Tag Archives: questions

A note to my IRL friends – and a few requests

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NOTE: I’ve purposely kept this blog very hush-hush. Heck, I just told my mom last week that I have a blog, but I didn’t share the URL. I just don’t want to feel restricted or edited in what I say or how I say it. BUT there are a handful of people in my real life with whom I HAVE shared this URL (and I know a few of you have shared it with mutual friends, too. That’s okay.) This post is written for you. And for those of you I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting IRL (yet), please see my requests at the end of this post – many of us have been on the widow/solo parenting journey together for a while, and I’d love to hear from you too.

Hey, friend. What’s up? From Facebook and Instagram, looks like you had a great holiday. Yay! I’m still on break – classes don’t start until the 26th. Woo-hoo, the life of a college instructor!

Seriously, most of you have been on this journey with me from the time of Mike’s death. This blog has been my way of keeping you in the loop with how I’m doing, what I’m feeling, what’s going on with me. And hell, you know me pretty darned well. And you know that if you call me, no matter what’s going on, I’ll probably say, “I’m great. Kids are good. Mom’s good. How are YOU?” I’ll immediately deflect to talk back to YOU because I really hate talking about myself.

But I’ll write it. This blog is like opening my brain and letting you all in. It’s real. Sometimes raw. But always authentic.

You’re probably up-to-date on what’s going on with my boob. Yeah, I know you’ve been reading because you’ve called or texted or emailed or messaged me (or, ahem, perhaps you’ve messaged someone else to get the skinny?? I’m on to you, you-know-who. OK, I don’t know specifically WHO you are, but I have my suspicions.).

You have NO idea how much it means to hear from you. I’ve read every message and text and listened to voicemails over and over. Thank you for caring so much. I love you. You’re kindness makes me cry. Happy tears. Tears of love.

And I suck as a friend because I haven’t responded to your outreach. You took the time to reach out. You want to talk, and I’ve been silent. Sorry, not sorry. It’s still hard to talk about this (completely unplanned) journey. I don’t know what to say in words that come out of my mouth. Words that come off my fingertips, sure, but it’s hard to SAY the words out loud right now.

Look, you know me. You know that I don’t want you to feel sorry for me or for you to feel bad for me or to hear “you’ve been through so much already.” It is what it is, you know? Cancer’s here, and now I have to deal with it. Sucks? Yes. But there’s only one thing to do: win.

I’ve thought a lot about this, and there are some positives:

  1. I get new boobs. Yep, 40+ years of these puppies and gravity is winning. But not for long. Whether I decide to go for a conserving surgery or just have it completely removed, I’ll have new breasts. Insurance pays for them to look symmetrical, so the left one won’t be left out – it’ll get a lift (at minimum).
  2. New boobs might come with a tummy tuck. If I opt for a mastectomy with flap reconstruction, the fat and tissue from my abdomen will become my new boobs, and my stomach ends up “tucked.” I never liked how my c-section scar healed, and this might be the time to get all that fixed up.
  3. I get new hair. Yes, I am still a little emotional about the curls, but I’m getting over it after looking at my wig options. However, I haven’t seen my natural hair color since 1992. Who knows what will happen when it grows back! Will I be blonde? A ginger? A true brunette? My hair was naturally all these at different points of my life, until college when I started coloring it. Only time will tell what’s really going on with the follicles. But until then, I get to add hats and scarves and wigs to my wardrobe – and I don’t have to feel bad about buying these accessories. My head must stay warm, you know.

So there. No reason to feel sorry for the diagnosis. I get new boobs and hair! Woot! And you’re all invited to see both and celebrate with me (with a lot of wine) when this is over. (Well, probably not see-see the boobs. That might be weird.)

