Things You Should Know About

So I don't often share different events on my blog, but there are a few things I want to share with you.

First of, open sign-ups for Camp Kesem are taking place right now!

What is Camp Kesem? you ask. Well, I will tell you! Camp Kesem is a non-profit camp run through local colleges and universities for children who have a parent who had/have cancer.

What does that mean? you ask. Well, it means that Camp Kesem is run by very enthusiastic and wonderful college students. Kids who attend it, attend for free. It is at no cost to the family. There are locations all across the US. And it's a place where kids can go to have a lot of fun, but also to connect to other kids who know what it is like when mom and/or dad have cancer.

Let's face it, cancer is stressful on the whole family. And often times kids don't have a place to turn or none of their good friends have been in that situation so it can feel awkward to share. Cue Camp Kesem.

My kids have attended three years, and will be attending their fourth this summer. And we are SO happy we found it. If Camp Kesem isn't a fit for your family, feel free to share it with others who might need it!

Second, many places are having auditions for Listen To Your Mother (LTYM) right now!

This includes my sweet home of Chicago!

What is Listen To Your Mother? you ask. LTYM is a live stage show that takes place in 41 cities. It is people getting on stage and reading an essay that they've written about motherhood.

I was in Chicago's first Listen To Your Mother show and it was awesome. This year, I'm trying out. I'm nervous because I haven't tried since that first year. But whatever happens, I will be thrilled to see it back in Chicago.

In case you are wondering:
No, you don't have to be a mother. (You can write about your mother or mother figure in your life.)
No, you don't have to be a professional writer. (I was in the show, so that should clear that up!)
No, you don't have to be a blogger.
No, you don't have to be a public speaker.

All you have to do is have a story to share, put it to paper, and be willing to read it to an audience.

If you want to submit a piece for the Chicago show, it must be done by February 5. So get to writing. And if you don't want to be in the show, then mark your calendar for May 1 and go be a part of the audience supporting those on stage!

Side note: If you aren't in the Chicago area, go here to see if a LTYM show is coming near you. If you click on the city name, you should be able to get audition and show information! I'd like to round up all the info for you, but can't commit to that right now!

Third, Chicago is getting a new kids camp this summer: Galileo Innovation Camps. They look pretty fun, and the camps have been in other parts of the country before, but this will be their first summer in Chicago. You can head on over to my TheMakerMom's blog to get more info on it. I'm definitely thinking about putting Mister 10 in it. I think he'd have a blast!

Alright, I think that's about everything to share with you for the moment. Let me know if you sign kids up for camp, or are headed out to a LTYM show!

My 9 Year Old Gets It ....

Sometimes, okay - too much of the time, I feel badly for my kids.

I wish they had a healthier mom who struggles with less things.

I also realize this is an irrational thought. I can't control it, they can't control it, and it's not like other families out there don't have their own struggles - their own up and down moments.

I also realize that I'm not the only mom who feels not good enough. What's that saying? Behind every kid is a mom who thinks she's doing it all wrong? Or something like that.

Still, this is how I feel and I struggle with it.

I suppose my kids will learn empathy and compassion, and might be better able to help someone else who is dealing with similar issues. This is a good thing. They are learning, and they are understanding.

This is the hardest with my 9 year old. He doesn't really remember me from before cancer. This bothers me. I know in time the other two may not remember a before and after either, as childhood memories morph together and become just a bit fuzzy with time.

But he was 5 when I got cancer - and not very far into 5.

Tonight at his baseball game (in which he played quite well if I brag for a few moments) I had an allergic reaction to something. No, I don't know what, and yes, I'd probably be willing to pay you pretty much anything if you knew what it was!

 We got home and he said to me "It's pretty strange that you would get an allergic reaction like that and we don't know why"

Yep, I agreed it is. Then I said my body is just sensitive and works differently then some other people's bodies.

It seemed a simple enough response. He thought for a moment and told me "No, I don't think your body works differently. I think it's the cancer. I know you don't have it in you right now mom, but I think it changed you and changed how your body worked."

Well. From the mouth of babes and all of that.

He gets it. I feel much the same way - cancer, the treatment, all of it, I think it changed me - and not in a I-now-have-meaning-in-my-life-and-I'm-a-better-person-who-appreciates-every-single-moment change. But now I'm a person with migraines, hives, rashes, itchiness, chronic fatigue, low iron, severe insomnia, and some other wonderful medical things.

Cancer left it's mark. The treatment left it's toll. This is what life-post-cancer looks like for me.

Just like that, he explained it. It made sense to him. He didn't seem mad, or angry, or confused. He wasn't worried, or scared, and anything. Just cancer changed me, this is where I'm at. It is strange that it happens, but it just is.

And I thought, my 9 year old is wiser than me. And he's wiser than some other people I know.

From the mouth of babes. This sweet boy who loves me no matter what. This sweet boy who wants to help me feel better, and yet, is just able to accept that this is what it is, and can I have dessert now?

And yes, he got a dessert.

Which reminds me, last week I had a knock-me-down migraine. In a rare twist of my migraines, it left me very very sensitive to sound. All sounds pretty much hurt. I didn't want to hear anyone talking to me, or clocks chiming, or music, or the sounds of the tv. I needed silence.

I rested for a while and rejoined the family. My boy asked me what he should draw. I said he should draw a pair of headphones that would make it so my head didn't hurt when people talk to me. So, he drew headphones, told me to hold the paper up to my head, and when I did, he whispered he loved me and wanted to make better.

And then ran off to play.

He's a sweet kid. All three of them are. I think most kids are actually.

I hate that my kids have to live through my medical stuff. But I'm pretty glad, and proud, of how they seem to handle it and take it in stride. I don't think I could have done that at his age. Or the way my 12yo takes it all. Or the way my 15yo takes it all.

But they just roll with what life hands our way, and even my 9 year old gets it.

This Is My April

We are in April.

April is a weird month for me. I'm positive I talked about it before, but April is my cancer month.

April 1 is when I went to the doctor - for a yearly check-up. Blissfully unaware anything was going on. April 1 is when the doctor told me I should really meet with a breast specialist and get a mammogram in the next 6ish or so months. She didn't think anything was going on, but with the family history she was going to be super cautious with me.

April 11 is when I met with the breast specialist. The appointment that was just supposed to be a one time thing, to get some guidance on how to proceed from that point forward. The appointment started light-hearted. The doctor told me I had a greater chance of hitting a moose with my car than having breast cancer. She had recently moved from New Hampshire to Chicago. We laughed that she needed a new analogy. Then came the exam. Then the questions. That's when I knew. A doctor doesn't ask you about a  million questions during an exam unless there's something there. And that's when she said I needed a mammogram. By the end of the week. April 11 was a Monday.

