Category: holidays

this new year

Christmas in Miami was different but delightful.  Elsa got the bow of her dreams (made by Andy), the Gorrill’s visited and it was so great to have family and we spent Christmas afternoon on the beach with new snorkel gear! Sadly, everyone left the day after Christmas and it was back to business with the start of the second drug in Andy’s chemo combo. 

Things did not go as we had hoped.  Andy started the new medicine on Wednesday and by Friday was feeling pretty fatigued, spacey and overall not well.  Saturday am found him weak, almost passing out, so I called 911 and tried to prep the already freaked out girls for the arrival of the EMT’s.  Iris, understandably, worried aloud about all the terrible things that could happen, while Elsa made herself a waffle and ate it (different kids, different coping).  Andy maintained consciousness (thank god) and the EMT’s arrived calmly and without sirens (thank you, guys).  They were big intimidating Cubanos who couldn’t have been sweeter and more kind.  One guy sat next to Iris and talked to her about how scary this was, how strong she is and gave her a fist bump on the way out the door.   Then we followed them and Andy to the emergency room.

When you move to Miami and your in-laws have gone home and the next friends haven’t arrived and you know no one, well, the kids get an intimate look at the inside of a big city emergency room. 

Andy’s vitals checked out normal at the ER, but some of his blood levels were off a bit and because he is on a clinical trial they have to monitor everything and the ER nurse looked at us kindly when we mentioned going home and said “don’t get your hopes up, honey”.  Sure enough, 2 nights and 3 days later we emerged, exhausted and worried but mostly the same as when we went in.  We don’t really know why Andy got so weak and woozy or why his blood levels (kidney function) aren’t where they are supposed to be, but we can only assume it’s the drugs causing some havoc. 

Andy is back home now and feeling still tired but not at all weak or woozy.  The girls watched more media than I’d ever be comfortable with under normal circumstances, but when your dad is in the hospital and HBO is running a Harry Potter movie marathon and the hospital has HBO, well screw screen limits (and also screw healthy eating and bedtime and changing your underware).  At one point when they weren’t glued to the tube I did debrief the chaos with them and I think they are ok.  Because what they witnessed was super scary but also empowering.  Because people were kind and competent and their mom held her shit together and so did their dad (of course) and actually so did they.   And now we know what it takes to call 911 and go to the hospital in an ambulance and spend 4 hours in the ER and then 3 days in the hospital in a crazy city with traffic and sky scrapers and palm trees and nothing familiar and no friends or family to help.  Dang, we rocked that thing.

In seriousness we are still freaked out.  We don’t know what any of this means.  If Andy’s body is revolting and not tolerating these drugs, he might not be able to stay on the study.  If it’s not the drugs and it’s the cancer causing problems, well that sucks even more.  We’ll be back at the clinic tomorrow for more testing and to talk with the study doctors and hopefully get some answers. 

And by the way, 2018…NOT FUNNY!  

Wishing you all a happy and healthy new year!

 
The last two weeks have been busy.  Several trips to Mayo clinic but also Easter egg dying, plenty of yard work, sheep shearing, play dates, school projects, birthday parties and Earth Day road clean up too.
It’s funny how even with the knowledge that the time has come again to do something decisive about this cancer, we can go about out days holding fear and contentment together as one.  After two and half years it’s difficult to separate the two.  I’ve learned to live with both.
Tuesday we go back to Mayo and Andy will have surgery to remove one of the lung tumors for DNA sequencing in hopes of finding a trial drug.  We expect the surgery to go smoothly and the recovery to be fairly quick.  Then we wait on testing results.  We’ll keep you posted.
In the meantime we’ll continue to love this life.  Because waiting really doesn’t make sense when what we have is the moment now.

year’s end

Some scenes from a happy holiday.  Old Lily kept us home from visiting the Cities (and we missed everyone) but she had enough spunk to open a gift (like always) on Christmas Eve-even if she was beat for days after that.  Many hours of quiet at home turned out to be just what everyone needed.  Some hikes, some snow play, and lots of knitting by the fire.  Time to reflect on a trying but also incredibly beautiful year.

This week we’ll enter the medical system again and Andy will endure tests that will tell us…. something.  It’s easy to tell ourselves stories about what the something will be, but if we’ve learned anything on this trip it’s been that the future is unknown no matter how much time we spend worrying about it.  And so, bit by bit, we try to spend less time worrying and more time being present in the wonder of what is right now.  Visiting with old friends, smiling as your neighbor comes by at just the right time to pull your car back onto your driveway, watching that old dog’s heart working hard as she sleeps by the fire, snapping the last piece into the jigsaw puzzle, and listening to the older one read to the younger one as they wake together in the too early morning.

2017.  May you be full of these moments. Common, everyday, beautiful moments.  For all.

two years

Last weekend I went for a walk by myself.  It was bitter cold and I just did the north loop around our property.  I followed Andy’s (and Elsa’s) ski tracks from earlier in the day.  His stride strong and sure, hers still wobbly, but determined. 

My walk was an awareness, a recognition, of the two years that have passed since Andy’s cancer diagnosis.   Scenes still easily pass through my mind of that moment after surgery when the doctor in the consult room told me it was cancer.  My pulse electrifies and my heart dives into mournful memory. 

I focus back on the tracks stretching out like a trail of hope. My mind lights on the beauty as I follow my loves back home.  I make room for it all.  Sadness and fear, beauty and light.  This moment right here, right now.  A gift.

This week and next we’ll joyfully celebrate the holidays with family and friends.  After that we face another scan, which we will try to walk toward bravely, knowing how much love is in our hearts.

