red drill, but today they threw a code blue for the Center. I ran upstairs to Suite 194, the Infusion Center, to find that one of our patients (that I was supposed to meet with that morning) stopped breathing because he was allergic to the chemotherapy. Doctors poured in. I asked the desk who coded and they didn't even know there was a code. He was rushed to the trauma center and I never heard word of how he was after that. It was his first day there. His first treatment. The beginning of an awful road.

My grandma passed six years ago today. No one has mentioned her. She led a life full of hurt, full of unprocessed pain, only sprinkled with occasional good times. She endured the loss of her parents as a child, raised her siblings, become pregnant and gave her baby away at 16, her husband left her only to come back a year later, and she played the role of full-time caretaker to my great-grandmother for over a dozen years. No one ever took care of her and today we can't even seem to mourn her passing appropriately. I drove by the cemetery today but wasn't quite able to go in. I'm not sure why. I even emailed with Grandpa a quick blip about us all thinking about her today, but he made no acknowledgement and instead talked about his next trip home with Melva. So many lives are forgotten, or maybe just not talked about. No one talks about Grandma, Tom Morneweck, Nichole Holly, Stephanie Stanley, or the deaths of my other friends that had shaped my childhood. Being with Josh keeps Tom alive for me, but I've lost my connections to the rest (with the exception of Stephanie's aunt). No one at the Center talks about Ruby, Mike, Andrea, Todd, Shirley, Susan, Jerry, or the many more we've lost the last couple months. I'm not sure if it's a learned defensive mechanism or perhaps each of us protecting our own hearts to be able to meet the needs of the new patients that walk through the door.

It is a hurt I don't yet understand how to process and one that I hope I'll never learn. For now I'm praying for the day when I'll leave work at work, but therein lies the problem. That's the day I'll need to get a new job.

Hi there, smiley girl.

For those of you that know me well, you know that A) I love my job and B) I don't get mad very often. However, today I was furious. I write a newsletter that is sent to literally thousands of people in electronic form and is given to hundreds in paper form. I take pride in my newsletter and make sure that I get the thumbs up from people in the know at Marketing before it's printed. Today my jaw hit the floor when they changed parts of my newsletter to include INCORRECT GRAMMAR. I am livid. I don't know what to do - do I keep what I had which was correct or do I print what Marketing gave me? If I don't print their version, I could get in some trouble. But I don't want thousands of people to see a piece of crap that many know is written by me. I have pointed this problem out to my boss who said that I should go with what looks best (i.e. mine). I appreciate those thoughts, but that still doesn't help when Marketing goes to put the newsletter live and it's not the one they sent back to me. Ugh, I have been sick over this the entire day. Plus, their "fixes" are inconsistent throughout the newsletter and extremely inconsistent from what they sent me last month. I have a headache thinking about it.

Secondly, I am thisclose to taking a day off just to sleep. I want to sleep all day and dream about relaxation, spas, and the like. I want one day away from questions about cancer, my wedding, about children, about my future, and about my house. Though I am excited over good things to come, I enjoy living in the now. I don't want to talk about children that may or may not come in the next five years. I don't want to talk about the fact that I don't have wedding colors. I want to lay in my bed with no alarm, no shower, no hair or makeup, and no people. I am never, ever alone. My only alone time is in my car and I cherish those brief moments, but then I'm usually on the phone in my car so I'm still not alone. Though I live, eat, and breathe oncology, sometimes I need to step away briefly. That's hard to do when so much of my identity circles around cancer. For one lousy day I just want to leave work when I'm supposed to leave, bring nothing home and leave work at work instead of in my head, come straight home without going anywhere else, and go to bed after eating a really good dinner that's not spaghetti, chili, chicken with rice, or pizza. We have those things seemingly every single week. There is usually one different meal that may be tacos, ham, or a different kind of chicken, but I am sick of the reruns. I'm not ungrateful and I am wildly blessed and fortunate to live in a beautiful home with an outstanding family. Some days I miss my life at Kent State when I answered to me, I went to bed alone, and I stayed up online because I could wake up at 9:30 and make it to work on time. I am excited for my new life too, but oncology is a heavy emotional load and sometimes I just need to lighten that up, especially with a new marriage and home on the horizon.

