I know what you're thinking (aren't I always so perceptive? ;). Right now you either want to 1)not read this, or 2)run to the comments section - or my facebook profile - to tell me how evil the Canucks - or their city - are, and how dare I even suggest that this tragedy actually taught me something immensely positive this week.... but hear me out first, please. I don't want to get my tear gas out. Word on the street is that the entire province is out of stock.
Ok, that was gong-worthy. But I had to try to lighten up one of the darkest days I've remembered in this part of the world. Sigh.
For those of you who have always hated - or have begun to hate - hockey, or those of you who are just tired of it, and to those of you not from the Vancouver area, or who really don't understand anything about sports or this one in particular, please know that what I'm about to say is not really about hockey at all, except, unfortunately, for the very vivid, painful, and heart-breaking sights, sounds, and smells of the city I love on one of its blackest nights.
A bit of hockey background is necessary first, though, so I hope you can indulge me. ;)
Those of you who know me well know I'm pretty vocal about my backing of the Canucks. Yes, I'll be in your face about it, even, if you count in-your-face as spouting blue-and-green, and occasionally the retro orange-yellow-red-black-white of this team who has surrounded so many of my best, and not-so-happy, childhood - and I suppose, now adult, memories. I'll challenge anything I consider even remotely untrue, unfair, or overly negative, about a team who taught me to love our national past-time, and taught me to care just as much about what happens to our city off the ice as happens on it.
Especially now, when what happens off the ice is more destructive than what happens on it.
One of the first rules of being a Canucks fan - or any fan, really: you have a choice. You can be a bandwagoner, ready to celebrate a great win and act like you were with them all along, turning on a dime and criticizing every single move the players make as soon as they lose, spraining your ankle repeatedly every year as you leap off that proverbial bandwagon. Or, you can be a Canuck faithful. One of those people who's spirits rise and fall with wins and losses, who knows they're in for a rollercoaster from the start of October through the end of (if we're lucky) May or June, who realizes there will be some tears involved at some point - no joke... I was surrounded by hundreds of grown men, "men's men," at that, on that amazing night of December 17, 2008, when Linden's jersey was raised to the rafters at Rogers Arena, all of whom had tears in their eyes. And, who can forget the images of Ryan Kesler or Chris Higgins desperately trying to stay together after last night's heartbreaking - no matter what should have been, or could have been done - Game 7 loss?
Yes, sometimes we care about things and get hurt because we care. Sometimes - okay, most of the time we don't get what we want. Some things aren't fair, or at least don't feel that way. But choosing to care is still worth it.
Aside from these above-stated obvious lessons I can pass on to my kids, there's something else that's been lurking there. Something right or wrong I could feel floating around me, the last couple of months. Something that was getting me frustrated. Something that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Again, indulge me with some more hockey background.
Second rule of being a Canucks fan: you're going to be mocked.
The moment people find out you're a Canucks fan, you'll most likely hear all about every single thing that team has done wrong. Flames and Oilers fans will love to do this to you especially. I'm accepting of it since we have a long-standing rivalry with those two teams and its part of who we are, BC and Alberta, to face off with our verbal sniper rifles from either side of one of Canada's greatest treasures, the magnificent Rocky Mountains. And, I do have a couple of university degrees and everything, so I'm not completely stupid here. I'm aware of the mistakes, the fails - both minor and epic - the tragedies, the things we Canucks wished never happened. So if you're going to be a real Canuck fan, be prepared for anyone who's not a Canucks fan, and even some of those who say they are, will be very quick to remind you of every heartache, you as a Canuck faithful, have ever had.
The last two months I've heard from so many who, their team being out of the playoffs, chose to spend their energies cheering against the Canucks. I get that - believe me, I'm not going to be very quick to congratulate Boston or Chicago fans on their successes, and I don't expect that many of their fans would be too surprised by that either ;). But with each passing series, the Canuck-hate seemed to get worse. Yesterday someone happily 'liked' a status that said Mason Raymond won't be able to play until Christmas, if he gets to return at all. 'Liked' seeing one of our players fairly seriously hurt. Seriously! For all the Patrick-Kane-finger-waving grannies of the Chicago series that made me - and Kane himself - laugh, deep down I don't think any real Canucks fan would ever want to see, say, Nathan Horton, for example, injured. Though apparently he was remarkably better by yesterday.
But I apologize. I've just given you a prime example of how many justify their ill-will towards the Canucks. It's what has become the third "rule" of being a Canucks fan: We're all whiners. We complain too much about the apparent injustices we see done to us or around us. And when we lose, we act out.
See last night, for example.
So, because of these three Canuck "rules," this morning I woke up to, not only the painful reminder that we came so close again, and missed, what we'd been after, not only the horrifying, literally physically disturbing images of the city I love being trashed to pieces by people who probably couldn't even remember their own names or why they bought the Canucks paraphernalia they just happened to be sporting, but a zillion negative, critical comments from every portion of the media telling me just how awful Canuck fans, Vancouverites, and the players themselves, must be in order for something like this to happen. Not to mention all Canuck forums/facebook pages loaded with fans of opposing teams wishing us nothing but trash and telling us how we've never been good enough and never will be.
No wonder the antibiotics I got yesterday don't really feel like they're working today. All of this garbage has only upped the ante; not only am I drippy-nosed, sore-throated, and hoarse-voiced, but I feel personally, heart-crushingly, ill.
The media is skewed, of course. I mean, they cover what's sensational, controversial. And the internet is a haven for all of the disturbed people in the world to camp out and get more messed up together. So, its not entirely accurate.
But I realized what was bothering me. Why it felt like something so much more, and nothing to do with hockey, all at the same time.
Because if we had won last night, I'd be far too busy being happy about winning to take time out of my schedule and trash the opposing team on their own fan pages, or tell my Bruin-loving friends (ok, there aren't too many of those ;) that I was thrilled that they lost.
And that's when it all made sense.
The most common word people use to describe me is passionate. Whatever I do, I do thoroughly, they say. This is true. I used to feel guilty for this. I still kind of feel sheepish. But I've tried not caring and apparently its not in my genetics. I don't know how to do that. So I care. Not about everything, of course. We'd be bleeding heart puddles of insanity if we put every ounce of energy into every tiny cause we see. As my brother says, "you gotta pick your battles, kiddo.... decide what you're willing to die on the mountain for." He's right. And, as passionate as I am about hockey, its not really what's bothering me right now.
Its actually passion itself that is bothering me. Or, rather, misdirected passion.
See, I refuse to believe there is a section of the world that just doesn't care about anything. I think those who say so are lying, or wounded, and have stuffed their own pain so deep they don't recognize it anymore. I know we all have varying degrees of passion, but I believe that for all of us, in some way shape or form, about some thing or another, its there. Think about it. There are things you care about. You might not be able to articulate it. You might not be able to even recognize it. But we all have values, assumptions, and a worldview. We like or dislike things based on said values, assumptions, and worldviews.
The trouble is when we dislike things more than we like others.
University aged groups, especially, tend to be intensely critical. I figured out by the end of my university tenure that they do that to test out value systems for themselves. They try on an attitude to figure out what they really feel about something. And the easiest way to care about something, the thing that will trigger us, is likely something we don't like. Its easier to criticize than promote something. Its harder to be for something than it is to be against.
That's what's been bothering me so much lately. Its not hockey. Its that so many of us - myself included - fall into that trap of throwing our passionate energies, our caring - into being against things, rather than for them.
There's no more vivid an example of this contrast than the vision of Vancouver last night at 9 pm and the sight of it this morning at 9 am. Last night was an angry mob, or maybe only an angry few and an unfortunate mob, leaving a path of destruction, of hate. Of being against something. This morning, however, while the first mob were nursing hangovers, thousands of a different one slowly moved among the streets they loved, quietly cleaning up the sobering, disgusting mess. Many left signs: "I am sorry on behalf of my team, and my city." This morning's group? They left a path, albeit, a largely unnoticed one, especially to the rest of the world - for what media will cover this? - of love, or perhaps an attempt at redemption, somehow. A strike out into the darkness, daring to be for something. For beauty, healing, or maybe even a stab at goodness in the middle of evil, a trickle of light in the sea of dark. A quiet statement that the inequities and destruction are not okay with us. Like the women who mopped up Jesus' blood following his scourging in the Passion of the Christ, tearfully contributing what their heart was for, while an angry mob raged on.
