Game Face

I've got my Game Face on today.

The one everyone expects to see.

Smiling. Happy. Thrilled to be alive.

But my low back has been hurting for three days, and it's been sneaking into my hips.

So inside, I'm scared. Actually, I'm fucking terrified. That my breast cancer is back.

Because I've been told by my health care team that if Triple Negative Breast Cancer were to come back, it would show up in my hips. My medical oncologist said that if I have pain in my hips and take Tylenol and/or Advil and it goes away, it's nothing to worry about. But, if I take Tylenol and/or Advil, and it doesn't go away then I need to see him.

The pain started on Thursday about 5:30 pm, after sitting for at least an hour playing UNO with my older son. He's the child who is disabled. But he was handing me my ass in UNO. Like usual. How many fucking Wilds and +4 Wilds did I deal him? Jesus.

Get up and move. Start dinner. Randy was at Hapkido with Mini Musashi, and I didn't expect them home until at least 6:30. You've been sitting too long. It was the first beautiful and warm day for us here on the Olympic Peninsula...maybe being outside picking up dog shit and taking pics of the boys was a little too much action. Maybe I pulled my back a bit because I didn't engage my core. Jesus, Rachel.

Thank you Clue

Wait! Didn't the Clue App just send me a notice that my period is gonna start? Fuckinchrist. Wasn't chemo supposed to make that fucking piece of me stop? Because I really am done having my period. Because it's not regular and goddamnit...perimenopause and chemo induced menopause is bullshit.

Total. Fucking. Bullshit.

And, no, I can't use hormonal birth control because BREAST CANCER.

On the other hand, it's kinda nice to still get my period. I get to be a girl. But I'm the only girl in my house. Our dog doesn't truly count. She had her reproductive organs removed, god love her, and so, I'm the only human female in my house and most of the time it's a big piece of bullshit.

Leave me alone. I am waiting for my period to show up. Because apparently I'm THAT FUCKING FERTILE at the age of 45-1/2.

So go be boys. Go outside and yell at the trees. Scare all the wildlife away. I don't care that it's raining. You're not made out of sugar. You will not melt.

And I threw a swimming birthday party today. Because the little one turns 9 on Monday.

Nine.

And there's so much on his plate. He doesn't remember my cancer. My surgery. My chemo. My radiation. He was about six weeks shy of turning six years old when I was diagnosed in March 2015. Kindergarten.

He remembers his dad's cancer. The surgery, radiation and chemo. He remembers the tube coming out of Daddy's arm. And the other one that went into his stomach so he could "eat"...sustain life. Fucking A the things we do....what we put our body's through...to live.... Thank you science.

Mr. Nearly Nine knows all too well about his brother's seizures, and our medication choices.

About his autism.

His disabilities. 

He sees his brother's daily struggles.

He tries to parent his brother. A lot.

Don't worry, child, someday it will, in all likelihood, fall to you. You'll get your chance, youngling. But for now, you need to work on quieting your voice and your mind, step back, and let me and Dad do our jobs. Thank you, very much.

Maybe getting in the water will help my low back feel better....?

Advil? Check.

Tylenol? Check.

Marijuana? Check.

But not at the party when you're the hostess. Because that shit ain't cool.

Topical marijuana balm on low back and hips? Check.

Yoga isn't helping. I could barely move on my mat last night, and I didn't practice this morning. I did give myself permission to sleep in though; 7:25 am is late for me. The alarm usually goes off at 5.

Walking isn't helping. I ache like I never have. And I am terrified. I have no appetite, and have been forcing myself to eat nutrient dense food every few hours.

Maybe I've got too much on my plate. Maybe I've said yes to too many things? Helping is what I do; it's my Super Power.

So this past week, when I was contacted by three different moms who had questions about giving their kids medical marijuana, and I've got 4-1/2 years of experience, I step up to the best of my ability in that moment and help in the best way I can. Texting is good. Facebook messaging is good. Email is great. Talking on the phone is hard for me...I usually only reserve that for medical appointments I'm making for myself or my children.

