Cancer Ever After

Musings on Infertility, Adoption, Parenthood and Cancer

Nectar of the Gods

So far, the worst part of treatment has been managing the side effects from the medicines. At this point, I think you could say my side effects have side effects. One of my biggest challenges is getting enough liquid in.

I have a complicated medical history and getting enough liquid in was an issue prior to treatment for a variety of reasons. With chemo, this has gone from a small problem of “I can barely get enough liquid in,” to a crisis of epic proportions.

Two of the possible complications from the medicine are constipation and diarrhea. Maintaining a healthy amount of liquids is paramount to maintaining a balance between these.

I guess you could say my inability to drink anything has led me to the bowels of despair.

What? Not funny? Trust me, if you were my bowels over the past week you’d be howling with laughter over this. I just spent $50 on a variety of medicines my doctor thinks will turn my bowels into an obedient child, and am now on “bowel watch.” That’s right, folks, my BMs are so important that I get to check in every other day until we find the magical mixture to balance the pendulum.

Thank you, chemo, I didn’t already talk about shit enough in my life.

Oh, wait? Was it just this morning that two little girls shouted “Poopie butt–hee, hee, hee” across the table at each other? I guess I do talk about poop plenty already. Since I’m already obsessed with the daily BMs of three people, why not add a fourth to the mix? At least I’m not in diapers.

Back to liquid. Water tastes disgusting. I can’t drink anything carbonated. Flavored waters have always grossed me out. Gatorade–depends on the day. Ice-cold seems to help. Don’t ask me why, but cold seems to mask the flavor.

And now I’ve found it: the nectar of the gods. McDonald’s iced tea. Just enough flavor to mask the dead raccoons/metallic blech in my mouth, and not enough flavor to cause my nausea to turn into a full-body rejection.

If you need to find me during the next four months, I’ll be in line–at McDonald’s.

 

mcd

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The Fight of My Life

The battle lay before me, and I tried to steel myself.  Tim and I looked at each other and reached out to hold hands.  You could visibility see ourselves gird our loins.  It’s a battle we fight nightly these days.

It didn’t use to be this way.  Before.

Bedtime.

Before the twins turned two, bedtime was a bit of peace after a hard day at work.  It was something we looked forward to.  Bedtime meant singing and cuddles and then my girls crawling obediently into bed, while I went and rocked the baby to sleep.

These days, bedtime has turned into a war of wills. If we don’t time it perfectly, there is a battle over getting dressed, getting hair brushed, brushing teeth, taking a bath, not taking a bath, reading another story, rocking, not rocking, mommy singing, mommy not singing.  Anything is game depending on the moods of my little dainty dictators.

Last night was a doozy.  I misjudged the level of exhaustion in my children (Baby H was simply not tired, H and P1 were ridiculously overtired.) This simple misjudgment turned the three minutes of getting jammies on into a 30 minute battle of wills with tears, hairpulling and over-the-top wails.

For ease, one of us usually takes Baby H while the other does bedtime with the twins. Normally this isn’t an issue.  However, our twins have taken it into their heads to pick which parent is theirs.  I’m P1’s, Daddy is H’s.  On a rough night like last night, there are meltdowns if each kid doesn’t have “their” parent rocking them for bedtime.  Queue meltdown.

Bedtime was 60 excruciating minutes of tough love, comforting, rocking and trying to get a very untired baby to sleep.  We both were completely wiped by 9:00 p.m.  How that hell are we going to manage this if I’m sick?

These days happen.Bbedtime is sometimes a breeze, and some days it’s the seventh level of hell.  That’s life with a toddler. Their moods change faster than the wind.  This is my worry and my fear.  Normally, I reach deep and try to maintain calm in the midst of all of this chaos.  I’m not sure I can do this if I’m nauseous, exhausted (more so than the norm), or in pain.

Time will tell.

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“Mommy are you tired?”

My heart broke the first time I heard these words from one of my children. Even though the surgeries have been small, they’ve taken their toll. I’ve been tired, been under lift restrictions (no more than 10 pounds), and on some days, been simply wiped in the evening when I normally play with the kids.

This won’t be the last time I hear this, but hearing it for the first made me want to cry. We were simply sitting at breakfast, doing our normal morning routine of laughter and chaos. I wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. I think H was asking to gauge my mood for the day. When I said, “No, Mommy isn’t tired,” she gave me the biggest smile.

I know that I’ve been more short-tempered in the evening. Two-year-olds can be trying on a good day. Potty-training twin two-year-olds while going through a cancer diagnosis has proven to be trying on both my husband and me. Would we have been this irritable and lose our cool this often without all of the medical mumbo-jumbo going on? I’d like to think no, but it’s hard to say how much cancer is changing our parenting and personalities.

H has noticed the most. She’s my watcher and observes everything. She asks questions obsessively to see if there is going to be a change in our routine. “Mommy go doctor again?”, “Mommy still have owie?”, “Mommy hurt?”, “Mommy not happy?”

We’ve already began to notice some behavioral changes over the past week. H has been solid on the potty-training for a while and though that still seems to be going well, she’s just more clingy. She keeps asking to be rocked and held. She now holds back and stays next to me when I do drop-off at daycare instead of running to her friends. Normally, I would assume she was sick, but we aren’t seeing any signs of that. We think she just senses a change is in the air and needs reassurance.

