Mom had her first chemo treatment yesterday. We arrived at the hospital at 10am, had an appointment with the doctor, and then were led into the chemo ward. It was a long room with a row of recliners along one wall, in front of windows that provided some nice sunlight. It was quiet, most of the chairs still empty, and mom chose one in the middle, with a plastic teddy bear sitting on the windowsill.
A nurse named Ariana came over and explained the procedure. She accessed the port that had been installed last week, and the flow of hydration and various scary chemicals began. Over the course of about three hours, there were two bags of fluid, a dose of ativan, a dose of a long-acting antiemetic, two types of chemo, and finally an anticoagulant to clear the port.
It was simultaneously totally uneventful and completely terrifying. Long hours - about six all told - of sitting, talking with various people, knitting, holding mom's hand, and watching things drip in tubes. Trying to push away the thought that I'm sitting there being supportive, watching my mom get willingly poisoned. Alternately not feeling much, and occasionally biting down tears as thoughts of the year to come refused to be ignored.
We went out to dinner afterwards at a Vietnamese restaurant that she likes, stopped at a pharmacy, and then went home. I escaped upstairs and hid in my old bedroom for a while when we got there, having temporarily reached the end of my ability to be an upright, functional adult. I called Aiden, barely managed not to burst into tears in his voicemail, then just lay there being blank for a while. Eventually I returned to the public space, made some tea, and read a book.
By 8:30, mom was clearly flagging, and went off to bed. I encouraged her to wake up during the night long enough to take her assigned antiemetic, since waking up for a few minutes would be infinitely better than waking up puking. I finished the movie we'd been watching, then went up to bed myself. Picking up my phone, I saw that I had 9 missed calls and several Facebook and text messages from Aiden and Shelby. Apparently I had worried them when I left my phone upstairs to charge and disappeared.
We chatted for a few minutes before I went to sleep. I was grateful to find that Aiden had left me a voicemail. I needed to hear his voice but was crying too hard to call.
I was up at 6 this morning, headed back to work. Mom called to me as I was leaving, and I went to check on her. She was smiling and said she felt okay except for some stomach cramps, and she had taken her medicine as directed. I gave her a kiss and headed out on a long, cold motorcycle ride back home. She looks okay now, but I know this is only the beginning of a long trek through a valley, and it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. I can smile through anything, and I will - she's depending on me for my positive attitude. But behind the face, I know I'm going to spend a lot of time taping up my heart.
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Thursday, September 18, 2014
The Itch and the Mustache
I have a three-year itch. I know, it's supposed to be seven, but try telling that to my high-energy, easily-bored subconscious. Status quo is not stimulating.
My latest need for upheaval centers around my employment and finances. I'm sick of this damn job, and I've got a plan to get out of it that centers dually around that inheritance check I mentioned and some lifestyle changes. I've been reading my way through the archives of a blog called Mr. Money Mustache (Financial Freedom Through Badassity) and charting my way out.
Here's my plan. I'm going to sell my car as soon as possible (yesterday would be great), pay off the loan, buy a cheap replacement car, and pour any leftover cash into my debts. When the Damn Check shows up, I'm going to pay off the rest of my debts (credit card and student loans), and invest anything that's left over. I'll keep working the 9-5 just long enough to build up a small cash cushion, then pay Shelby a few months' advance rent and move in with her and Aiden. I'm going to restart the webcomic I began in 2010, that by 2012 was paying me more than enough per month to cover the rent that Shelby requested.
Those are the major things. There are smaller ones, too, to help it all go forward. My motorcycle is finally fixed to the point where she's ready to be inspected, and I'm going to ride her as far into cold weather as I can handle. I'll install a 12V plug and get some heated gear (used, of course) and handgrips. She gets 60mpg...how can I not? I'm cooking almost all of my food myself now, and I don't really eat breakfast. I'm walking to work and biking to the grocery store. I'm telling Verizon to fuck off and replacing my phone with one from Republic Wireless.
I actually had nightmares last night that I bought things I didn't need, and felt a little silly when I woke up in a panic, trying to figure out how to return them.
I'm also geeking out about investing, learning about the different types of retirement accounts and rollovers and personal investing and interest rates and risk calculation, and and and...I love numbers. I really do.
The biggest day-to-day change will obviously be living with Aiden and Shelby. Shelby initially suggested the idea several months back, and I considered it lightly; it didn't seem like something I really wanted to do at the time. I saw it as an unnecessary upset to the relationship that would cause more problems than it would solve. I'm particular about my personal space, and I find it a difficult and time-consuming process to accustom myself to new roommates or housemates. I need my me-time to recharge, and I get grumpy and nasty when there's interference with that process. Even if Aiden, Shelby, and little Aiden were as quiet as my current roommate, it would still be three times the noise level I currently operate in. And none of them are that quiet.