Maybe I just need to lighten up, period.

We'll be playmates and lovers and share our secret world.

I wish I was a better writer.

I'm sure that others experience this, but it's as if I have a running commentary in my head throughout the day. Sometimes it's smart and I may giggle at myself, but usually it's this stream of consciousness including words that I would like to go down in the book of my life. But somehow, it all melts away when I go to sit down at the computer and type. Maybe it's because I have nothing profound to share or maybe because the same things are on my mind that have always been there, but I'd like to think that I have something to share now that I would appreciate reading back in the future. Also, that's the problem with keeping all these thoughts online. I don't know when LiveJournal is going to have a bad year and stop their services, kinda like what happened with my Oprah journal. I had some really deep thoughts in that journal at trying points in my life, and sometimes I would like to look back and see what I was thinking about 8 years ago. Part of me remembers, but at a different level.

I am sure the issues I grapple with are shared by just about every human being. I usually want to blog about my lack of sleep, my job, my health, or whatever else seems pressing at the time. I'd like to think that I'm learning from my mistakes, but sometimes that's hard. It's that classic choice between carrots or chocolate. Carrots are good for you, you like them, they're timeless and make a good snack. People are proud of you for choosing carrots. Then there's chocolate. It's nearly forbidden but you can just close your eyes and taste chocolate and think about how much you'd rather have that, no matter how bad it is for you. No one ever dreams of carrots, but even commercials make chocolate seem ridiculously needed and satisfying. I have carrots and chocolate in my life in countless forms.

Other than grappling with normal issues, I also feel embarrassed and silly quite easily. For example, I'm pumped that Alex Cabot is back on SVU. Most people would have no idea what I was talking about if I said that and I would shy away. Similarly, I'm equally pumped that I can now watch free Lois and Clark episodes on my iPod touch. It's a stupid show and half the time I don't admit that I'm still into it. I think I still love it because I remember loving it growing up. I'm also embarrassed to say that I still read old conversations. Sometimes I laugh, sometimes the opposite, but at any rate it takes me back to the moment where I connected with someone, and those are even more precious now that some of those people are gone. Working at the Center keeps me in the moment and reminds me that a lot of times I'll only have one chance with someone. I've got to take advantage of that time.

I guess that's why I'm trying to write now, even if I'm no good.

It's like I'm driving it turned to the right the entire time. Only I'm not turning, just going straight on.

I'm not always a rational person. Actually, I tend to overreact when I'm not sure what to do and I usually choose something in the extreme. Didn't like my major? I changed it without thinking twice. My phone acts up? Got a new one. I tend to go with my gut at the time and even though I'm doing what I think is right, sometimes I should probably sit down and take a hard look at things. The problem is that I can't see anything when taking that hard look and those clouds get in the way of my judgment. I worry about everything - I am that chronic worrier that people can't stand and in the same token I'm the people-pleaser that would do anything for a nod of approval.

Now, I have water in my basement. Not a lot, but enough to seriously make me mad. It's actually making me more sick than mad and the worst part is that I have absolutely no clue what to do about it. My first instinct is to have waterproofing experts give me estimates, and I find myself boiling over while listening to my dad say that I should "wait and see." Wait and see? Wait and see? Wait for the water to fill up my basement to see the results?! In actuality there is probably about 12 oz of water on the floor. It's as if someone took a water bottle and emptied it out onto the floor. But the problem is that the basement is finished (except carpet) and I cannot tell how much water is behind the wall. It just seeps out of the bottom of the trim and onto the floor. I called the seller who had absolutely no helpful advice and I found out that our home warranty won't cover it. If it doesn't cover foundation issues, what in the world does it cover?

I'm now almost thinking that I have bad karma going on but then realize that I haven't talked to God about my water intrusion issue. If He is able to give me my dream job, then maybe He has some ideas or blessings regarding my wet basement. Maybe this is my needle in a grouping of hard things lately - Mike's passing, others at the Center having trouble, the attractive softball-sized bruise I'm sporting, and ridiculously frequent periods (sorry for the TMI). Truth also be told, I miss a couple close friends very, very much. Regardless of if they now live with their new husband in California or if they have moved on to a new stage in their life that I'm not a part of, I miss them terribly. I do have plenty of joy right now. My new house is beautiful and I love everything besides the water in the basement. I'm so blessed and it's not that I want more, but I would like some wisdom. I believe that a lot of people that work at the Center think I'm easy going, and for once I would like to be that person that they perceive me to be. But then again, wisdom comes with experience, with age, with being faced with big decisions for the first time in your life.