And then it hit me. I've wasted so much of my energy being against things. Sometimes its necessary, of course. I'm sure you can think of obvious examples. But too often, its not. And if we took a step back to realize, we would see that it might be harder to turn that hate into love, but choosing to be for something is so much better than investing in things that bring other people, or organizations, or things down.
We often stoop to fight evil with evil. We think we're going to take out hate with stronger hate of our own, and we'll win, we think, because we're right. It doesn't work, though. It just gets bigger. But this little band of cleaners, this morning.... they tried, at least, to fight evil with good. They ignored the temptation to stay inside and stepped out and said, we will be for something. No matter what is being said about us, right now, we won't hide or point the fingers to others. We'll do something.
As the over-played-but-engaging-theme for last year's Olympics said, "we'll be the change we wish in others."
And that's the challenge ahead. The world is watching, pointing, laughing, ridiculing, scourging, the inhabitants of this place I love so much. They are white-washing us with out and out lies, spreading rumors of what might have happened as truth. And we apologize, saying we're against the destruction - which is good - but how much more effective would we be if we'd go out and actually DO something to replace these images in people's heads?
I confess, I'm not exactly sure what that will look like - yet. But we'll know it when we see it.
This battle between passion and anti-passion is actually something happening in my physical body every day. For what else is cancer but the body turning against itself? What else is leukemia but the spleen and bloodstream over-reacting to its normal processes by destroying the cells that will help it, instead of forging ahead with sustaining nutrients to bring about health, feeding oxygen so we can breathe properly? And though I take drugs every day that are against the cancer gene, they work differently than the average bazooka-and-tear-gas-toting-onslaught of mainstream IV chemotherapy. They fit in the building blocks of this anti-enzyme, this cancer gene, that still has a chunk of residence in my body, and stop it from working, so that maybe, eventually, it will all die off, one chromosome at a time.
That's not too different from the men and women who forged their way out into their Vancouver neighborhoods last night, begging the rioters to stop, and pleading with them to see reason. They may not have stopped the masses, but they stood up and said, no, we are for a safe city, a good neighborhood. And kids saw them do that. For every child that witnessed horrible hate last night, there may be another somewhere who saw their mom or dad or uncle or neighbor, say, no, we'll be different than this. And if only a handful more of those kids grow up learning to handle their anger more effectively, then those individuals accomplished something.
Perhaps this is why God allows my cancer gene levels to decline as slowly as they have. For those of you who follow my progress, the counts have gone from -2.94 to -3.04 in the last few months. Not as big a drop as before, but still a drop. One cancer chromosome at a time. We keep praying that Sprycel keeps doing its job of course, and even if its slow, that's okay with me.
Just as it is in the aftermath of such senseless hate. Even if its slow, our progress in this madness, that's better than no progress at all.
So, yes, we are horrified by the mismanaged anger demonstrated in our beautiful city, in the unbelievable senselessness. But can I implore you all, instead of merely apologizing for those we have no control over, to start concentrating on what we do have control over - ourselves? Can we fight idiocy by choosing daily to be different than the insanity? Start by being who we wish those around us were? Start loving those who give us the most 'indigestion' as much as we can? And instead of just being against the rioters, can we model what it means to be for our city, for our kids, and for the beautiful earth we've been given? Whatever that means?
And to those of you fellow bleeding heart Canuck fans, can we please be for our team, even now, perhaps especially now? Tell the players you're proud of them. Share with other fans your favorite memories of an incredible season. Tell your children how happy you are that we got to all experience an emotional and, at times, extremely fun run to the cup. Those 15 wins we did get can certainly outweigh the 16th we didn't, if indeed we have as good memories as we're supposed to have.
Choose those memories. Look for the beauty around you, and celebrate it. And if you can see something right, something good, maybe those can be our topics of conversation. Our facebook statuses, our moments of reflection. If we could focus so strongly on what is best around us, rather than worst, we might see the worst and the wrong die off a little, inch by inch.
Be the change you wish in others. Stand tall for what's right. God help me, I hope I can. It won't be easy. It won't be popular. It won't always be fun. But it will be good. And, so, so, worth it.
I believe in the power that comes
From a world brought together as one
I believe together we'll fly
I believe in the power of you and I
I believe the time is right now
To stand tall and make the world proud
I believe together we'll fly
I believe in the power of you and I
I believe we can be different than this. Better. Do you? Its a choice. Please let us choose what brings life. I don't think we'll be completely alone. And with each one who chooses, who joins, we form our own, passionate, mob.
That mob, I think we'll all be proud of.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
What Cancer Has Taught Me, Part 356: Embrace your Inner Dork
Hey, you, over there, keep the L up in the air
Hey, you, over there, keep the L up, cause I don't care
You can throw your sticks and
You can throw your stones
Like a rock and just watch me go, yeah
L-O-S-E-R, I can only be who I are
I know, you're thinking, what? She's excited to be a loser? And where's the first 355 parts of what cancer has taught her? Let's just say those 355 things are not really written down, because they don't need to be. Those are the givens, all the cliches anyone can imagine you'd learn from confronting your own mortality. Things that can all be wrapped up in a neat box called 'perspective' and saved away for the next time you get caught up in a melodrama that was never worth more than 30 seconds of your time or energy.
But part 356 kind of took me by surprise. It's one of those things that fit the perspective box too, sure, but I didn't expect to become so excited about it. Maybe I knew it all along, but was scared to admit it. Maybe I thought if I took that leap and said, sure, I'm a dork and I don't care, that the world would laugh, that it would make me one of those people, you know, the ones on the fringes that are always being made fun of by the cool people?
Except guess what? I am one of those people, whether I like it or not. And I finally like it.
No, not totally, of course. It hurts sometimes. Only months ago I was crying because of something humiliating someone said about me publicly. But I'm not five or fifteen anymore. I have a choice on how I handle this stuff, don't I? And I think its time for a new strategy.
Confession time: Yes, I let my girls listen to the Glee soundtrack sometimes when we're driving in the car. Wait - no, I'm not the negligent mother you think. I only let them listen to the PG-rated stuff. Some of those songs have become Noelle's favorite going-to-school music. I wasn't terribly surprised - my girls love to sing, and Glee makes just about anything singable.
Second confession: I should have caught on to what I'm about to tell you much sooner than I did. Three weeks ago, Noelle started asking for one of the Glee songs over and over on the way to and from school. Every time I'd try to change it to another she'd beg for a repeat. She'd ask for me to explain what every line means. Those of you who recognized the lyrics I quoted above will guess which song it is - "Loser Like Me," the original song composed for the recent regionals episode.
Just go ahead and hate on me and run your mouth
So everyone can hear
Hit me with the worst you got and knock me down
Baby, I don't care
Keep it up and soon enough you'll figure out
You wanna be, you wanna be a loser like me
At first I just thought Noelle had found a catchy song that was fun to sing. But Wednesday on the way home from school I realized it was much deeper than that. See, my girl, even with all the initial struggles she's had adjusting to the routine, LOVES to go to school. She loves her teacher, she loves the kids, she loves to draw and read and sing and run and just learn. She would cry and plead with me to go even when she'd be ridiculously sick to go anyways. Yet, for the last three weeks, yes, the same amount of time we've been hearing "Loser Like Me" on repeat, she's not wanted to go to school at all. I've had to coax her into getting dressed, coax her into getting her backpack, wrestle with her to want to go see all her friends.
Little did I know that that was the problem: friends.
Well, that's a loose term in elementary school, hey? I mean, let's face it: we've either all been tormented at the hands of our peers, or we've done the tormenting, those of us on the receiving end labeled 'dorks' and those on the giving end celebrated, even envied for being so 'popular.'
Before you think I'm going to rag on the 'popular' people - although, really, what the $(#*%& does that even mean anymore? - let me say I'm the first to fall into this trap. In the second-to-last year of high school, I decided I would try to 'break in' to the 'popular crowd,' both at school and at youth group, and not really for any other reason than just to see if I could do it. I did, well, sort of; I got to the place where I was allowed to come to their parties and eat lunch with them and laugh at their jokes and yeah, some of it was really, really fun. They were entertaining people who knew how to have fun. But it came at a cost. I hurt some of the people, one person in particular, I remember, who were - and guess what, still are, my longest and closest friends, people who let me be me.
