Farewell to 2013

Dear 2013,

The TV is droning in the background with a "year in review" program.  How in the world did "selfie" make it into the dictionary this year?  Who decides that?!?  I guess we should be glad the word isn't "twerk."  Blech. I am finishing this year in the same way that I have spent much of the month of December:  in bed, propped up on pillows, waiting for the next round of medication.

I am also waiting for the clock to wind down the minutes until you are gone.  You've been unkind, 2013.  There's no other way to say it.  I will not shed tears at the stroke of midnight.

The Year of our Lord Two Thousand Thirteen has taken me on a wild goose chase as I continue to pursue care for the Monster.  I went from Texas to New York to Oklahoma, only to be sent back to Texas empty-handed.  Monster has grown, uninhibited, while doctors literally across the country seem to shrug their shoulders and wish me the best before passing me along to the next stop.

I am discouraged.  I am tired.  I am uncertain.

2013, you have sucked the fire out of me.  All of the bravado I can muster has fallen short when stacked up against you.  

Things that I have held on to for security or comfort have also been taken from me this year.  Important things, like my AbbyDog.  There's no question that it was time, but I would be lying if I said that I haven't missed her during this ongoing time of convaslescence.

Husband just got notice that when the ball drops tonight and 2013 expires, so does his job.  It's all about budgets and contracts and he's not the only one, but in no way does that calm my fear.  

My very identity--how I define myself, how I find my self-value--has been undermined this year.  For the first time ever, I have serious doubts about my mothering abilities as I spend more time being "sick" and less time being "Mom."  Of course, the "right" answer here is that my value is found in Christ, not as a mother or a wife or through any level of activity or accomplishment.   But the enemy of self-doubt is hard at work, and I feel it so strongly in my soul!

My natural inclination is to hide.  It's actually been easy to do this month as the wretch of radiation has almost dictated hibernation.  This way, I can nurse my wounds--and my fear--in peace.  The warrior in me is beat down.  You've busted her up, 2013.  I hope you're proud of yourself.

Before I go, though, I want you to know one thing:  You don't win.  You've tried hard, no question.  But tonight, while the clock ticks down, I have the sense to count my blessings.  Forefront among them:  I was there to welcome my nephew into the world this year.  I honestly did not think I would live long enough to hold that precious baby, and there is no way the joy that is knowing Truett can be stolen from me.  

There are others, of course.  My own 3 sons are healthy and growing well.  I am part of something much bigger than just me:  a family that loves and cares for one another in unbelievable ways, ways that so many other people just don't have.  I get to be Auntie to darling pieces of my own heart.  I have amazing friends who are committed to walk this path with me.  I am part of a dynamic church that supports, loves, and helps us.

So, 2013, take that.  I am tired of you.  I will not stay up tonight to even give you the satisfaction of  a proper send-off.  I'm so done with you.  Here's to a happier, healthier, all-around better 2014.

"Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knees that give way; say to those with fearful hearts, 'Be strong, do not fear; your God will come, indeed He will come with vengeance; with divine retribution he will come to save you.' "  Isaiah 35:3-4

Digging Out

Six Days.

Six Days.

SIX DAYS!

Six days is how long it has been since we have had any kind of normal (cough, cough) in our household.  Six days ago, Old Man Winter caught DFW in his sights, and life as we know it came to a complete standstill. Here's what I've learned in the last almost-week:

Ice is pretty when it blankets your world and you can snuggle up by the fire with nowhere to go.

Ice is fun when school is cancelled for the first day.

Ice ceases to be pretty or fun when school keeps closing and cabin fever sets in.

If you live in a continual state of winter, 3 pairs of flannel pajamas is not enough.

A major ice storm is in Texas what a major heat wave is in New York.

You can only toss so many coats, jeans, gloves, scarves, hats, and socks in the dryer at one time.

Little boys do not freeze or tire easily.

You should clear the ice not only from your windshield, but also from the roof of your vehicle before you drive.

