So far, the first little bit of school is going better than I expected.
Better than I anticipated.
Better than I hoped.
Better than I dared to ever dream.
Seriously, you guys.
Because Sept 1 was the first day of school, and in Autism Land, that's a really big deal. To start something as profound as returning to school, on the first day of the month. Really. And it was risky because it was a Thursday, but it's not as bad as starting a week on a Tuesday, which was the next week, and that had the potential to be a clusterfuck, especially had it been a full moon, but, fortuitously, it wasn't. The full moon is today Sept 16 (they got an app for that!).
I originally requested that Nathan return to school part time, 3 days a week, from 7:45 until about noon. He and I had discussed it numerous times and this is what he and I agreed to, so when I met with the principal, this is what I negotiated on his behalf, and it felt right. It's important to test the waters and not feel unnecessary pressure to jump right back in. And, as he and I discussed, I was going to be in the classroom with him until he and I agreed that he could manage on his own. Baby steps. If he felt he could handle more days and time at school, everyone was going to support that decision; but the decision was to be Nathan's.
So, on the first day, which everyone starts on the first day of school, even if you're a part-timer, and even if you're special needs...when I asked him around noon how he was doing, he said good. And then I asked him if he wanted to stay or to go, and he said stay. And so we stayed. For the whole day. Until 2 pm. Six hours and 15 minutes, of partying. Right? And seeing friends and strangers and so many different faces and lots of stimulation and thank the Sweet Baby Jesus for the Bite Saber that I found on line and ordered which happens to be IN HIS FAVORITE COLOR because, clearly, divine intervention made the owners of ARK Therapeutic decide that forest green be "Xtra Xtra Tough, recommended for more avid chewing.
These are the most firm and provide the most resistance to the jaw. No
chew tool is indestructible, but these are very tough." For the kid who chews holes in his shirts, you get the XXT I'm not gonna let you down AFA* Chew Stick. And I got one that looks like a Lego (but they call it a Brick Stick) because seriously, I don't know if he wants a smooth surface or a bumpy surface. And he said he liked both when we looked at them together; done. And on the first day of school, he chewed the fuck out of that Bite Saber. Best money spent. After school, I did see a few more seizures than I would've liked too...but not nearly as many as I saw after we went to the movies and saw Star Wars: The Force Awakens in the theater.
On the second day of school, Friday, he was chewing and chewing and chewing on his Bite Saber and walking down the hall, and one of Isaac's classmates came out of the classroom, and started walking with us in the hall. I introduced them and the kid said "what's that in your mouth?" And Nathan said, "A Bite Saber" without taking it out of his mouth, and the kid understood what Nathan said, because then the boy said "what's it for?" and Nathan goes "chewing" and the kid said, "but why do you have it?" and Nathan said "because it helps me feel better."
And that was it. The kid didn't bat an eye. Like totally normal interaction, not a big deal, it's cool that you're chewing in it.
I was pretty impressed with what I had witnessed.
Why?
Because my son had a verbal exchange with a kid he had never seen before. And they went back and forth several times in the conversation. It's like THREE sentences for my kid. Which, before we had several major life experiences in the last 18 months, my kid would have looked at me to answer the kid. Would have looked at me to say whatever variation of "it's ok to talk to him" not because he's scared...but because he lacked the confidence. And seeing a child's confidence build...amazing.
And the other piece that was awesome was that the kid was cool about dealing with something different. And this gives me hope.
On both days, Nathan and I went out to recess at the same time as Isaac's class. It was one of the things I discussed with both of the boys; and it's important to me as a parent that my kids are together, and have access to each other during the day. I've made special requests on behalf of my ADA kid, and they are being met. On Friday, Nathan chose to stay until 2 pm also, which was really exciting, and really exhausting, too. Because I'm in a heightened state of awareness while I'm with him; I can only imagine the amount of cortisol running around in our brains...I try to not perserverate on it.
Labor Day weekend was ok...we mostly laid low and tried to just be together. We tried to help Daddy feel better...and give him as much space as he needs...as he recovers from his own Cancer Adventure.