But, I know you want to DO something. If there’s one thing I’ve learned through the grief process, it’s that people want to help. So I’ve been thinking about that – how you can support me from wherever you are. Three things:

  1. Obviously prayers are very much appreciated and needed. Pray for me, for the kids, for my mom, for B, for my doctors. We’ll take all the good thoughts we can get!
  2. Keep calling, messaging, texting, reaching out. I might not respond, but I REALLY appreciate you and your messages. I need to hear your encouragement. It helps so much to know you care. Thank you.
  3. I need a playlist. Whether it’s sitting in waiting rooms or waiting during chemo treatments, I need some good, upbeat music. Consider it a way for you to hug me – I’ll think of you when I hear the songs and feel the love and good vibes you’re sending my way. I have some thoughts on how this might work, if someone wants to spearhead this. OR, just leave your musical suggestions in the comments below.

Much thanks to all of you. Much love to each of you. XO

-Jax

 

Needles in my boob, the meaning of positive, and so much damn cancer information

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Didn’t mean to leave anyone hanging, but I’ve spent a ton of time with the kids and B during the holiday break. From Christmas (and so much playing!) to a New Years (kid-free!) getaway with B, it was a great week. In between the fun, I was researching and reading and plotting all the potential scenarios, but as much as possible, I tried to focus on the kids and B. But now I’ve reached the point at which I need to write this out, to get these thoughts and feelings out of my head. As I’ve said before, this blog helps me process, and I’m going to need to process a LOT during this process…

So the update, starting with the Christmas Eve biopsy.

Biopsy

I don’t think I ever want to spend Christmas Eve morning at the breast imaging center again.

The results of my mammogram and ultrasound were suspicious, so the biopsy was the next course of action. Again, not feeling like I had much to fear, I was in good spirits – looking forward to the next day with the family and the start of a week with B.

I changed into a surgical gown and was escorted back to the ultrasound room. The radiologist who would perform the procedure came in. He was really nice, to the point, and very socially awkward (which I appreciate and kind of adore in people). He explained the procedure and looked at the images from my last visit. In a few minutes, I was warned that the local anesthesia would sting a bit. It did, but it wasn’t bad.

A few minutes later, the first incision was made. I watched on the ultrasound as the first mass was found. I could see the radiologist’s needle approaching the mass.

“One. Two. Three,” he counted. Click! I watched as the needle pierced the mass and retracted back. This went on for six or seven times. Count to three. Click sound. Needle in and out. No pain, but I could feel blood dripping down my side.

Then he made a second incision for the next mass. Same procedure, except he forgot to count. “I’m so sorry,” he said with a little under-the-breath laugh. “I forgot to count. Are you okay?”

I assured him I was fine. Since I was watching the whole thing on the monitor, I could see the needle approach and anticipated the click and needle in-out thing. Besides, I couldn’t feel anything with the local anesthesia.

The nurses laughed as I explained that I figured it out and didn’t need the countdown. “Everyone is different,” Nurse Gina said. “Some people ask a ton of questions. Some want to bury their face in a pillow and not look at all.”

The whole thing lasted about an hour. During that time, the nurses, radiologist and I talked about our Christmas plans, recipes for cooking a tenderloin (two of us were making one for dinner the next day), and recipes for our themed holiday drinks. (We would have Cranberry Margarita Martinis, while Nurse Gina was preparing Frozen Grasshoppers.)

When it was over, Nurse Gina applied pressure to the two incisions for about 10 minutes. That was probably the most painful part. It was SERIOUS pressure. Then steri-strips and a gauze/adhesive dressing. The incisions were so small, Nurse Gina had a hard time finding them.

I had to change the dressing a few times that night because I kept bleeding through. It turned a beautiful purple color. (I joked that it matched the dress I was going to wear on New Years.) And there was a lump where the biopsies originated. But there was very little pain.

The worse thing was the flu that I was coming down with and would battle for the next week and a half.

Then waiting… Having B and my mom around, and the kids of course, kept my mind occupied (somewhat), but there was still the WAITING…

Positive Doesn’t Mean “Good”

Friday at 9 a.m., B and my mom were getting ready to leave, after they both spent two nights with the kids and me. My cell phone rang.