Our children's children will be regaling their children with stories of The Great Ice Storm of 2013.  How we didn't see our youngest for more than 24 hours because he went to a friend's house and stayed...and stayed...and stayed.  Or how we got what seemed to be the last loaf of bread in the city before store shelves were completely emptied by crazy frantic citizens...or how the freighbor girls, who hail from Michigan, shared their real live sled and showed our Texas boys a thing or two.

Finally--FINALLY!--this morning, everyone went back to work and school.  I love my family, but all of this quality time (and wet shoes tracking in leaves and mud) has pushed all of us a little closer than we want to be.  There is still plenty of ice around.  We live on the north/sunny side of our street and there are still several inches on our back patio!  Across the street, where there are more shadows than sun, dangerous icicles (seriously!) still hang from the rooftops and the sheet of white in the yards remains largely the same. Every night, what little bit has melted refreezes on the driveways and sidewalks.  Because it's still cold.  Yesterday we reached a whopping 37 degrees...heat wave!!!!  

Now, you might be wondering how a Texas girl passes the time when she is iced in.  Good question.  I'll tell you:  She warms up with a bit of radiation.  Oh, yes.  While the rest of the world is snuggled up drinking hot coca and playing board games, I (and my darling I'll-do-anything-for-you friend, Rachel), drove into Dallas to the hospital for radiation treatments.

Here's the deal on radiation:  I've never done it before.  I've never done it before because radiation is not a typical treatment for ovca patients.  In my case, the cancer has been too widespread to risk radiation in lieu of more traditional treatments.  Now, though, I've exhausted traditional.  We are all done with standard.  The choices are 1) Non-traditional, or 2) Nothing.  So, I am allowing myself to be radiated.  In exchange for making the trip to the hospital every. single. day., (You heard me.  Monday through Friday, for three weeks.  I get off on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.) allowing strangers to use me for their own personal sketchbooks ("x" marks the spot!), and risking a slew of side effects (they were said to be no big deal.  Liars.), I might get some relief from the harsh, relentless symptoms of fast-growing Monster.  Did I make a deal with the devil?  Perhaps.  It has not been an easy go.  Of course, everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong.  Topping the list:  nausea, extreme fatigue, and fever-like chills and shivers.  Rounding out my bottom-of-the-barrel, my radiation oncologist had a medical emergency of his own and will be out for the remainder of the month.

Reeeaaalllyyy?!?  I only need him this month.

This morning I woke up feeling super-nauseous.  I have plenty of meds to meet all sorts of needs, but today not even prescription-strength anti-nausea was making dents.  I went ahead and went to radiation anyway, because I thought I could not feel much yuckier.

Bad call.  I found out I could feel worse, and I found it out while I was getting sick in a McDonald's parking lot close to Highway 75, with my deserves-better-than-me freighbor patting my back and looking on helplessly.  (I switched drivers yesterday.  Lucky Rachel.)

Damn cancer.

I hate this wretched disease.  If you piled all of my "dislikes" together--cold feet, wet blue jeans, empty toilet paper rolls, children with no manners, alarm clocks--it still could not amount to the level of hatred I have for cancer.

Susan graciously delivered me into my own driveway, although hers is about 10 feet away.  I managed to wiggle back in to my pjs and when Little Middle and Baby got off the bus, they found me on the couch in exactly the same position I was in when they went to school this morning.

I've had a few words to say to God about this new treatment, and they haven't all been nice.  Actually, hardly any of them have been nice!  I am so over it.

When I started writing this post this morning from my position on the sofa, I occasionally glanced up to look at this:

It's not a perfect tree, but it's ours.  There is something really peaceful about sitting by the Christmas tree, isn't there?  I yearn for that peace all the time.  It is a hard-fought battle every day.  "Let every heart prepare Him room....."  

Lord, please help me to make room for you.  Thank you for being my Friend and for being a safe place for me to go.  Please give me joy, especially in this season.  I want to be soft and open to You and to Your spirit.  I believe that you can heal, both inside and out.  Please let this be a season of healing and miracles.  I want to be ready to receive my King:  You.  Thank you for loving me and for your promises that are always true.  Amen.

