Five hours

Since my plane hit ground. But ut has already erased a TON of stress.

An extra play day for mommy on the front and back of this trip was inspired genius, if I do say so myself.

(this is the main pool at coronado springs resort.... It's going to rain, but i have a margarita...)

There is something to be said...

For going out to the curb myself with that one last bag of garbage instead of making one of the kids do it... This was the sunrise I got as my reward.

and

silly me I though all I had to worry about was whether it would snow this Friday...

I go to the rock

I was never a huge Whitney fan, but I did like her. I downloaded her
greatest hits album last night when I was updating my Alcatraz
podcasts. This morning I was driving to work, heavy hearted and
Whitney singing "I go to the rock" was at least a little bit of
comfort.

Things are not looking good right now. My father in law has an
infection (possibly c-diff which is not fun at all to google). He is
back in the hospital.

I am torn inside. I'm disappointed at the possibility that my vacation
is going down the drain, and feeling guilty and selfish. I wanted my
children to enjoy our Disney trip (our departure was/is/ might be
still scheduled for this Friday- they were supposed to travel down
with all of their band / classmates).

A Disney trip is something I never had as a kid, that I wanted to give
to them, and they have been eagerly counting the days while I have
been secretly struggling to juggle the finances to make it work. If
it weren't for the fact that they are supposed to be performing with
their school band, I would have already told them that Disney will
always be there but we will not go this time, and we will wait to go
when we are not so heavy hearted. But... I have responsibilities to
help chaperon, I'm supposed to have the cert check to pick up the
parkhopper passes, B was supposed to stay in my room, and so on.

My daydream bubble of a contented Friday afternoon (of "me time"
poolside before the bus arrives) has been burst. Even if I do get to
go, I'm not sure how RELAXED I could possibly be. But far more
importantly at any minute my father in law could leave us forever, and
despite him being 85+ we are not really prepared for that, and we are
also busy caring for my mother in law who can't take care of herself.
We have some help, but it's only been a week since this all started so
things are not really properly sorted out.

And, it's supposed to snow Thursday night. Which is just... perfect.

Love

When I went to my mother in law's this morning to take my turn, I found that this is what she did with the empty side of the bed while my FIL is in the hospital. :::sniffle:::

A new beginning

(Photo was found HERE )

Friday night my sister came up from Pittsburgh with The Cutest Baby Ever and just about the time she arrived, my 85 year old father in law fell while running an errand with my brother in law. He broke his hip.

Cue the gasps, the knowing statements of "That's the beginning of the end, you know, when they break a hip." I now hate that mentality. Copious baby kisses over the course of the weekend prevented me from slugging anyone. Man, this can be stressful... getting multiple siblings to make decisions on topics they've never really wanted to dwell on.

We have pieced together who would be at the hospital with him and deal with the surgeons, and who would be with his "girl", my Irish mother in law. She is quite unsteady on her feet, and doesn't have a great deal of strength. I believe I could easily pick her up; and because she is so tiny and thin she is always freezing.

But.

She is still one tough dame, I have to tell you. She doesn't want anyone pushing her around, but she is unfailingly polite and sweet about it. I went to take my turn to help her get ready for bed last night and asked as quietly as possible... have you bathed? do you need to be bathed? The reply came quickly. Firmly. Proudly. "I wash MYSELF, every morning." Thank you very much, beat it Carly, I got this.

This morning I was making her breakfast (and doing a little spoof of a diner waitress, which she didn't quite catch - I have to be louder - or actually funnier. ) She knew exactly what she wanted, on every front. Open the curtains, please. Done. Don't forget those curtains there, on the door. Ooops. Who's the sharp one here?

She had a copper pitcher on the center of the table, and mentioned that it used to be up on the shelf, and that she'd like flowers to arrange in it. I asked her what kind, and she said silk ones, and forsythia please.

I googled them, and found this photo with a reference to the flowers representing a new beginning in life and nature. Love it. It's such a far cry from doom and despair and "guess it's time to say goodbyes" that it's exactly what I needed to help me stay positive. I'll be buying some for her tonight, even though I'm SO TIRED, internets, I really need to sleep, but if Lulu wants flowers she will get flowers.

I'm kind of scared of her scolding me if I forget them.

She has agreed to let us hire an aide to stay with her, so that we don't have to worry about her being alone at night. We will go forward; this is a new beginning.

So close

Someone spent a lot of time on this. Whoever you are, you're very talented. But my first thought was "um... My eyebrows and eyelashes fell out too"

(...probably because my eyebrows still haven't grown back. Just sayin'.)