Today is also March 9th - my quasianniversary. We made a huge decision 15 years ago and I've made a lot of other subsequent decisions about my health since then. Somehow answering scary questions about cancer isn't so scary to me, but only because I've done it. I've been there. I've heard those words and walked in those shoes. These homeowner shoes are new and uncomfortable but maybe I'll need to start breaking them in on my basement floor. Maybe they're watershoes.

Does it bother you that we don't have a social contract?

Mike died yesterday. I knew he was done at Summa - there was nothing else we could do for him - and I think everyone knew it wasn't getting any better when the Cleveland Clinic canceled the stem cell work. The chemo quit working. The same stupid ICE protocol treatment that I had. The exact same drugs in the same amounts. I've sat with Mike on many occasions, but we always had a hard time really connecting. I think it's because I knew deep down that he wasn't going to make it out. He was only 22. We were facebook friends. I've mentioned him here before, but I used his real name even though I *ed it. We talked about ICE, about college, about being young, about skiing or whatever else. It all started because I found his hat one day. I'm starting to lose count on how many we've lost recently and I have a feeling that Mr. Fisherman* is next. We had a nice long talk today (and his wife too) and it's so hard to swallow that I know the end is here. He is not due in until March 17th and I really hope that I see him that day. He told me today that I was his hero and I think it took me more strength than I thought possible to not hug him and cry. Instead, I told him he was mine too (and it's the truth) while he laid in bed receiving his treatment. I'll post Mike's obituary once it comes out.

I didn't even get to go down the hill.

I am in crazy need of a vacation. I need to be somewhere warm, somewhere exactly like Clearwater Beach last October. I need to be in the relaxed zone where I can sleep all evening and all night and wake up around 9:00 and enjoy a cup of coffee and a perfect morning dew. I have a basically stress-free life as it is right now, but I'm so jealous when I think of sun coming down and warming my face. I would have a relaxation shindig on my iPod and I would lay there all by myself with no phone, no anything but water, my blanket, and the world. This is what my dreams should be made of - I'm tired of the crashes instead. In all honesty, there's no place I'd rather be than at the Cancer Center, but sometimes I wish I could just roadtrip for a long weekend to the beach. I know Blue is up for it.

I found this letter from the me of 2006 to the me of 2009. It was nuts and assumed that I may be a mother at this time. It's interesting what I was worried about and even more interesting over what type of advice I thought I'd give myself. I should write one to the me of 2012. I wonder if I'll be much different. I might be, but my heart will be the same.

By the way, we're homeowners. And mortgage owners by the same token. Scary! We have a sleeper sofa, so good friends are welcome day or night.

I always dream about this, but now it's really happening.

Mr. Fisherman* found out today that he has mets to the liver. That now makes lung, shoulder, hip, spine, and liver involvement. I have gotten to know his family so well that I wish I could just tell them to take him home. To enjoy the life he still has. That surrendering is sometimes the hardest thing to do. If it were my grandma, my grandpa, or someone I dearly love, that's what I'd do. I don't say that - I listen and encourage if they want to fight - but I've made the decision for myself that if I hear the 6 letter c-word again, I'm done. It's so hard to remember the man I met in December and to reconsile that with the man that is now full of radiation, chemo, and everything else under the sun. His eyes haven't changed, but about everything else has. But, today was the lady with the short wig's last day of radiation and the nurses got together some clothes for our homeless friend with no teeth. He really wanted some jello today and I was happy to get some for him. Tough day for our families.

Doctors are an interesting breed. I'm not sure if it's just my lady doctor or doctors in general, but they do a real good job of not telling you what's going on because largely they don't know. I think they're saving their own behind. I called on Tuesday to ask about the results of my testing. Other than some fluid around my uterus (joy) and other things that are of the "eh, whatever" variety, I got the standard "we're not sure where to go from here. Why don't you ask your oncologist?"

