Birthday Eve

Today is your Birthday Eve. 

Tomorrow you will be fourteen. 

It's kinda terrific. But kinda terrifying.  

Terrific because you have accomplished much in your number of years on our planet, even exceeding the experts expectations. 

Terrifying because of what is happening in the world.

Why is there so much smoke in our sky again? Why are these major fires happening? The Earth is screaming. Do you hear her? And why did he even suggest that California rake their forests? Right. Because he's clueless. Climate change is real. Please stop ignoring science. 

Terrific because you are working on listening comprehension. And, the other day, you figured out the talk to type feature on the computer! Your entire face lit up because you were so impressed with yourself! And that is the best feeling: seeing you happy.

Terrifying because perhaps that's why Coronavirus is here: Mother Earth is thinning us out. She doesn't necessarily need us as a species to survive herself. Some mothers eat their young. I know there are days I wish I certainly had. #MissedOpportunity #OhWell

Terrific because you know how to swallow all of your meds at once. That's Boss Level stuff, dude. Like all 7 pills down the hatch?! Amazing! I'm looking forward to that new super fancy-pants AM/PM, color-coded pill organizer arriving. We will absolutely work together to make sure you know how to correctly read your prescription bottles, and how to arrange your medications. I have confidence in you, son.

Terrifying because you have so many meds to take. I know what they do to your brain activity. But what do they do to your liver and kidneys? And your digestive system? 

Terrific because since you've been home in March, I've seen fewer seizures. You've slept better. Longer. More soundly. We've maintained your sleep schedule because our life is ruled by medications. Yes my children are still in their rooms between 7:30 and 7:45 pm. No. Really. #ParentalMentalHealth #YesWeGetBraggingRightsOnThis #TeamAnderson

Terrifying because he knew, and he chose to not act. There is so much blood on his hands. America's blood. What type of future does that leave for you, my child? Not to mention the racial unrest occurring. #BlackLivesMatter Terrifying because what happens if you are the next Linden Cameron? (God, forbid; knock on wood; please all the Deities in the Universe, protect my children. Amen.)

Terrific because you wanted to bake cupcakes today, and you did most of the work. I mean, it was a mix because while I do bake a mean cookie, baking cakes from scratch is not my area of expertise. So thanks for being flexible and doing cupcakes. Yeah, it's kinda a bummer that we didn't get the 24 that Betty Crocker said we would, but you did a fantastic job pouring the batter into the cupcakes mostly by yourself...mostly.

Terrific because, on this Birthday Eve, you chose to not eat any cupcakes today. This shows you have self-control and are maturing. And that is wonderful! Yes, we can put the frosting on tomorrow. I think it's fabulous that you call the dude on the can the Pillsbury Dough Brother. What else are you going to put on your cupcake? We have marshmallows. Yes, two sizes because that's important. And we have gummy bears. And I'm sure we have a fresh strawberry from the garden! Of course not. Why ruin it?

May you find happiness and joy. May you be healthy and happy. May you continue to listen to music and love cats.  

Happy Birthday Eve!

All my love always, 

Mom

xoxo

Boss Level of Being an Adult Child

You guys, I think I just arrived at the Boss Level of Being an Adult Child.

For real.

A few weeks ago, my Dad called me and left a voicemail saying he needed my "expertise on some medical issues"...which is a really big fat fuckin' deal in my world.

Who's calling?!

My Dad comes from a very traditional Southern Arizona Mexican Catholic home, which means the parents have the last word, especially the males because machismo is a thing. So asking for help, especially your adult female child...it's a big fat fuckin' deal in his life, too. So, I'm recognizing that it took some courage for him to reach the point of asking me. Alternatively, he's that desperate. But, let's see the good in this situation...since that's how I mostly choose to live...mostly.

Anyway, so my Mom has dementia, but we call it "memory issues" since "dementia" is kinda a bad word for them and forces them to face reality. Whatever word or phrase you'd like to use is up to you. But, just so ya know, it is well documented that people who experience this heartbreaking brain disease also suffer from abnormal sleep. While neuro-specialists don't know why this happens, they do know it happens...and my Mom hasn't been sleeping well at night. She has anxiety when she lays down...and I do to...so I completely understand. I'd reckon that many mothers have anxiety...and here's information about how to help yourself....

But for seniors who are managing dementia, it's different. Watching your spouse decline due to disease...and not being able to leave them alone...I completely understand that...and it really fuckin sucks...but, cancer isn't the same as dementia. When I was supporting my husband as he went through his experience with HPV-caused tonsil cancer in 2016, there were times I was afraid he was going to die. There were times we'd have hard discussions about life and death, and how outcomes look different for individuals and families. There are so many variables with cancer...it depends on the type of cancer, the stage, how early it is detected, if it's spread, if it's operable, if the cancer responds to treatment, how the patient responds to treatment...the first round of chemo nearly killed my husband.

Yet, with memory loss, there's just this sense of her slipping away into this blackness from which she'll never surface. Like, give up hope, watch her decline, nothing we can do except keep her as comfortable as possible. Sorry, Charlie.

And the concept of "giving up" goes against pretty much every fiber of my being. When my older son was four, he was diagnosed with seizure disorder, at age six, he was diagnosed with autism and ADHD (and NO, it's not ok to give him a 20-ounce red fucking Power Ade as a reward #StoryForAnotherTime). Around the age of eight, he was diagnosed with a rare form of epilepsy called Lennox-Gaustaut Syndrome. And when he was little, each and every time we'd visit his pediatric neurologist at Seattle Children's Hospital, I'd ask his neurologist if, in the research, there are cases of kids outgrowing their seizures. Our doc, who's an incredibly gracious older gentleman, and has a wonderfully dry sense of humor, says things like, "Well, now, you're asking me to tell the future, and my crystal ball is cracked, so it's never accurate," and his eyes crinkle when he smiles at me. There's a chance, since my son has now entered the super-fun stage of Puberty that his seizures will decrease...time will tell.

Since I've never given up hope on my kid, it's counter-intuitive for me to give up on my mom...even though we aren't close geographically or emotionally. My parents are the least tech savvy people on the planet, so videoing is out of the question. I wonder if the family photos we took in November at my brother's wedding will be the last one of the four of us....?

And, yes, all of the above mentioned diseases suck in a big way. It's not that one's worse than the other. But, managing all of them at the same time is an incredible burden, which can feel oppressive on occasion. Like when I sit down and write about them all.

Anyway. So, Mom's not sleeping at night when it's easier for Dad to sleep, because let's face it, he's not nocturnal. Also, for those of us who are the primary caregivers, we need to sleep too, and it's much easier for everyone if everyone just sleeps at night, mkay?

So, my folks went to the doc a few weeks ago and the doc gave her a 'script for 90 days of Ambien. And then the pharmacist could only administer 30 days because it's a controlled substance, and Dad's not particularly happy about that, which I get, but dude, laws are in place because #JesusKnows we do not really need to have anyone misunderstand the directions on the bottle (can she still read?) and really you're only supposed to take Ambien for a short period of time...like 4-5 weeks...unless you have your doc's approval...but #SweetJesus can't ya give her something else?

Yes. Yes you can.

Soooo...it turns out Dad called me to ask me my expertise about giving Mom medical marijuana.

In Southern Arizona.

Holy. Jesus. You. Guys.

Does this really need a caption?