April 14 is when I had my mammogram. April 14 is when they took extra pictures. Then a few more. Then gave me an ultrasound. April 14 is when, during the ultrasound the technician excused herself to get the doctor. That's when the doctor walked in and did some of the ultrasound himself. April 14 is when they put me in a room and told me to wait. The doctor would talk to me soon. He came in. He told me I should get a biopsy. Unless I really didn't want one. They thought I could delay it and have a second mammogram in 6 months. Even still, he walked me to the biopsy room, told me the procedure. He told me if he was me he wasn't sure if he'd wait or do the biopsy now because I was young and they were probably just seeing calcifications. But I had that pesky family history.

April 21 is when I had my biopsy. When my doctor saw the mammogram/ultrasound reports she said there was no way I should wait 6 months. She said we needed a biopsy ASAP. And Thursday, April 21 was the soonest they could do it. We had to do it at a different hospital than the mammogram. Time seemed precious and there wasn't a moment a spare. I went to the biopsy. By myself {side note: what the hell were we thinking ... don't get a biopsy alone. Just don't}. April 21 is when, during the biopsy, the local anesthesia they used wore off and I literally screamed out in pain. April 21 is when, laying on the table, with my breast hanging down a hole in the table, with the breast between two plates (think mammogram), I was crying. That's when a nurse rubbed my forehead and held my hand and told me to squeeze her hand as hard as I needed to to get through it. April 21 is when, after we were finally finished and stood up, I was a pale as a sheet, that the nursing staff got me in a chair asap, worried I'd pass out. That's when they realized I had no one to drive me home. I was shivering, pale, and shaking. They quickly covered me in warm blankets, brought me juice (that I couldn't even drink at first) and sat with me. April 21 is when I finally calmed down and drove myself home. I was supposed to pick my kids up - they were with my mom and I just couldn't face anyone at that moment. I went to the car and called my husband and started bawling. He talked to me until I calmed down. He didn't want my driving like that. He told me to go home, and go to bed, and he'd get the kids.

April 26 is the day the doctor called and told me that the biopsy came back and I had breast cancer. April 26 is the day she said she was sorry and she had hoped it wouldn't turn out that way. April 26 is when I didn't even listen to half of what she said. I doodled on a paper. At some point, she asked if I had any questions. All I could think of? I asked if I'd lose my hair. She said most likely I'd need chemo and that I would. I wrote on the doodled paper: breast cancer. maybe chemo. hair. April 26 is when she told me she wanted me to come in the next day, before hours - it was the only time she could get me in and she wanted to talk to me in person. April 26 is the day I tried to call my husband at work, but he couldn't get the phone. I think I tried a dozen times and he wasn't answering. I mis-dialed about as many times as well. April 26 is when I went into my bathroom, laid down on the cold tile and just cried. April 26 is when I called my mom to tell her I had cancer. April 26 is when my husband called back, already knowing, because of how many times I tried to get a hold of him. April 26 is when I told my kids that I had cancer. It's when my oldest asked me if she would get it too. And my middle child asked me if I would die. And my little guy, my sweet baby, asked me if he could go play the Wii now. April 26 is when my gynecologist called and told me she was sorry - that she hadn't seen this coming because if she had, she would have talked to me about it way back on April 1. It's the day I made a lot of phone calls and had to tell people I had cancer. It's also the day I couldn't make any more phone calls and asked others to please tell family and friends for me because I just couldn't do one. more. call.

April 27 is when I met with the doctor. When I tried really hard to listen, and just couldn't. The room was buzzing. Actually my head was buzzing. April 27 is when the doctor felt my armpits and could feel some swelling. April 27 is when I had another ultrasound of my armpits. And another biopsy. April 27 is when the doctor told me we couldn't be sure until the biopsy came back, but that she felt I had cancer in my lymph nodes. April 27 is the day I thought I would die because the cancer had already spread and I didn't know what that would mean. {side note: it didn't mean as much as I thought it would thankfully}. April 27 is when I asked my mom to drive me to a knitting shop. And I asked the woman at the counter to show me really soft hat yarn because I had cancer and would be bald soon so I should start knitting. April 27 is when that woman, without missing a beat, said oh yes, I know just the yarn for you. And she took me too it, patted my hand and told me she hoped it turned out okay.

This is April. This is what my April is. 26 days. 26 days from just a regular annual check-up to you have cancer. 26 days. It's not that long. It felt like a lifetime.

While I know the April of 2015 is not the same as April 2011, it's still a hard month for me. I know I won't be getting mammograms or biopsies or having to hear you have cancer again this month, somehow every April so far has felt like I am back to that April.

It's a hard month for me emotionally.

If you see me, if I look down or sad or tired or exhausted, know that I am. Because this is my April.

Things I Wish I Didn't Have To Say

Miss 12 and myself

Sometimes I have to have conversations with my children that I wish I didn't have to.

We've talked about sex, puberty, drinking, drugs, violence, injustice in the world, bullying, stranger danger, what's appropriate/inappropriate to post on-line, etc, etc.

There's a part of me that just wants to shield them from all the bad in the world. To pretend that nothing bad ever happens to anyone ever.

Of course, we all know that it doesn't work that way. And so we talk about all sorts of things. I don't shield them from things - but will present topics at what I feel are appropriate levels for them.

Last week though, I had one of the hardest talks I've ever had to have.

My 12 year old started crying and told me she didn't know what she would do if I died.

....
....
....

I didn't know what to say.

I'm sure she's thought about it before. I've thought about it before. But we have never talked about it before.

And pardon my language, but fuck. I never want to have to talk to my kids, until they are much much older, about how they will handle my death.

I suppose, no matter what I think now, I'll never be ready to talk about it. I don't want to think about losing my mother, and I'm 35.

But there she was, looking at me, tears in her eyes, asking me what she will do if I die.

And so I had to swallow that huge lump in my throat and talk to her about it. Openly and honestly.

I don't know if I said the right things. But I spoke from my heart, and I have to hope that that is enough.

I told her that if I were to pass away, it would be awful. That she would be very sad and it would probably be a difficult time in her life.

We talked about how she would have a lot of people rally around her (and my husband and the other kids). That a lot of people would be there to support her and love her. And I told her to not push these people away, because sometimes grief makes you want to do that.

I told her that I imagined that it would be hard to feel happy. Or that sometimes when we lose a loved one and something good happens, we feel guilty for being happy. That sometimes we think that doing something fun is the wrong thing to do, or that we shouldn't laugh.