Insomniac Blogging: Twelfth Edition

Good morning.   4:34 a.m.  Yawn.

--I have never cooked a turkey all by myself.  I consider that to be an adult fail.

--Strong opinion alert!!!  I am not a fan of folks who put that crazy Rudolph the Reindeer costume on their car during the holiday season.  First, costumes are for Halloween, not Christmas.  Second, your car is not a reindeer.  It's a car.  It's just silly.  All those rein-cars sitting in the parking lot do not inspire Christmas cheer--they just make us roll our eyes heaven-ward.  Strong opinion rant over.

--We put our tree up and did all the decorating on Sunday afternoon.  I was working hard to get the ribbon on the tree "just right!", when I heard it...the unmistakable "Away In A Manger" tune from the Little People Nativity.  You know the one--you push the angel down on top of the stable, and she sings.  My cowboys are 8, 9, and 11 years old, and they will not hear of passing on "their" nativity scene that they have painfully outgrown.  I guess it's not the biggest thing I have to worry about.

--When I woke up, my immediate thought was:  "I don't have anything to put in the boys' lunches!"  Then I remembered what day it is.  It's Waffle Wednesday!!! Phew. (Yes, that's a real thing, and they LOVE it.)

--Every meteorologist in DFW is going nutso right now promoting the upcoming "Winter Weather Event."  It's December.  It's supposed to get cold.  This happens every. single. year.  Settle down, troops.  Settle down.  

--All I want for Christmas is to see Saving Mr. Banks.  Sixteen more days.

--I worked a shift at the book fair at the boys' elementary school.  Maybe I'm just viewing it through jaded adult lenses, but the book fair isn't what it used to be.  I remember volunteer moms spending weeks ahead of time working on decorations, and hyping it up to us kids.  It was magical!  Now, Scholastic decides on a theme, and packages everything you need for a successful book fair:  Book Fair In A Box.  Twice a year like clockwork, the boxes arrive, the kids come, the parents spend, and then everything is boxed back up and the Scholastic truck picks it up.

--While I was working, two classes came in:  one 4th grade class and one Kindergarten class.  All of the kids are paired off as "book buddies."  The big kids were so sweet as they helped their little friends write their "wish lists".  I saw one big, tough-looking 4th grader gently put his hand on his buddy's back to guide him through the crowds.  That touched my heart.

--We did get our hands on the highly-coveted brand new Diary of a Wimpy Kid book.  Little Middle is super-excited!

--When I was a kid, we also did Santa's Secret Shop.  It was awesome because I, as an eight-year-old, could buy Christmas gifts for my entire family for $4.00.  I remember feeling pretty good about that, and I always bought something for my brother (that was the spirit of the season at work in my little heart).  Do schools still do that?

--I feel sorry for people who work for the USPS.  They must walk around feeling unsettled all the time.

--I hate days when I have so many things to take care of that I don't get to be at home for any period of time.  I mean, I like my life and I don't sign up to do anything that I don't really want to be a part of.  Some days, though, stack up quickly because I underestimate.  That's how I get mountains of laundry like what we have going on right now.  Luckily, the Winter Weather Event is coming!!!  Maybe it will be a good excuse to be homebound.

--We do not have an Elf on the Shelf.  Honestly, I think that little Elf is sort of creepy, and I don't want it watching me all the time.  So it's bad enough that my kids believe (probably correctly) that we are the only family without our own elf.  Honestly, you over-achieving moms out there:  there is ZERO reason for you to make me feel worse by allowing your elf to take a "bath" in a bowl full of marshmallows.  Or allowing the elf to pull the laundry from the drawers and toss it onto the floor.  Or let the elf build a roller coaster out of toothpicks on the dining room table.  For real--there' already so much pressure on parents to make the holidays picture perfect.  If you MUST have an elf in your home, please tell your children to keep it a secret from their friends.  That way I don't have to hear about how WE don't have an elf who made chocolate milk last night and fed it to our dog!  Thanks a lot.