When I look back to last year I know all we are learning continues to fuel our lives with compassion and understanding and for this I am thankful.

“Life can survive the constant shadow of illness, even rise to moments of rampant joy, but the shadow remains, and one has to make space for it.”  Diane Ackerman

spring

This past week was Iris’ half birthday, that coveted afternoon where she gets Mama all to herself, for a walk, some ice cream a trip to the thrift store.  This girl, whose intense sensitivity has both served her well and haunted her beyond words this last year.  This girl, whose innate calling to nurture is something to behold.  I marvel at it and the love it brings others and I also can’t help but yearn for her to turn it inward as well.  Complicated and intense, astute and tender, she is a perfect mix of those who love her most.  And she is incredibly her own.  9 and 1/2, the definition of change, of growth, of moving out into the world.  We hold her, with arms just a little looser, and watch her go.

And then came Easter.  Memories of last year crowded our minds.  The Easter eve trip to the emergency room which started the tailspin of treatment that has been the last year.

But then to wake to this holiday with good health, with good news still so fresh, with hope and renewal singing as loudly as the spring peepers. The blessings do not go unnoticed.  Not even for an hour.

After a meal with friends and family and the annual egg hunt we headed to the Kickapoo Reserve in search of the Whooping Crane that Andy had been lucky enough to see (if full view) the day before. We did find it, stalking in the weeds at the far edge of the pond.  It was little more than a long white neck in the binoculars, but still there it was.

Against all odds, the rare and perfect symbol of tenacity, or hope or just plain awe.

merry

 
Our days were merry and bright.  We pulled off our solstice tradition (handmade flannel jammies, every candle in the house and the very un-winter-once-per-year artichoke dinner).  Santa was good to them, we visited with family and friends, took a beautiful hike along the Kickapoo, and she lost her very first tooth!  What a weekend.
But best of all, of course, was the blessing of Andy’s health and healing this Christmas.  Of us, here together, still holding love and hope. 

the easter magic

  dying easter eggs with onion skins
On Saturday evening as we were preparing for bed, Mae turned to me and said “Mama, who is the Easter Bunny?”   
Really, right now, on the eve of the Easter Bunny magic we are going to talk about this?
“Um”, I stumbled, “What do you think sweetie?” 
“I think it’s you and papa.  Is it?”  
More stumbling and mumbling about magic.  And then with one lame last stab at hope, “Yes, Papa and I share the magic with the Easter Bunny.”
“So, is it you?” 
Ugh, my heart was hurting. “Yes.”
But her response was smiles and giggles and hugs.  Not unlike her sister’s last year when she found out about the Christmas magic and nailed us down.  When she learned the truth she giggled and said “You rascals!”and then proceeded to ask about every last thing she could ever remember getting from Santa.  Yes, yes, and yes.  And then she said “You guys do too much for us.”  Seriously.

I remember vividly when I found out about Santa.  It was spring, I was probably 7 or 8  and had just gotten off the school bus.  Something in me really needed to know that day so I asked my mom and she told me.  Then I asked about the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy and it all came crashing down.  I was devastated.  We are talking tears, not giggles and delight in all they had done for me.
Our girls response leaves me mystified and thankful.  Like many parents there was a part of me that wasn’t so sure about the “big lie”.  But I believed in the delight of the magic, the nature of children to be held by the good, the sweetness of it all.  I believed they would understand that we told these stories out of love and generosity (just like the spirit of Christmas).  

I can’t help some personal sadness that the magic is now over, our youngest is in.  She hasn’t asked yet about Santa and the Tooth Fairy but it’s right around the corner and she hasn’t even lost her first tooth.  They tell me that’s the way with younger siblings, the magic never lasts as long.
   As I reflect I realize that my sadness in watching childhood roll on is her joy in getting bigger and growing up.  Today she rode her two-wheeler without training wheels with eyes shining and pride positively glowing from her smile.  “Look at me Mama, I’m doing it!”

Yes you are, and we are watching.

restful

holiday scene awaiting all visitors to our home
 Mae’s new nonnie-made baby boy, Thomas.  Oh my.
 Iris’ new sewing machine.  Go girl.
newly nonnie-knit sweaters from our sheep’s wool
 sledding fun with grampy
 waiting for santa
 hauling more wood.  Brrrrrr.

And just when you’re having loads of fun and excitement with new gifts, and family and playing outside, and another trip is just ahead to see more family and friends, you get sick.  Just low down awful sick.  As Iris has said plenty in the last few days, “it’s just not fair”.  It was pretty disappointing.  No trip to see Nina and Poppy for Christmas, no time to skate and play with city friends.

Instead we’re parked by the fire.  Close by the fire.  (Dang it’s cold around here.)  Two days of solid fever and tummy trouble will stop you right in your tracks and tell you to just lay down.  Right here, right now.  All day.

Plenty of tea, snuggles, lots of stories, naps, knitting, more tea and toast, violin concertos, more knitting and snuggles, some very quiet playing while sister sleeps again, more stories and early to bed. 

Not exactly our plan for ringing in the new year, but it wasn’t hard at all to see the blessings in this day.  A nothing matters but this sick girl kind of day.  A day when the list doesn’t find its way to the top of the pile, not even once.  A day for dreaming but not doing.  A day for staying close to one another.  A day of nourishing food, even if only a little.  A day of slippers and pajamas.  A day of quiet.  A day of rest.

A reminder in this new year, (once again, and again) of slowing down.  That we grow each day in the company of one another and that working towards our best selves is such worthy labor.

May the new year ahead be full of good health and the change you wish to bring in your lives and for this world.

Happy new year all.

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