On Monday evening, I was starting to prepare the boys...Isaac would be going to school the next day, and the plan was that Nathan was going to stay home and go to Hapkido. The plan changed very quickly when Nathan said, "Mom I want to go to school tomorrow." And, I'm not gonna say no! RIGHT?!?! So, I emailed his teacher and the principal letting them know the change of plans, and they were completely supportive. So, he went all four days the second week; and he stayed from the beginning of the day to the end of the day. He ate lunch; he played on the big playground for morning recess and for recess after lunch, he plays on the special needs playground, and I'm fine with it because Nathan will have a foot in the neurotypical world, and a foot in the disabled world. Inclusion is a HUGE issue in the disabled world; and of course I want my kid to be included...but I don't want it to come at a cost that is exhausting for him, or me or the other members of my family. We've been through enough.
Nathan's doing great. Seriously better than I ever expected him to. He's enjoying himself. He's happy. He's learning. He's making his own decisions. He's tired. He hasn't really melted down. I have. A lot. But Sweet Jesus, I'm a hot fucking mess on a good day...but I'm also doing the best I can. Isaac has rolled right back into the routine. I am thankful that he loves everything about school: learning, being with friends, recess, math, library time, math, music, math, math, and more math. And, it helps that his teacher, Mrs. N, has Legos in the classroom and that they get to create written stories using the Legos.
The only thing left to do is prep for my own class; school starts for me on Monday. I'll be teaching my basic Health class online. Yes, Randy will be teaching two online math courses. He needs to keep his head in the game.
This weekend, we'll go to the annual picnic that PDMA has. And after that, we are planning on laying low. The first rains are coming...and we'll likely bake some chocolate chip cookies with pecans and watch movies.
*AFA: Ain't fucking around
Friday, September 16, 2016
Friday, September 9, 2016
Your 10th Birthday Eve
Dear Nathan,
Happy Birthday Eve, my first born child!!! You will be 10--TEN--tomorrow! You're going into double digits! The only other time you'll add another digit is if you make it to 100. Not a level...well...kinda I guess.....
You. I am so proud of you. You said you wanted to go to school, and you are. Your first six days of 4th grade have been pretty smooth...and full of emotion and amazement and anxiety and stress and transition...which is hard for you...and for all of us in this autism family. And let's face it, skipping a Monday is difficult on the neurotypical world too.
But you're about to be 10!!! A decade. Daddy said that the reason 10 is big is because we count in base 10. Yes, there are three bases in baseball. But I'm not talking about baseball. I'm talking about mathematics. Don't be too autistic and ADHD right now. Pay attention. We count in base 10, as opposed to base 8, or base 7. So, we count 10, 20, 30...not 8, 16, 24...and not 7, 14, 21.... Got it? Base 10. I suppose home plate is a base. But I don't really know because I'm not a baseball fan.
Thank you for contributing to the conversation, child. This is kinda new for you...especially with other people...like the folks you didn't know on the first day of school. But you're working with them...and they're working with you...and it's been good. It's been better than good. It's been pretty fucking amazing, kiddo. I'm really proud of you for taking one day at a time.
Yeah...Mommy probably shouldn't say fuck so much. I'm trying my best to not. Yes, just like you are trying your best to not step on my foot or hit your brother or laugh hysterically. I'm sorry I get so mad at you when you laugh hysterically. I know it's your reaction to distress. I try my best to walk away from you when you do it. But sometimes I'm just done for the day, before I even get out of bed. I'm under a lot of pressure, child. "Oppressive" doesn't begin to describe it.
And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you and your brother were almost parentless. Orphans. And, yes, Dean and Reid would be fantastic brothers to you and Isaac. But, that means you'd have no parents. That Daddy and I would be dead (God forbid). And that's just not something anyone deserves. So, let's think positive and continue moving forward. Because that's the best we can do. And, we certainly didn't intend to each get our own cancer. It's just the cards we were dealt. Yup. It's kinda like Go Fish. I love you and the connections that are happening in your brain.
Let's love each other. And ourselves. Let's be kind. And honest. And listen to our bodies when we're hungry or tired or cranky. Yup. Hungry, tired, and cranky are three strikes. And then you're out and in meltdown mode. And that sucks. So, let's prevent the meltdown. Eat strong foods, get plenty of rest, and try your best.