#Winning

#BossLevelOfBeingAnAdultChild

#HoldMyBong

So, lemme stop here and give you a little backstory that my parents were total stoners before Reagan's 1986 White House and the Just Say No anti-drug campaign. It was in 1988 that the Fed started mandating random drug testing for it's own employees and contractors. Dad worked for an international builder of private airplanes that, at the time, had plants in both Tucson, Arizona and Wichita, Kansas. #ThanksJesus for not making us move to Kansas when I was in Jr. High (because that's what it was called back then...I went to Fickett Jr. High. No really. Fickett. #WhatTheFuckKindaNameIsThat #GodBless and really, it's totally ok to laugh at this, #duh).

And, so because Dad built cabinets for these multi-million dollar private airplanes, and the company had contracts with the Federal Government, random drug testing became a reality for my Dad. Thankfully, he didn't want to loose his job due to a positive UA (and I don't mean the University of Arizona), so he and my Mom stopped smoking pot. It was a team effort, you guys. Worth noting: my Dad ended up loosing his job anyway because of Reganomics...or Voodoo Economics.

For the record, the 80's were a time of mixed messages for Gen-Xers: we had the White House telling us to not use drugs via the DARE Program (proven ineffective)...and then we had Nike telling us to Just Do It. It's a wonder my generation survived the 80's in America. #ThankJesus for movies like The Breakfast Club to help us understand ourselves. 

I'm surprised Dad called; Mochi's pretending.

So, like any girl who's dad just called for help, I advised him that, yes, it'll be ok...and no, you won't make her overdose. True overdose like your lips turn blue and you suffocate? No. Administer too much, she gets happy, eats a little too much, and then sleeps her ass off? Yes.

In fairness, my parents were hardcore smokers, and back then, edibles weren't a thing like they are today. In fact, the idea of eating marijuana was considered like "the next level" of using. Or wasteful. I'm not sure which. But, the purists were smokers.

My parents were looking at my mom having a tincture, which is used sparingly. "The key," I said to my dad on the phone, "is to start low and go slow. And absolutely listen to the bud-tender behind the counter at the marijuana dispensary. That person will provide you the most information about the product you're giving her."

We chatted for a few more minutes, he said he'd keep me posted on how it goes. "Dad, it's not going to hurt either of you to take a few hits off a joint. But use caution: the marijuana today is not like the marijuana you were smoking when you were younger. It's stronger. More potent. So you'll only need a puff or two, and you'll get high. In my experience of being a care-giver, there are days that I feel overwhelmed. And while I know those feelings will come and go, I think it's ok to use marijuana as a form of medication for people who need it. It helps with my son's epilepsy and his anxiety. It helped me get through breast cancer. It helped my husband with his tonsil cancer. So, based on the fact that three out of four of my immediate members of my home have used it in different forms, for over 5-1/2 years, I have confidence that it will help Mom sleep. It may be helpful for you to connect with her to smoke a little with her."

"Maybe," he said. "It's been a long time."

"Yeah," I said. "But maybe each of you will relax enough that you can both sleep. I love you, Dad. You're doing the right thing by looking into different options to help her. You're not going to hurt her by putting a few drops of the tincture onto a spoon or into some hot tea. She'll be ok."

He thanked me for sharing my knowledge and supporting him as he pursues this on her behalf. I reminded him that he needs to work within the laws that the State of Arizona has, since the laws in Washington State are going to be different.

And I'm happy to report that now, she's sleeping better at night than she has been in years. #ThankJesus for marijuana, you guys. It's an important plant and has so many different ways of helping people. That said, it's not a panacea and, like any drug, may not work for everyone. And I firmly believe that the Federal Government needs to stop fighting the cultural change that has been occurring in our country around marijuana. They need to be like Elsa and Let it Go.

Days Are Running Together

Wednesday morning all four of us left the safety of our home and went to the boys' schools. And, #SweetBabyJesus that was a knife to the heart.

We stopped at my younger son's elementary school first, and saw numerous caring adults who have been working with my family for years that provided an array of expressions, including disbelief, worry, and genuine sadness. I think this is typically called "deer in the headlights." But it's also known as "unexpected traumatic stress." This is exactly what we are all dealing with because of the sudden closures of schools across Washington State on Monday.

Schools across the nation are in the process of shutting down and not opening to the public. There's never been anything like this...oh...wait...except the 1918-1919 influenza pandemic. And, then there was the H1N1 flu. Since we're likely to be locked up, or locked down...? Huh. What's it called? Squat and stay? No. I think it's "Sheltering In Place". Yes! So since we'll be #ShelteringInPlace for an extended period, I encourage you to get your hands on a copy of The Great Influenza: The Story of the Deadliest Pandemic in History by John M. Barry. Yes, it's available on Kindle. You're welcome.

Anyway. In spite of My Three Fellas knowing I'm the social butterfly of the family, we all know that I know the layout of the school better than my husband, so we agreed that I'd accompany our younger son in to his school to retrieve his stuff. And, yes, I agreed to seriously limit my throwing of jazz hands and talking with people. And I'd sure as shit not get closer than six goddamn feet to people, even though we mostly know I'm a hugger (mostly).

The front door was held open for us by one of the male paras, I felt a need to bow as if I was walking into the dojang. We stopped and sanitized our hands as we walked in and were greeted by The Commander, who directed us to touch as few things as possible. We quickly and quietly headed down the hall towards the classrooms and touched absolutely nothing. I step where you step. I touch nothing.

My son and I went to his homeroom first, read the notes left by the Compassionate Boundary Setter on her white board, gathered his materials and belongings, left what was required on the desk, and swiftly left the room. We stopped by his locker and quickly put his things in his backpack, zipping it as we walked. Quiet. His long dark hair waving in the breeze he created as we walked, which was covered by his Dad's black Bugs Bunny baseball cap, which is more than twice his age.

Mochi gives zero shits that Sir Paul is home.

We headed down the hall towards the classroom belonging to She With the Largest Fifth Grade Library and were pleasantly surprised to see her behind the kidney table, with stacks of books, which she had somehow magically obtained books for the kids to read. #OfCourseSheDid We exchanged pleasantries, but in a hurried way...don't want to linger...two other fellas in the car. Do we take Paul? Yes, she said, all their art needs to go home. Thank you. Take care of yourself and your family. 

And then, my son looks towards the milk crate that holds the weekly Red Wednesday Folder, which the school uses to send materials and communication home. The Folder is to be emptied and signed by a child's parental unit, and returned to school the next day. Now, this is actually pretty hysterical because for years I've volunteered countless hours in my son's classrooms collating the Red Wednesday Folder. Like, it's even known as #RedFolderRecon and this is why Wednesday is my family's favorite day of the week: I get to volunteer. Standing around the table, one, or perhaps all three of us, said something about Wednesday Folders, laughed, and said our goodbye's, as we briskly walked back to his homeroom for the one item we left: my son's Red Wednesday Folder. #MyLifeIsAComicBook


Back down the hall, hurry, passed our favorite paras, can't breathe, wishing only the best for each other and all of us, pick up the pace, towards the front door and the door handle! #Cooties Ew, child! Dude! Arms in! Thank you for holding the door open, Mr. Ridge Para! Blue sky! Green trees! Breathe!

We were in and out in under three minutes, but it felt like three hours. Thanks to all of the folks at Roosevelt for being so on top of everything. You are all amazing and we already really miss you. Commander, I'm thankful you're at the helm. Be well. #OnceACougarAlwaysACougar

My family then drove across town to the middle school, where we discovered the parking lot was pretty empty. Our older son decided he wanted all four of us to go in, so we did. I'd received an email and a robocall from the school that I owed $1.65 for my son...so I dug the change out of my wallet in the car on our drive to the school. Because, in all of this shit that's going down, I will not be indebted to the school for any amount of money; there are bigger problems in the world.