And so I told her that I wanted nothing but happiness for her, and that being happy, or laughing, or having fun is exactly what I would want for her. That doing that shouldn't make her feel guilty or sad, but should make her smile more because wherever I am, I'd be smiling when seeing her happy.

I told her that I wanted the same thing for her dad and for her siblings. And that some people grieve quickly and some need more time. That some people grieve loudly, and some silently. Some people seem to move on quickly and some do not. Sometimes people hide their grief and some people wear it on their sleeve for everyone to see, and that no matter how the other people in her life grieve ... she should NOT feel that she must grieve the same. Nor should she judge them for how they grieve.

I told her that some days things would feel totally normal and other days, it might feel like the world has ended. I told her that sometimes grief would sneak up on her and feel like a punch in the stomach when she wasn't expecting it.

I told her random things will happen that will remind her of something we did, or that I said, and she would just smile and feel all warm and fuzzy inside. That it might feel like I was coming to visit her and say hi, and that she should hold onto that feeling, even if someone else things it's strange.

I told her that every year, when the first snowball fell, she should run outside and make a snowball and think of the snowball song I sing at least once a winter, if not too many times!

I also told her that if losing me was just too hard and felt too overwhelming, that she should ask for help, cry out for it if she needed too. That she should talk to her father, her sister, her brother, a best friend, a counselor, someone, anyone. That it wouldn't make her weak or mean that she was grieving in a "wrong" way.

And then I made a lot of stupid jokes to try to lighten the mood. I said that I hoped I would pass away so far in the future, that we'd both be old ladies by then and that she would forget everything I had just said.

She wasn't ready to smile yet, so we talked some more and I reiterated that I wanted her to be happy. That life was going to bring some really awesome moments and it's also going to bring her moments that weren't so great and that all she can do is what she can do (which is something I say often in every day moments).

I also told her that the sun will always rise the next morning - another thing I say to my kids a lot ... not to downplay what they are feeling, but as a way to say, hey, feel/mad/angry/etc now, but just also keep in mind the sun will rise tomorrow. And I joked that I know tomorrow will come because it's already tomorrow in Australia, so it already came!

She then told me that in parts of the North Pole it's night for months at a time. And she smiled again. She stopped tearing up. And she even managed to giggle a little bit.

We hugged and I told her that no matter what happened, everything would be okay. Maybe not right away, maybe we won't even realize it at first, but it will be okay. And that I knew she was a strong person because she showed it to me all the time (even when she probably didn't think she was).

She smiled. And was ready to get up and do the things she needed to do.

I, on the other hand, had to sit for a while and just breath.

A Perfect Moment

"Mom," he called to me as I was standing on the bridge taking his picture, "You have to come down here! It's beautiful. Quick! Come!"

An elderly couple holding hands was passing by us. The man looked at me "Mom, he's not lying. It is very pretty down there. You should go look. Have a good day!"

So I walked down and I saw a great waterfall that wasn't visible from the bridge (though it was audible). And I saw a beautiful little creek going down the path.

But mostly I saw a boy, who was clearly in love with nature. We stayed in this spot for about 20 minutes. He splashed the water with sticks, wondered if he could jump onto rocks, and watched leaves and sticks travel down the water to see if they would go to the right or the left. It was a glorious.

It is a small moment of our day. But it is a good moment.

Without going in to too much detail, mister man is struggling with some areas of responsibility and I am struggling to parent him these days. There is often not enough laughter. There is me getting frustrated, mad, confused. There is him getting frustrated, mad, confused.

He is an eight year old boy. The world is so big and there is still so much he doesn't know. And even more stuff he doesn't know he doesn't know.

He's not a bad kid - on the contrary, he's a great kid. He has a good heart. He cuddles with me still. He shares his stuffed animals with me so I have something to sleep with at night.

But he can be wild, active, bouncy, he doesn't always listen and he doesn't always do what he's supposed to.

He's only eight. And yet, he's eight years old! We've joked that he tends to act about five.

Five.

That's important.

He was five when I was diagnosed with cancer. Just five years old. Old enough to know something was up. Old enough to be scared when I was sick. Old enough to know I was at the hospital. Old enough to know that people were worried about me. Old enough to worry about me himself.

And yet, so young. Too young to fully understand it. Too young to have to deal with all that crap. Too young to have so much time with a mom who was sick and wasn't always capable of doing what she should have done in that moment.

It didn't dawn on me until the spring the connection between things. I didn't get it.

Now I do. And my heart breaks. My heart breaks for him ... this boy who I feel confident will grow up to be a great man, and yet, we have such moments of struggle.

As I've said before, I feel I'm supposed to tell you that cancer was a gift! And my kids came out the other side better than ever! And it's awesome! And great! In some ways, they have come out better - they have empathy, sympathy, they understand that bad things can happen in the blink of an eye. But, even with that, it's still tough. It was hard on all of us, and that includes my children. 

So I've been trying to do better, to parent him better, to help guide him. I try to get him outside more. I've reversed tactics and have given him more responsibility. Initially I thought well if he can't do what we're asking for, ask for less. But no, he doesn't need lower standards, he needs higher ones. New rules are in place. New rewards are in place.

He's been spending time in the kitchen with us. He comes alive in there. He wants to help, he wants to do well!

And we had this moment, out at a local forest preserve last weekend. And it was glorious. Truly, truly glorious. I spend a lot of times these days thinking about all the things I've done wrong for my kids (some things I have no control over, some I do). I know it hasn't been all wrong. But this moment at the waterfall, was perfection. It was a perfect moment. I will hold on to it in my heart.

Some Days Are Hard Yo

I know I am not unique in this, but some days are just so hard.

I've had a string of hard days here lately, and I can't lie, it's all weighing heavily on me.

Actually, it's been a long summer. I've been sick off and on, run down, worn out. There have been many doctors appointments and more tests than I think is fair.

Yes, I said it, it's all completely unfair. I know, oh, I know that no one ever said life would be fair, yadda-yadda-yadda. I don't really care. I still think it's completely unfair.

That aside, let me tell you how my Tuesday went. My 14 year old, as she was getting ready for school "Mom, you text or message me if you need anything today, okay?"

My 14 year old. A child (who would be mortified to know I called her a child, but she is) who should be light-hearted and thinking about school and all the things high schoolers think about, asking me to let her know if I needed anything.

Pardon me for a moment while I say, this is so fucked up.

You see this weekend was an awful couple of days for me. A migraine, followed by a day of not being able to stand up without getting dizzy, followed by a general not feeling well, followed by the most excruciatingly painful migraine I've had ever in my life. I mean, we were about to go to the ER when the meds kicked in or the headache passed (just as suddenly as it arrived).