Nice girls don't talk about boobies

This is going to be a long confusing rant that you may want to skip if you're a guy. Unless you have a wife, or sisters, or a mom.

Tonight on Facebook I saw a picture of a bunch of oranges that was photoshopped to show various symptoms of breast cancer. It was a very cathartic sucker punch.

(side note: Kerry Anne, I love you and don't doubt that for a second, please)

It's sad that we can't just show PICTURES OF ACTUAL BREAST CANCER without it being tee hee, boobies. And I wish I had a nickel for all the people who were embarrassed FOR ME that weird cells grew deep down in my breasts and not in, say, on the surface of my pasty white skin. PEOPLE. It doesn't embarrass me in the least. Breast cancer, Breast cancer, breast cancer. It's not dirty. I'm not immodest if I tell you where my tumors, all four of the fuckers, chose to set up shop.

But what stung just a little is that one of the photos was right on target. And I have blamed myself for it, far too long.

The orange in the photo that I'm referring to was leaking. Drip, drip.

So was I, for a while.

One day in the summer of 2009 while I was visiting my sister in Pitt, I woke up and my tshirt was wet. Just a little bit, near the right nipple. It was annoying. It happened every now and then. I assumed that at age 45 (seriously, how long have I been writing this blog?) I was perimenopausal, and rolled my eyes whenever the topic came up. Old bag. Sigh.

The year before, I'd gone for my annual lube/oil/ and filter check (come on, joking is the only way to get through that ordeal) and dutifully said to the ob/ gyn's nurse practitioner "uh, you know, sometimes I leak, and my kids are teenagers, so what's that about?" and they did a few extra blood tests, and found... Nothing. And I let it drop.

I let the matter drop. My family doctor glanced through the bloodwork and basically shrugged.

I am only starting to forgive that now. Him, me, all of of the medical people who failed me that summer in '08.

The following summer, in Pitt, I started to worry. But it was in a long line of worries at that point (helloooooo unemployment!!!) - I was depressed. I didn't WANT to go for another checkup. They had said the year before, everything was fine... I assumed still that I was just getting old. I really did live in denial then. But that was in part because both breasts leaked (because, my dumb luck, I got cancer in BOTH OF THEM....) so it probably *was*just me getting old... Or so I thought.

I am writing this to tell you: it's not fine. Your breasts should not suddenly start to leak, years and years after your children start school. Don't settle for "eh, it's probably just..."

My surgeon told me that it would have been five years before I could feel my tumor doing a breast self examination. Five years.

Five years. And it had already spread to the nearest lymph node.

I am grateful to myself for pulling it together in November (my birthday month) that year and saying to myself "Carly, get your damn mammo and checkup done already.". It was a few months later than I usually did it.

I wonder now, if I'd done it in the summer, would they have seen anything? I wonder if I'd have gone another year, not quite feeling right and not knowing why, while the cells marched onward through my lymph system.

But I am starting to forgive myself. For not jumping up and down and demanding REAL ANSWERS. For waiting a few extra months in 2009 to get that mammo- because I might have skipped the ordeal of chemo. But I might also have missed my relatively early diagnosis. It's just something I'll never know.

I'm starting to forgive my family doctor (who I stopped seeing when he told me, without seeing ANY of my biopsy info, that I would need a double mastectomy, and radiation treatments were horrible and to be avoided and so much other bullshit, that I should just sue his balls off. )

Mostly I am leaving him in the past, as a distant memory. I got a second opinion from wonderful doctors who actually LOOKED AT my tests and knew what they were doing. They are my personal heroes and I hug them both whenever I see them.

But the point of my long rant is this: okay fine, if it takes a photo of weird oranges to get people talking about breast cancer symptoms, then so be it.

TALK ABOUT IT.

Talk to your wives and your sisters and your mothers. These are the facts: anything that is different or unusual is a sign that needs to be checked out. Puckering? Check it. Weird skin texture? Call the doctor. Leaking? Stand on someone's desk and demand to be heard. Fight for an MRI or at least an ultrasound.

For me, tell even ONE PERSON today about what I've written here. Please.

We need to stop being embarrassed by breast cancer. It's hard enough to fight it.

Hey Mickey!

Getting very excited about going to Disney with the kids in a few weeks. The band teacher said gift cards are the best way to give them money for meals & snacks (and if you know my son, that's a lotta money...) rather than letting them carry cash.

The other day I got my park hopper pass. (Theirs is part of their band's tour package... I'm sort of tagging along...)

I have even found a ride that appeals to me (Soarin' - an IMAX hanglider tour of California. Awesome. )

Let's do this!