--My favorite boots are falling apart, and I find myself for the first time ever needing a shoe hospital.

--I love, love, LOVE being an Auntie.

--Four words:  The Cowboy Rides Away.  What would I not give to see George on his farewell tour?!?

--I have a nearly-neurotic fear that if I leave the Christmas lights on the tree on when I leave the house, then they will start a fire and the house will burn down.  It's a little ridiculous--even to the point that I was halfway to Target and I turned around and went home to unplug the lights.  But if the house burns down, well...that would be a BIG thing to have on my conscious.

--(Walking in to church on Sunday...)

Me:  Doesn't our church look so pretty with all the Christmas decorations?

Baby:  There's too much mistletoe in here, if you ask me.

--All three of my little cowboys have asked for a puppy for Christmas.  And they each want a different breed.  We still have Gus the Terrible, and that's all the dog --and more--that this mama can handle.

--In other Christmas list news, Baby wants an elf.  Not a creepy Elf on the Shelf, or even an Oompa Loompa. He wants a real elf.  As in, one who is trained and certified by Santa himself.  I asked him what he would do with a real elf, and he said, "He would do stuff for me, bring me a drink when I'm thirsty, and build me toys to play with."

Monster Madness

I have been sitting on the counter in my mom's kitchen for the last little bit, popping cherry tomatoes into my mouth like they are the last morsels of food on the planet. That's because I ate next to nothing today. I couldn't eat anything because I was too busy being treated like a cancerous piece of crap. Wanna hear about it? I'm here in Houston, where it is actually cold, ya'll. Well, cold by Houston standards, anyway. I'm wearing a sweater. It's unheard of. I'm here because I had a crazy lineup of cancer appointments at MD Anderson. I was there from 7:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. yesterday, and 9:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. today. It's been a long, grueling, unbelievable 48 hours. Yesterday was Test Day. I had blood work done. I did an echocardiogram, an EKG, x-rays, and last but not least, my favorite: The CT Scan. It went ok up until the end when the nurse was trying to start an IV for the CT contrast. She was not able to find a usable vein. She called a friend nurse, who found one, stuck a needle in me, and then watched the vein collapse. Nurse #3 came along, stuck me, failed, and stuck me again. Ow ow ow ow ow ow ouch!!!! After that, they gave up and sent me to the Infusion Therapy department, where I waited an HOUR for a member of "The IV Team" to save the day. Ridiculous. But Super-Craig easily placed the needle and got good blood flow. Once that was done, the test itself was far from enjoyable, but was manageable. This morning I put on my sweater and my tall black boots, and braced myself for the day. Mom and I got to MDA 40 minutes before my first scheduled appointment. I can't go into all the details here--you wouldn't believe it if I did--but it will suffice to tell you that I FINALLY saw a nurse practitioner at 2:30...more than 4 hours after my 10:10 appointment time. Unbelievable. I'm usually a pretty nice lady, but I wasn't feeling all that benevolent this afternoon. So much so, in fact, that I rounded out my day by filing a complaint in the Patient Advocacy department. MDA needs to get it together. The complaint came as a result of someone failing to do their job. We have been waiting for our insurance company to approve the clinical trial. Staff that I spoke with assured me that it would be taken care of by the time my appointment rolled around today. However, when I arrived at MDA today, insurance had approved only one of the two pills that make up the clinical trial. One without the other is useless. (Confidential to all you haters: This is not a political thing, an Obamacare thing, a Democrat thing, or whatever else you want to blame it on. It's just a stupid money thing.) An appeal has been filed, but if Aetna doesn't come to their senses, then the clinical trial is out. I also discovered that under clinical trial rules, if insurance doesn't come through and pay, then all of the tests that I did yesterday will be for nothing. They are only good for a short period of time. After that time is up, I will have to go back and redo every blood draw, heart check, and The Scan. Grrrr. One of the appointments that I had today was with a radiologic oncologist. (Try saying that three times fast!) Interestingly, this is