And you know who was here most of the time helping me through it? My 14 year old.

This is about the point that I start to feel a bit ragey inside and really, really start to think that this is all incredibly unfair.

But we muster through it. Her and I talk. I tell her this is unfair, that I think this has changed her. She comments that everyone has hard times and that everything in her life has shaped her, not just this.  She says it's fine and deflects to talk about how I'm doing.

Because my 14 year old is wise beyond her years.

She mothers me. She figuratively holds my hand. She stays nearby, on the watch, trying to predict if I will need something: food, water, a bucket, medicine. She calls her father (my husband) to let him know what is going on. She tells her brother to keep it down and to not bother me.

These are the things I should be doing for her if she gets sick.

But no, in this house, often she is picking up slack for me and helping me.

And it sucks so very, very much.

I say things like, I hope this makes her more empathetic as an adult; a caring, understanding person; that somehow this will make her a better person. Which is silly because she is already a better person. But she is also still 14. And I hate that she takes on this responsibility. Just once I'd like her to throw a fit, to get a "NO! I don't want to vacuum! You do it!"

I'm sure that sounds weird, but it's what a 14 year old is supposed to do. But she doesn't. She knows. She knows that I need the help. She knows I'm not making her do stuff just to make her do stuff. She, as I've said before is wise beyond her years. She always has been - even as a young child we often said this about her. I know she is still her, her essence. But I know that my cancer and subsequent sickness has shaped her.

Because some days are hard. They are so hard for me. And I know they are hard for my family. I don't live in a bubble. Things that happen to me do not stay just with me. It ripples out. I see it and hear it from my husband, from my parents, from friends. There is worry there. It still exists.

Everyone knows I'm "okay" but they are also aware that I'm not. They are aware of the hard days, the bad days, the sad days. They love me through them and support me the best they can. And I'm so incredibly grateful for that.

But some days are hard. And there is no getting around it. They are just hard.

I press on. We all press on. We cling to the days that are not hard, or are not as hard.

Because it's not fair. But it's life. We can't pick the hand we are dealt, only play what we are given. So we do the best we can each and every day.

Some days that means the 14 year old asks me to text her if I need anything. Thankfully, most days it means I ask her to text me if she needs anything.

What I'm streaming August

*As a reminder, I am part of the Netflix StreamTeam. I am being compensated for sharing about Netflix with you, but all stories shared are true and all thoughts and opinions are my own!

When I was a kid, I watched the movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit with a couple of cousins. We all LOVED the movie! In fact, that year for Christmas, I was given a Roger Rabbit ornament that I had until a few years ago, when it finally broke.

Needless to say, I was head over heels in love with that crazy rabbit.

Also, I kind of felt pretty brave in getting to the end of the movie. The ending can be a bit, well, scary. I mean, it's not that scary, but when you are 9 years old, it feels a bit, scary. But I managed to make it to the end and not only survive watching it, but liking it.

So, you can imagine how happy I was when the husband came home from work last week and told me that he learned Netflix was now streaming the movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit. And I was even more thrilled when he said we should sit down as a family Saturday night and watch it.


Saturday, we picked the two youngest kids up from camp. A pretty awesome camp - Camp Kesem - a not-for-profit camp for kids who have a parent who had/has cancer. It is a great week for the kids to get away and just have fun and yet, a safe space to share how cancer has impacted them. This is our second year sending the kids to camp. And since it was our second year, we knew they would come home totally hyped up as they told us every. single. thing. that happened at camp and they would eventually crash out of pure exhaustion. So Saturday night was the PERFECT night to watch a movie in our house.

We all gathered around the tv, turned on netflix and started streaming the movie. Everyone was hooked. Even the 14 year old watched most of the movie with us, which felt really nice. We laughed, we gasped, we followed along with the story. I, having not seen the movie in a really long time, forgot just how, um, curvy Jessica was drawn. I never, as a kid, understood the scene where she plays pat-a-cake (neither did 2/3rds of my kids!). And despite watching it with adult eyes, I loved every minute. Even the part where my 8 year old (who isn't much younger than I was when I watched it the first time) leaned over, squeezed my hand, and whispered "This movie is really good, but a little bit scary," and I squeezed his hand back because I knew exactly what he meant.

It was a wonderful Saturday night, and a perfect wrap up to the kids week away. For me, it was a good way to have them close to me for a few hours after missing them so much all week too! I love sharing with the kids the shows and movies I watched, the books I read, the games I played as a kid. They don't always like what I liked at their age, but Roger Rabbit definitely hit the mark for all of us!

My DNA

A few weeks ago,  I headed over to my cancer center's geneticist to visit with her.

I had read, a while ago, that there was possibly more genetic testing in regards to breast cancer.

When I was diagnosed, I was tested for BRCA1 and BRCA2. To everyone's amazement (given the family history), it came back negative.

When I read there was more genetic testing that could be done, I thought I should do it. Then dragged my feet. I want to know if there is a genetic component. And yet, there's a small part of me that doesn't want to know.

If there is, it could mean I gave that same mutation to my daughters. Or my son. It could mean I am also high risk for a second cancer, or even a third cancer, or some other issue. It could mean more doctor's appointments, more tests. It could mean more anxiety, more worrying.

At the end of the day though, I want to know. Because it could also mean proactive treatments, extra monitoring to catch things before they become bigger issues (though, as I've said before, early detection isn't a cure all). It's more information, more knowledge.

I can't fathom how this is a bad thing.

So I went in a few weeks ago. I met with the counselor. I learned I was eligible to try to get this done. So that day, I went ahead and had my blood drawn. I signed all the papers, took all the information stuff home, watched her pack it up and place it in the mail pile to go to the company.

At that point, it was time to hold our breath to see if the genetics company and insurance company could work out how it would get covered. Given that this panel of tests isn't exactly a minor expense, we weren't quite sure how this would all work out, but somehow it did. The genetics company had to call us if the test expense would be above $100 out of pocket for us. We were told we'd be notified in a week. No call has come though.

Now it's another waiting game. The actual tests are 6-8 weeks to get results. I'd like to hope we're close to 6 weeks and not 8 weeks. But I also know it will be whatever it is. I can't control it. I will patiently wait for the counselor to call me back. Depending on the actual results, one of my doctors (who will also get a copy of the report) may be calling me as well.

