waiting

The last two weeks we’ve spent waiting to finalize details on treatment and waiting to get better from some virus that has taken hold in our house.  Everyone has been running fevers, sleeping on the couch, cuddling with animals, watching movies (three hours of The Sound of Music!) and drinking tea.  Andy’s had it the longest (two weeks now) and that’s worrisome, but we’ve had a bunch of tests run and at the moment it still seems to chalk up to something viral.

Days crawl by at this pace and we are antsy to feel well and to know what lies ahead for treatment.  It takes time to line up appointments, move medical records around, get screened, compare notes, make decisions.  We hope to know more soon and will certainly share with you what we know.  In the meantime we’ll rest by the fire and drink some more tea and watch the first of the snowflakes filter down.  Wishing you all well.

living with it

It didn’t turn out as we had hoped.  The cancer is still growing, there are seven measurable tumors now in Andy’s lungs.   

We are two months shy of the three year mark of his diagnosis.  Three years living with cancer.  When it all began I couldn’t imagine carrying on with our every day lives.  Mostly we didn’t.  My mom picked up groceries for us (I couldn’t chance the storm of tears every time I ran into someone I knew at the grocery), she ran the girls to music and dance…our friends stepped in with homeschool lessons, I stayed home from work, time stopped.  If I wasn’t actually curled up in a fetal ball, I was wishing I could be.  The news was so devastating I wasn’t sure how to function.  All I knew was that I needed to be close to Andy every moment. 

Andy still has cancer but many things have changed.  We have changed.  Together we have grown stronger, we have learned to be present in the beauty of now.  We have told the terrifying story of cancer to ourselves so many times that it’s lost a tiny bit of its punch.  We have held each other up in moments of deep despair enough times that we can feel the other’s arms around us even when we are alone.  We have learned to go back to work, the grocery, the dentist.  We have learned how to talk about our life in ways that are honest but also protective of our emotions.  There are still days when I can’t get out from under the fear.  Andy has metastatic cancer.  He might beat it, he might not.  We have no way to know.  How have we learned to live with this knowledge?  Day by day, with no choice but to wake up each morning and get out of bed (that waking moment of remembering hasn’t gotten easier and sometimes the biggest effort is just to admit we must face it another day).  Some days are more peaceful, some are more graceful, and some are full of exhaustion, anger, fear and sadness in all the not-so-lovely ways these emotions show themselves.  But how can I even begin to explain how precious each day now is?

We came home from Mayo and had to tell the girls what nobody wanted to hear:  Papa is going to start treatment again.  They had lots of questions that we can’t yet answer.  (“Will he throw up?”,  highest among the concerns). There are several options on the table, a few of them clinical trials, one of which requires distant travel.  We are working hard to gather information, ask questions, weigh details, consider advice and make the best decision possible.  None of the options make promises, all of them will make him sick.  Thankfully we don’t feel an urgent rush.  The weeks to come will help us sort out what is the right decision and then we’ll move on that.  And we’ll do it together, one day at a time.

challenge

It’s been three months and tomorrow is scan day again.  Will the tumor growth have decreased even more, will it have increased again, will there be more tumors or less…?  My mind can play out a million scenarios and it often does, until I tell it (again) that all those thoughts are just stories, none of them perfectly true, none perfectly false.   Because we don’t know.  With every turn of this path there has been surprise, sometimes anguishing, sometimes exalting.  

I looked back to see that this is scan number 14 (I may have missed one or two but who’s counting?) and there is still no getting used to them.  I can guarantee that we’ll wake up tomorrow morning with aching holes in our guts, the ride to Rochester will be long and mostly silent.  The hours in between the scan and the results will be filled as best we can (he’ll eat lunch, I won’t be able to), but with faster heart rates and higher blood pressure.  The time between when the exam room door closes after the nurse admits us, and the long moments until the doctor knocks and opens the door again with news, will stretch on and on, and I’ll feel dizzy with what can only be something like PTSD.

So this weekend Andy and the girls did something hard and life affirming.  They raced the Dam Challenge!  We got so much rain that we had to call off the canoe portion but even with rain still coming down, Iris and Andy hopped their bikes and rode the 15 hilly miles.  On their return, they tagged off with Elsa who ran a wet and muddy three miles with her dad, right to the finish line.  Something about seeing them all use their strong bodies, seeing their smiles as they crossed those finish lines, knowing they can push themselves when they need too, gave me hope.  I never would have asked to build resiliency this way, but here it is.  And tomorrow we’ll hold that close as we travel again to Mayo, and it will steady us just a little.

Thanks to Nonnie and Janet who sent along these photos and cheered on the gang!

family

It was a lovely fall weekend, and we enjoyed every minute.  Andy and the kids spontaneously decided to build a “tree fort” and we enjoyed the sweet company of my Aunt and Uncle (my mom’s sister) who were visiting from the east coast.  Iris and Elsa really love spending time with their family, and these two made us laugh and smile and feel full of love all weekend long.  I so love Wisconsin, but I know that there is a hole in our life in the shape of that big Italian family out east.  It’s so good to see them when we can.  Thank you for coming our way Barb and Mike.  We love you!

vernon county fair

  

Last weekend was the local county fair.  It’s a big deal around here.  Schools are closed on Friday so everyone can go to the fair.  And if you have livestock in one of the barns you are excused from school on Thursday too!  When I was a kid, I lived for the fair.  For probably 4 years running I somehow talked my parents into borrowing a trailer and carting my horse to the fair. Horses stay in the horse barn for 4 nights and days and during that time you are expected to be there to feed, water, exercise, muck stalls etc.  So now I got to live AT the fair.  Dakota and I were never very good in the show ring, but I didn’t care. The pay off of spending 12 hours daily at the fair was just too big.