When we walked into the entrance to the school, there was a hand sanitizing station, so we stopped and sanitized before entering. There were tables flanking the entrance, stacked with books for the kids to take. Twist our arms to take free books. I mean. Thanks!

The middle school was a completely different story in terms of access. Kids were not allowed in the classrooms, they could go to their lockers. But my son doesn't have a locker because he's a Special Education Kid, so that was off the table. As for going in to his classroom? The one where he spends 5 out of 6 periods, including his lunchtime? Yeah...that's a no go, too...but I've known that since school started in September, when I asked my son's Special Education Teacher how I can help her by volunteering my time...and she said she doesn't allow parent volunteers. #WishICouldMakeThisUp and it really does get better...or maybe worse, depending on your world view. #ButNowsNotTheTime

While my husband kept the boys busy in the entryway, I ran down to the cafeteria and paid the outstanding debt of $1.65. I ran back up to the front of the school #RunningIsBullshit and then we graciously and quickly said our goodbyes to the Vice Principal and the few staff members.

We came home and ate lunch. We spent a good part of the afternoon outside. Swinging is so therapeutic for them.

He's trained. 

Annnnyyywaaaayyyy.....

Remember that whole, "we need to reschedule your annual mammogram" thing from earlier in the week? Yeah. Well apparently, when you're a breast cancer survivor,  and your medical oncologist orders a mammogram, you get that shit done, regardless if there's a virus running around out there that is killing people. Am I still immunocompromised because of My Cancer Adventure? I could probably Google all that shit, but to be safe, I'll say, probably yes. #FirmAnswer

So I went today, to the hospital and as many times as I've walked in...to see my husband when he was near death when he had staph endocarditis...to deliver both my babies (they were born in the same room; water side)...the emergency room visits for broken arms and stitches in the chin (all my 10yo)...to my lumpectomy five years ago today...this was by far the most anxious I've been to walk in the front door of my community hospital. #StayTheFuckAwayFromMe #Bitches

There was a new to me security detail, who checked me in at the desk, because the lady working was on the phone...and I told him where I was going, he looked me up and gave me a 3x5 card size neon green sticker granting me access to the Imaging Department on 3/20/20 only.

I walked back to the office and checked in, and talked with the receptionist because it's a small town and I know a lot of people because I'm a social butterfly like that. But really it's because our kids go went to the same school.

I waited and waited and refused to sit because what if someone with Coronavirus but is not showing symptoms was just in the chair that I choose to sit in? What if I get the virus on my pants and then its in my car and then I sit on my bed without thinking and then I totally just wasted all of my time washing my quilt on my bed yesterday. I'll just stand. For forty minutes. Because someone was in surgery and they needed the mammographer lady...? And I don't fucking know can we just get this done? Today of all days? And with this mother of all viruses? I just wanna go home and swing.

The tech was lovely, and had stellar PPE (Personal Protection Equipment) including a FACE SHIELD! She was incredibly apologetic about being late...but she is taking extra precautions and wiping everything down with wipes. Including the hooks where I hung my hoodie. I asked. #OfCourseIDid

She sent my boob pics to the radiologist immediately and came back in. Everyone's anxiety is through the roof right now and they both completely understood my desire to know. And I'm clear. So much gratitude to have the scans read immediately.

I bounced outta there and headed to a few stores, because goddamnit the Governor could lock us down at any minute, just like California, New York. And now Illinois. But the Governor of Washington also has confidence in us as citizens, and that we'll stay home and that he won't have to officially lock us down.

Please, people, stay home with your family. The only way we can combat this disease is to stay home. And that means no play dates for kids. No swingers parties for adults. Do not leave your house. Stay. Home. Do not have people over to your house. They need to stay in their own home. Social Distancing is a legit way to combat this. And if we all step up now, in the springtime, and STAY HOME then perhaps we won't have to during the summer and perhaps we can return to the lake and the beach and the trails. But only if we all work together and STAY HOME!!!!

Am I looking forward to homeschooling my kids? Not especially. Am I expecting the OSPI and my local school district to step up and help parents? Absolutely. But they have to consider equity. All the kids need to be provided the same educational opportunities. Basically, my kids have access to computers and internet. But, if you have a kid who doesn't have secure housing, they sure the fuck don't have a computer and can't do their assignments. So that's not very equal, and that kid is gonna get left in the dust. So the State of Washington is trying to figure out how to help ALL THE KIDS. And I mean the highly capable kids, and the neurotypical kids, and the kids who have delays. The State has a HUGE systems change that they are being forced to look at because of the pandemic.

One of the things I've been trying to work through this week with The Fellas is that we all had the rug pulled out from under us...and we need to give grace, and allow time and patience to figure out new ways to live. We were all scrambling on Monday. But we made it a week! And the sun has been out, which I can attest that absolutely made this easier! Can you imagine if we were dealing with this on a grey week? #SweetBabyJesus

So, as a whole, if we've made it this far, while we don't have any way of knowing what's coming, we do have the opportunity to prevent as much sickness and misinformation as possible. You can find information at CDC, NIH, and WHO. 

Thanks for reading. Stay home. Wash your hands. Be well.

-Rachel

PS. And eat all the motherfuckin ice cream, because why the fuck not?! Thanks, Em! Your ass better be at HOME!!!! 

Don't worry, Meghan, I'm not calling you out.

Tuesday March 17, 2020

As is becoming the norm, things are moving fast, and projections are starting to become ominous. Like that school may be out for forever. 

And that the State of Washington won't give Clallam County any test kits until we have a positive test. What the actual fuck? Here. I don't know if these guys would know anything, or be able to do anything, but it may worth your time to email to our County Commissioners, as well as our the good men who represent the 24th Legislative District: Mike Chapman, Steve Tharinger, and Kevin Van De Wege. 

If you want to make change in your community, do it. Stand up. For all of us.

Oh, and ask them about passing a bill that make sure people can't get evicted for not paying rent, or foreclosed upon, since our entire society is shutting down. Thanks.

Annnnyyywaaaayyyy.....

Nathan's feeling ok; his left shoulder is sore and he's got a nasty bruise on his leg, and his head is ok. Thanks to everyone for reaching out. We sincerely appreciate the support.

Isaac and I got outside for quite some time today. He did some swinging, like he does. He catches some serious air.

I worked on spreading the mulch with a shovel and a rake. We talked about what happened yesterday, and how important it is to have extra awareness right now, and stay away from the hospital as much as we can. Don't be a dumbass and do stupid kid stuff, boy child. Youngling. #YChromosome

Speaking of which, a dear friend of mine had a mammogram this morning, and is fine. Her text about how it went prompted me to call the imaging center to confirm my own appointment for Thursday morning, and was told to be there at my scheduled time.

Um...social distancing? I'm literally breathing the same air as the woman who is touching my breast with her pink gloved hands, putting one breast at a time onto a plate and squishing them with another plate and taking a picture of all the gross mushy red stuff inside! Hello? That's about as intimate as you can get without exchanging bodily fluids...and I sometimes leak during a mammogram bc breast cancer duh! You'd think you'd at least walk out of there with a fuckin lollipop but no. Not even a goddamn Life Saver Mint individually wrapped in plastic. Fuckin bullshit. #NoReachAround

And, yes, I realize the irony of the placement of this image of my son. #Obvs

Annnnyyywaaaayyyy.....