I won't be mailed a copy of the results though. I'll have to get a copy from the genetic counselor (or doctor). I guess they don't want you to see you have some weird mutation and freak out? It's good though. I'm sure it will be a lot to digest, even if it shows there is nothing there at all (because then what caused it?). If it shows something that could have repercussions, the counselor will also go over what additional medical things I should be doing ... scans, tests, etc.

I was given a lot of information that day. I came home and promptly filed it all away without reading it. They are testing 19 DNA points. 19. I figured why learn about 19 mutations, what each one means, and start to fret about it before knowing if I even needed to learn about it. Once we know, I'll tackle it all.

In the meantime, I'm waiting. And I'm actually waiting patiently. Summer has been busy so far and that's been a big help in passing the time! But still. I'm waiting. Wondering if this will show something or not.

Has anyone else done more than BRCA testing? Did you think it was worth it? I'm so curious. No one else I've talked to has had this done, and yet, I know somewhere out there other people have! So, if you have, can you share in the comments? Thanks!

Kids say the darndest things

In the last week, I've had two child-saying-something-about-cancer-experiences that have been, well, awkward.

Miss 11 and I were visiting a group she will almost positively join once we move. It's to replace a group we will be too far from to continue going to.

Anyway, we went and visited. It was lovely. She right away connected with another child there (who happens to be her same age, plays softball, and is homeschooled)! Everyone seemed friendly and welcoming and the group seems to participate in a lot of things. She was so happy at the meeting she asked if we could join right then (um, no, because you are already part of the other group and need to finish the year there).

As we were getting ready to leave, my kids were talking about their tablets. They each have a tablet and/or computer and/or mp3 player. They are blessed with technology. Pretty much all of it gifts from relatives or hand-me-downs as the next older child gets a gift! However, their original tablets (which are eye pads. Which I type as eye pads to keep spam bots from searching and leaving spam) were given to them when I was diagnosed with cancer. Because people wanted to help anyway they could (and it did).

So my daughter says, without missing a beat "Yeah, thanks mom for getting cancer! It worked out nice for us!"

Now, first of all, my daughter isn't really happy I got cancer. No tech can be better than having a healthy, active mom. Second of all, no one there knew I had cancer. This is not the first time something like this has happened. For my kids, cancer is a way of life. I had it. They lived through it. They were pretty young. My youngest probably doesn't have memories of me before cancer. We are still dealing with side effects from treatment and I still go to a fair amount of doctor's appointments. For us, in our house, it is what it is. For everyone else though, these statements can be jaw-dropping.

Cue the awkward pause. The adults looked at me (which is what usually happens).

"You had cancer?" they manage to spit out.

Yes, I say, sometimes I'll say breast cancer about 3 years ago, sometimes I don't give more info.

Another pause. Then, every time, a form of, "Well, you look good! I'd never have guessed you had cancer!"

Thank you I say, because I mean it. I appreciate not looking sick. I looked sick for a while. There was a time when if you were meeting me for the first time you would have known for sure it was cancer or you would have known for sure something big was going on.

But it's so, so very awkward for me, for the other adults. People aren't sure what to make of it. I think in general, the younger someone is, the more shocking hearing about cancer is. I don't know for sure, but it's my guess.

Then the kids are already talking about the next thing. The moment is gone. It almost feels like a secret has been told and before you can finish processing it, the conversation has moved on. Not that my cancer is, has been, or ever will be a secret, but it feels like it.

It is hard to meet people for the first time - I often wonder, do I mention cancer? Do I not? It will probably come up eventually, so I tend to wait for that moment when it comes up naturally ....

For example a few weeks ago, at the same child's basketball game, another mother asked me about my curly hair. So I said "Well, it was never this curly! But then I went through chemo and this is how it grew back. It's been a few years and I'm still not used to it." This lead to a convo about how I had cancer, what kind, how were things today. There is still some awkwardness there, but it's much less. The conversation flows more naturally and doesn't feel so forced.

I wonder, will it always be like this? Will time lessen it. In 10 years, I doubt my children (who won't really be children anymore) will just blurt out "my mom had cancer!" Unless, I guess, it comes back, but that's a whole different ball game.


Fast forward to today. We learned that we have two new babies coming in the family in the fall. I was talking to Mr. 8. We were talking about how exciting it was and how babies are always a good thing. I told him "I can't wait for these babies to be born so I can hold them! I love babies! And I love them even more when I'm not the one who has to wake up in the middle of the night with them!"

He laughed at that,  and agreed it's better to get to just hold a baby for a bit than have to wake up in the middle of the night. Then he says, "Boy mom, you must be really happy you got cancer so you can't have any more babies! I bet waking up with three of us are enough! And if you didn't get cancer, how many more babies would you have had? Probably a lot."

Um, oh, yeah, wait, what? I didn't even know what to say.

I can get it from his perspective. I can get how this makes sense. I can see his 8 year old brain trying so hard to make sense of everything. But, um, happy I got cancer? Yeah, no.

I took a few seconds and I I just told him that. "You know, I understand what you're saying, but I'm not actually happy I got cancer. Though, I love you and your sisters and I think three kids is a wonderful number to have! Even without cancer, I probably wouldn't have had any more kids."

He said ok, okay, then asked if I wanted a rainbow loom bracelet.

Just like that. Once again, this bombshell (to me anyway) gets dropped. I feel thrown off. And within seconds the kids are moved on to the next thing.

And I have to remind myself, this is their life. Cancer has existed for them for what is most of their life. Not in actual time, but in what they can remember of life. It is what it is. At home we talk openly about it (though, I want to point out, it's not like we sit around and talk about it all the time). So it makes sense that the can drop it into any conversation without giving it a second thought.

It still throws me off though. It still gives me pause. But, it also makes me glad they can talk about it, that they don't feel like it needs to be a secret. When they voice these thoughts and ideas, it gives me and my husband a chance to talk about it.

I think at the end of the day, I prefer it this way.

Though, I still don't like the awkward pauses it can bring!

One last guest post

Today is one last guest post. I had intended for these to just take up October, but this morning, my 14 year old came to me (in tears) and told me she had decided to write for me after all.

Her writing this was hard. Not that writing is hard, but it is emotional hard to share something you have held so close to your heart. My daughter, bless her heart, doesn't often share these emotions with me - she doesn't want me to worry and doesn't want to make me more stressed. (That's not to say she doesn't talk to me about other things, because she does and I love it)

But when it comes to the cancer, she is often tight-lipped. I hate that, but also know where she is coming from so I don't press too hard and try to suggest other people she can talk to if she wants to.

My daughter is a smart girl, a typical oldest child, and has had to bear too much in her life. This piece is heart-breaking to me in so many ways. But also makes me so proud of her for sharing this. She is brave and strong, but I hope she also learns that being strong means you are allowed to cry. Anyway, here is her piece.