Of course, I realized, not too much into my experiment even, that I would still rather spend time with the people who let me be myself and who loved me for it. Because the 'popular crowd,' as fun as they were, kind of required me to be a certain version of myself in order to have fun with them. I don't think they knew they were doing it. At least I hope not. That was just what you did when you were 'popular,' when you had that intangible 'it' factor that the rest of the world deems is definitive of success and worthy of social elevation. And when I realized that the 'it' factor was okay but was kind of exhausting to try to maintain, I went crawling back to my real friends, the ones who'd been kind enough to embrace me from the beginning, the people who knew what it meant to hurt and cared enough to reach out to others on the fringes, the ones who were already okay with their social status. I was grateful that these same people were still giving enough to forgive the hurt my foray into the metaphorical teenage elite may have caused.
I hope my girl is one of those who'll forgive the friend who's currently doing to her what I once did to my best friends, if and when she ever realizes the same thing.
For now my daughter is on the receiving end of the elementary school mocking. Noelle reluctantly admitted on the way home from school on Wednesday that the girl she thought was her best friend was now not only friends with the girl who made fun of her, but also encouraging others to make fun of her.
And of course my daughter's tears just broke my heart.
Noelle says, that at least through her five-year-old tender-hearted eyes, that they've been making fun of her for three weeks. She couldn't name specifics. She said she didn't remember. Maybe she didn't want to remember, I don't know. And maybe its not as big as she's saying. But the point is that she feels it, regardless of what actually is going on.
I guess I wouldn't really be a true mommy if that didn't make me cry just a little bit.
I can't run in and save her, of course. I can't fix it. I can only try and help her navigate it, hopefully in a better way than I did when I was her age. Some of these painful things are necessary, of course. Unfortunately, its often the only way we learn social cues of how to get along and how to fit in. And really, those are good skills, things I have to use everyday at my job and at my church and in my neighborhood and with my friends: find out whatever pieces of common ground you have with someone and connect.
And I think, the more that I've talked to Noelle, that its probably not as dire as it seems. Likely her friend has just decided she doesn't want to be friends anymore, and like I've told Noelle, as much as it hurts, she's allowed to do that. We can't make anyone be friends with us.
No, we can't, but I really wish sometimes that we could all grow the @(#*$& up.
Yeah, I meant that expletive. These kids are five, of course. Five. And they're allowed to act that way. But I still see this stuff at 15, 20, 30, heck, there are some 40 year olds I know that are more than wonderful to engage with individually, but when they're all in a room together the air shifts and they become that 'popular' clique again, one I, and really, most people, are definitely not part of.
But maybe, I don't want to be.
There, I said it. I don't want to be popular. No, wait, don't throw things at me. Don't say I'm lying. I mean it. Last year I ran into one of the girls who tormented me in elementary school, one of those 'popular' people who managed to extend enough grace to accept me by the end of high school, and thought, hey, we're 30, we can find some common ground here, right? And about two minutes into the conversation - all of which was positive, by the way - I was slammed with an alarming thought: you're not that interesting.
Not to rag on her - she's a lovely person, really. Especially now that she doesn't feel the need to make fun of me, or make me guess as to if I'm her friend this week or not. But also really, I don't care about what she cares about. I care about - gasp - dorky stuff. Music. Arts. Reading. Parenting. Learning. Writing. Hockey. The most interesting people I know are either doing crazy-ridiculous degrees at ivy league schools and really trying to integrate what they learn with how they think and act, or are super-passionate about raising healthy, grounded, fun kids, or who love to get up and dance when they hear their favorite song, or who, like me, have watched hockey their whole life and will jump up and scream at the refs like my dad used to. But really, what all of these interesting people, beneath all their dorky behaviour, have in common is that at some point in their life, they experienced deep pain.
Pain, I think, can connect us with others quicker and longer than anything else in the world. Sure, on the outside, we bond over happy things, shallow things: clothes and vacations and events and news and all sorts of things that, at least most of the time, don't dig too deep into who we are. And I'm not suggesting we embrace our inner masochists and only think about things that hurt. But in sharing that hurt with the right people - usually those honest enough to know they're just the same as us - we become a more united front. Stronger, somehow. Less afraid of what the social elite can do to us.
Hence - beware, another dorky confession - my deep love of Bones. That show - ridiculous and brilliant and at times wickedly funny, if you share our macabre, off-beat sense of humour, that is, is really all about the dorks ruling the world, and the cool guy realizing he'd much rather have Brainy Smurf than Smurfette, along the way, of course, teaching Brainy Smurf how to interact with people.
And that's really what matters, right? How to make others feel like they count? The most truly popular person I know is actually popular, I mean, by definition, she's just one of those people who draw others around her because she is so inclusive and affable and fun.
The other thing about her? She's not afraid to be who she is. Interesting, isn't it?
What most baffles me is that those who embrace who they really are - dork, cool, or both - become a little more interesting to the rest of the world, popular or not. Why is it that when we stop caring about something we become a little more able to attain it? If we're honest, we all know that deep down there's a part of us we're too ashamed to share, the part that makes us vulnerable and weird and broken. The part we try to apologize for.
What if, instead of apologizing, or trying to forget its there, we actually let that part out and - gasp - celebrated it?
David just told me about a junior high dance where he spent the entire night playing ping pong with two of the geekiest kids in school. Guess what? Those two guys (not to mention my pretty smart and capable husband!) have crazy successful jobs today, and you know what, they're also functional adults in the social world. Dorks really are ruling the world now, or haven't you noticed the iPhone revolution? It might make you cool to have one of those phones, but guess who made those phones? You guessed it. Ironic, hey? (Yes, I love my phone too).
Push me up against a locker
And hey, all I do is shake it off
I'll get you back when I'm your boss
I'm not thinking about you haters
Cause, hey, I could be a superstar
I'll see you when you wash my car
So yes, I'm a dork. Facing cancer has taught me that. But its also taught me that I LOVE being a dork. I mean, who cares that I sing at the top of my lungs to certain songs? Who cares that in another life I would have hoped to be a broadway dancer? Why does it matter that, as I'm about to turn 31, the dorky things I loved as an awkward seven year old - knitting, watching hockey, and writing stories - are the things I still deeply love today? DorkNation is sweepin' the nations, people. And I say, bring it on. Because really, when I look at those 'cool' kids today, and think of the 'uncool' choices I've made over the years, I think really, that I'm happier than they are. More at peace, somehow. And that is SO worth the torture of the first however many years of my life. Who am I kidding? Its worth the snickers and I-can't-believe-she-just-said-or-did-that looks I still get today. Its worth even the snorts of those of you reading this! ;)
You may think that I'm a zero
But hey, everyone you wanna be, probably started off like me
You may say that I'm a freakshow - I don't care
But hey, give it just a little time, I bet you're going to change your mind
Yes, as much as I want to teach my little girl the things that make her socially acceptable, I also hope I help her grab a whole lotta' confidence in the best and brightest parts of who she really is. I hope she'll be one of those who picks what she believes because she believes it, not because it seems the cool thing to do. I hope she becomes a strong character, a deep woman, a successful adult.
Which is why I hope she grows up with a healthy disrespect for the ridiculous criteria of the reigning class.
After all, as my husband says, we are the cool people.
So there. Come on, you guys. Embrace your inner dork. All the cool kids are doing it. =)
Hey, you, over there, keep the L up, cause I don't care
You can throw your sticks and
You can throw your stones
Like a rock and just watch me go, yeah
L-O-S-E-R, I can only be who I are
I know, you're thinking, what? She's excited to be a loser? And where's the first 355 parts of what cancer has taught her? Let's just say those 355 things are not really written down, because they don't need to be. Those are the givens, all the cliches anyone can imagine you'd learn from confronting your own mortality. Things that can all be wrapped up in a neat box called 'perspective' and saved away for the next time you get caught up in a melodrama that was never worth more than 30 seconds of your time or energy.
But part 356 kind of took me by surprise. It's one of those things that fit the perspective box too, sure, but I didn't expect to become so excited about it. Maybe I knew it all along, but was scared to admit it. Maybe I thought if I took that leap and said, sure, I'm a dork and I don't care, that the world would laugh, that it would make me one of those people, you know, the ones on the fringes that are always being made fun of by the cool people?