“I just got off the phone with the pathologist,” said the socially-awkward radiologist. “It’s positive for breast cancer. Both areas. Wait, sorry. I should have started with asking how you’re feeling since the biopsy…”

I laughed. I’m good, I assured him. Surprised at the results, but the biopsy area was fine.

“I really suspected it was cancer when I saw it,” he said, “but I had to wait for the results to be sure.”

He told me a nurse would call soon to schedule a meeting with a surgeon.

Tears. I walked out of my office and into the kitchen. I looked at my mom and said, “It’s positive.”

She put her arms around me and buried her head in my neck.

“Positive is good, right?” said Ethan, who I didn’t even realize was in the room. Until this point, I hadn’t said anything to the kids.

“Usually, yes,” I said. “But not usually when it comes to medical stuff.”

I explained that I had a test that showed a lump in my breast and had another test to determine what it was. It was the second test that was positive for something and that meant I’d have to see more doctors to find the best way to fix it. That satisfied him and so far, I haven’t said anything else to him.

(I’ve thought a lot about this. Until I have a plan and more information on my particular kind of cancer, talking about it to a kid who’s been through so much would do more harm than good. I really want to be able to say “here’s what’s up, here’s how we fix it, and everything will be okay.” I just don’t have enough information yet to do that.)

About that time, the surgical nurse called. I had already reviewed the surgeon profiles at the cancer center so I knew which surgeon I wanted to see. I had three options: two general surgeons and one breast-only surgeon. I’m going with the breast-only doc. Of course, she’s out of the country until January 12, so things are kind of on hold until then. She’ll be the one to refer me to the oncologist and radiation doc, and order additional testing necessary before surgery.

Information Overload

In the waiting time, I had an “education session” with Nurse Gina. I brought my mom for two reasons: 1) the cancer people kept asking if I had a support system (since I’d been alone during the mammogram and biopsy) and I wasn’t sure they believed that I did have support, and 2) I thought it would help my mom. (It did make her feel more comfortable.)

Most of what Nurse Gina covered, I knew from my hours of research, but there were two points that caused me to cry.

She explained that since I was pre-menopausal and under 50, I would most likely have to endure chemotherapy. As she went over the specifics and side effects of chemo, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for myself. Losing my hair, eyelashes, eyebrows – “fuckity fuck fuck,” was the only thing I could think as tears streamed down my face. As she continued with the services offered in the cancer center – head shaving, wig fitting, scarf tying, eyebrow makeup classes – more tears. Tears because, quite frankly, I can hide all of this from people, but not if I lose hair. Then I’ll get sympathy looks, which I hate. I also teared because it’s so ridiculously vain – and that pissed me off that I could be so damned vain about HAIR… And it cycled back through again.

The second thing that caused me to cry was when she asked if I told the kids yet. I said no, and explained why and what they did know. She gave me information on how to tell kids, which is somewhat helpful, but given our situation, it’s so much more complicated. I just tear whenever someone talks about or I think about how my kids have been affected (and in some cases, messed up) by so many things out of their control. And at such young ages. This is just one more thing for them to worry about.

Nurse Gina was fantastic during the education session. She made my mom feel completely at ease. She sent me home with an inch-thick book and a two-inch binder, plus a ton of pamphlets and brochures on information and resources locally and nationally. I like having as much info as possible, so I’ve already devoured everything except the book (which seems to be a lot of info I’ve found in my research). And last night, I started researching wigs and scarf tying and the god-awful bras and inserts made for women who’ve gone through breast surgeries.

That’s where things stand right now. Stay tuned… there are still a half-dozen topics I want to write about, and will write about, in the coming days/weeks.

Dream and “more” – connection or coincidence?

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It’s been 26 months since he died, and until last night, I hadn’t had a dream about Mike or even one in which he appeared.