 

Last week, on her 14th bday

My name is Abigail and my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer in early 2011. I was terrified when she told me that she had cancer, but that didn't compare to how scared I got later.

In May my mom had a double mastectomy. We had to turn our dinning room into a bedroom for her because she couldn't walk up the stairs. We were homeschooled and my mom was our teacher. Often days she would be too sick to teach us so we had to try and do all of our work ourselves. That coming school year my mom was too sick to teach my brother who was going into kindergarden. So we enrolled my little brother in school, and on the first day of school my mom was having chemo done so she couldn't even take him to the bus stop or help him get ready. My sister and I had to help my brother on the bus a lot as my mom was too sick or at a doctors appointment.

At one point I went to a sleep away summer camp with my cousin and everyday I was worried that my mom wasn't getting everything she needed or that my brother and sister were at home and couldn't get dinner because no one was there.

Now my dad had it the hardest. He had to take care of my sister, brother, my mom, and me while having a full time job where he often had to work extra hours. When my mom finished chemo she had to start radiation. Radiation makes you very sick and unable to most things. So my mom was in bed a lot during radiation treatment. Then finally in November she was done! And everything was okay.

Her with on her fav softball players

Until December came - she started getting sick again and she had a rash near her radiated area. Then on December 23 my mom was taken to the ER and was rushed in for immediate surgery. She came home that night but she still was very sick. All through the years she had constant doctors appointments and physical therapy appointments.

Then came this year my mom had found an organization called Camp Kesem. Kesem is a camp for kids who's parents had cancer. And finally I had found a place where people were just like me. Because though we had tons of support which I am thankful for, there was no one just like me. And I can't even tell you how tired I was of hearing "god bless you poor little soul" or "don't worry everything will work out in the end". Because none of these people understood what I was going through.

I am not a big crier. I just don't do it. When I got Kesem I was afraid it was going to be yet another place I felt alienated from everyone else and that all the counselors were going to be like everyone else. But that's not what happened. I met a lot of great kids my age who had gone through what I had.

Then one Wednesday night at camp they had a ceremony where we sat in the gym area in a big circle and had the opportunity to tell our story. Going into this ceremony I was thinking it was going to be stupid and everyone was telling me you're going to cry, its so sad. They had a rain stick that they would pass around and when you had it you get to talk. Now, I didn't really know anyone's story and they didn't know mine. So I did not expect what happened to happen.

They asked who wanted to start. And a little 7 or 8 year old raised his hand. They handed him the rain stick and he said my daddy died of cancer. That was very hard on me because my brother was 7 and here this little boy was whose dad had died! And then it kept going around until it got to me. Now I was already crying and then they handed it to me and I had intended to talk, but I just couldn't. I burst into tears and counselors immediately started surrounding me. But me being stubborn I intended to talk and share my story. So I moved to where the rain stick was being passed around and I waited.

The girl behind was talking about how her mother had died, and again she was the age of my little sister which only made me cry more. And finally I got the rain stick again and told my story and after words I started bawling, or as my would say ugly crying. Then the camp psychiatrist brought me out to the hall where a couple other kids who crying just as bad as I was were. And she let me talk about why I was angry and what made me so insecure.

I hadn't talked to anyone and it felt so good. I told how my grandma had cancer at 30 and my mom got it at 31 and I was afraid it was genetic and my little brother or sister would get it and their kids would have to go through the same thing as we did. An then my sister came and we just held each other and cried for a long time.

Camp ended and we went back home and didn't want to tell anyone what happened and how I broke down. And then in October I found out that my mom needed iron treatments because she  was low. And they had tried giving her iron before but she kept having allergic reactions to it. And the last time she had a respiratory reaction, which I didn't really understand, but I knew it was bad. She came home and really sick for a couple of days and they decided they couldn't give her the treatments anymore. Which was bad because she needed it.

And now I'm here and I hope everything gets better from now on.


A few notes from mom: radiation shouldn't have been that bad, we didn't know I had an underlying infection - that is what kicked my butt (and caused that surgery I had that Dec).
Camp Kesem is an amazing organization. Their website is here if you want to learn more about them!

2 Years

Two years ago I wrote this post.

Two years.

I can't lie. It feels both much, much longer. And every so often, it seems like it hasn't been that long. {Though that feeling is rare and often fleeting}.

Two years.

Alright, alright. What I'm really thinking is two effing years.

Two effing years.

****

On another, related note. Since today is my two year canciversary (?) it seems fitting to share this here today. My children helped me make this video. It's for a contest Avon is holding for walkers this year. I'd like to point out, I didn't give my kids scripts. I told them generally what I wanted and let them go.

I thought we had everything we needed when my oldest told me she had something more to add, and that's how the ending came about! I teared up then. I tear up every time I watch. I'm told, I'm not alone in it.

So here you go, why I'm walking in the Avon 2 Day walk this year



Happy Friday everyone!

xoxo,
Brandie

P.S. The song in the video is by the very talented Monica Allison.

My dear children

A week ago, my oldest daughter turned 13. She's an actual, real, teen. I won't lie. I could do without the attitude at times {though she'd probably say the same thing about me!}, the truth is it's not so bad, and she's still a pretty cool daughter.

Anyway, her birthday has made me all reflective and given me a lot to think about as a parent. And so.

My Dear Children,

From the moment I knew about your existence, I dreamed about your future. Every kick in the womb, made me wonder, will you be a soccer player? a gymnast? When you were a toddler, with the best imagination ever, I wondered if you would be a writer. I watched you try sports and activities, always wondering, is that what you'd choose to do for life. I know, it's probably silly to look at your 4 year old and wonder if she's found her passion for life, but it's what I did all the same.

I enjoyed (well, okay mostly enjoyed - I could have done without the sleepless nights) where you were at, but still, I dreamed about your future. Miss A, when you were in love with yellow - and everything HAD to be yellow - I pictured watching you walk down the aisle in a yellow dress. And it seemed so perfectly you. Miss M, you talked about being a photographer, and I imagined going to gallery showings of your art. And Mister Man, when you told me you were going to play for the Yankees and come to Chicago and beat the Cubs AND the White Sox, I thought, and I will be in the crowd telling everyone "That's my son! The one who just hit the home run? I'm his mother!"

Because, you see, when I dreamed about your future, I always imagined myself in the picture too. It never crossed my mind that I wouldn't be a part of your future, that I wouldn't get to share those moments with you. It may be selfish of me, but I dreamed of your futures as much for you as for myself.