Except guess what? I am one of those people, whether I like it or not. And I finally like it.
No, not totally, of course. It hurts sometimes. Only months ago I was crying because of something humiliating someone said about me publicly. But I'm not five or fifteen anymore. I have a choice on how I handle this stuff, don't I? And I think its time for a new strategy.
Confession time: Yes, I let my girls listen to the Glee soundtrack sometimes when we're driving in the car. Wait - no, I'm not the negligent mother you think. I only let them listen to the PG-rated stuff. Some of those songs have become Noelle's favorite going-to-school music. I wasn't terribly surprised - my girls love to sing, and Glee makes just about anything singable.
Second confession: I should have caught on to what I'm about to tell you much sooner than I did. Three weeks ago, Noelle started asking for one of the Glee songs over and over on the way to and from school. Every time I'd try to change it to another she'd beg for a repeat. She'd ask for me to explain what every line means. Those of you who recognized the lyrics I quoted above will guess which song it is - "Loser Like Me," the original song composed for the recent regionals episode.
Just go ahead and hate on me and run your mouth
So everyone can hear
Hit me with the worst you got and knock me down
Baby, I don't care
Keep it up and soon enough you'll figure out
You wanna be, you wanna be a loser like me
At first I just thought Noelle had found a catchy song that was fun to sing. But Wednesday on the way home from school I realized it was much deeper than that. See, my girl, even with all the initial struggles she's had adjusting to the routine, LOVES to go to school. She loves her teacher, she loves the kids, she loves to draw and read and sing and run and just learn. She would cry and plead with me to go even when she'd be ridiculously sick to go anyways. Yet, for the last three weeks, yes, the same amount of time we've been hearing "Loser Like Me" on repeat, she's not wanted to go to school at all. I've had to coax her into getting dressed, coax her into getting her backpack, wrestle with her to want to go see all her friends.
Little did I know that that was the problem: friends.
Well, that's a loose term in elementary school, hey? I mean, let's face it: we've either all been tormented at the hands of our peers, or we've done the tormenting, those of us on the receiving end labeled 'dorks' and those on the giving end celebrated, even envied for being so 'popular.'
Before you think I'm going to rag on the 'popular' people - although, really, what the $(#*%& does that even mean anymore? - let me say I'm the first to fall into this trap. In the second-to-last year of high school, I decided I would try to 'break in' to the 'popular crowd,' both at school and at youth group, and not really for any other reason than just to see if I could do it. I did, well, sort of; I got to the place where I was allowed to come to their parties and eat lunch with them and laugh at their jokes and yeah, some of it was really, really fun. They were entertaining people who knew how to have fun. But it came at a cost. I hurt some of the people, one person in particular, I remember, who were - and guess what, still are, my longest and closest friends, people who let me be me.
Of course, I realized, not too much into my experiment even, that I would still rather spend time with the people who let me be myself and who loved me for it. Because the 'popular crowd,' as fun as they were, kind of required me to be a certain version of myself in order to have fun with them. I don't think they knew they were doing it. At least I hope not. That was just what you did when you were 'popular,' when you had that intangible 'it' factor that the rest of the world deems is definitive of success and worthy of social elevation. And when I realized that the 'it' factor was okay but was kind of exhausting to try to maintain, I went crawling back to my real friends, the ones who'd been kind enough to embrace me from the beginning, the people who knew what it meant to hurt and cared enough to reach out to others on the fringes, the ones who were already okay with their social status. I was grateful that these same people were still giving enough to forgive the hurt my foray into the metaphorical teenage elite may have caused.
I hope my girl is one of those who'll forgive the friend who's currently doing to her what I once did to my best friends, if and when she ever realizes the same thing.
For now my daughter is on the receiving end of the elementary school mocking. Noelle reluctantly admitted on the way home from school on Wednesday that the girl she thought was her best friend was now not only friends with the girl who made fun of her, but also encouraging others to make fun of her.
And of course my daughter's tears just broke my heart.
Noelle says, that at least through her five-year-old tender-hearted eyes, that they've been making fun of her for three weeks. She couldn't name specifics. She said she didn't remember. Maybe she didn't want to remember, I don't know. And maybe its not as big as she's saying. But the point is that she feels it, regardless of what actually is going on.
I guess I wouldn't really be a true mommy if that didn't make me cry just a little bit.
I can't run in and save her, of course. I can't fix it. I can only try and help her navigate it, hopefully in a better way than I did when I was her age. Some of these painful things are necessary, of course. Unfortunately, its often the only way we learn social cues of how to get along and how to fit in. And really, those are good skills, things I have to use everyday at my job and at my church and in my neighborhood and with my friends: find out whatever pieces of common ground you have with someone and connect.
And I think, the more that I've talked to Noelle, that its probably not as dire as it seems. Likely her friend has just decided she doesn't want to be friends anymore, and like I've told Noelle, as much as it hurts, she's allowed to do that. We can't make anyone be friends with us.
No, we can't, but I really wish sometimes that we could all grow the @(#*$& up.
Yeah, I meant that expletive. These kids are five, of course. Five. And they're allowed to act that way. But I still see this stuff at 15, 20, 30, heck, there are some 40 year olds I know that are more than wonderful to engage with individually, but when they're all in a room together the air shifts and they become that 'popular' clique again, one I, and really, most people, are definitely not part of.
But maybe, I don't want to be.
There, I said it. I don't want to be popular. No, wait, don't throw things at me. Don't say I'm lying. I mean it. Last year I ran into one of the girls who tormented me in elementary school, one of those 'popular' people who managed to extend enough grace to accept me by the end of high school, and thought, hey, we're 30, we can find some common ground here, right? And about two minutes into the conversation - all of which was positive, by the way - I was slammed with an alarming thought: you're not that interesting.
Not to rag on her - she's a lovely person, really. Especially now that she doesn't feel the need to make fun of me, or make me guess as to if I'm her friend this week or not. But also really, I don't care about what she cares about. I care about - gasp - dorky stuff. Music. Arts. Reading. Parenting. Learning. Writing. Hockey. The most interesting people I know are either doing crazy-ridiculous degrees at ivy league schools and really trying to integrate what they learn with how they think and act, or are super-passionate about raising healthy, grounded, fun kids, or who love to get up and dance when they hear their favorite song, or who, like me, have watched hockey their whole life and will jump up and scream at the refs like my dad used to. But really, what all of these interesting people, beneath all their dorky behaviour, have in common is that at some point in their life, they experienced deep pain.
Pain, I think, can connect us with others quicker and longer than anything else in the world. Sure, on the outside, we bond over happy things, shallow things: clothes and vacations and events and news and all sorts of things that, at least most of the time, don't dig too deep into who we are. And I'm not suggesting we embrace our inner masochists and only think about things that hurt. But in sharing that hurt with the right people - usually those honest enough to know they're just the same as us - we become a more united front. Stronger, somehow. Less afraid of what the social elite can do to us.
Hence - beware, another dorky confession - my deep love of Bones. That show - ridiculous and brilliant and at times wickedly funny, if you share our macabre, off-beat sense of humour, that is, is really all about the dorks ruling the world, and the cool guy realizing he'd much rather have Brainy Smurf than Smurfette, along the way, of course, teaching Brainy Smurf how to interact with people.
And that's really what matters, right? How to make others feel like they count? The most truly popular person I know is actually popular, I mean, by definition, she's just one of those people who draw others around her because she is so inclusive and affable and fun.
The other thing about her? She's not afraid to be who she is. Interesting, isn't it?
What most baffles me is that those who embrace who they really are - dork, cool, or both - become a little more interesting to the rest of the world, popular or not. Why is it that when we stop caring about something we become a little more able to attain it? If we're honest, we all know that deep down there's a part of us we're too ashamed to share, the part that makes us vulnerable and weird and broken. The part we try to apologize for.
What if, instead of apologizing, or trying to forget its there, we actually let that part out and - gasp - celebrated it?
David just told me about a junior high dance where he spent the entire night playing ping pong with two of the geekiest kids in school. Guess what? Those two guys (not to mention my pretty smart and capable husband!) have crazy successful jobs today, and you know what, they're also functional adults in the social world. Dorks really are ruling the world now, or haven't you noticed the iPhone revolution? It might make you cool to have one of those phones, but guess who made those phones? You guessed it. Ironic, hey? (Yes, I love my phone too).