Thinking about this potential issue yesterday, I had what appears to be a pretty brilliant idea, an image of what life could look like in this new situation, and now I'm excited. I have to separate my working hours and area from my non-working ones, and I have to be able to spend some time in my introvert bubble on a regular basis. I also know that I'm going to miss the mornings when I can get up early and have the house to myself...
...or not. If I combine those things, I can have all of the above. I can get up early, make my coffee, have the house to myself while everyone else is still asleep, and get started on my work. By the time everyone else gets up, I'll be holed up at my desk (what's currently a spare room will be mine for a drafting/music space). I can join Aiden and Shelby for breakfast, return to work when she goes to work, and then come out and be social when my work is done.
Have I mentioned I'm excited?
My latest need for upheaval centers around my employment and finances. I'm sick of this damn job, and I've got a plan to get out of it that centers dually around that inheritance check I mentioned and some lifestyle changes. I've been reading my way through the archives of a blog called Mr. Money Mustache (Financial Freedom Through Badassity) and charting my way out.
Here's my plan. I'm going to sell my car as soon as possible (yesterday would be great), pay off the loan, buy a cheap replacement car, and pour any leftover cash into my debts. When the Damn Check shows up, I'm going to pay off the rest of my debts (credit card and student loans), and invest anything that's left over. I'll keep working the 9-5 just long enough to build up a small cash cushion, then pay Shelby a few months' advance rent and move in with her and Aiden. I'm going to restart the webcomic I began in 2010, that by 2012 was paying me more than enough per month to cover the rent that Shelby requested.
Those are the major things. There are smaller ones, too, to help it all go forward. My motorcycle is finally fixed to the point where she's ready to be inspected, and I'm going to ride her as far into cold weather as I can handle. I'll install a 12V plug and get some heated gear (used, of course) and handgrips. She gets 60mpg...how can I not? I'm cooking almost all of my food myself now, and I don't really eat breakfast. I'm walking to work and biking to the grocery store. I'm telling Verizon to fuck off and replacing my phone with one from Republic Wireless.
I actually had nightmares last night that I bought things I didn't need, and felt a little silly when I woke up in a panic, trying to figure out how to return them.
I'm also geeking out about investing, learning about the different types of retirement accounts and rollovers and personal investing and interest rates and risk calculation, and and and...I love numbers. I really do.
The biggest day-to-day change will obviously be living with Aiden and Shelby. Shelby initially suggested the idea several months back, and I considered it lightly; it didn't seem like something I really wanted to do at the time. I saw it as an unnecessary upset to the relationship that would cause more problems than it would solve. I'm particular about my personal space, and I find it a difficult and time-consuming process to accustom myself to new roommates or housemates. I need my me-time to recharge, and I get grumpy and nasty when there's interference with that process. Even if Aiden, Shelby, and little Aiden were as quiet as my current roommate, it would still be three times the noise level I currently operate in. And none of them are that quiet.
Thinking about this potential issue yesterday, I had what appears to be a pretty brilliant idea, an image of what life could look like in this new situation, and now I'm excited. I have to separate my working hours and area from my non-working ones, and I have to be able to spend some time in my introvert bubble on a regular basis. I also know that I'm going to miss the mornings when I can get up early and have the house to myself...
...or not. If I combine those things, I can have all of the above. I can get up early, make my coffee, have the house to myself while everyone else is still asleep, and get started on my work. By the time everyone else gets up, I'll be holed up at my desk (what's currently a spare room will be mine for a drafting/music space). I can join Aiden and Shelby for breakfast, return to work when she goes to work, and then come out and be social when my work is done.
Have I mentioned I'm excited?
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Mom
When I was sixteen, my mother came home one day with a scary announcement: she had cancer. One of her breasts was full of calcifications, a condition called DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ). A surgeon had told her she needed a mastectomy, but she wasn't comfortable with that and was looking for other options.
Her search for other options became a complete lifestyle change. She went from being a fairly normal suburban mother in terms of her eating and living habits to being what I would call a hippie-dippie granola bar. She explored and read and talked to people, and became a born-again health nut. The emotionally-closed mother I had always known suddenly started getting in touch with her feelings and crying at random, and while I certainly couldn't blame her, it made me uncomfortable.
Then she started trying to get me on the bandwagon, and I ran like hell. Good luck telling your teenage daughter, who's full of her own angsty drama, that the way you brought her up was actually all wrong and now it needs to change. It became a point of pride for me that I could hide any and all of my emotions, no matter the situation, that I was as solid as a rock and absolutely unflappable. She alternately told me that she appreciated my cool head, and that I was going to do myself damage bottling all my feelings. I stuck to my guns. I was in a place in my life where I had no close friends, so I had no one to share with anyway. I became the sullen goth girl who floated through the halls at school, talking to no one, sharing nothing, slipping quietly into depression while no one watched.