So, then this afternoon, my phone rings and the boys feel it is their duty to let me know, because clearly someone from the outside is trying to get in...which is rare in my world. And it was the imaging center telling me that bc of social distancing, they need to reschedule my mammogram.

That's how fast things are moving. 9am today, "Come on in! You're the next contestent on the Boob Squish Machine!"

3pm: #OfCourse they have to cancel and #ThankJesus I don't have to make that decision.

Because on the one hand, I'm at 5 years. On March 9, 2015 I was told I had breast cancer. On March 20, 2015 I had a lime-sized tumor removed from my right breast. I'm lucky in a way, because even though my type of breast cancer was the most aggressive type a young woman could have, the longer I live, the less likely this specific type of breast cancer can come back. I had a triple negative tumor, meaning that it didn't have any hormone receptors and the chemo was going to suck big time, which it did.

Yet, on the other hand, as a survivor, I know I'm supposed to have an annual mammogram to make sure that I'm not growing any new tumors. My radiation oncologist shot the shit out of my right breast...she wanted to make sure that nothing would grow again, and I know it's likely to not. And, because of all the radiation, now I am able to shoot a green laser beam from my right breast. Because duh. It's pretty hot, you guys.

On the one hand, I have anxiety about developing some type of cancer in my left breast; on the other hand, I just had a very thorough breast exam from my primary provider.

And, in reality, I'm more concerned about people I know and love contracting Coronavirus from a spreader. Please watch this 50 second clip from Max Brooks, the son of Mel Brooks. And if you don't know who these men are, then go read "World War Z" and watch "Young Frankenstein"; you're welcome.

#AndAlso, historically it may have been somewhat socially acceptable to say "you're dead to me" if someone makes a cultural reference that you don't get, or a food you've not tasted...but, in this day and age, that's horribly rude and I'm declaring it no longer funny.

#DontBeASpreader

#ThanksForReading

Love and feathers,
#MaRa

The Valley of the Sun

I descended upon The Valley of the Sun on Thursday, a little more than 48 hours before My Little Brother was scheduled to be married to his Fantastic Fiancé.

Although my flight outta The Emerald City left on time, I had trepidation about leaving. Not so much because of who I was leaving. Or because who I was going to see. It was more about who I was seated next to.

Because, let's face it, you guys, on a jumbo jet, your seat mates could be your lifeline. I mean, we're flying by the Cascade Range and over the Grand Canyon, and do pilots take mental health evaluations?  Jesus. What about that fella that stole a plane at SeaTac? It'll be fine. Maybe the pilot is Iron Maiden front man Bruce Dickinson. Heh. Randy'd be totally jealous. But Dickinson doesn't work for Alaska Airlines. Oh well.

Why is the grown woman next to me wearing glitter finger nail polish? And are they are all different but also seeming to match each finger on her opposite hand...? Oh lawd. This is my curse. I did nails in college and notice such things. Where's my oppressively thick Stephen King book?

Why doesn't her hair move very much? Her hair is past her shoulders. When my hair was long it moved all the time. She must be using a serious amount of hairspray, you guys. At least she, and her hair, aren't all perfumey and going to make me nauseous and want to vomit all over the place.

Wonder Woman Talisman

Wait a hot goddamn minute! Is the younger woman her daughter? Sister? Lover? Wife? You can never tell. Well, they clearly know each other, Doak, so be kind.

Oh Sweet Baby Jesus! She has glitter on her shoes! Where's my Wonder Woman Talisman? I bet she's really soul sisters with one of my favorite Paras, MR (You Glitter Queen, you!). Oh, well, I suppose I'll just look out the window. And read my oppressively thick Stephen King book. No ear buds or music so I can stay alert and aware. Because my seatmates may need to join #TeamAnderson and help the three of us bounce the fuck outta there pronto! You with me?

I had my new Vans on. The Boob Shoes. Because I needed something easy on-easy off getting through security. Also, just so ya know, the shoelaces say "Do It Yourself"...so these are totally on point for me and my family.

The Boob Shoes #Vans

And if I've got boobs on my shoes, she can have glitter on her shoes. It's all good. Just don't shed glitter on me, mkay? Because I'm not shedding my boobs onto you. 

I've descended upon The Valley of the Sun before. The last time was in the late nineties. When my husband and I were dating...and then when we lived in sin...we'd head south on Interstate 17 from Flagstaff to Phoenix for the day. It took about an hour-and-a-half back then...In my day...and because of the numerous mountains and valleys in Arizona, yes, it really was up hill both ways, you guys.

When I lived in Arizona, Phoenix was never a destination for an extended time. It was a stopping place between Flagstaff and Tucson for gas and a bathroom break when I'd head home for a long weekend. Phoenix was a place for concerts. Except that time we were so poor in December 1996 we couldn't go see Garbage open for The Smashing Pumpkins. That defined serious disappointment for me.

So, long story short (too, late, I know)...the passenger next to me was a cervical cancer survivor: she had chemo and radiation, but she never lost her hair...the lucky girl. I told her that when I shaved my head, my older son chose to shave his head...but that my younger son freaked out and ran and hid and we couldn't find him for about 10 minutes. It was scary...to have Mommy look so different. Oh! And the younger passenger was a math major. So, cancer + math = BFF on a 3 hour flight to Phoenix. #Winning

The cancer survivor was heading to The Valley of the Sun for time with her family. She was also going to Sedona. As an alumnus of Northern Arizona University, I recommended she take 89A from Sedona up to Flagstaff. She asked what Sedona was like. I told her that the Yavapai Indians consider Sedona a holy place...but times have changed and sometimes there are people who tape crystals to their foreheads and sit in front of Bell Rock, waiting for a vortex to open. That usually the Vortex Seekers were harmless, but it was a good idea to keep your distance and not interrupt the energy exchange between said Vortex Seeker and the Vortex Site...because you sure as shit do not want to get sucked into a Vortex. It could be like a Black Hole and we'd never see you again. Also, be proud of me, you guys, because I refrained from telling her about Blow Job Rock. No really, it's a thing. You're welcome.

The younger woman was a math major and looking at Grand Canyon University. She asked me what it was like to live in the desert. I told her that during the summer, it's like living in an oven, and you cannot get naked enough to cool off when it's over 100 degrees for over 100 days, but that with the A/C on, you can cool a room down to 72* and have the perception of being cool. I told her that wearing pantyhose in the desert is akin to wearing a scuba suit and trying to walk in water: ZERO FUN. And that, while 100 degrees for over 100 days is completely oppressive, your face will not actually melt off like that Nazi at the end of "Raiders." She was like 16 and did not get my cultural reference, you guys. She said, "But it's a dry heat, right?" And since she's lived her entire life in Klamath Falls, Oregon, and really had no idea WTAF a "dry heat" is...I simply said, "Yes. It's a dry heat," and left it at that.

And, yes, the two women knew each other because they met on the plane from Medford, OR to Seattle. Then they happened to sit next to each other on the flight from Seattle to Phoenix. Sometimes life just works like that. Why they chose to fly Medford-Seattle-Phoenix and not Medford-Portland-Phoenix wasn't discussed. And, really, it wasn't important. My seatmates were delightful and it was a great way to descend upon The Valley of the Sun.

I landed just before lunch and the plan was for The Kid to pick me up at the airport. And so he did. Here we are.

Me and My Little Brother. He's super adorable.