Push me up against a locker
And hey, all I do is shake it off
I'll get you back when I'm your boss
I'm not thinking about you haters
Cause, hey, I could be a superstar
I'll see you when you wash my car
So yes, I'm a dork. Facing cancer has taught me that. But its also taught me that I LOVE being a dork. I mean, who cares that I sing at the top of my lungs to certain songs? Who cares that in another life I would have hoped to be a broadway dancer? Why does it matter that, as I'm about to turn 31, the dorky things I loved as an awkward seven year old - knitting, watching hockey, and writing stories - are the things I still deeply love today? DorkNation is sweepin' the nations, people. And I say, bring it on. Because really, when I look at those 'cool' kids today, and think of the 'uncool' choices I've made over the years, I think really, that I'm happier than they are. More at peace, somehow. And that is SO worth the torture of the first however many years of my life. Who am I kidding? Its worth the snickers and I-can't-believe-she-just-said-or-did-that looks I still get today. Its worth even the snorts of those of you reading this! ;)
You may think that I'm a zero
But hey, everyone you wanna be, probably started off like me
You may say that I'm a freakshow - I don't care
But hey, give it just a little time, I bet you're going to change your mind
Yes, as much as I want to teach my little girl the things that make her socially acceptable, I also hope I help her grab a whole lotta' confidence in the best and brightest parts of who she really is. I hope she'll be one of those who picks what she believes because she believes it, not because it seems the cool thing to do. I hope she becomes a strong character, a deep woman, a successful adult.
Which is why I hope she grows up with a healthy disrespect for the ridiculous criteria of the reigning class.
After all, as my husband says, we are the cool people.
So there. Come on, you guys. Embrace your inner dork. All the cool kids are doing it. =)
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The post I never thought I'd write
Most of you reading this will know I have very, very good news to share. Unbelievable news, actually. Its not shocking, or overtly miraculous, like those people that go in for scans and the doctors tell them things like there is no trace of them ever having HAD cancer, nothing like that. But for me, a miracle all the same, and the best news I have heard in over two years.
Just a recap for those of you who've been wondering what test results we've been worried about... my type of leukemia, CML, is caused by a genetic problem. Not a birth defect, but a chromosome change that occurs sometime in life, usually due to radiation exposure. We don't know why that change happened to me, but to people with CML, the tips of two or three chromosomes, break off and rearrange themselves, forming a "new" chromosome that the scientific community calls the philadelphia chromosome. This chromosome's entire goal is to reproduce ridiculous amounts of white blood cells, taxing the spleen, liver and of course, crowding my blood stream to the point that the other types of blood cells have no room and begin to die off... thus, leukemia.
The year I was born, a doctor named Brian Druker, then newly graduated with an interest in genetics and hematology, began to be frustrated by why CML patients had such a dismal and short illness, most dying within a year of the diagnosis and puking for most of that year. He thought that since they knew the exact chromosome makeup that caused the leukemia, they should be able to make a drug to keep it from causing the cancer. He was right, and this idea eventually developed into Gleevec, the drug I started on, that was eventually released in 2001, the week David and I got engaged, while he was working at OGI/OHSU, the organization behind much of the Gleevec drug trials.
Dr. Druker sacrificed everything else in his life while Gleevec was being developed and pushed many political and financial barriers out of the way in his quest to give CML patients a chance to live. It began to work: nearly everyone on the drug trials were living past the five year mark and THOROUGHLY living, not just confined to a bed.
It worked because Gleevec was preventing the philadelphia chromosome from working, and those of us with science backgrounds know that when you inhibit an enzyme effectively, it can completely die off. This is why many people with CML can hope to be completely cured.
We measure this "progress" every three months by taking a molecular count in my blood of the philadelphia chromosome levels. They want the result to be at least -3 or greater (lesser, really, but its a logarhythmic equation, so the greater the negative number the lesser the amount of philadelphia chromosome levels in my blood). I jumped out to -2 within the first six months of treatment. And then, I stayed there, for over a year, sometimes even going slightly backward. In July 2010 my oncologist was convinced that Gleevec was no longer working and I needed to be switched to the new 2nd generation drug called Sprycel (Dasatinib).
On July 5th, 2010, our eighth anniversary, I switched to this new drug and instantly felt a difference. First the side effects were easier to deal with, and second, I felt like I was climbing a mountain, CONSTANTLY. That reminded me of the first few weeks of treatment in January 2009. I knew it had to be making a difference. Just how much of a difference, I don't know.
My first test results post-Sprycel weren't terribly encouraging, but I had improved ...very marginally. I asked my doctor then, so, what happens with the November test? What if its still the same? He said "you can probably live with it." David and I laughed out loud and asked if he meant that literally. He laughed with us, and said, "yeah, I guess that's the point."
November came and went in a flurry of pre-Christmas and school activities, and I barely got the time to have the test taken. This past month we've had to change my appointment for these results several times as the labwork takes over six weeks to complete, and finally were able to go in on Tuesday, Feb 8th. I have to say, I'd not been disappointed to put the appointment off. It's extremely nerve-wracking to sit among a roomful of cancer patients, all of you wondering if you're getting worse or better, and if THIS will be the day you'll find that you get only a handful of months or years left.
But in the weeks of waiting for the results, something happened that I did not expect. By the time Feb 8th came, I was no longer dreading going to the oncologist, but it had nothing to do with hoping for good news. In fact, I expected the same, or worse. The last six months on Sprycel have been incredibly personally stressful in so many areas, culminating in some decisions these past eight weeks that have radically changed our lives. The months have been so stressful that I assumed that the drug wouldn't work and I'd be exactly where I was before.
But the stress produced different results in me. The decisions and discoveries David and I made, the changes to our marriage and family, and to what we were going to let ourselves think and feel and care about, made us both, somehow, less afraid. Inside, we know we are different. Freer. Better. Less encumbered. I wish we could have made these changes years ago.
So driving into New West Tuesday morning, David and I sat in horrible traffic and laughed ourselves silly over the tiniest things (funny, we used to argue over the tiniest things). He told me then that its always been his personal mission to make me laugh as much as possible. He tells me as long as I'm laughing that I can't get mad at him. I'm smiling even as I write this, because just this week we had the most ridiculous conversation ever, somehow it started as an argument and in the middle of it I burst out laughing, not because of something he said or did, but because I could hear myself and I sounded absolutely INSANE. And then it was over. Ten minutes of laughing later, with tears rolling down my face, he tells me he thinks this is the healthiest he's ever seen me. Ten years ago, I wouldn't have done that, he says, and he's right.
It's ironic, but it is cancer itself that has changed me. In order to make it through each day, to not let thoughts of death and despair engulf me, to embrace whatever parts of life are left, at least inside me, I need to think about what LIFE has left, not death. And in so many situations we really have two choices: cry or laugh. I've learned that whenever I can, laughing is really much more productive.
So, at 10 am on Tuesday, in the middle of laughing about something inconsequential (I think maybe it was about traffic, or something normally irritating), Dr. Noble hands me my test results so I can read them myself.
I almost think that I'm still asleep, the page looks even a bit blurry. But its real. The graph has gone from a straight line to a steep drop. -2.94, it says. I look at him and ask him, where do we want it again? He says, at least -3, but 2.94 is virtually 3, so, I guess we're there. I guess we're THERE. I don't say much. There's not much to say. It's just, enough, somehow. Dr. Noble finishes his questions and says I'm doing well and then we're off with another prescription for Sprycel (we still hope that it goes even lower, and I always knew these little white pills would be my friends for life, since if people come off of them the disease usually comes back). And just like that, all of a sudden, the tide is turning in our battle with cancer.
In the car on the way home, David explains to me exactly what -2.94 means... its 10 to the power of -2.94, which means that there is about 1/1000th of the amount of the cancer gene in me that there was in January 2009. It's still there, but almost... not, in a way.
It may not be a fairy-tale, but I'll take it. It's working. It's WORKING. I still can't quite believe it. I'm so used to bad news I almost don't know what to do with good!
SO, like I said, this isn't the big booming movie ending where I get to live the rest of my life untouched by cancer, but then, if there's anything I've learned these two years, is that none of us are untouched by cancer. We each have someone we know and love who is battling this disease, some closer than others, some having a harder time than others, some much younger than others. But we all live with it, somehow, and if its not in our body, we wonder deep down if and when it might be, and what we'll do with it if and when it gets there. I know. I was like that before I heard the word "leukemia."
