Not Into It

Halloween is here, and I'm not into it this year.

I'm not into decorating.

I'm not into carving pumpkins.

I purchased two pumpkins, but I'm not into carving them. The boys can do it if they want to. They don't want to. I'm not into it. I suppose they'll end up being thrown into a part of the woods on our property. Perhaps in a few seasons, we'll have a Great Pumpkin patch.

I'm not into getting their costumes ready. Even though I purchased stuff for their costumes, I'm not really into it. Nathan's going as a cat. Again. And Isaac hasn't completely decided but is leaning towards a vampire. We'll see.

I feel like I should be happy. That I should be thankful. That I should be decorating to make the boys happy and help them feel like "normal" kids. Even though the only "normal" in our house is a setting on the washing machine.

It's been a full month since I had my chemo port removed. Ample time to recover from that minor surgery. But the emotion. The angst. The frustration. The worry. The fear. The guilt. The sadness. I'm still processing all of that. And the incision, while mostly healed, is still pretty tender.

And last week sucked. Perhaps the worst week I've personally had in a long, long time.

It started out great: I did some grading from home on Monday morning, like I usually do after my husband and the boys are out the door for school and work. I then went to a noon power yoga class at Poser Yoga Studio. (Thanks Jenny for the great class!)

On Tuesday I was able to help out last minute by volunteering at the book fair at the boys' school. I'm thankful that I had the opportunity to help kids and be around books. Because: BOOKS! Right?! Oh, and that warm feeling you get in your heart from volunteering and helping others.

Wednesday is my regular volunteer day at school, I usually go in and collate the folders that get sent home to parents. It's a great thing for me to do because I don't have to think about the myriad and intense health issues my family has been dealing for the past five years. But this past Wednesday, I unexpectedly started my period. While at school. But it was one of those, it is? Is it not? Seriously? You've got to be fucking kidding me type of things that all women experience, at least every once in a while. Well, I suppose that explains my emotional state the past couple of weeks. Fuck. And I had no tampons. Because I didn't expect it.

The reason I didn't expect my period is because when I went through chemotherapy for breast cancer in 2015, the chemo caused me to go into what's called "medical menopause." This happens in most young women (I was 42 at the time--still "young" in cancer land). Chemotherapy is successful in killing cancer cells because cancer cells are considered "rapidly-dividing cells." We all have cells that are considered "rapidly-dividing" our skin cells, our hair, our finger and toe nails....

And that's why our hair falls out when we're going through chemo...because to chemotherapy, fast-growing cells are fast-growing cells: the chemotherapy doesn't discriminate and can't tell the difference between a cancer cell and a hair cell. 

So, medical menopause hits me, which is a total fucking bonus because god knows when you're going through chemo you really REALLY don't want to be dealing with your goddamn period. You know what I'm sayin? Seriously. Praise be for medical menopause, you guys.

Anyway, so it turns out my ovaries didn't completely shut the fuck down because apparently I'm one fertile bitch. Seriously? Because in what goddamn universe is it a good idea for me to have another baby? Not the one I'm living in. Fuck that. Kids suck the life out of their mothers. 

The first time I got my period after chemo was a total surprise. Like, I had no idea, it wasn't even on my radar because I'm in Tucson on vacation with Stacie, staying at Ventana Canyon, sleeping on the 12,000,000 thread count white cotton sheets. I'm just thankful that when I sat up, shit didn't go down like the elevator scene in The Shining. You with me? 

Since then, I've gotten my period about every six months. But really, I don't pay attention. Can't that shit stop already? I kinda like not having a period and no hot flashes and sex with my husband whenever I need/want to. Goddamnit. There goes my body betraying me again.

On Thursday, after what I'll politely call the Before School Psycho Menstruating Mommy Meltdown, I had a heated text exchange with my incredibly patient husband, in which I informed him of all the errands I needed to run that day. Then in an attempt to reset and be kind to myself, I took a long hot shower. And in it, the last gigantic glue-scabs from my chemo port removal last month came off. Thank the sweet Baby Jesus for that. But goddamnit it was nasty. Seriously. It was as big as my pinky nail and made me gag a little. It looked like the biggest booger you've ever seen. So gross. 

On Friday I made the 75-minute drive to Silverdale because I needed to get off the Peninsula. I had lunch with an old friend who has been a nurse for decades and doesn't sugar-coat shit. When she sat down across from me at the table, she said something about how I looked like hell. Because I did. No sleep for 3-4 consecutive nights. Thanks period.

Saturday was soccer, and it's always a treat to see Isaac play. But it's super stressful, too, because watching Nathan while in a large open space, with lots of people and a few dogs can be tricky. Fortunately, one of Isaac's teammates...his mom, who is lovely, brings their large and very sweet dog, so Nathan was covered, and I felt like I could breathe a little. Thank you, Katie.

On Saturday afternoon, I said no to a spontaneous dinner with a good friend who's birthday was yesterday. I was too tired. I listened to my own needs. I went to bed early. I know she understands, but I still have guilt about not going. The fear of missing out.

Sunday was a stay home family day. This is part of our routine. We play Wii. We have dinner as a family. And we talked about the fact that there are no Halloween decorations at our house this year. And I know the boys are disappointed. And I know it doesn't feel like Halloween. And I'm sorry. But I'm tired of being the only one who decorates. I mean, the boys help, but there's a lot of pushing rope, you know what I'm saying?

And this week, the schedule with school is crazy. All day Monday, complete with a field trip for Nathan. No school Tuesday. Because Halloween is like a holiday up here. But when I was in school, we'd get time off for the Tucson Rodeo, so it's all good. But still. Then Wednesday and Thursday we have 1/2 days...and all three days, there are parent-teacher conferences...which I'm also not into. I mean, we had Nathan's IEP meeting a couple of weeks ago. It was a short one, as far as IEP meetings go. Any time you walk out of an IEP meeting that's less than two hours, it's good. Right? On Wednesday, we'll meet with Isaac's teacher, and it's only 20 minutes, and I know he's doing well academically.... But still. Not into it. Friday is a full day. But in an autism home, the change of schedule and the holiday tend to throw us all off.

And this week, these memories have been popping up in my Facebook feed. It's been five years since we took our older son over to Seattle Children's Hospital and checked our then 6-year-old into the Inpatient Psychiatric Unit for 11 days because he had become incredibly violent. Looking back, I know it wasn't his fault that he was so aggressive; it was the anti-seizure drug he was on. Depakote. That shit is the devil. I'm thankful that we've made the changes to his meds that we have. But, fuck me, keeping on top of his meds and the changes and trying new drugs, both the ones that are mass produced in a lab and the ones that are grown in the ground, is a lot of work. I used to chart everything...but I let it go a long time ago.

So today, I'll get my shenanigans together and I'll help the boys with their costumes and I'll throw something on and I'll pick Randy up at the college and then we'll go downtown to trick-or-treat. Because that's what we do.

Whether we're into it or not.

For our kids.