He's looking at his brother...

Or for talking to my parents, because they will never get on the Tech Train; too trendy. So I meet them where they are...on the talking part of my phone. And that's hard. Especially when my dad, who called twice on Wednesday, to see if we received the card for Mr. Nearly Nine's birthday...and Wednesday is my family's busiest day of the week...stressful...but god love him, he goes off on one of his famous tangents, and all I could really do was breathe through it...Jesus, Dad. In my family, going off on a tangent, which leads to another tangent and you start subject hopping and don't really take a breath or provide the other person in the conversation to speak, that's actually a verb: Tangeting. Verb. That's what's happening.

So I put on my Game Face. And I threw a fantastic party. Again. Alternatively, I really have a lot of practice at throwing parties.

...who is not capable of controlling himself when it comes to blowing out candles.

And yes swimming felt great. And yes, the diving helped alleviate the pain. And yes it was fun having the kids watch me underwater when I dove down and touched the bottom. And yes, I know my hips are going to hurt like a motherfucker tomorrow.

Because it's not like I'm seventeen and doing this shit. I'm 45-and-a-goddamn-half and I'm a breast cancer survivor and a mom of a kid with myriad disabilities and a cancer care giver and goddam do I have cancer of the quadratus lumborum? Or a kidney infection that I don't have any other symptoms for? Or kidney cancer? Because I could also have cancer of the foot because I stubbed my toe the other day...?

Can't my period just fucking start? Seriously. I'd totally take my period over any type of cancer any day, please Jesus.

And thank you, Mother Nature, for considering my request.

Namaste'

Springless Breaks

Collectively here at the Anderson Family Circus, our spring breaks are coming to a close. Thankfully. Three weeks of gray skies, rain, some major wind, sickness, jury duty, a perimenopausal mommy, and a full moon to boot. Fuck dude. Thank the universe we're in the final stretch before summer break.

My husband and I had our usual two week spring break, the first week was taken up by one boy missing school Monday and Tuesday due to a GI thing. Wednesday is my day to volunteer at school; I love volunteering and working with the teachers who choose to help my kids and our community each day, and I'm thankful I have the opportunity to give back in this way.

Thursday and Friday were spent catching up on grocery shopping and meal prepping and picking out new glasses...you know...like you do…. It was a day date...and one of the only days we had together to enjoy each other. Since both becoming cancer survivors, we tend to not take days like this for granted, and spend as many of them as we can together. We've been looking forward to spring break for a while.

But, alas, it wasn't in the stars, naturally, since the second week involved my husband serving on a jury for three days. Monday we did our prep for the spring quarter, which started on April 2, the same day our kids’ spring break started; I’ll get to that in a minute.

This is my husband’s second time to serve on a jury. The first one was when we lived in Las Vegas. In my family language we speak in levels, and my husband was on the Boss Level Jury: Double Murder Trial. Of course he was. So everything else is going to just not be as...much...fun? I don’t remember the specifics, other than it lasted a full five days and they found the defendants guilty. That was his first ever time. And he enjoys learning about the process of the court system and how our legal system works. I did too when I served on a jury...but it was like a Level 3 trial...DUI...guy drove his car into a lady’s home, and she was fine. Dude. Seriously? That doesn’t compete with the Boss Level Double Murder Trial.

Anyway...so he had jury duty that took 2-½ days...and we just didn’t get a lot of quality time together...but we also got to spend the comfortable quiet of a couple who’s been together for an extended time...and who’s children are...safe?...at school.

It’s there now. It’s always there. That voice. That one that I didn’t realize wasn’t my own shit and paranoia until I read this article that my one friend who’s a mental health therapist and my other friend who’s an elementary school teacher shared on Facebook and Jesus is my data missing? In Russia?

I mean that article is on Oprah.com and I've never really been an Oprah fan. Not that she’s a bad person or anything...she’s just never been my jam. Did I just use "jam" in a sentence as a substitute for "thing?" Oy. Maybe I'm not 500 years old after all.