But somehow by having the beast invade my body I've learned that as ugly as it is, I don't WANT to be untouched by cancer. Don't get me wrong: this is a terrible disease that nobody should have to experience, and one that I get to experience in a better way because of so many brave people, Dr. Druker and his colleagues being some of them, who fought to make it better. But I don't want this to be just a blip on my radar. Let this not be just a storm I endured for awhile and went right back to who I was and what I was doing before. If anything, let there be good from this. And there is, SO MUCH GOOD. I wouldn't choose to go back. Despite the pain and the fatigue and all the limits on my life, it seems that for the first time in my life, all the doors I really cared about are open, and I want to run through.
So, do I still have cancer? Yes. But the drugs, to this point, are succeeding in prolonging my life. And that, to me, is a miracle. I told my family doctor at the beginning that I was open to whatever miracle God would provide - whether mysterious and without explanation, or concrete and based on treatment. I am getting the latter, so far, the slower, less exciting road, but very very satisfying. Will I still take pills every day? Yes. Will I still get tired and sore and water-logged and so many other things? Yes. But maybe I need those things. They say that when a miracle happens for us, we might be relieved, we might REMEMBER for all of two weeks before we hit "reset" on our thinking and go back to BEFORE. My miracle gives this extra layer of effect, keeping the REMEMBER on constantly. If I need to take chemo every day to remember all that's been done for me, then hey, bring it on.
One thing I remember every morning as I take my drugs is how many of you care and pray and ask about us, and in so doing, how you share our journey with us. We're so, so grateful for you. You share the difficult things with us, and today, I'm so excited to let you share something so encouraging. God did something huge for me. He's still doing it. But I hope He's done, and continues to do, something huge for you too, as you walk with us through this, something that makes you profoundly different too.
And if that happens, well, this won't be for nothing.
With joyful, tear-filled hearts... we just want to say, thank you. We love you. We could not have done any of this without you.
And to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we could ask or imagine... to Him be the glory... thanks... and honor.
Just a recap for those of you who've been wondering what test results we've been worried about... my type of leukemia, CML, is caused by a genetic problem. Not a birth defect, but a chromosome change that occurs sometime in life, usually due to radiation exposure. We don't know why that change happened to me, but to people with CML, the tips of two or three chromosomes, break off and rearrange themselves, forming a "new" chromosome that the scientific community calls the philadelphia chromosome. This chromosome's entire goal is to reproduce ridiculous amounts of white blood cells, taxing the spleen, liver and of course, crowding my blood stream to the point that the other types of blood cells have no room and begin to die off... thus, leukemia.
The year I was born, a doctor named Brian Druker, then newly graduated with an interest in genetics and hematology, began to be frustrated by why CML patients had such a dismal and short illness, most dying within a year of the diagnosis and puking for most of that year. He thought that since they knew the exact chromosome makeup that caused the leukemia, they should be able to make a drug to keep it from causing the cancer. He was right, and this idea eventually developed into Gleevec, the drug I started on, that was eventually released in 2001, the week David and I got engaged, while he was working at OGI/OHSU, the organization behind much of the Gleevec drug trials.
Dr. Druker sacrificed everything else in his life while Gleevec was being developed and pushed many political and financial barriers out of the way in his quest to give CML patients a chance to live. It began to work: nearly everyone on the drug trials were living past the five year mark and THOROUGHLY living, not just confined to a bed.
It worked because Gleevec was preventing the philadelphia chromosome from working, and those of us with science backgrounds know that when you inhibit an enzyme effectively, it can completely die off. This is why many people with CML can hope to be completely cured.
We measure this "progress" every three months by taking a molecular count in my blood of the philadelphia chromosome levels. They want the result to be at least -3 or greater (lesser, really, but its a logarhythmic equation, so the greater the negative number the lesser the amount of philadelphia chromosome levels in my blood). I jumped out to -2 within the first six months of treatment. And then, I stayed there, for over a year, sometimes even going slightly backward. In July 2010 my oncologist was convinced that Gleevec was no longer working and I needed to be switched to the new 2nd generation drug called Sprycel (Dasatinib).
On July 5th, 2010, our eighth anniversary, I switched to this new drug and instantly felt a difference. First the side effects were easier to deal with, and second, I felt like I was climbing a mountain, CONSTANTLY. That reminded me of the first few weeks of treatment in January 2009. I knew it had to be making a difference. Just how much of a difference, I don't know.
My first test results post-Sprycel weren't terribly encouraging, but I had improved ...very marginally. I asked my doctor then, so, what happens with the November test? What if its still the same? He said "you can probably live with it." David and I laughed out loud and asked if he meant that literally. He laughed with us, and said, "yeah, I guess that's the point."
November came and went in a flurry of pre-Christmas and school activities, and I barely got the time to have the test taken. This past month we've had to change my appointment for these results several times as the labwork takes over six weeks to complete, and finally were able to go in on Tuesday, Feb 8th. I have to say, I'd not been disappointed to put the appointment off. It's extremely nerve-wracking to sit among a roomful of cancer patients, all of you wondering if you're getting worse or better, and if THIS will be the day you'll find that you get only a handful of months or years left.
But in the weeks of waiting for the results, something happened that I did not expect. By the time Feb 8th came, I was no longer dreading going to the oncologist, but it had nothing to do with hoping for good news. In fact, I expected the same, or worse. The last six months on Sprycel have been incredibly personally stressful in so many areas, culminating in some decisions these past eight weeks that have radically changed our lives. The months have been so stressful that I assumed that the drug wouldn't work and I'd be exactly where I was before.
But the stress produced different results in me. The decisions and discoveries David and I made, the changes to our marriage and family, and to what we were going to let ourselves think and feel and care about, made us both, somehow, less afraid. Inside, we know we are different. Freer. Better. Less encumbered. I wish we could have made these changes years ago.
So driving into New West Tuesday morning, David and I sat in horrible traffic and laughed ourselves silly over the tiniest things (funny, we used to argue over the tiniest things). He told me then that its always been his personal mission to make me laugh as much as possible. He tells me as long as I'm laughing that I can't get mad at him. I'm smiling even as I write this, because just this week we had the most ridiculous conversation ever, somehow it started as an argument and in the middle of it I burst out laughing, not because of something he said or did, but because I could hear myself and I sounded absolutely INSANE. And then it was over. Ten minutes of laughing later, with tears rolling down my face, he tells me he thinks this is the healthiest he's ever seen me. Ten years ago, I wouldn't have done that, he says, and he's right.
It's ironic, but it is cancer itself that has changed me. In order to make it through each day, to not let thoughts of death and despair engulf me, to embrace whatever parts of life are left, at least inside me, I need to think about what LIFE has left, not death. And in so many situations we really have two choices: cry or laugh. I've learned that whenever I can, laughing is really much more productive.
So, at 10 am on Tuesday, in the middle of laughing about something inconsequential (I think maybe it was about traffic, or something normally irritating), Dr. Noble hands me my test results so I can read them myself.
I almost think that I'm still asleep, the page looks even a bit blurry. But its real. The graph has gone from a straight line to a steep drop. -2.94, it says. I look at him and ask him, where do we want it again? He says, at least -3, but 2.94 is virtually 3, so, I guess we're there. I guess we're THERE. I don't say much. There's not much to say. It's just, enough, somehow. Dr. Noble finishes his questions and says I'm doing well and then we're off with another prescription for Sprycel (we still hope that it goes even lower, and I always knew these little white pills would be my friends for life, since if people come off of them the disease usually comes back). And just like that, all of a sudden, the tide is turning in our battle with cancer.
In the car on the way home, David explains to me exactly what -2.94 means... its 10 to the power of -2.94, which means that there is about 1/1000th of the amount of the cancer gene in me that there was in January 2009. It's still there, but almost... not, in a way.
It may not be a fairy-tale, but I'll take it. It's working. It's WORKING. I still can't quite believe it. I'm so used to bad news I almost don't know what to do with good!
SO, like I said, this isn't the big booming movie ending where I get to live the rest of my life untouched by cancer, but then, if there's anything I've learned these two years, is that none of us are untouched by cancer. We each have someone we know and love who is battling this disease, some closer than others, some having a harder time than others, some much younger than others. But we all live with it, somehow, and if its not in our body, we wonder deep down if and when it might be, and what we'll do with it if and when it gets there. I know. I was like that before I heard the word "leukemia."