Instead of saying sorry after you hit Isaac or you use mean words, you need to follow the Cougar Code. Yup. The one at school. Do you remember what the Cougar Code is? Be respectful; be responsible; be a learner; and be safe. RIGHT! You got it! So, be respectful, keep your hands and feet to yourself. Be responsible, give yourself your medications when you're supposed to. Yes, I'll mix everything up for you. But YOU need to eat that ice cream mixed with medicine. I know it sucks. I know it's not fair. I know the ethosuxamide tastes awful. I am sorry we cannot mix it in the ice cream. Well, because it's more like cough syrup. You just gotta drink it down. Yes, you can have a Starburst afterwards. But if you choose to not take your meds, what will happen? Yes. You'll seize. And your brain will hurt. We don't want that. What do you want? Ye!. I think you will be great at pushing carts for folks at Costco. Maybe, if you don't seize, you can learn to drive a forklift! Wouldn't that be fun?! Moving pallets! Yes! You would be great at that! You'd get to help so many people! So, take your meds! The taste is temporary. It's a small problem. Yes, epilepsy and cancer are huge problems! You are becoming quite a learner! Yes, just like the Cougar Code says! Exactly, Nathan! You're getting it! And how can you be safe? Yes, taking your meds...not fighting with Isaac, especially when Mommy's driving! What else? How else can you be safe? Going outside when the fire alarm sounds is a great way to stay safe. I know it was scary and it hurt your ears. And I'm sure that all the kids at school were nervous and scared during the fire drill yesterday, too. But it's over, right? And now you know what to do just in case there's a fire. Right?
So, tomorrow...the day you were born...it's supposed to be sunny and beautiful and warm. Every year on your birthday, it's never rained. It's always been a beautiful day. So, let's have a beautiful year. Be brave! Have fun! Show your courage! And remember it's ok to cry. It's ok to give hugs and get hugs and kisses from me and Daddy. And Isaac if he says ok. I know you think it's fun to squeeze him, but you don't need to make him scream...it's not cool. But what is cool is seeing you grow and change...especially the maturity you've had since February 2015, when we pulled you to homeschool you and then I found the lump in my breast. You amaze me.
But, really, your birthday is about me. Because I'm the one that amazes myself. I gave birth to you 10 years ago. I listened to my body and pushed you out and my entire body tingled like nothing I'd ever experienced. It was amazing. It was a Sunday; and Daddy put the Cowboys game on. And, no, we don't watch football anymore...because it's just not what our family does...yup...we got a lot of life happening. Baseball? You want to play again next summer with Special Olympics? You bet. And soccer? Sure!
I love you Nathan Zachary. My hope for you this next year is that you have fewer seizures, that you learn and grow and thrive in ways that I cannot even begin to imagine.
All my love always,
Mommy
XOXO
PS...don't forget that I'm a badass.
Happy Birthday Eve, my first born child!!! You will be 10--TEN--tomorrow! You're going into double digits! The only other time you'll add another digit is if you make it to 100. Not a level...well...kinda I guess.....
You. I am so proud of you. You said you wanted to go to school, and you are. Your first six days of 4th grade have been pretty smooth...and full of emotion and amazement and anxiety and stress and transition...which is hard for you...and for all of us in this autism family. And let's face it, skipping a Monday is difficult on the neurotypical world too.
But you're about to be 10!!! A decade. Daddy said that the reason 10 is big is because we count in base 10. Yes, there are three bases in baseball. But I'm not talking about baseball. I'm talking about mathematics. Don't be too autistic and ADHD right now. Pay attention. We count in base 10, as opposed to base 8, or base 7. So, we count 10, 20, 30...not 8, 16, 24...and not 7, 14, 21.... Got it? Base 10. I suppose home plate is a base. But I don't really know because I'm not a baseball fan.
Thank you for contributing to the conversation, child. This is kinda new for you...especially with other people...like the folks you didn't know on the first day of school. But you're working with them...and they're working with you...and it's been good. It's been better than good. It's been pretty fucking amazing, kiddo. I'm really proud of you for taking one day at a time.
Yeah...Mommy probably shouldn't say fuck so much. I'm trying my best to not. Yes, just like you are trying your best to not step on my foot or hit your brother or laugh hysterically. I'm sorry I get so mad at you when you laugh hysterically. I know it's your reaction to distress. I try my best to walk away from you when you do it. But sometimes I'm just done for the day, before I even get out of bed. I'm under a lot of pressure, child. "Oppressive" doesn't begin to describe it.
And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you and your brother were almost parentless. Orphans. And, yes, Dean and Reid would be fantastic brothers to you and Isaac. But, that means you'd have no parents. That Daddy and I would be dead (God forbid). And that's just not something anyone deserves. So, let's think positive and continue moving forward. Because that's the best we can do. And, we certainly didn't intend to each get our own cancer. It's just the cards we were dealt. Yup. It's kinda like Go Fish. I love you and the connections that are happening in your brain.