Upon My Little Brother picking me up at the airport, we drove 30 minutes all the way the hell out to East Mesa because he needed up some photo booth thing for the reception. Then we drove 30 minutes back to Phoenix because I was starving. And it was hot. Not melt your face off hot. That shit usually goes down in July. But it was hot for this #PNWWoman.

We ended up eating a delicious vegan lunch at a restaurant called Green New American. An old friend who lives in The Valley of the Sun said this place was delicious. And since The Kid knows his food because he spent a lot of his college career waiting tables, this place was on point and tasted nothing like sticks and leaves. French fries covered in vegan ranch dressing, vegan cheese, and red hot sauce? With a "burger"? Sure. Why not? #WhenInRome

I'm thankful we had the time together, just me and My Little Brother, alone. We had some pretty rich discussions about things related to his wedding: Our Parents, members of the Egyptian Cohort who were also descending upon the Valley of the Sun, my husband and our kids, and life in general. When I asked him if he was happy, he said yes. And I truly believe in my heart that he is.

Since his Beautiful Bride was in clinic until after dinner, and needed to manage the Egyptian Cohort, The Kid and I made a plan to have dinner with just Our Parents. Really it was for me to get eyes on them and for The Kid and I to have time alone with Our Folks. And, it was during this time I learned more about My Parents and their capabilities as senior citizens...and how scary it can be to age.

The last time I had eyes on My Parents, it was in the spring of 2016. It was after My Cancer Adventure...and about six weeks before my husband was diagnosed with his own cancer. And when I last saw them, it was in Tucson. So, seeing them in Phoenix...not in their natural environment...and out of their comfort zone...combined with the myriad emotions that come up during weddings...it was bound to be eye opening for me.

Before My Little Brother and I arrived at the Airbnb my Future Sister-In-Law arranged for My Parents stay at for the weekend...well let's just say that may or may not be a blog post for another time. At this point, I'll simply say that teaching people who are not tech savvy to use an electronic keypad to unlock the front door didn't go over well...my Dad's flip-phone ran out of minutes...and the "helpful neighbor across the street who seemed nice" because he let My Dad use his phone to call My Little Brother...and then My Dad repeated the keypad code to My Little Brother and the neighbor ended up with the code for the keypad...which is essentially the keys to the house...yeah....

So, my entire family is very thankful the owner of the Airbnb was incredibly compassionate, came over and disengaged the electronic keypad, and gave My Senior Citizen Parents a plain old key to get in and out of her rental property. My Little Brother the Public Defender diplomatically pointed out to Our Folks that for all we know, the "nice neighbor" could be the neighborhood meth dealer and my Dad just accidentally gave the keys to the house to him. #Whoops

In a way, I left my family in the Pacific Northwest with all of it's health issues...to go to the Desert Southwest to manage my family with all of it's health issues. It was setting up to be quite a fun-stressful-supportive-crazy-once-in-a-lifetime experience in the Valley of the Sun.

And I missed my husband all weekend.

Perspective

I am home today with a sick teenager who has GI issues. 

 

But, today I am choosing to celebrate, because also on this day...

Forty-seven years ago I was born.

Seven years we were at the Autism Center in Seattle, and when I signed us in I accidentally put my birth year instead of the actual year.

Four years ago I completed radiation treatments for breast cancer.

 

And even though I'm planning on being up to my eyeballs in bodily fluids and laundry for the next several days, I am healthy and can be present with my kid during this trying time for him.

Life is all about perspective, you guys. 

 

Choose wisely, younglings. 

This is the only life we have.

 

And, Happy Birthday to ME!

Flying Solo

Due to events that are beyond my control, I'm flying solo to My Little Brother's wedding.

He and his Fantastic Fiancé have decided to get married in a church.

Not just any church. Like, if it was A Little White Chapel, in Vegas, my family would be more likely to make more of an effort swing that...maybe.

Alas, My Little Brother and his Fantastic Fiancé are getting married on Saturday in Phoenix, in the Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria. My future sister-in-law is an Egyptian immigrant. She and her family moved to America when she was about five years old.

And the ceremony is gonna be at least an hour.

By way of comparison, Vegas weddings are like 5-15 minutes, depending on the Chapel. When I worked at the Treasure Island Hotel and Casino's Wedding Chapel, the longer versions of the ceremonies were 15 minutes.

Yes. Yes, I was a professional Wedding Coordinator on the Strip. It was before grad school. I can tell you that not everyone is happy on their wedding day. So, being a Wedding Coordinator is actually part of the reason I went to grad school. My 9-month stint in Corporate America enhanced my record-keeping skills, and as a mom of a child with special needs, those skills are employed frequently.

My children are not church trained.

Circus trained? Yes.

Church trained? No.

And neither my husband or I have any desire to church train our children.

I certainly planned on taking them...My Little Brother's wedding...after all this is a once in lifetime event...and my kids worship their Uncle...and #JesusKnows in my family, with the myriad health issues that plague us, we certainly need to party and celebrate whenever we are given the opportunity.

Well-meaning friends who attend various church services said that most churches have a family room...? Like I could take my kids if they started acting like the monkeys that they are...?

Nope. Not happening. But thank you, well-meaning friends, for the suggestion.

When people who are autistic are taken out of their comfort zone, and expected to be on their best behavior inside of a place where they've never been in...a church for a minimum of an hour...and let's face it, it'll be more like several hours because pictures...there will be no chilling.

I hate to think of the discomfort and stress my older son would have...the increased case of the giggles...the increased chance of him wetting his pants. Not to mention the different shades of red my husband's beautifully bald head will turn trying to manage his own frustration and subsequent anger with the entire situation...no, thank you.

As parents, our primary job is to set our kids up for successful experiences. Yes, our kids need to fail every so often. But I'm not hauling my monkeys all the way from the North Olympic Peninsula down to Phoenix and expect them to sit quietly and not interrupt their Uncle's wedding...when they are hungover from traveling like they never have before in their entire lives...all in heat and sun they are not at all accustomed to...and, let's be honest, when it's 85 goddamn degrees outside, would you want to sit in a church with a fancy outfit on? No. You'd want your ass in the pool. With SPF 20 Million. Because my family of Pacific North Westerners have pasty white skin...and as a cancer survivor...SPF 20 Million is required, yo.

When My Little Brother and his Fantastic Fiancé came up to visit us in July, which was the second time inside of ten months, they graciously told my husband and I that if we needed to not go to their wedding, they totally support us and our parenting decisions.

Due to life circumstances, My Little Brother is the only person from my family that came to help me, my husband, and our boys when I was going through breast cancer treatments in the summer of 2015.

My mom's brain health is declining; dementia is a bitch. And the way my parents tend to cope with life-altering health issues is to not address it. Denial is a powerful coping mechanism for them.

And I get it.

But I don't.

Because if I didn't speak up when my son was three and having these weird eye movements, who knows what would've happened. Turned out he has epilepsy.

And had I chosen to not speak up when I found a lump in my breast in February 2015, I'd probably be dead. Cancer sucks.

Had I not pushed my husband to persevere through his own battle with HPV-caused tonsil cancer in the summer of 2016...we'll he'd probably be dead...and my kids would be orphans...because that's just how life shakes out for some families...and that totally sucks.

My point is, I choose to parent my family very differently than my parents parented me. (Is it socially acceptable to use three different forms of "parent" in one sentence?) It's not good or bad. It just is what it is.