But somehow by having the beast invade my body I've learned that as ugly as it is, I don't WANT to be untouched by cancer. Don't get me wrong: this is a terrible disease that nobody should have to experience, and one that I get to experience in a better way because of so many brave people, Dr. Druker and his colleagues being some of them, who fought to make it better. But I don't want this to be just a blip on my radar. Let this not be just a storm I endured for awhile and went right back to who I was and what I was doing before. If anything, let there be good from this. And there is, SO MUCH GOOD. I wouldn't choose to go back. Despite the pain and the fatigue and all the limits on my life, it seems that for the first time in my life, all the doors I really cared about are open, and I want to run through.
So, do I still have cancer? Yes. But the drugs, to this point, are succeeding in prolonging my life. And that, to me, is a miracle. I told my family doctor at the beginning that I was open to whatever miracle God would provide - whether mysterious and without explanation, or concrete and based on treatment. I am getting the latter, so far, the slower, less exciting road, but very very satisfying. Will I still take pills every day? Yes. Will I still get tired and sore and water-logged and so many other things? Yes. But maybe I need those things. They say that when a miracle happens for us, we might be relieved, we might REMEMBER for all of two weeks before we hit "reset" on our thinking and go back to BEFORE. My miracle gives this extra layer of effect, keeping the REMEMBER on constantly. If I need to take chemo every day to remember all that's been done for me, then hey, bring it on.
One thing I remember every morning as I take my drugs is how many of you care and pray and ask about us, and in so doing, how you share our journey with us. We're so, so grateful for you. You share the difficult things with us, and today, I'm so excited to let you share something so encouraging. God did something huge for me. He's still doing it. But I hope He's done, and continues to do, something huge for you too, as you walk with us through this, something that makes you profoundly different too.
And if that happens, well, this won't be for nothing.
With joyful, tear-filled hearts... we just want to say, thank you. We love you. We could not have done any of this without you.
And to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we could ask or imagine... to Him be the glory... thanks... and honor.
Friday, December 17, 2010
David (Christmas Family Update #3)
My apologies to those who've received Christmas cards, checked the blog, and thought... cute kids, but what's going on with their parents?? =) It's been very very busy this last week of school before Christmas... Noelle came down with pneumonia this week and I'm on my third of four nights right now... no, I don't usually do that! But this way I get 11 days off for Christmas!
This was David's fourth year working at Baywest Management, a strata management company based out of Vancouver, Surrey, and Abbotsford. This past year he got promoted from an Infomation Systems Developer to Applications Development Manager, which basically means he has a couple of programmers working for him as he imagines new ways of streamlining business processes for the strata managers, accountants and administration at Baywest. He says he has the perfect job for him and especially enjoys working with the other IT guys.
One of the changes he's gone through this year is a change from working every day in Abbotsford to working 3-4 days a week in Surrey. The IT guys now share an open office to brainstorm ideas more effectively and be more available for the Surrey staff. Unfortunately this has meant a much longer commute on most days, but his co-workers have been flexible with him constant construction he battles on his way to work. He enjoys the occasional day in Vancouver riding the West Coast Express and loves it! We both wish that train was able to run more often!
This year also led to a church change for our family. We love (and miss terribly!) the family environment we had at the Vineyard, but felt it was time to change. After several months of checking out other churches, we've settled at Northview. One of Noelle's friends from school invited her and we all love it there.
We enjoyed some family trips as well. In January we visited Maui for my cousin's wedding. SO beautiful. If we can ever afford to go back, we certainly will. In August we ventured to Okotoks to visit my brother and his family. Every year Alberta grows on me. I'm still a west coast girl but David and I sure enjoy the peace out there. It's such a quiet, restoring vacation. And the girls, of course, love their cousins.
I know I've said this before, but I think I'm one of the luckiest wives on the planet. Our marriage is not perfect but very, very happy. Neither of us is content to let the other person stay in their ruts, and I think it makes us better people than we would be on our own. My husband also is one of the most involved dads that I know and we all depend on him a great deal. He handles his family - and work - responsibilities with grace and humour and we are all very, very grateful for him.
This was David's fourth year working at Baywest Management, a strata management company based out of Vancouver, Surrey, and Abbotsford. This past year he got promoted from an Infomation Systems Developer to Applications Development Manager, which basically means he has a couple of programmers working for him as he imagines new ways of streamlining business processes for the strata managers, accountants and administration at Baywest. He says he has the perfect job for him and especially enjoys working with the other IT guys.
One of the changes he's gone through this year is a change from working every day in Abbotsford to working 3-4 days a week in Surrey. The IT guys now share an open office to brainstorm ideas more effectively and be more available for the Surrey staff. Unfortunately this has meant a much longer commute on most days, but his co-workers have been flexible with him constant construction he battles on his way to work. He enjoys the occasional day in Vancouver riding the West Coast Express and loves it! We both wish that train was able to run more often!
This year also led to a church change for our family. We love (and miss terribly!) the family environment we had at the Vineyard, but felt it was time to change. After several months of checking out other churches, we've settled at Northview. One of Noelle's friends from school invited her and we all love it there.
We enjoyed some family trips as well. In January we visited Maui for my cousin's wedding. SO beautiful. If we can ever afford to go back, we certainly will. In August we ventured to Okotoks to visit my brother and his family. Every year Alberta grows on me. I'm still a west coast girl but David and I sure enjoy the peace out there. It's such a quiet, restoring vacation. And the girls, of course, love their cousins.
I know I've said this before, but I think I'm one of the luckiest wives on the planet. Our marriage is not perfect but very, very happy. Neither of us is content to let the other person stay in their ruts, and I think it makes us better people than we would be on our own. My husband also is one of the most involved dads that I know and we all depend on him a great deal. He handles his family - and work - responsibilities with grace and humour and we are all very, very grateful for him.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Oh Dentist-ree
Okay, sorry, that was lame. Just a quick update re: medical stuff...
I went to get the "big" blood test - the one for the philadelphia chromosome levels in my body - on Monday. Unfortunately it takes about six weeks to get these results, so I won't know until my doctor's appointment in the new year, which is scheduled for January 6th. We'd appreciate prayers for the chromosome level to be below the -3 mark (the 'magic' number for my condition to be considered 'safe.') when we get the results, or at least for the numbers to be continually going down (the last level was -2.29, so we're somewhat close).
Then, I must admit, something incredibly moronic happened. No, okay, I did something really really dumb. You guys all know I'm a huge fan of hockey, right? I've always thought that broken teeth was a part of hockey and if that ended up happening to me, I'd consider it a war wound. Well, last weekend, while WATCHING hockey and drinking coffee... Elliana ran up behind me and grabbed my legs, yelling enthusiastically, "Mommy!!" and I was just about to take a sip of coffee and instead of putting the mug down when I sensed her coming, I just kept it there. Yeah. Its one of those mondo-sized cups (that's the only way I do things, being a young mom and on chemo leaves me a definite caffeine addict or nothing would get done around my house - ever!) and I heard this CLANG as it hit my two front teeth.
I didn't think too much of it at first - I'd been bumped there before, the first time as a five year old on a trampoline and my three-year-old friend bounced up and his head connected with my two front teeth... I guess the tooth was a bit weaker this time around, so it actually has cracked both teeth. Yes, that's right, a coffee mug has damaged my two front teeth. Pretty badly, I must say.
So, hence the title, today I go to the dentist and discover that my dumb coffee sip will cost a significant amount of time in the dentist chair, perhaps even oral surgery (yum). In the realm of things, better than I expected, but...yeah. This could have been so much better if I was really an athlete and got my tooth punched out in a fight or something... REAL.
Anyhow... we're waiting for a few days to see exactly what the treatment will be - its possible this tooth could heal partially on its own so it needs less invasive surgery than we thought - and I guess I'd like you guys to pray that the teeth get the exact treatment they need (things are tricky with my leukemia medications) and that the damage doesn't further between now the treatment (perhaps even improve?!), and that I get used to eating soup and smoothies for awhile... and I guess that God provides for this really dumb mistake of mine! (which, considering that the BC Cancer Agency covers the $50,000/year cost of Sprycel, this isn't too bad at all, thank God for that!). Most importantly, pray that I don't freak out. I think that's my biggest weakness is absolutely freaking out when there's always something that can come around the corner to change things.