Great. That's just what I want to do. Ask my oncologist who is no longer my oncologist. I don't even have one right now because mine left the Late Effects program and I haven't seen a new one. Even being 10 years out isn't good enough. I was looking for a real answer - like, "it's normal" or "we may need to conduct another test." Not, "plz talk to your oncologist." The tech that conducted my ultrasound let me watch and when she showed me what was up on the screen, I felt like I was in some episode of a weird show that tracks women that are not pregnant. Like Anti-A Baby Story. She showed me the uterus and it was black. Totally and completely empty. It was actually a little sad since people looking at  ultrasounds of a tummy usually expect a little one to be crawling around. Mine was vacant and it tugged at me a little. I wondered if anyone would ever live in there and might have had a few tears after she left the room. I didn't know if I'd ever get a chance to see that part of me again.

I thought it was my floor.

I'm having my first pelvic ultrasound tomorrow. This is one of the few procedures that I actually haven't had during my frequent flyer days and since I told one of the nurses that I was going in, the department now thinks I'm pregnant. Several have had the guts to ask - which I love - because they look at me with that inquiring face and just speak the scary words: "are you expecting?" I give them a definitive "no" and would like to hunt down whoever told. They are all lovingly supportive and since our department is literally 100% women, things like this come along. Now that the pregnancy thing is out of the way, I've been able to show them the huge rash that's graced my abdomen for the last week and a half and ask them all kinds of bizzaro questions. They continue with "are you sure you're not pregnant?" to which I reply that I'm 200% positive that there is no way on God's earth that I am. They're satisfied with my answer and get back to answering my stupid questions. My doctor thinks it could just be ovarian cysts. I have heard since I was 17 that I might not be able to get pregnant easily and that the period of time where I can get pregnant will probably be pretty small. Those issues have given me plenty of reason to pause over the recent years to consider whether or not I really did want biological children at all. Would I give them something funky? Could I endanger them? Would I even be a good mother?

These last couple years I've held firm that I did not want children. That they weren't in the cards for me. This was largely why Josh and I broke up - he wanted them and I was just certain that I couldn't provide. Things have a way of ironing themselves out, but given the multitude of health issues I've had since the middle of December, it's hard to see a happy ending here. I have known for a long time that these weird days could come, and if I'm honest with myself, it was really starting far, far before December. I was too embarrassed to say anything to anyone, even those I loved the most, and only recently did it become scary enough for me to call someone about it. Over the past year or so I've heavily fretted with trusted friends over my ability to be a parent. I have learned that a lot of what happens in your life has to happen at a certain time for your life's story to be accurately written. If I'm not able to have children, I have to trust that there's a reason behind that. Vice versa also applies.

as I'm puttin' out the flame, somebody brings up your name
baby, baby, baby, bring me down

I hate mornings. Actually, that's an understatement. I really hate everything about mornings. Breakfast food is good, but only after 10:00 am. I can't believe my snooze button isn't completely worn out. I hit it so much every morning that I really credit whoever made my clock. My body is in complete and absolute sluggish mode until about 9:30. Now, I love my job. I really love my job. But it almost scares me that I could fall asleep on my way in each morning. I can actually feel myself start to drift off on the roads. I start to get those stupid thoughts that lead to dreams and I muster up whatever it is in me to stay awake. I am a night owl and I know it. Every morning I say "I'm going to bed at 7:00 tonight and it's going to be absolutely awesome." And then here I am at 11:30, wide-eyed and bushy tailed and praying that morning will come a little later tomorrow.

I got a call today from Kelly* who I've talked about on this blog before. She's coming in for chemo on Monday and wanted to make sure some of her friends would be in that day. She started telling me about the baking she's doing and how she wanted to make chocolates for Andrea since Andrea would only eat chocolates and because she knew Andrea was scheduled for chemo for Monday. Kelly sounded so excited. It broke my heart to tell her that Andrea died on Valentines Day in Akron City's hospice while she was surrounded by her family. Gone at 29, cancer claims another one of us. I'm sure I broke some sort of HIPAA rule, but somehow things are different when it comes to oncology.