In last night’s dream, Mike and I were dating, I think. At least, we didn’t seem to know each other super well. We definitely weren’t married in this dream. He was my “plus one” to a fundraiser (dinner and silent auction) at some fancy-pants hotel. He was kind of being a jerk – quiet/not talkative, not responsive to stories or jokes or questions, basically ignoring me. At one point (when he excused himself to the men’s room), I hid in another room, contemplating leaving the fundraiser alone. Ultimately, I decided to allow myself to be “found” and give him another chance to salvage the date.

Then I woke up.

I’m not a huge believer in dream analysis, but this dream comes as B and I have talked about “more” in our relationship (“more” of each other, “more” than just weekends, “more” of pretty much everything having to do with one another).

SIDE NOTE: Adult relationships are complicated – kids, jobs, responsibilities. I didn’t have these considerations last time I dated, almost 20 years ago. (Twenty years ago, it was: want to spend more time together? Move in with one another! Life was so much less complex…)

Not sure how or if the dream is connected to what’s happening with B, but I’ve been distracted all day…

Ex date

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I was robbed of having an ex-husband. I never had a chance to figure out how to co-parent or balance an ex with a new relationship. Some friends have remarked that I’m lucky in that way. Ha!

I really felt, when Mike and I separated, that we’d eventually fall into a rhythm, a separate-lives-but-always-intertwined sort of understanding. I honestly thought we’d maintain a friendship revolving around the kids. We were together for almost 20 years. We knew each other in a way no one else could ever imagine – we matured from college to grad school to life to parenthood. It was a bond no one else could ever be part of. Even if we wouldn’t be together, we’d remain attached.

Perhaps it’s because of this mindset that I “get” B’s relationship with his ex-wife. I’ve met her on a couple of occasions, usually in passing as they’d exchange the kids with one another.

Of course, B told stories about her. And, of course, I’d done my own research. Based on her Pinterest boards and some stuff she’d posted publicly on FB, I thought we could be friends (if things were different).

That’s why when B proposed going to the circus with all four kids – and his ex-wife – I was totally game.

B was nervous to ask if I’d be okay with the ex coming along. She wanted to be there when her girls experienced their first circus. She and B make an effort to do things together with their kids every month or so. And she’s their mom – she SHOULD be part of these things. I was totally cool with it.

I was only concerned that Ethan would ask wildly inappropriate questions of her. B laughed at this thought and said he should totally mess with her. (I disagreed and bribed E with Pokemon cards if he was on his best behavior.)

So we all went to the circus. Me and Ethan and Lauren. B and his ex and their two girls.

The ex greeted me with a HUGE hug, complimented my hair, and acted like we’d known each other for years. She shook E’s hand and told Lauren she liked her dress. And we were off.

We arrived just as the circus was starting. Good timing, considering three of the four kids are UNDER the age of four (meaning no one has any patience to wait). Lauren and B’s daughter (who’s the same age as L) both sat on my lap. The baby sat on the ex’s lap with Ethan sitting at her side. (E adores the baby, and the baby LOVES E, so they wanted to sit close.) B sat next to me and the girls.

We watched. We laughed. We ooh’d and ahh’d. B and I held hands and made our own commentary about the ridiculous acts – like SkyMan, a completely generic superhero whose act was basically one bungee cord trick after another.

After two hours, the circus went into intermission and all three little girls broke down. So we left before someone was shot out of the cannon (bummer).

It was really a fun morning with B and his girls…and the ex. The ex and I parted ways with another big hug and a few laughs in the parking garage elevator. Later, the ex told B that it was obvious why he liked me, saying that we share the same sense of silly, nerdy humor. She also said E and L were awesome, and she liked spending time with us.

The ex is always going to be part of B’s life, and as we approach the one-year mark of our relationship, I hope to be part of B’s life for a long time, too. I think there’ll be more outings, just the seven of us…

Don’t talk about death – it scares the children (aka: f-you after-school teachers!)