Okay, gotta run clean this place... again.... thanks again for caring enough to even check what's going on with us!! We love you guys and hope you are having a very, very good December 1st!
I went to get the "big" blood test - the one for the philadelphia chromosome levels in my body - on Monday. Unfortunately it takes about six weeks to get these results, so I won't know until my doctor's appointment in the new year, which is scheduled for January 6th. We'd appreciate prayers for the chromosome level to be below the -3 mark (the 'magic' number for my condition to be considered 'safe.') when we get the results, or at least for the numbers to be continually going down (the last level was -2.29, so we're somewhat close).
Then, I must admit, something incredibly moronic happened. No, okay, I did something really really dumb. You guys all know I'm a huge fan of hockey, right? I've always thought that broken teeth was a part of hockey and if that ended up happening to me, I'd consider it a war wound. Well, last weekend, while WATCHING hockey and drinking coffee... Elliana ran up behind me and grabbed my legs, yelling enthusiastically, "Mommy!!" and I was just about to take a sip of coffee and instead of putting the mug down when I sensed her coming, I just kept it there. Yeah. Its one of those mondo-sized cups (that's the only way I do things, being a young mom and on chemo leaves me a definite caffeine addict or nothing would get done around my house - ever!) and I heard this CLANG as it hit my two front teeth.
I didn't think too much of it at first - I'd been bumped there before, the first time as a five year old on a trampoline and my three-year-old friend bounced up and his head connected with my two front teeth... I guess the tooth was a bit weaker this time around, so it actually has cracked both teeth. Yes, that's right, a coffee mug has damaged my two front teeth. Pretty badly, I must say.
So, hence the title, today I go to the dentist and discover that my dumb coffee sip will cost a significant amount of time in the dentist chair, perhaps even oral surgery (yum). In the realm of things, better than I expected, but...yeah. This could have been so much better if I was really an athlete and got my tooth punched out in a fight or something... REAL.
Anyhow... we're waiting for a few days to see exactly what the treatment will be - its possible this tooth could heal partially on its own so it needs less invasive surgery than we thought - and I guess I'd like you guys to pray that the teeth get the exact treatment they need (things are tricky with my leukemia medications) and that the damage doesn't further between now the treatment (perhaps even improve?!), and that I get used to eating soup and smoothies for awhile... and I guess that God provides for this really dumb mistake of mine! (which, considering that the BC Cancer Agency covers the $50,000/year cost of Sprycel, this isn't too bad at all, thank God for that!). Most importantly, pray that I don't freak out. I think that's my biggest weakness is absolutely freaking out when there's always something that can come around the corner to change things.
Okay, gotta run clean this place... again.... thanks again for caring enough to even check what's going on with us!! We love you guys and hope you are having a very, very good December 1st!
Monday, November 22, 2010
Noelle (Family Christmas Update #2)
Here is our extremely talented creative girl, who unique view of the world consistently provides fresh perspective for those around her. She is thoughtful and enthusiastic, passionate about the things she likes (music, dance, art, school!) and those she loves (mom, dad, elliana, her friends at school, grandma, grandma's dog walter, the cousins... probably in reverse order to what I've put here!) Everything she does is whole-hearted and full of laughter and FUN!
I remember my mom telling me that she was pretty sure I had her and dad figured out by the time I was 18 months, standing up to them and pointing out the things they were doing that was inconsistent with what I'd been taught. Well, this apple certainly does not fall far from the tree. She is quick to see what her mom and dad do wrong and does not tolerate any quick dismissals of our behaviour. And though it can drive us crazy, I really love that Noelle has such a strong sense of self. I know that she won't easily be swayed by other people's opinions. She tests things out for herself.
She's also very aware of what she's feeling and doesn't hesitate to tell us. It makes for some lengthy discussions at times as we work through how to process those feelings, but when we get tired we find ourselves encouraged by writers like Dr. Haim Ginott (Between Parent and Child), Adele Faber (Siblings without Rivalry) and Dr. Sears, as well as Daniel Goleman's "Emotional Intelligence," that the effort we're putting in here will one day pay off. Let's hope they're all right!
Noelle is a natural care-taker. She shows compassion for those around her and values equality and justice. She loves learning how to help other people be good friends as she learns to be a good friend herself at work. She's the girl who will look at me and say, 'mom, are you ok? can I bring you a glass of water?'
Noelle is a well-rounded girl who loves a lot of things and wishes she had more time and energy to do all of them - okay, probably wishes her parents had more energy to let her do them!!! She especially would like to play hockey and basketball... but maybe another year, we said. Let's stick with music and dance this year.
As a reward for her piano practicing, as well as for trying new foods and doing her chores, Noelle asked to work for a "hockey buddy jersey." Yeah, I wasn't sure what she meant right away either. Last Christmas David got me a Ryan Kesler jersey, so for his birthday I returned the favor and got him an Alex Burrows one. Noelle told me last week as we watched the game that she wanted to have a "hockey buddy" just like us, and when I asked her to pick who she wanted, she deliberated a long time before picking #33. Not bad, Noelle. Fitting of course, that the true captain and award winner of this house would pick the captain and award winner of the Canucks (though he's not playing like it this week. Yikes). Her sister is also earning her own jersey - though her stickers are for successful potty training days instead of piano and chores. Noelle picked #22 for her. Wouldn't my grandpa laugh to see these girls wear the jerseys of the two players he loved to call the "sisters"!! I can hear him laugh right now. Anyhow, I think Noelle thinks if you put the jersey on then you're as good a player as that person, and they're like your "buddy." That girl just makes me smile.
The best - and hardest - part of Noelle's year has been adjusting to school. She's learning to follow verbal commands and working with a speech pathologist/school counselor to develop further confidence and decreased response time in the classroom. She absolutely loves her classmates and teacher and absolutely hates missing school. She's made a few friends there who she values very dearly and even with a high fever, chills, shakes and thick cough today she cried when I said she needed to stay home and rest.
This weekend my first baby turns five. But she's no longer a baby - far from it. Where did that time go?
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Elliana (Christmas Family Update #1)
We have a fabulous family photographer. She knows how to capture our children at their most charming. Yes, Joanne, you know we love you! Though, really, in this case the subject also helps. Elliana always seems to know how to behave in front of a camera. I remember two years ago, taking our first pictures of a family of four, we were all surprised at how photogenic our four-month-old baby was. I guess it was just a sign of what was to come.For a mom who's spent more time sick at home than most do, I feel incredibly blessed to have Elliana with me. I remember a woman I really looked up to at one of our previous churches told me how her oldest daughter was the perfect personality to comfort her during a sad time of her life. Elliana reminds me a lot of what that woman told me. She really embodies joy and peace, and really embraces the abundance her little life offers. When you need to be picked up, she will run to give you a hug - well, also because she just LOVES being hugged, held, and cuddled. This is convenient - she's our last baby so we appreciate this. Uh, well, most of the time. Sometimes I do wonder what her kindergarten teacher will say when she asks to sit on her lap instead of at her desk! =) But we have a few years there...
Elliana had a difficult time when I first got sick. She had just turned eight months old and the medications I had to take forced me to wean her really abruptly, and sometimes I wonder if that's why she likes to hug - and be hugged - so much. She loves her baby dolls and little people - snafoo-ing her sister's little people school bus on a regular basis and saying, 'people, people, how was school today? Did you have fun?' She likes to put blankets on her dolls and kiss them good night - several times a day, while they sleep on our living room floor.
She loves her big sister, but doesn't seem to miss her too much while she's in school. I think it's because she gets to use her toys then. =)
The big news of course is that she is now potty training - an exciting prospect in a house who knows we won't have more babies. The thought of a diaper free life is thoroughly intoxicating. She decided to train herself, actually - something I'd heard other parents talk about but didn't really believe them. I mean, what kid just magically does it? Huh. This one did. Don't get me wrong - there are accidents, several in fact, and we're a long way from being done, but I am very appreciative that this time is so much easier than the first time, especially because its a tricky process when you're carting kids to school, piano, ballet and the dentist.
Anyhow... those of you who don't know my little girl, I hope you get to meet her someday. She is creative, funny, and - though exhausting - brings such a smile to us on a daily basis.
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