the first appointment I've had with a radiologic onc. Ever. It has never been a viable treatment option--until now. The radiation intern showed unmatched kindness as he explained how it works, and more importantly, why I need it. Monster is growing...really, really fast and really, really big. Dr. Brown displayed the images from yesterday's CT scan. He patiently explained what I was looking at on each frame. What I saw was astonishing, and then was confirmed by the paper report from the radiologist. That report tells of "a large pelvic mass", measuring nearly 10 centimeters at its widest point. The mass, aka "Monster", is tangled up, wrapped around, and filling up every nook and cranny in my lower abdomen. He is even touching my tailbone! Additionally, there are two Monster babies in my lungs--one on the right, and one on the left. With such exponential increases in growth, radiation would be a palliative care option for me. There is some hope that it might help to control the symptoms that Monster has brought along. The always-amazing Nurse Allyson gave me a name of a doctor who works with Dr. F. I'm banking on him agreeing to do the radiation so I can be close to home. Two days before Thanksgiving, and this bombshell was dropped in my lap. It's not a surprise, per se, but there's something about sticking a number on it... 10 centimeters is a big enough space to birth a baby. 10 centimeters is approximately the diameter of a bagel. 10 centimeters roughly measures an average-size man's palm (crosswise). 10 centimeters is the diameter of a wiffle ball. Those are sobering measurements. While I was lying on the table listening to the machine instruct me on when to breathe, I closed my eyes tight. I did not really care to see the fake ceiling tiles that I suppose are meant to be calming. They had lovely cherry blossoms on them. In my mind, cherry blossoms don't belong in the fifth circle of hell. I chose instead to keep my eyes closed and concentrate on Truth. Snippets of Scripture played through my mind like an old recording: "You are precious in my sight...I will not leave you or forsake you...wherever you go, I am there...when you go through the fire, the flames will not touch you...I know the plans I have for you...I will strengthen you and help you...My yoke is easy and my burden is light...I will lift my eyes to the hills from whence comes my help." Those same pieces of Truth ran through my head as I looked at the pictures of Monster. His ugliness, his scariness stared back at me through the screen and made my heart beat faster. Even the doctor said, "He is angry." But I know this: Whether Monster is the size of a bagel or a beach ball, my God is bigger. My God is stronger. My God will not leave me to do this by myself. Every day brings me a little bit closer to the reality of Psalm 23: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me." I don't have to be afraid. Words like "palliative" don't exactly conjure up warm fuzzies, but I know that this hurting is for such a short time...and what waits for me is a forever that is so much more beautiful than even the prettiest cherry blossoms. He is worthy, friends. Oh, He is worthy. This Thanksgiving season, when on the surface it may look so dark, I will still be grateful. He has given me so much--SO MUCH--that I don't deserve. Jesus owes me nothing, yet He gave everything. Me and my wiffle ball-sized Monster will worship and give thanks. He is good all the time. THAT is TRUTH. P.S. My grandparents love me a lot. Like, a bushel and a peck. At age 38, that still amazes me, and is one of the most precious things I know in this life.

Happy Birthday, Baby!

Dear Baby,

It's Monday, it's Veteran's Day, and most importantly, it's YOUR day!  I woke you up this morning with a special birthday song, made better with my own lyrics, of course.    You were smiling before you ever opened your eyes!  And when you did finally bat your handsome eyelashes, you said, "My armpit itches."  Good morning, birthday boy!

Let's talk about that smiling thing.  So often I look at you and think of Buddy the Elf saying, "I like smiling.  Smiling's my favorite!"  You are the most smiley creature I have ever laid eyes on.  You smile in the mornings, you smile when you jump off the bus in the afternoons, you smile at bedtime.  I swear, happiness just seems to puff up around you wherever you are!  I don't understand it, but it is my single favorite thing about you.  You don't even know how many times you have changed my mood or calmed my soul with your inescapable cheerfulness.  You are one happy Baby boy!!!