Baby H struggles with Mommy not always being able to hold him. And hitting my port constantly. He’s learning to walk and if I’m not ever-vigilant, he will, without fail, hurl himself hands-first on my port and I can’t help but yelp in pain (which confuses him and often makes him cry). Luckily, the scar is healing and this is no longer excruciating.

Outside of dying, these changes are my biggest fear. I fear not being the parent I want to be because I’m simply out of reserves. I can’t wait to get my first chemo session under my belt so that I can figure out how we make my treatment seem seamless to the kids while using friends and families to distract them from the normal things Mommy isn’t doing that day.

I know they are resilient and I take comfort in the fact that they are too young to remember me going through this, but I’m their mom. I worry.

 

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Is Nanny body out there?

I totally and completely lost my shit at work today.  When I heard what our daycare had to say, I thanked them, hung up the phone, and then just burst into tears.  I think I’ve mentioned it before, but I’m not a pretty crier.  Nor am I a quiet one.  I tried to stay quiet as I cried uncontrollably.

Don’t worry, they were happy tears.  The last few weeks have been hell.  Evening meetings, 6 weeks of work to complete in one, getting a million little things ready for baby, and nanny interviews.  A TON of Nanny interviews.  I’ve gone through at least 30 applications, set-up interviews with 11, and even made two offers.  At yet, somehow, we still have no nanny.  Despite our best efforts, we just haven’t found that magic combo.  We even broke down and enlisted the aid of a nanny placement agency. Still no luck.

The constant interview rotation, all the phone calls to schedule, juggling nanny-finding in between work, attorney calls, paperwork, and trying to finish our adoption classes has been tough.  And I’m angry because I’m not finding enough time to just enjoy my girls before the baby gets here.  We don’t have that many days left that we can just go to the park with the four of us.  I want to make sure we all get to enjoy a few things while they are still the center of our world.  They’ll still be at the center later, but an infant will be sharing that space.

Queue the phone call.  Out of sheer desperation and frustration I asked our daycare if there was any chance they’d have an infant opening in May.  We know we can’t afford it, but when it comes to our children, can we afford to not have them in proper care? We’ve been tossing around plan B’s and plan C’s all week.  In fact, I think we might be onto plan T at this point. We could let a few of our loans default, one of us could quit our job, I could extend my leave and take some unpaid time off, we could try an in-home for the baby and keep the girls in the center or we could go into debt paying to keep them in the center.

This phone call changed everything. I was calling to confirm how much it would be to have all three in the center. I needed to know if this option even stayed on the list of possibilities.  “We have a scholarship program that you may want to apply for. I think you would have a good chance at getting one.” I thanked the director and hung up.  The answer isn’t definite, we don’t even know how much the scholarship would be for, but it may mean that it’s possible to keep the girls in the center and the baby could join them.  This would be amazing.  One of my hesitations through this process has been pulling the girls out of a place where they have blossomed.  The teaching evaluator that comes to our home is extremely impressed by their development and verbal skills as well as physical milestones. I’d like to think part of this is us, but I also know part of this is the daycare that they spend 40 hours a week at.

For me, this option is ideal.  We get the reliability we need and they stay in a place that helps them learn and grow.  We know we’re comfortable leaving an infant in their care, because we’ve already had two there. So tonight, I’ll write an essay. I’ll hope it’s a good one and I’ll wish for the best.

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A Much Needed Break

The Sunday after our Pancake Feed, Tim and I declared it an official family day.  Every single evening has been filled with lists of to do’s for the last month.  First it was the home study and filling out pages of questions, we spend lunch hours tracking down legal documents, and then try to promote our event. In the evening we’d creep out to visit places to hang flyers or try to find another way to get the word out.

We have been running in circles trying to accomplish so much in so little time.  Our regular items like laundry, cooking, and cleaning that we do in the evenings has crept into our time with the girls.  I don’t like this.  I don’t want to have to worry about getting laundry done during the evening hours that I have with them. I want to be able to enjoy story time, watch them play on the slide, and play patty cake. I want to chase them up and down the hallway playing monster.  Heck, we even play fetch with our girls. The dog won’t play fetch, so why not play it with them? For some reason, they think it’s the best game ever.  The dog– not so much.

Sunday was a rare day. All of the prepping for the home study allowed us to get completely caught up for once. Meals cooked for the week- done. Diapers washed and stuffed – done. (Yes, we use cloth) House clean- completely!  Sunday became our funday. We hung out in jammies until noon. We chased each other up and down the hall, we pretended to talk on the phone to one another, we “cooked” but this time it was in the play kitchen and we made asparagus and wooden block soup.  Anything the girls could stack on or in something, we played with it.

Even better, we sang.  My girls love to sing. We sang Itsy Bitsy Spider, I’m a Little Teapot, Row Row Row Your Boat and more. If I could think of the song, we sang it together making up motions for the song as we went.  Then we all danced in the kitchen together and exchanged sloppy kisses and group hugs.

My girls now think it’s hilarious to kiss one another. They pucker up their lips so big and will lay the sloppiest, wettest kiss on you.  It’s incredibly gross and incredibly wonderful all at the same time. Each kiss, each hug, each giggle reminded us why we are working late into the night. It reminded us why we are pursuing this adoption. We love our girls so much, and we have room in our hearts for one more.  We can’t wait until our fundays include juggling a baby while watching the girls be silly or try to climb on chairs. We have no doubt that they will teach him the word “No!” or how to play in the dogs water dish.

We can’t wait.

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