And, for those of us who are parents, we know our kids better than anyone. My Little Brother and his Fantastic Fiancé know my kids pretty well. My parents, on the other hand, have no idea who my kids are...they have never seen me parent my children...the last time my parents were in Washington State, my older son was 10 months old; he is now 13 years old and in 7th grade. They've never even met my younger son, who is 10-1/2 years old and in 10th grade.

I know that this past springtime I said I was gonna train my monkeys to get on a plane, however, plans change...and ours sure did. Honestly, part of me says there's no fucking way I'm gonna haul my kids all the way the hell down to Arizona and back to Washington State at any time because my parents have put forth zero effort to get to know my kids. So, they don't deserve to spend time my kids, especially during the school year. And regardless of when you travel, traveling is expensive.

So, the best decision my husband and I made was for him to stay home with the boys, while I fly solo to Phoenix. Do I wish they were with me? Kinda. I'm not gonna lie, I'm thankful for the much needed break. Do I wish things were different. Of course I do. But I can't change it...so why waste time and energy on things you can't change?

The bottom line, My Little Brother loves his Fantastic Fiancé so much that he's willing to learn about the religion she was raised with and get married in that particular church. And my husband and my kids love My Little Brother so much that the best choice is for the Male Andersons to stay home.

NatrureBridge Field Trip

At the end of October, my son went on the biggest school field trip ever. The entire sixth grade class went to a 3-day, 2-night expedition to NatureBridge at Olympic National Park. 

All the gear. Note the van and packed trailer in the background.

The school district where my kids are enrolled is generous enough to pay for every sixth grader who attends school, as well as the teachers and a few parents that are crazy enough to chaperone, to go out to Lake Crescent and learn about the natural environment up here on the North Olympic Peninsula.

Waiting to load up

The sixth graders were given Field Journals, in which they take notes about what they learn in their natural environment: Old growth forests, the Elwha River system, studying water samples and macroinvertabrates, and geology.

Writing in his field journal

NatureBridge promises a classroom without walls, and they delivered big time for my son. Did I think he'd be capable of doing this? Yes, absolutely. Was I nervous about sending him? Absofuckinlutely. Did I over-pack the suitcase? Totally. But, when your kid is spending three days outside in the largest rainforest in the world, which is North America's Pacific Temperate rainforest, and it's the beginning of the rainy season, and you know your son gets messy at the drop of a hat, you over pack his suitcase.

Happiest kid ever

He didn't brush his teeth. He didn't take a shower. He may have changed his clothes. But he's a twelve-year-old boy who was with his friends, away from his parents, and upon his return I asked him if he did any type of personal hygiene, he said he "wasn't really interested" in those things.

Fantastic. For reals. Because I'm sure the other sixth grade boys also did not clean any parts of themselves, either. Integration at it's finest. Borderline Lord of the Flies.

In order for this trip to happen, my son needed additional supports from adults. My son is developmentally disabled, and struggles to grip a pencil to write his name, but did the best he could with his field journal. He walks really quite slowly, which translates to he needed a lot of gentle pushing, and perhaps even a bit of pulling, when they were hiking Marymere Falls. But he did it. He's done it before, so it's not like he's never been. But some of his peers had never been. It provided him an opportunity to be a leader.

At Marymere Falls

The adult that was primarily in charge of him was his former Special Education Teacher, Ms. B. She was in charge of my son during first grade, and then again in fourth and fifth grade. He was homeschooled for half of second grade, and all of third grade. So, she knows him, and our family, very well. I consider her an integral part of my son's education and we've become dear friends.

Eating the sandwich he made

My son made his own sandwich and ate it. I found this hard to believe, and Ms. B knows I would think she was totally bullshitting me, so she took a picture for proof!

Little bit of soccer practice

While he was out playing and learning and having the coolest experience ever, my husband and younger son and I had a little fun. I got to go to soccer practice. I typically didn't go because there's really no need for all four of us to go to practice. It's a logistical nightmare for all four of us to go anywhere during dinner time because it throws off the entire schedule in a way that takes days for my special needs child to recover, so he and I would typically stay home and play UNO. He's really quite good and ends up kicking my ass quite a lot.

Dinner: chicken, slaw, ginger cake. He ate it all.

My kid with special needs ate all of the food that was offered to him. We were not permitted to pack food for them. And, as a dedicated rule follower (mostly) I did not pack food for him. I'm sure they accommodate kids with special dietary needs...but that's not something my son deals with so it's not on my radar.

Because my son takes medications on a regular basis to control his seizures, a form needed to be completed by his physician, and of course, I had to send all of the necessary meds, in their prescription bottles. So, there was some homework on my end to get this shit done. I know intrinsically my kid isn't the only kid that was medicated who was going on this massive expedition, but when you're doing the prep for this, it feels completely fucking isolating. Because, as a culture, we're trained to NOT talk about these things. We're trained to NOT discuss the fact that some kids need meds to get through their day. There's no shame in the fact that my child needs medications in order to not seize. But my culture makes me sometimes feel like he's not healthy because he needs medications...leading me to meditate on "what does it mean to be healthy?"

The kids all went out to NatureBridge on Wednesday and came home on Friday. And everyone was exhausted when the buses pulled in to the school parking lot about 45 minutes later than they were expected. But, considering they had to move about 100 kids and adults, running 45 minutes late is understandable. In my experience of being at the lake, it's so beautiful out there that it can be difficult to leave and head back to reality.

I am so thankful that my son had this amazing experience and for the adults that helped him. Special thanks to Ms. B for having his back, for taking all the pictures, and getting them to me. We love and appreciate you more than we could ever express.

In the burned out tree on the trail

With Ms. B.

Larger than life

How Abby spent most of her time: on her boys' bed

In a canoe on the lake

Happy and exhausted

Brothers reunited; they really did miss each other

August 2, 2017

The kid sitters weren't available.

A-Team Leader Momma Christine wasn't available, since she had out of town guests. From Japan. When Momma Christine was Teenage Christine, her family hosted a Teenage Exchange Student from Japan, and now that lady was a Momma and she was traveling with her family to reunite, in person, with her American Host Family. Hence, Momma Christine was unavailable.

A-Team Leader Momma Bonnie was unavailable because her family had returned the day before from an extended road trip. I chose to not ask because it just didn't seem like the right thing to me. There was a no in me. And I know she would've taken my kids, had I asked, and it's totally cool, because seriously, I made the best decision I could for all 8 of us, Sister. It's all good.

A-Team Leader Momma Stacie? Working. I'm sure she was presenting some data sets at multiple meetings with administrators and physicians, because that's what she does. She's a Bad Ass Epidemiologist and dealing with data is her super power. So, in the interest of protecting public health, Stacie was not an option. Even though she's a good person because on March 20, 2015, the day of my lumpectomy, she was at our home before 6 am for the first round of Boy Duty. But, for this day trip to the city, I decided that it would be best for my family to be together.

So, Wednesday August 2, 2017, all four of us went. To Seattle, only a 90-ish minute car ride and a wait for the ferry, and a 30-ish minute ferry ride, and navigating the streets of a major city. No biggie. It was for the post-op with the Lady ENT, which was really a no-op, since she didn't really operate. We had to check-in at 10:30 am, the appointment was on a Wednesday in the summer, so traffic shouldn't be too bad. We'll have to get up early. Really early. What's the ferry schedule? Because we'll have to arrive two days before sailing, because summer in the Pacific Northwest means backups.

But Randy has super limited voice. And the boys are...the boys.... What the fuck am I thinking?