You wanna know what else you are?  Roly poly, Tigger-bouncy, jumpy-jump bundle of boy.  You are almost never still.  Every morning when I come in to wake you up for school, you are wrapped tight--in a corner of your sheet.  All other blankets have fallen on the floor during the night because you move around so much in your sleep.  Your favorite move?  Somersault.  You can somersault with the best of 'em, even across the whole house.  On almost any given evening, while I am cooking dinner, I can glance outside and see you bouncing away on the trampoline.

You have a ton of friends, so you have plenty of social activity going on.  You go to more birthday parties than any kid I know!  Occasionally, though, you will turn down a playdate invitation just so you can stay at home with us.  You are content to simply be.  I think that's a great way for a person to be.  In fact, I wish I could be more like that.  Who would have thought that I would be learning things from my youngest son?

In between all your bouncing and your somersaulting, you make us laugh.  Like that day at camp last summer when the weather was particularly cool and very rainy.  You were so frustrated because you couldn't go to your favorite recreation activity.  You looked at the sky and said, "WHY does God have to cry so much at camp?!?!?"  I almost fell in a puddle laughing.  Or the morning not too long ago when I announced at breakfast that I would be washing the sheets and going to the grocery store that day.  You never missed a beat:  "Hmmmm.  You are not lucky, Mommy."  And last week, when I asked you about your homework, you sighed a great big sigh and said, "It's the same thing everyyyyy singllllle dayyyyyyy."  I'm sorry (sort of) that I laughed at you.  One more for good measure:  you recently had an assignment where you had to draw a picture of your favorite animal.  You brought it home, and I was quite surprised to find a billy goat on one side and a yak on the other.  Or, a "yack", as you labeled it.  :)

One of the things that hurts my heart for you is that you are still dealing with that blasted speech impediment.  After years of waiting, the school district finally agreed that you needed extra attention.  You started going to see the speech therapist at school at the end of 1st grade, and I know you hate it.  I know that because we had one of those everything-stands-still conversations about it.  You asked me, with tears streaming down your cheeks, why you talk different than other kids.  Why you try, but you can't make the right sounds.  I swear I could hear my heart breaking as I swiped at my own tears.  No mom ever wants to watch her child hurt, and if there were any kind of a magic fix, I would do it in a second for you.  Keep working, baby.  It will come.

Daddy and I have had the pleasure of teaching your 2nd grade Sunday School class.  There's not much that is more exciting to me than watching you learn about the Bible and the truths that God put there for us.  When we first started back in August, I was really surprised to find that you can quite easily navigate through the Bible.  We are building on that skill, and I pray often that you will find verses and hear stories that touch your heart.  You have great ideas about Jesus and the way that He wants us to live and treat other people.  I love listening to you.  He made you incredibly special, Baby boy.

I hope you are always happy.  Even as I write this, you are following my directions to finish your homework.  (Who gives a kid homework on his birthday, anyway?)  You just passed me with your homework folder singing, "I get to do my math homework!  I get to do my math homework!  And it's my birthday!"  May you always carry that same enthusiasm and zest for math homework--or whatever else your precious life may bring.  Our God is so good, Baby.  I know that life won't always be joyful, and you won't always get what you want.  But the God who made you with such meticulous care certainly has good things in store for you.  Your very existence is a testament to Him!  On the night you were born, I held you in my arms and counted ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes.  I clearly remember how you were so very calm.  That was the moment that I KNEW the most clear definition of grace:  God giving you something that you don't deserve.  God gave me you.  I certainly did not deserve you, and I still don't.  But every morning when I pick up your covers off the floor and untangle you, I get my first glimpse of grace for the day.  What an amazing gift you are, sweet son!  An amazing gift.  And I am so incredibly thankful.

Happy, happy birthday, Baby of mine.

Love,

Mommy

Something

On Monday afternoon, it was raining in Big D.  A promised cold front had pushed through (finally!) and brought with it a brisk wind and much-needed rain.  It was the perfect afternoon to snuggle up with a warm cup of coffee--pumpkin spice creamer included--and watch the Disney Channel with the cowboys.  Ahhhhh.