Mom went to energy healers and naturopaths, who acted like therapists and helped her to see that my dad's addiction was poisonous to all of us. (Duh.) He grew angry with her for listening to "those crazy people" who were blaming him for all her problems. I listened to both sides, refusing to provide opinions or emotions to anyone.
The next time I heard about the cancer was the following year. We were on a family ski trip to Colorado with my then girlfriend, Petunia. My mom had made an appointment with some kind of natural healer out there. I wasn't sure what they were doing, and mom didn't want to talk about it. I could never tell whether she was shy about her treatments or whether she was trying not to burden me with information she felt I didn't need. Either way, I never pushed. And I don't think I ever heard about the cancer again. That was nine years ago.
Two weeks ago, mom called me and said we needed to talk. She had bad news, and wanted to tell me in person. We made plans to meet for dinner the following night, and I spent the next 24 hours freaking out about what could be wrong. All I could imagine was that the cancer was back. That was the only thing I could dig up from the past for use as a clue.
I was right. It turns out that the silence I had taken to mean as respite had actually been ignorance. The cancer is back, bigger and badder and more of a threat. It was never actually gone. She chose not to deal with it, and my faith that she wouldn't have made such a stupid choice simultaneously came to light and was destroyed.
Some test results came in a week later, and there's good news and bad. The good news is that it's not metastasized, which had been a concern due to a swollen lymph gland. The bad news is they are still recommending aggressive chemo as well as a mastectomy. Her next step is getting a second opinion and considering her options, and the way she said those things put me on edge. She is considering whether or not to do the chemo. If she chooses not to, I'm going to have a lot to say about that. She ignored it once, and while it is her body and her choice, I'm not just going to pretend it's fine if she tries to do that again. Look what happened last time.
Her search for other options became a complete lifestyle change. She went from being a fairly normal suburban mother in terms of her eating and living habits to being what I would call a hippie-dippie granola bar. She explored and read and talked to people, and became a born-again health nut. The emotionally-closed mother I had always known suddenly started getting in touch with her feelings and crying at random, and while I certainly couldn't blame her, it made me uncomfortable.
Then she started trying to get me on the bandwagon, and I ran like hell. Good luck telling your teenage daughter, who's full of her own angsty drama, that the way you brought her up was actually all wrong and now it needs to change. It became a point of pride for me that I could hide any and all of my emotions, no matter the situation, that I was as solid as a rock and absolutely unflappable. She alternately told me that she appreciated my cool head, and that I was going to do myself damage bottling all my feelings. I stuck to my guns. I was in a place in my life where I had no close friends, so I had no one to share with anyway. I became the sullen goth girl who floated through the halls at school, talking to no one, sharing nothing, slipping quietly into depression while no one watched.
Mom went to energy healers and naturopaths, who acted like therapists and helped her to see that my dad's addiction was poisonous to all of us. (Duh.) He grew angry with her for listening to "those crazy people" who were blaming him for all her problems. I listened to both sides, refusing to provide opinions or emotions to anyone.
The next time I heard about the cancer was the following year. We were on a family ski trip to Colorado with my then girlfriend, Petunia. My mom had made an appointment with some kind of natural healer out there. I wasn't sure what they were doing, and mom didn't want to talk about it. I could never tell whether she was shy about her treatments or whether she was trying not to burden me with information she felt I didn't need. Either way, I never pushed. And I don't think I ever heard about the cancer again. That was nine years ago.
Two weeks ago, mom called me and said we needed to talk. She had bad news, and wanted to tell me in person. We made plans to meet for dinner the following night, and I spent the next 24 hours freaking out about what could be wrong. All I could imagine was that the cancer was back. That was the only thing I could dig up from the past for use as a clue.
I was right. It turns out that the silence I had taken to mean as respite had actually been ignorance. The cancer is back, bigger and badder and more of a threat. It was never actually gone. She chose not to deal with it, and my faith that she wouldn't have made such a stupid choice simultaneously came to light and was destroyed.
Some test results came in a week later, and there's good news and bad. The good news is that it's not metastasized, which had been a concern due to a swollen lymph gland. The bad news is they are still recommending aggressive chemo as well as a mastectomy. Her next step is getting a second opinion and considering her options, and the way she said those things put me on edge. She is considering whether or not to do the chemo. If she chooses not to, I'm going to have a lot to say about that. She ignored it once, and while it is her body and her choice, I'm not just going to pretend it's fine if she tries to do that again. Look what happened last time.
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