For the duration of the evening, I'm whooped. I think it's because I give 250% at work each day. I want to rest when I get home because I'm still carrying the issues of day around in my heart. As tired as I am each morning, at least I still get to wake up.


There's another one. Touch crazy, but doable.

I don't usually write about me. Mostly it has to do with my interactions at work and a lot of my current life didn't look like this a year ago. Actually, almost nothing but my looks have stayed the same. I love my life at the Center and there really is no way to describe loving your job to the depths that I do. It as if this job explains my childhood - it gives reason behind every tear, every frustration, each drop of chemo, and my identity as a survivor. I couldn't have put my job down in words if given the opportunity. I'm still not sure what I did to deserve this job and sometimes I don't think that I deserve to be this happy. It is almost as if I'm around family (the kind of family that you like) all day, every day. For those that know me, until now I have had this bubble around me with very, very few people making physical contact. There were a very special few that I let somewhat close, but I'm generally very physically protective -especially of my chest. But now, I hug everyone. I get daily hugs from several people. Older people hold on to you, they hug you or grab your hand or need your arm to get in and out of wheelchairs. They aren't afraid to touch and I think that's making me more human everyday.

Older women love to ask me about my wedding. I think I can see a bit of disappointment when I tell them that less than 20 people will be there. They are wide-eyed when I say that I have no dress, no photographer, no cake, no honeymoon, and hardly any plans. "But aren't you months away?" I reply that I am while telling them it's almost like going to the courthouse but not. A traditional wedding isn't in the cards for me. Maybe it's the economy, maybe it's because I'm tightfisted, or maybe it's because I'm tired of being the center of attention. There is maybe 1% of me that thinks about the poofy dress, the songs, the napkins with two names together, but I'm brought back to reality quickly realizing that I didn't have a traditional engagement, I didn't want to spend that money, and instead we bought a house. I love my house and as soon as the ladies know about my cute light gray house with black shutters and a bright red door, we switch topics. They all say the same thing - "aw, do you have curtains picked out?" If only they knew how long it took for me to get to the point of needing curtains.

I finally feel settled with who I am. This is me - an almost-married cancer survivor who is just trying to make good decisions like the rest of the single ladies out there. I've made mistakes, tons of them, but I've followed my heart along the way. Last August I figured that by now I'd hopefully be working in Arizona at the Cancer Treatment Centers of America. I thought I would be leading an altogether different life than the one I had or the one I actually have now. I had an apartment complex picked out near Goodyear, AZ and had good feelings about moving forward with the job opportunity. Sometimes I think about that as I round the corner from Perkins to Arch Street every morning as I head into work. The moment I turn that corner I see the large, black letters on our building that read "Jean & Milton Cooper Cancer Center." No matter what I have seemed to plan for myself, no matter what opportunities I've pursued, no matter where flights or dreams have taken me, I've ended up where I need to be. There was a plan bigger than I could have ever known for myself and it started over 15 years ago. I trust that plans like that are made for all of us and I look forward to unwrapping the rest of mine.

Gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight
Won't somebody help me chase the shadows away?
Take me through the darkness to the break of the day.

 

God took Ruby on her journey Home today in our Cancer Center. Just yesterday I wrote how happy I was that she was alive and today she left us right before her scheduled radiation treatment. She was our first death in the Center and the first in outpatient oncology in many years at Summa. I already miss her dearly. The code blue call is still on my pager. I wish I still had that rubber foot.

Susan's obituary was in the paper today. A beautiful woman that I had the pleasure of knowing and meeting just a week or so ago. I talked with her the other day for about 15 minutes before wheeling her out to the car that was there to pick her up and waved goodbye. I do that a lot. But I never know when it'll be the last time.

It's been cold out but we had a few victories, too. Today was two people's final days of radiation and I hugged their respective children. One family celebrated with balloons and breakfast; the other with tears and gratitude. Monday is Marilyn*'s last day.

The road is long,
There are mountains in our way,
But yet we'll climb still higher everyday,
Lord lift us up where we belong.

In Memory of Friends Recently Lost
~ Jerry Huckels, Todd Kennedy, Susan Serves, & Ruby Combs