Except.....that's not what I was doing on Monday afternoon.  I was speeding across Dallas in the cold rain, trying to beat the rush-hour buildup.  My hair was a frizzy mess, my makeup was smudged, and my sweater was hanging halfway off because I couldn't decide if I was hot or cold.  I was a hot mess, on my way to the airport to catch a plane to Houston.

After weeks of trying, I was finally able to score an appointment at MD Anderson.  My regular MDA doctor rejected my request to see her, by flat out telling me that she had nothing to offer.  Instead, I was referred over to the Center for Targeted Therapy.  The doctor there, Dr. W, was one of those people who makes you feel dumb just by being in the same room with you.  Not because she was arrogant or talked down to me; she was just SO SMART!  It was almost like she was speaking another language, which I had to struggle to follow.  Dr. W also had two assistants:  Rosa and Roosevelt.  I think that Roosevelt is an awesome name.  (Hey, Brother and his Other!  Take note!  Just in case you want to change your mind....)  

So, the culmination of my meeting with Dr. W, Rosa, and Roosevelt resulted in an agreement to do two different things:

1)  Molecular mapping.  Samples of my tissue will be analyzed at the molecular level.  Through this analysis, they should be able to determine the exact abnormalities/defects that cause cells in my body to be "bad" cancerous cells.  With that information, they may be able to match me to a specific drug that would not normally fall within my standard of care.  For instance, I might have the same abnormalities as another group of patients with liver cancer.  I would then be able to be treated with medications for liver cancer.  Weird, but interesting.

2)  Clinical trial.  The molecular profiling will take a while--at least a few months.  The trial in question is an "in the meantime" solution--completely different from the Oklahoma fiasco trial.  This clinical trial involves 2 drugs, both of which have already been approved by the FDA.  One drug has been used for a long time with diabetes patients, the other has been used to treat breast cancer.  The trial is testing their efficacy when they are given in combination.  Both drugs are given orally.

Now, a few things you should know about this clinical trial:  The temptation to dance a jig is pretty huge.  Just the fact that she did not dismiss me but instead had some ideas is a cause for celebration!  But I need to step back and gather my thoughts before I jump off the cliff of crazy.  The truth is that these medications, even if successful, are not designed to be a cure.  They are meant to, at best, slow the growth of those wretched bad cells, thereby buying me some more time until, hopefully, there IS a cure.  (Worst case scenario, I'll endure funky side effects, but maybe I won't get diabetes or breast cancer.)

Knowing that truth reminds me of the sobering fact that cancer is what I have.  Unless God changes his mind or intervenes, I will have cancer until I die.  It may not always be as big, or as painful, but modern medicine tells me that this is my lot in life.  Many have prayed for my healing.  And it may still be done, but it has become pretty clear to my medical team (and to myself) that this Monster intends to stay.  

I am not publicly declaring my "I am thankful" list this month, but I do have one.  While the rest of the world is using social media to advertise what they are thankful for, I am keeping mine private.  But on Tuesday afternoon, when my plane landed safely on the runway in Dallas, and I knew I would soon be home with my babies, there was no question about it.  I am thankful for something.  Something to do.  Something to take.  Something to aid in my fight.  Something instead of nothing.

I don't claim to know God's plan.  I don't understand why he chooses to withhold physical healing.  I don't like my situation, and there are a lot of days when I don't say, "Your will, not mine."  And still...He loves me with a depth that I can not comprehend.  He values me to a point that I can not understand.  He is faithful to provide for me--whether that be the miraculous healing, or a small "something", He is good.

P.S.  This is for sale in the Dallas airport, as if the world needed reminding.  Poor taste, Dallas. Seriously.

Insomniac Blogging #11

--Out of all of the celebrations we have throughout the year, Halloween is my least favorite (except for Labor Day).  It is so much WORK for us moms, and a money drain!!!  And at the end, we have tons of candy that the kids fight over.  Then I have to hide it, and they get grumpy with me.