Then. Then cancer joined our lives. And as I had to face the fact that I had cancer, I had to also face my own mortality. Now, I know, I could die tomorrow in a car accident - as my dad used to say "tomorrow is promised to no one" but the fact is, I don't often walk around in fear of a car accident. But hearing I had cancer? I didn't know. Would I be at the graduations? The weddings? The parties? The good times? Would I be there to hold you after your first heartbreak? To help you get through disappointments? To help you fix mistakes? To be there in the not so good times?

The cancer is gone now, but the fear is not. And I wonder ... have I taught you enough? Did I yell too much? Did I teach you that no matter what, I will always love you? Even when I'm not here to tell you anymore? Will you know just how much I love you?

That I will love you, even when you mess up. And make no mistake, you will make mistakes. You're human. You will do the wrong thing. You will hurt people's feelings. You will not always do the right thing. And still? I will love you. I've said this to you before - there is nothing you can do that will make me stop loving you. I hope you can feel that today, ten years from now, forever.

And on the off chance I'm not there - at your graduation, your wedding, your gallery openings, your big game, when you do the right thing even though it's hard - wherever your path takes you, I hope someone will lean over, kiss you gently on your forehead, hug you and whisper in your ear "Your mom would be so proud of you right now. She loves you so much." Because I am proud of you. And I do love you from the very bottom of my heart. Do not ever doubt this for one single second.

Love always and forever,
Mom

Punch in the gut

Through our local library, my 10 year old {sidenote: she turned 10 this month and that's the first time I've typed it! I can't believe how fast they grow up} signed up to be a pen pal with someone at a local retirement home. It's kind of fun because not only do they write letters to each other, but they read the same book and talk about it in their letters too!

She is very exited about this. She has a penpal that is her age and loves it, so I knew it would be a good fit to sign up for this. A few weeks ago she found out there was a match for her - she is writing a letter to Sister L. She was asked to write her first letter to introduce herself and yesterday she read it to me before we sent it in.

She started pretty much how I imagined she would ... Hello, I'm 10 years old. I have a brother and a sister ... but then she said in 2011 my mom was diagnosed with cancer. But she's in remission now and I'm happy about that. We went to Colorado for vacation in August.

Whoa. It felt like a punch in the gut. I don't know why. I mean, it's not a secret I had cancer. I don't care that she shared it. And it makes sense that she would because frankly, for some time there our whole lives revolved around my cancer. But still. To hear her say it. I couldn't help it. I started to cry. And then I felt like an idiot for crying about it. I don't know why other than I'm just so darn emotional these days. Or maybe I've just been so emotional forever but am just feeling it more these days?

 *****

On a non-depressing note, I think this is a very cool program for my daughter to be participating in. I'm not sure who is more excited to read her first letter from Sister L =)

Unsung Hero: My children

My children have simply blown me away this year.

I admit there are often times I feel incredible guilt for getting this cancer that has changed their lives so drastically. Activities they had to stop participating in, places I couldn't take them to, too many days spent inside watching TV because mom was too sick to take them anywhere.

But these three children? Have been so understanding and loving towards me. They don't complain. When I apologize for another missed thing, they hug me and tell me it's okay, they understand, that they aren't mad. When I'm tired they tell me to rest, that they'll behave and my oldest offers to help keep an eye on the youngest. If I ask them to bring me a drink, they do it (mostly) happily!

They have shown me compassion I wasn't expecting from them. I underestimated just how much of this they would understand and just how caring they would be towards me during this time. In hindsight, I shouldn't have. I should have known this is how they would respond. But when we got my diagnosis, I just wasn't sure they would completely understand. And, you know, my son (who is 6) probably doesn't completely understand. But he knows mom is sick and recovering. And that was all he needed to know to understand that I needed extra love. And all three of my precious children have showered me with love this year.

I can't change the fact that I got cancer. I can't go back and take away the days I was sick and couldn't be a great mom to them. But I am so proud of how beautifully they've handled it all. I'm touched by how much they want to take care of me. And I'm thankful that they've been so understanding of everything going on. They are amazing. And I'm blessed to have them as my children.

More on parenting ...

Some of the stories I share today may be repeats, and if they are, I'm sorry. But they are bouncing around in my head and so I need to get them out.

This parenting gig? Some days it's hard. And then just when you've got it all figured out, the kids change and enter a new phase. And when I was pregnant with my second child, I remember thinking, this is going to be breeze. I've done it once, so clearly I'm an expert now. Oh, my poor naive self. I had no clue back then. The second (and the third) would be so very different I'd feel like I was a brand new parent all over again!

But you push through the hard moments because there are so many beautiful, wonderful moments.

And the truth is none of that changed once I was diagnosed with cancer. There were still hard days - but suddenly the hardest part wasn't my little guy hitting. Or the oldest talking back. No, the hardest part was the side effects that really knocked me down some days. But there were also some sweet moments in there.

I'll never forget when I could hug the kids again after surgery. My son was the first one to get a hug. Even he lit up to finally get a real hug from mom. And then I went and gave the girls each a hug right away too. My 12yo had hit a phase where she didn't really want hugs from me, but she did not turn that hug away that day. I teared up.

Speaking of the 12yo, this summer McDonald's did their Monopoly game to win prizes. My 12yo was relentless about getting to McD's to get as many pieces as possible. I won't lie. I was annoyed by this. And then my mom called - the kids had been with her - and she shared with me that my daughter told her she wanted to win the grand prize and then she'd use the money to pay my medical bills. I was blown away. And also, felt guilty for getting mad at her for asking for McD's all the time!

One day, and this was a bad day. I was in bed, in a lot of pain and also very sick. And I was just crying and crying. And I had told my husband I was going to quit chemo, that I couldn't go on anymore. It was one of the lowest points I hit in the process. At some point Eric had to get up. And I was still crying {although calmed down some} when my 9yo came into our room. And she climbed into bed with me and was holding my hand. And - a moment I'll never forget - she looked right into my eyes and said "Mom, I wish I could make your cancer come into my body so you won't have to hurt anymore." I couldn't even respond I was so touched. It's supposed to be my job to take care of her, to take her hurt and pain away, and there she was, ready to do the same for me.

Speaking of my 9yo, one day I mixed up sidewalk paint for them. And this? This is what she painted on our driveway:

"my mom is a surviver"

My 6yo has also been extra loving to me through all this. He'll come up and rub my arm. But before he does he double checks to make sure it's not the side that hurts. He has shared his favorite blanket with me and given me well-loved stuffed animals to cuddle up with. And I'm here to tell you, there is nothing sweeter than a little one (yes, I still consider him little) sharing their favorite things with you, because they don't like to give them up very easily usually!