This year Iris really wanted to show her pony, but we decided to start out a little smaller for our first year of showing.  The girls joined a local 4H chapter and Iris started 4H sponsored obedience classes with Phinn.  He was mostly a rascal, but they both learned a lot (and he pulled off a surprising 1st place merit in his (beginner) class.  Disclaimer: there were only 4 kids in that class and all the dogs were rascals!).  Iris was thrilled and I could see by the way she carried herself (with so much poise in the show ring) that this was clearly a confidence builder. 

Elsa really wanted to show her cat (and yes they do have cat showing), but she wasn’t quite old enough to show an animal (next year!).  So she settled for entering a poster about her cat, as well as a knife she carved out of birch wood.  This was also a great learning experience.  Elsa had to meet with a judge and answer questions about each of her projects.  She really didn’t want to do that part.  But as we walked out of the youth building with a couple first place ribbons she said “I’m really glad I came”. 

And then there were the rides, and the fried cheese curds, and the ice cream, and the lemonade and friends and the inspiration of barns full of other kids projects.  We didn’t spend 12 hours a day there (thankfully) but the kids sure would have loved that.   The ball is rolling, we’ll see what next year brings….

wild rice

For several years now we’ve been joining friends for a weekend of harvesting wild rice in the north,(Well, except for those couple of years when Andy wasn’t up for it.  That stays fresh in our minds and made the trip and time all the more beautiful this year). 

Generally the ladies stay behind and tend camp and rice.  That means cooking, collecting firewood, tending the children and turning the rice for drying.  The guys head out on the water for the long, hot labor of knocking rice into the boat for hours and hours.  Usually I’m not much for “typical gender roles” such as these, but somehow knowing that this is how it’s been done for thousands of years (or more) makes it feel a little bit magical.  It certainly takes a village, and the role the women played in gathering rice was not little.  Keeping the fire, the village fed, and the rice drying was just as important (and sometimes difficult) as harvesting the rice itself.  In today’s world it feels good to step back, take that role, and feel part of this community effort.  And as a bonus we’ll enjoy pounds and pounds of beautiful wild rice all winter long.

Ricing season solidly signals the end of summer.  We return home to crisp cold weather, loads of tomatoes to process and the start of a new year of (home) school.  Blessings on the fall.

the morning after

The morning after the election I took my camera outside to look for beauty.  It was everywhere.  It bolstered my spirits and helped me feel ready to answer the girl’s questions.

We scrapped spelling and math and for much of the morning I tried to answer their questions about “why?” and “how?”.  We watched a video about the electoral college and the popular vote.  For a long time we talked about why we still live in a world where a woman can work her whole life to become entirely qualified for a position and still lose out to a man who is not qualified at all.  (They can add “glass ceiling” to their vocabulary list now.)

We talked about how so many people; women, African Americans, Hispanics, Muslims, LGBT folk, to name a few, are feeling even more devalued then ever.  And I said, “it makes me want to work harder for equality” and Iris said, “it’s actually kind of exciting, it makes me want to work harder too.”  Thank goodness, because this is surely their work.

We talked about how we don’t always win and how we need to still walk out into the world with kindness and compassion.  We invoked Iris’ recent image of Dumbledore (Harry Potter reference) and how he “always tries to see the best in everyone”.

We watched Hillary’s concession speech and the girls were riveted feeling the power of her words aimed directly at them. “To all the little girls watching this, never doubt that you are valuable and powerful and deserving of every chance and opportunity in the world.”

And I think we left the morning feeling ready to walk out there.  Knowing that this life is a learning experience every step of the way.  And we felt the comfort of each other and of course the old dog snoozing in the sun.

right now

Right now:

we are enjoying the season of dressing up and sorting candy

we are loving Mae’s Jack-O-Lantern smile

we are relishing the creativity of these Balinese princesses

we are celebrating Andy’s 43rd with love, joy and family.

change

So I haven’t been writing because I don’t even know what to say.  Somehow I want to let you know that sometimes it’s awful but we are ok.  I’m not sure how to do that here, I wish we could all sit down and have a cup of tea together so you could just see.

Andy’s last scan showed more tumors. 

A month ago a dear friend took her own life.

Two of my longtime coworkers move on.

The election season makes us sad and crazy.

And with all that I’m thinking again about change.  About how things are always changing, how try as we might to hold on to what feels comfortable, life and all that comes with it, is impermanent. 

Yet here we still stand learning that moments pass through us and nothing stays the same.  Grief comes and it goes, laughter erupts in the midst of it, the girls snuggle together in the morning and fight with each other in the afternoon.  And somehow as I watch these moments pass along I can feel some ease just in knowing that this too will change.

The frost turns the morning glory vines brown and the milkweed pods burst open.

Our meals now consist of soups and squash and frost nipped kale.

Elsa’s front two teeth are finally loose.

Iris’ legs and arms stretch long and Andy can’t recognize her clothes from mine in the laundry anymore.

Moments march into the next before our eyes.  Holding on does no good.  Comfort comes in being there for each one.

ten

A weekend full of celebration.  Grandparents and good friends from near and far, plenty of cake and a “baby” party.

Another journey around the sun.  Ten.  It’s hard to believe.  Full of grace and love, her nurturing spirit takes her weekly, to the humane society to care for homeless pets, to watch over young friends, to make clothes for her sweet baby dolls.

She’s no longer a little kid. We see clearly the young girl, the young women she will become.  Of course is seem like yesterday she was a tiny thing nestled in our arms.

We know how fast the time goes and we will soak up every moment as we have done til now.  We are so lucky to stand by the side of this sweet friend and sister, this caring soul who loves and nurtures the world so deeply.

Happy 10th Birthday, Iris.  We love you.