--There are some things about Halloween that I do like, though.  One of them is this guy in his costume:

Can you see it?  He's a Smartie Pants!

--Goliath is too big/old to go trick-or-treating this year.  I thought it would be a fight, but thankfully I was wrong.  He is going to sit in our front yard and pass out candy while his brothers trick-or-treat around the neighborhood.  Then the candy is all going in to one big family pot, which I will have to hide.  It's the only way to avoid the crazy crash and burn that I know will happen.

--We have an awesome neighborhood for trick-or-treating.  One family rents a cotton candy machine, and makes it right there in their driveway.  Kids line up to wait for it!  Another family makes homemade root beer and hands out samples to all the trick-or-treaters.  Another family shows Halloween movies (i.e. It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown) on their garage door and does a mini-potluck.

--I attended fall teacher conferences last week for both of my little boys.  There was nothing really that they wanted to say.  Both boys are doing great, both socially and academically.  I'm a proud mom.

--Something I don't fully understand=Daylight Savings Time.

--Dear person who smashed the window out in Hubby's pick-up truck:  Thank you so much for leaving his Bible safely on the seat.  I mean, you were such a gentleman.  The Bible hardly had any glass on it, it having been preserved perfectly.  Enjoy your new laptop and the other equipment.  Next time you steal, might I suggest you grab the Bible with your other loot.  It would be beneficial for you to do a little light reading.

--Baby:  What are you cooking?

Me:  Blueberry muffins.

Baby:  Oh.  What's in them?

--I mentioned that my local Kroger is remodeling.  A few shopping trips left me frustrated, as they moved the coffee to the organic section and put the Gatorade on an aisle separate from the other drinks.  One afternoon, I needed  just a few items for the chili I was making for dinner, so I ran into a different Kroger.  Wouldn't you know that they also remodeling? I couldn't find anything.

--It is a bothersome problem that I and O are next to each other on the keyboard. 

--On a whim, I bought a can of potato sticks for the cowboys.  Remember those?  I think when I was a kid we called them shoestring potatoes. The boys l-o-v-e them!  So much so, that they wanted to sprinkle them in their soup last night at dinner.  It's weird that I've never thought to buy them before.

--Middle school.  Oh, middle school.  There is so much I could say about this.  I did the math, and not counting this year, our family only has 6 more long  exciting years of middle school.  (It helps to double up on kids.)   Ugh.

--Goliath has been going to school 1 1/2 hours early for the last week for archery practice.  Apparently, his school has a really good archery team.  Like, really good.  And he really wants to be on it.  But this practice before the sun comes up?  That's for the birds.

--I took Goliath to see a marching band competition over the weekend.  We had a great time being together, and my inner band nerd was happy, happy, happy.

--Speaking of happy, happy, happy...like millions of other American families, we are Duck Dynasty fans.  Hubby has started complaining recently about the show, saying that there's no way that it could be "reality" television.  I say that their reality is a lot better than ours, so let's shut up and tune in.

--If we were all genuine and honest about our lives and the struggles we face, wouldn't it be a much more meaningful life?

--My kids broke my OtterBox phone case.  That's talent.

--Reese the Niece can now clearly say "Auntie!"

--Just a few more weeks until Nephew Truett arrives!  The doctor is estimating that he already weighs 7 pounds...I am guessing that he will be big, crazy-smart, and perfect.  Come on, Truett!

--When I was in college, I was convinced that I had narcolepsy.  Sit me in a desk, put a professor in front of me, and zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....The condition has recently resurfaced, only now, it can happen anytime, anywhere.  If you're talking to me and I suddenly fall asleep, don't be alarmed.  Just cover me up and leave me alone.  At 2:45 my phone alarm will go off so I will at least be awake when the boys get home.

--I think that my iPhone is haunted.  It is mysteriously changing ring tones, playing tunes by itself, and cutting off calls before they are over.  Apple has taken over the world.