Oh! I'll get an audio book from the library. I've been wanting to read Wonder to the boys but I am unable to find my copy. Did I loan it to someone in book club? Or did I borrow it? Jesus I need that app that keeps track of my personal library. I don't have time to scan all of our books though. September is coming, maybe I'll find the time when school starts...? I think I borrowed someone's copy. But I returned it. That I know. Otherwise the book would be in my house. Ha. I have the best deductive reasoning skills, ever.

Abby will be fine. She can hold it. She can skip lunch. But just to be safe, Stace has keys and can get in, so she can be on standby for the four-legged dog-child. Summer traffic can mean a later than planned on ferry. Or a bridge opening. So, just in case, Stacie's got Abby if need be.

Randy and talked about it, and below is the jist of our conversation. Well, really I talked, and he whispered, even though he wasn't really supposed to, as directed by the Lady ENT. He's a rule breaker, though, you guys. 

Me: Nope. You're not going alone. You don't get to make that choice because the Lady ENT is going to do do some kinda procedure where she's gonna laser warts off your throat and you don't know if she's gonna give you a little sedative or something to help you relax and make it easier to get the goddamned warts off your vocal cords.

Him: silence, nods once. 

Me: Second, what if the pathology report is cancer. Again. Do you really want to get that news ALONE? Because I don't want you to get that news alone.

Him: silence, nods once. 

The smoke-filled sky on our incredibly early drive to Seattle Aug 2017

Me: Finally, you're a guy, obviously, and ultimately, even if you're in pain and you're gonna go through cancer  again, you're going to try and muscle through this and drive home, but do you really want to fucking drive HOME, regardless of the results, after she's gonna laser off more warts? We're talking Seattle. We're not talking a quick jaunt to Sequim.

Him: (whisper) fine. What about the boys?

Me: I's cast is off, so they will be capable of waiting in the waiting room with our old their iPhones with their headphones, like when we went over and the Man ENT biopsied your tonsil and you had a PET scan done. You know, when the Man ENT said, "Cancer"? It'll be like that for them and hopefully a lot different for us.... I'll be able to check on them as time permits while I'm supporting you during your appointment. It's a Team Anderson effort and event, dude. It'll be fine, just fine.

Him: (whisper) Ok. Thanks for thinking this through and planning. I love you.

Me: I know. And I love you too, dude. And you're welcome. I don't have a Master's Degree in Health Education for nothing, you guys.

And so our alarms each went off at 4:30 am. Got that? Fourgoddamnedthirtyam. That's before Steve Inskeep is on the air. I really, really, really love my husband. And I really, really, really needed to be with him at this appointment. Dealing with health issues is my super power.

My husband drove like Batman, because that's what he does. And we listened to "Wonder" on CD, which was brilliantly done. We got to the ferry with plenty of time to spare.

Plugged in, complete with headphones, for two hours

And the boys rocked it in the waiting room like the bosses that they are. For two hours. TWO WHOLE HOURS while I accompanied their father into the back of the house, if you will, so they could get him ready for the Lady ENT to use her Laser Wart Removerinator on the inside of his throat.

Laser.

In his throat.

Again.

Fuck me. Can this stop? Because seriously, I'm starting to crack a little under all the Wonder Woman pressure. I'm not her. She's a God. I'm a mortal adult woman who has found herself in incomprehensible, extremely stressful, mind-blowing, situations in a very short time frame, that have changed the way I live and breathe. I have been forced to become proficient in dealing with multiple life-threatening health issues for three of my four immediate family members, including my oldest son, myself, and my husband.

I suppose this is why I have two degrees in Community Health Education. I know it's my super power; what I've spent years in college and grad school studying and teaching: Health. I'm highly trained in the art of Health Communication and I really do know when to be diplomatic and and how to effectively speak with individuals who are highly trained in their professions, including but not limited to:

• Pediatric Neurologists
• Neurodevelopmental Psychologists 
• ABA Therapists 
• Pediatric Epileptologists 
• Pediatric Otolaryngologists (ENT)
• Pediatric Sleep Specialists 
• Speech Therapists
• Physical Therapists
• Occupational Therapists
• General Surgeons
• Medical Oncologists (Chemo Doc)
• Radiation Oncologists (you're not alone; I didn't know there were different types of cancer docs until I was diagnosed, either)
• Certified Lymphedema Therapists (because you don't EVEN want lymphedema in your boob after you have a lumpectomy)
• Otolaryngologists with specialties of head and neck cancers as well as voice disorders
• Orthopedic Surgeons

As a patient, parent, wife, and caregiver, I know when to advocate, and even push, for myself and my family to receive the adequate health care we deserve. And I know when to back off...but only a bit. I'm academically and professionally trained to research what current scientific research and data show regarding the multiple health issues my family faces. I know I'm only one click away from ending up at ScareTheHellOuttaMe.com and I do my best to avoid that.

And I know when to drop F-bombs; I'm really good at that: FUCK Universe, stop dropping so much fucking shit on me and my family! Please. For the love of all that is fucking holy. Just fucking stop, motherfuckers! See? I'm pretty good at the use of the word fuck. I know how to employ it as an interjection and a noun. Sometimes I unpack it as an adjective.

And, no, I don't think I've ever said "fuck" to a practitioner. Except those two separate times I gave birth to each of my lovely little boy babes. I'm sure I said fuck at least once during each of those situations. Laboring women get a free fuckin' pass on that. And my doc is awesome and didn't bat a fuckin' eye.

But ain't no amount of schooling gonna teach a person how to best manage the cards I've been dealt. There is no class called "how to effectively raise your oldest child with life-threatening neurological disorders while you homeschool him and do drug trials to stop his seizures, WHILE you go through breast cancer surgery, chemo, and radiation, AND THEN your husband is diagnosed with HPV caused tonsil cancer less than six months after you finish your treatment for breast cancer, and let's throw a broken arm on the younger son, just for the sake of it" because who in their right fuckin' mind would sign up for that shit storm?

I guess now I know why some of my professors in college and grad school had us use the book they wrote: not because they were egocentric jackasses, but because they had knowledge to impart. So I'm imparting my knowledge via blogging.

Annnyyywaaayyy...

Back in the prep room, they had slathered cotton balls with some type of bullshit numbing agent and stuck those cotton balls up my husband's nose. They also sprayed some serious numbing stuff up his nose and it slid down his throat...or maybe they sprayed it directly into his throat through his mouth...? I don't know exactly what was sprayed where...but they numbed the shit out of his nose and throat because LASERS were coming at him.

We went into another room, and were given some very fancy orange tinted glasses to put on over our eyeglasses, like the cool shades senior people wear, because the laser she was going to be firing onto my husband's vocal cords could really fuck up your eye sight. I don't know. I didn't ask. But I did put my glasses on and I did occasionally steal a glance at the monitor that the camera was attached to and I also sat in the corner like a good wife. I may have even crossed my legs at the ankles, like the fuckin' lady that I am.

So the Lady ENT came in. And the Speech Therapist. And the Laser Guy, who literally takes this big ass machine around the hospital to different clinics and helps get it set up. And the medical transcriptionist, because that woman was recording everything that the Lady ENT said and did. Standard. Who the hell else is going to take notes? I mean, that's usually my job, but nope, not today. Today I'm the one responsible for transporting my family home.

Because at this point, my husband is so numb and the Lady ENT has got scope up his nose and down his throat and I don't know if the laser was attached to that but she turns the laser on by stepping on a pedal like it's a goddamn sewing machine, and the laser makes a noise and goddamnit technology is so cool this better work, please Jesus, let the laser fuckin' work and let the warts be burned off. For reals.