Let's love each other. And ourselves. Let's be kind. And honest. And listen to our bodies when we're hungry or tired or cranky. Yup. Hungry, tired, and cranky are three strikes. And then you're out and in meltdown mode. And that sucks. So, let's prevent the meltdown. Eat strong foods, get plenty of rest, and try your best.
Instead of saying sorry after you hit Isaac or you use mean words, you need to follow the Cougar Code. Yup. The one at school. Do you remember what the Cougar Code is? Be respectful; be responsible; be a learner; and be safe. RIGHT! You got it! So, be respectful, keep your hands and feet to yourself. Be responsible, give yourself your medications when you're supposed to. Yes, I'll mix everything up for you. But YOU need to eat that ice cream mixed with medicine. I know it sucks. I know it's not fair. I know the ethosuxamide tastes awful. I am sorry we cannot mix it in the ice cream. Well, because it's more like cough syrup. You just gotta drink it down. Yes, you can have a Starburst afterwards. But if you choose to not take your meds, what will happen? Yes. You'll seize. And your brain will hurt. We don't want that. What do you want? Ye!. I think you will be great at pushing carts for folks at Costco. Maybe, if you don't seize, you can learn to drive a forklift! Wouldn't that be fun?! Moving pallets! Yes! You would be great at that! You'd get to help so many people! So, take your meds! The taste is temporary. It's a small problem. Yes, epilepsy and cancer are huge problems! You are becoming quite a learner! Yes, just like the Cougar Code says! Exactly, Nathan! You're getting it! And how can you be safe? Yes, taking your meds...not fighting with Isaac, especially when Mommy's driving! What else? How else can you be safe? Going outside when the fire alarm sounds is a great way to stay safe. I know it was scary and it hurt your ears. And I'm sure that all the kids at school were nervous and scared during the fire drill yesterday, too. But it's over, right? And now you know what to do just in case there's a fire. Right?
So, tomorrow...the day you were born...it's supposed to be sunny and beautiful and warm. Every year on your birthday, it's never rained. It's always been a beautiful day. So, let's have a beautiful year. Be brave! Have fun! Show your courage! And remember it's ok to cry. It's ok to give hugs and get hugs and kisses from me and Daddy. And Isaac if he says ok. I know you think it's fun to squeeze him, but you don't need to make him scream...it's not cool. But what is cool is seeing you grow and change...especially the maturity you've had since February 2015, when we pulled you to homeschool you and then I found the lump in my breast. You amaze me.
But, really, your birthday is about me. Because I'm the one that amazes myself. I gave birth to you 10 years ago. I listened to my body and pushed you out and my entire body tingled like nothing I'd ever experienced. It was amazing. It was a Sunday; and Daddy put the Cowboys game on. And, no, we don't watch football anymore...because it's just not what our family does...yup...we got a lot of life happening. Baseball? You want to play again next summer with Special Olympics? You bet. And soccer? Sure!
I love you Nathan Zachary. My hope for you this next year is that you have fewer seizures, that you learn and grow and thrive in ways that I cannot even begin to imagine.
All my love always,
Mommy
XOXO
PS...don't forget that I'm a badass.
Wednesday, September 7, 2016
The last three days of summer 2016
The last three days of summer were pretty crazy-making for me, since I'm trying to run the Anderson Family Circus.
Being the Ring Leader of a saucy almost second grader, a special needs almost 10 year old who's been homeschooled for the last year and a half (hyphens deleted intentionally, obvs), and taking care of my husband, who's a stage four tonsil cancer patient is a huge responsibility. Especially for a woman
in a male-dominated field, which is what my home life is like. I'm the only female human in my home and the past week was pretty full of emotion. No, I'm not premenstrual; I don't get my period anymore, it was a chemo perk.
On Monday (Aug 29) I, the Ring Leader, took themonkeys boys
to school for a visit to Nathan's Sped (Special Education) classroom.
But we call it the Resource Room, because times change and things are
labeled differently now than they were when I was in grade school, and
also, the staff who work in a Resource Room have got to be resourceful. Duh. And they gotta be clever and quick and think on their feet faster than Lightning McQueen. And a Resource Room teacher may only have 12 kids in that Resource Room, but trust me when I tell you it feels like a lot, and I mean a whole fucking lot more kids. It's like having 36 neurotypical kids. Seriously.