So we started back to school at the college on Monday April 2. And that was the boys’ first day of spring break...because that’s just how it goes down around here every year. We never align spring breaks. It’s unfortunate, but it is what it is. Or perhaps it’s fortunate. Because my family isn’t the family that travels to warmer, sunnier climates for spring breaks. I have a love hate relationship with Facebook right now: it’s painful for me to see pictures. Literally hurts me to not be warming up. But, it is what it is. Spring is coming to the Pacific Northwest. I can feel it in my bones; or maybe it's my body's ache for the desert sun. What? Supposed to be 97* in Tucson on Tuesday? No thanks. I'll keep my 54* and rain.

But we didn’t have a spring break. I feel badly for my kids. We were at home a LOT the week of spring break, partly because as an on-line educator, I needed to work; and partly because I didn't feel like working and dragging the boys--or being drug by the boys. It's a push-me-pull-you type of relationship. Right?

My younger son has had a fire lit under him within the last two weeks because he was given his Hapkido book; it's a manual that his sensei gave him that has everything he's been studying for the past several years. He received it at this point because it's what is required in his training. Basically, he knows a lot of shit, and it's a lot to expect anyone to have all of it in their heads, so the teachers provide a manual of everything he needs to know; he'll add to it as he progresses upward in rank.

And it's motivated him. He's now required to have helped teach The Littles (the kids younger than him) a total of 25 times and he has to have one of the school's owners sign each time. The child is on fire to get it done before he turns 9 on April 30. We even counted out how many times he needed to go in order to earn X number of signatures per week. Seriously.

But, little dude, tone it down. It's not mathematically possible...even if you went four times on Tuesday during spring break and because next week you get to go back to school and soccer academy starts and there are only so many ways I can say "we'll do our best to get you to Hapkido as much as possible but a more realistic date to accomplish this is by the end of the school year, in the middle of June, or better yet, by July 4th" before I completely loose my load! Please stop fucking bugging me! Jesus! I'm doing my best, people!

Goddamn hormones suck. And the chemo-induced menopause? Fuck that noise. Even though I use Clue, I never know when my period is coming. And thank the goddesses I read that article on Oprah.com because now I know this is also a serious thing that a lot of women my age are dealing with. Not to mention I'm the only human female in my home, causing even further isolation and anxiety...making me secretly wonder if I'm suffering from some kind of neurosis. Nope. Apparently it's not just me.... And this is where I'm thankful I'm not trained to diagnose people. And I'm thankful I don't go to ScareTheHellOuttaMe.com and self-diagnosis. Red Rover, Red Rover! Send Oprah right over...? Ew. Really, I'd call Ada Calhoun over. Since she penned the article. Definitely keepin my eye on her.

Anyway, at some point, midweek, when they'd harassed me about swimming for the umteenth time, I considered writing them a note:

Dear Boys,

I'm not sure which one of y'all started the rumor between the two of you that we're going swimming today, or at anytime during spring break, but we're not. Sorry. 

Societal expectations, as well as my own comfort level, mandate that I shave my legs, armpits, and bikini line prior to putting on a bathing suit, and I'm not planning on doing all that, because it requires a tremendous amount of energy from me, not to mention a shit ton of water, which also costs money. 

I have no plans to placate you guys and succumb to your male dominated, completely oppressive, misogynistic view of women. Thanks for making every effort to understand my perspective and finding another way to exercise. I really prefer you do this outside, where you can have a nature break. As a gentle reminder, if you make a lot of noise away from me, you'll keep the wild animals away. Furthermore, I know it's a little drizzly, but you're not made outta sugar!

If you don’t get it, then please fuck off. Thanks. 

Love always, 
Mom

However, I decided to not give them a note.

Instead I took them to the Spit on Friday, where we saw a severed dragon's head, a dead mouse, and a lot of other natural things. Like rocks. And the ocean. And we were all fully dressed, and I didn't have to shave.