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Ethan started opening up at school to his friends and teachers about his dad and his death. He really hadn’t said anything or even wanted to talk about Mike at school in the past. And it all started with a book the class read a few months ago.

In this story, the main character, a little boy, notices changes in his grandfather with whom he lives. The grandfather becomes very sickly, unable to get out of bed and his personality changes dramatically.

It was while discussing the grandfather’s illness and its manifestations that Ethan spoke up for the first time. “Sounds like what happened to my dad,” he said. He then started talking about how Mike was a great dad – until Ethan was about three years old. Then he started to get mean and yell at Ethan for no reason. And how Ethan, as a four or five year old boy, couldn’t wake his dad up, and how Ethan rarely saw Mike get off the couch in the basement. Ethan talked about his memories of hearing about his dad’s death while at school and the funeral and how he felt about his dad’s passing.

The reading teacher, who was Ethan’s first grade teacher when Mike died, was stunned that he was opening up. The class was quiet as they listened respectfully. One little girl came up to the teacher afterward to tell her she understood Ethan a little bit better after his story.

The teacher called me that night to tell me this story – and to see what she should do if/when he opens up again. “Let him talk!” I said. “It’s good that he’s comfortable with his classmates and you. He needs to get these thoughts and emotions and feelings OUT!”

She completely agreed and was very happy to hear that I was supportive of allowing Ethan to talk.

Fast forward to this week.

Ethan’s school lets out around 2:15. I teach until 3:15, then have a 40 minute commute, so Ethan attends an after-school program run by the local parks and rec department. He’s been in the program, with the same leaders, since he started at the school. They’re familiar with our situation and Mike’s death. And they’ve been very supportive and understanding as we’ve gone through milestones and anniversaries.

Until now.

Apparently, Ethan decided to open up to a group of kids this week. I’m not sure what triggered his desire to talk about his dad’s death, or even what EXACTLY he said. But the leaders of the program freaked out.

I arrived shortly after the “incident.” The leader pulled me into a nearby room to talk privately. “Ethan was talking about his dad’s death today,” she said.

“Yeah…” I said.

“And it freaked out the kindergarteners. So we told him not to,” she said.

“Not to what?” I asked.

“Talk about how his dad is dead.”

“But that’s his reality. His dad IS dead. It’s not right or wrong, here or there. Mike is dead,” I said.

“Yes, but we don’t want the younger kids getting scared that their parents will die,” the leader continued. “So we asked him to talk to us and not the other kids if he wants to talk about his dad’s death.”

“But the kids’ parents ARE going to die. We’re ALL going to die. Ethan just learned the lesson earlier than most kids,” I said. “It’s healthy and natural, and I’m encouraging him opening up about Mike’s death if he wants or needs to.”

“He can talk about it with me or Miss B, but not the other kids,” the leader said. “It scares them.”

“So you told him NOT to talk about death?”

“Well, he can talk to us, just not the other kids.”

“But the other kids can talk about their moms and dads?”

“Of course. And Ethan can talk about you and his sister and his grandma. But not his dad.”

“Do you see a problem with that?” I asked, as politely as I could but starting to get really irritate.

“No. Death scares the kids.”

“Yes, and this is the life Ethan lives. He lost his dad and his grandpa. The kid has experienced more death than some adults I know. This is his reality, and he needs to be able to talk about it.”

“Well, I just don’t think he should talk to the kids about it.”

I grabbed Ethan and walked out of the school. Over last few days, I’ve tried to steer conversations with Ethan toward finding out what happened, without asking directly. He hasn’t mentioned anything nor seemed phased by what happened. The after-school teachers also haven’t mentioned it again – but I grab Ethan and leave as quickly as possible. I’m not really interested in small talk with them right now.

Would you be as pissed off as I am about this request to NOT talk about his dad?