Another precious story about him: we were talking about Christmas. He was excitedly telling me all the things he wanted Santa to bring him! And then he stopped. And kind of looked at me and said "But you know mom. I think Santa should bring you the most presents because you had cancer." This is no small thing to say for a 6yo boy who cannot wait for Christmas morning to come.

Those are the moments I will forever treasure in my heart. The truth is more than one day I got out of bed for them. They kept me going, even in the lowest of the low moments. And while they are not perfect, (they are kids after all!), they also showed so much love and kindness and strength this year.

Guilt

Even if it shouldn't, getting cancer has also left me with an incredible amount of guilt. And even more so when it comes to my kids.

While I also realize I didn't decide to get cancer and therefor it is not my fault {okay, I mostly understand this. But I can't lie, I often wonder if I did do something to cause this}, which means I shouldn't feel guilty, I do.

My children have had to give a lot up because of my cancer. We pulled them out of most of their activities {music lessons, karate, extras} mostly because we knew I wouldn't be in any shape to drive them back and forth. They, though, were understanding about it - not that they wanted to stop, but they understood why and did not complain. Recently the 12 year old has started to ask when we can pick some of these things back up, so I know they are missing them.

There were a lot of things this summer we did not do. I did not take them to the pool. I took them to the park maybe 2 times I think {it's kind of blur}. We didn't go on bike rides and took very few walks. I didn't take them to the water park. We didn't really go for ice cream {although I will interject here that other people stepped up and took care of this one so they did get their fill of it!}. We didn't really go to the library, I didn't read books to them.

I did (and still do) watch too much tv with them. I did (and still do) take naps with them. I did (and still do) cuddle with them. I did (and still do) listen when they needed me to listen. I did (and still do) do what I could as I could. But there are so many days it doesn't feel like enough. And I wonder if they will look back and carry around nothing but bad memories about the past 9 months. I hope they won't. I do feel that through it all we've grown much closer. And I've seen their kind, caring and compassionate side come out. Which, I can't lie, I love and makes me feel so incredibly proud of them.

I know they are resilient. And I know it wasn't all bad for them. And obviously, I am not their only parent, and Eric has been a rock star dad through all of this. Family and friends also helped entertain them when they could.

But even knowing all of that. I can't lie. I am carrying a fair amount of guilt around. I know, I know. Another thing I'll have to work through. Someday, I hope I can unpack it all and let it go. But for now, I worry about them. And how this will affect them. And really? I'm a mom. Can you blame me?

Parenting with Cancer .... part 1

Many times I've been asked how are the kids doing with all of this. I've been hesitant to share too much on here because, well, I always feel like that should be their story to tell. {And yes, my kids are 5, 8 and 11 and I'm secretly hoping that they actually won't remember much of this and so they won't have much of a story to tell someday}. I mean I like talking about my kids and all, but on the blog it's harder for me to share things that aren't just so cute or so funny that I have to share.

But cancer has not been cute or funny. And I'm sure you can imagine, but it's been hard on every. single. one. of us. So I will share some of those struggles with you and how we've tried to work through them. {Also, this will be long and wordy. I apologize in advance}

First, let me share with you that my kids knew what was going on every step of the way - from the first visit with the breast specialist, to the mammogram, biopsy and then discovery the cancer. I do not regret keeping them in the loop the entire time. First of all, we homeschool, so for those appointments they either went with me or stayed with dad or grandma. It's not like I could do all this while they were at school so they wouldn't know. The fact is, they knew something was up even without me talking about it. Although we kept it light at first ... the mammogram was just a precaution because grandma had cancer and there was nothing to worry about {which I honestly thought was the case at the time}. So when I shared with them that the biopsy came back with cancer, it wasn't out of the blue. However, I don't think it made it any easier. We all thought the first mammogram was precautionary, a baseline really. We were told the biopsy was precautionary ... that what they were testing was nothing 80% of the time, and only something the other 20, and cancer was only one of the couple of somethings it could be. {I also want to add here, although it was right for my family to be included every step of the way, for other families it is right to withhold all information until the bad news comes. Because each situation and family is different and I am absolutely a firm believer that in all of this there is no one right way to do thing}

Now, telling my kids was the hardest part of all of this so far. It was horrible. I was home alone with them. My mom was on her way over. Husband was trying to get out of work early. I knew I had to tell them before anyone got here, before they figured it out on their own. I wanted them to learn it from me. I wanted to be able to answer their questions, and not leave anything to their imaginations because often their imaginations can think of things that are far worse than the actually situation. But let me tell you, it was also hard. I could have let my husband or my mom tell them I suppose, but for me, I needed to be the one.

Anyway, I called them all to my bed and told them. We all hugged and cried. After 30 seconds, Mister Man (5yo) asked if he could go back to playing the Wii. Which made us all laugh, and then cry some more. Then I told everyone we needed to go eat chocolate. It was 10 in the morning. I think they all thought cancer invaded my brain at that point because I've never suggestion candy that early before! But we ate chocolate and somehow we all felt better. Somewhere in the midst of all of that, and I wish I could remember more clearly, Little Miss (who is not so little at 11) asked me since grandma had it, and I have it, did that mean she would get it. That was a hard question for me. Because I don't think any 11yo should be worried about getting breast cancer. It doesn't belong in their world. They should be worried about puberty coming and shopping for the first bra and things like that. Not breast cancer.

I know Mister Man just didn't understand it all. He's too young. It didn't mean anything to him that day. I was still home. I wasn't coughing. No sore throat. No runny nose. There was no tangible sickness signs he could see. So for him, I was just sad. I'm not sure Miss M (8) really understood that day. She got I was sick, but I don't think that day she really got it. As, honestly, she shouldn't have. Cancer has not really been a part of my childrens' lives. {We've had relatives go through it, but only when they were much younger}. So she was sad. And she hugged me. And was sweet, but yet, not quite grasping it. Little Miss though {who at 11 clearly needs a new nickname LOL!) she got it. She understood it. It makes sense but it absolutely hit her the hardest. She didn't really know what was coming and yet she did know. She may not have seen it, but she got it.

It was such a hard day. Just thinking about it makes me cry. I hate that day. That one day forever changed my children's childhood. In many ways they felt this summer, but it also changed it in a lot of ways they'll never know.

I planned to write more about how they've managed through the summer, but you know what? I can't anymore. I'll try to share more another day. It's just. This part of the story? It's so hard to write about. It brings up so many emotions within (that maybe I'll talk about another day).