The Lady ENT working the laser, my husband, and the Speech Therapist

And, please Universe, don't let the Lady ENT suddenly sneeze. Because if she sneezes, she's gonna laser his vocal cords right off and he'll never speak again. I don't know if that last part is really true. I didn't ask. Because there's some stuff I don't want to know so I just sit there and am quiet about, with my legs crossed at the ankles, like the fuckin' lady that I am, and in a skirt, no less, because it was hotter than a motherfucker outside. Because it was AUGUST, and August is hot no matter where you live in the Northern Hemisphere.

Let's just say the room started to smell...burning flesh...she didn't sneeze...and yes, it really took two hours for all of this to go down.

I'd flit in and out of the room to check on the boys and make sure they had not completely destroyed the waiting room. Because my kids are feral monkeys. And sitting in the car for 90 minutes to get to the ferry and then sitting another 2 hours in the waiting room for their father, and then sitting another 90 minutes to get home would make anyone batshit crazy, and my kids are fucking clowns who go batshit crazy if they have to sit for five seconds, so I was deeply worried about what five HOURS of sitting was going to do. Apparently my kids were so well behaved and so quiet playing in our old their iPhones that the front office staff forgot they were there...? Huh. Well good for me that my boys to be that well behaved. Seriously. I'm one fuckin' fantastic ring leader! And, thank you boys, for behaving like gentlemen. I love you both and am proud of you. I know you each have a lot on your plates.

Also, my husband is the toughest motherfucker I've ever known. Because I just watched him take a tube the same width as a pencil, up his nose, then it went down his throat, and he allowed the Lady ENT to use a laser on his vocal cords to remove warts in order to prevent them from growing and possibly developing cancer again. He said that at one point, he could feel it being burned off, but that he knew she was nearly done and he just wanted to finish, so he didn't speak up. I get it. Not that he could speak up, because, duh...but he didn't notify her that he could feel it. And, again, I get it...but, dude....

The Lady ENT finished lasering off the warts, and then we had to get the fuck outta there, because it had been two fucking hours...and I was beyond the point that I needed to eat. I asked the front office staff for a ferry pass, because by this point, well after lunchtime, none of us had the ability to wait for what would probably be a couple of hours in line for the ferry. And, no, I'm not driving around through Tacoma. Fuck that.

Since providing medical passes for the ferry is not something that her office usually does, they had to scramble, and it took a lot longer than anticipated. Fortunately for all four of us, they got their shenanigans together and made it happen, given our situation, they were as helpful they could be. Thank the goddesses for compassionate physicians providing direction to their support staff. We loaded up and headed to the ferry dock; I drove, because my husband was not capable. I think the boys ate lunch in the waiting room...? I know I packed lunch, and I know they ate, because their lunchboxes were empty. There was no food stuck to the waiting room wall, so I presume their tummies were full. Let's go, dudes! We got a boat to catch!

After a full day of sitting in the car, and in the waiting room,
we're finally heading home to the Peninsula. Run, boys...run.

When we got near the downtown ferry dock (don't judge me; I HATE driving up to Edmonds!) the line was...longer than a bunch of fucking bullshit! Are you fucking kidding me? I have a goddamn medical pass! Here! Thanks! I zipped us over to the ferry terminal, paid the $50 million fare and we cut way ahead of the line. Sorry, bitches! My husband just had his throat lasered because HPV on your vocal cords is a thing and he's a hot goddamn mess. I was given the choice of being near the bathroom or the stairs; my husband said bathroom, but I'm pretty sure he didn't get out of the car for the entire ferry ride across Puget Sound; I know he was mentally and physically exhausted.

The boys and I got out, because we all needed to move our bodies and use the potty. Because we go when we get the chance. My husband has a bladder of steel but didn't get out of the car until we got all the way home; I know he slept on and off and I'm so thankful I used my super powers to be there with him.

And, thank the goddesses for whoever made the decision to put family bathrooms on those boats, because my Family Circus uses them. Not that it saves my sanity to have my boys watch me pee, because they think it's weird that I squat over a potty and the less things I can fucking touch in a public fucking bathroom, the better, right? This includes the paper that is supposed to be for my protection. No. I'll squat. Work on my glutes, yo. I always go last, and remind each of them to not flush, because the toilet's too goddamn loud and everyone has sensitive hearing. No my boys don't pee at the same time to save everyone's sanity. Don't even get me started about that bullshit.

Please don't wash your hands. I have a gallon of hand sanitizer in my purse. You don't live through cancers without that shit.  

OH for fuck's sake! Don't touch the goddamn faucet! But it saves my sanity to not leave my boys alone on a ferry.

WHY DID YOU TURN THE HAND DRYER ON?! JESUS IT'S LOUDER THAN THE TOILET!!! We all make choices that are best for us.

NO! I'LL OPEN THE DOOR WITH MY SLEEVE!!! DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!!! 

The boys and I spill out of the family bathroom and begin to walk around the ferry for a while, waving goodbye to the city, looking forward to docking at Bainbridge Island. We are always on the look out for Orca, but instead see cargo ships and sailboats and, of course, the ferry headed to the city, which always causes my older son to say,  "Like 'Yellow Submarine'"and I know he's referring to the scene when the Beatles see themselves going backwards in time. So we wave, and he says, "Just like the Beatles, Mom." And I reply, "Yup. Just like Yellow Submarine, kid." It's a comforting exchange for both of us.

We go back to the car, load up, disembark the ferry, and drive a solid 90 minutes before we get home in the summertime traffic. It's been a long and arduous day. I'm thankful we are home safe and sound.

The Lady ENT keeps a close watch on my husband, and he's seen her about every 10 weeks for a check-up. And her "check-up" always involves numbing ointments and sprays, and a scope up the nose and down the throat. It's not easy, but he does it. He usually goes by himself, but when he went earlier this month, on September 10, 2018, which happens to be our older son's birthday...he had the opportunity to be driven by a dear friend who recently relocated from Seattle to Port Angeles. And in spite of the fact that our older son thought Brother Jeff (we're not Mormon, it's just their thing to call each other "Brother") was there to see him on his birthday at 6:15 am, and our day was super stressful and my son and I fought on and off throughout the day...this is the same friend who, when my husband had tonsil surgery two years ago, provided me with the support I needed in the city. So, when my husband and our dear friend went to see the Lady ENT in Seattle last week, it was a much needed opportunity for my husband to have a break from us. He went in alone, because that's what he wanted to do. But Jeff picked Randy up and they went to a fantastic Mexican restaurant. It is incredibly helpful to have a great friend who knows the city well.

The Lady ENT said that Randy's throat looked pretty good, and that the warts on his vocal cords are stable. She compares all of the pictures each time she's seen him, which makes me thankful for the technology that she can just pull that stuff up really quickly. Randy will see her again at the end of November. And in December. Because, just in case she needs to do another laser treatment in the clinic, like she did on August 2, 2017, she'd rather have it on her calendar, because it's easier to cancel the December appointment than it is to find room in her schedule for him...since it's a long two fuckin' hours, and it would be rather pressing. And, she's accommodating his needs in a huge way since she scheduled it right around the time we're done teaching, but before the boys get out for the winter break, so he can spend a little time resting his voice.

Or at least he doesn't have to listen for me yelling at the boys on the ferry.

WALK ON THE BOAT!!! WHAT WOULD THE CAPTAIN SAY!?!?

Thanks for reading. xo