On Monday (Aug 29) I, the Ring Leader, took the
During our visit with the teacher, Nathan
did really well during the 90-ish minutes he, Isaac and I were at
school. And it was late in the afternoon. Like, we got to school at
FOUR. And for us, doing something late in the day is a big deal, because it can interfere with our bedtime routine, which is sacred in an autism home...for the brief bits of sanity I have remaining. Nathan
was both excited and nervous, which are all normal emotions for
kids--and adults--at the start of the school year. But, he also had some
confidence in that Isaac and I were with him.
Tuesday (Aug 30) I took the boys to Hapkido,
and they had a lot of fun! We are all thankful Mrs. V supported the
boys being together in the homeschool class this summer, which enabled
me to cut down on the number of trips into town, which ultimately
decreased my stress and the amount of pressure I have upon me.
Wednesday, (Aug 31)
the day before school started was interesting in that Randy came out
from the bedroom and said "I'm telling Dr. Chryiath I'm done with
chemo." And I was like, "um, ok...." because, really, this wasn't at all
on my radar, and not what I expected my husband to say first thing in
the morning, especially since I was prepping for my day, which involved
taking the boys to school for a visit; and it's an open house...so all
500 kids will be there, with their parents. My stress level was already
pretty elevated. And I needed to prep food and clothes and boys: I was moving in a completely different direction than him. So, I was not prepared for what he said.
But here's the
deal, Randy made an important decision, that kept him awake much of the
previous night, which is known as Chemo Eve (and is NOTHING like
Christmas Eve, or even Birthday Eve. No. Very different, indeed!), and he
didn't take this decision lightly. He was going to the Cancer Center
Wednesday morning knowing that he was having a doctor's appointment, but
that he wasn't going to have chemo that day because when they drew
blood for labs on Monday, it turns out his platelets were low. Platelets
are in your blood and are responsible for clotting, and if the platelet
count is too low, they can't administer your chemo because bad stuff
will happen.
The thing is, is that for my husband's tonsil cancer, the primary treatment was radiation. And the chemo, which was supposed to be three doses, 21 days apart, was given as a booster for the radiation. And he completed the radiation treatment on August 26th. His chemo was not considered a systemic treatment; it was considered a targeted treatment, because they were going for the throat (if you will).
So, he asked our medical oncologist, and she agreed. Mathematically, he ended up doing about 75% of the recommended dose, but the caveat is that, again, his chemo was a booster for the radiation; they worked together to kill the cancer cells. And so with the doc's blessing, as of last week, he's done with chemo.
But he's not completely done (seriously, this is our life). He still has to go in for fluids three times a week because the type of chemo that they gave him was very dehydrating, so they hydrate him. No, it's not that simple for him to increase his fluid intake; he isn't consuming anything but a few sips of water in a 24-hour period; all foods and fluids and most medications are being put in the G-tube. So, when he gets fluids, he goes to the Cancer Center (or the hospital) and they hook the PICC Line in his arm up to the IV machine, and he gets a liter of saline infused into his body, and it takes about three motherfucking hours. They have to hook him up, start the drip, and then unhook him. And then, because he's got a ton of fluids in him, he's up peeing for about 15 hours afterwards.
But he may be done with getting fluids on Friday, 9/9, which is Nathan's Birthday Eve (no pressure, dude, for reals). The discussion today (Sept 7) with the Physician's Assistant (who is lovely) was that he would see how he's feeling and if he feels like he needs more fluids next week, then he'll get to the Cancer Center for more fluids, but if not, then he he won't.
The thing is, is that for my husband's tonsil cancer, the primary treatment was radiation. And the chemo, which was supposed to be three doses, 21 days apart, was given as a booster for the radiation. And he completed the radiation treatment on August 26th. His chemo was not considered a systemic treatment; it was considered a targeted treatment, because they were going for the throat (if you will).
So, he asked our medical oncologist, and she agreed. Mathematically, he ended up doing about 75% of the recommended dose, but the caveat is that, again, his chemo was a booster for the radiation; they worked together to kill the cancer cells. And so with the doc's blessing, as of last week, he's done with chemo.
But he's not completely done (seriously, this is our life). He still has to go in for fluids three times a week because the type of chemo that they gave him was very dehydrating, so they hydrate him. No, it's not that simple for him to increase his fluid intake; he isn't consuming anything but a few sips of water in a 24-hour period; all foods and fluids and most medications are being put in the G-tube. So, when he gets fluids, he goes to the Cancer Center (or the hospital) and they hook the PICC Line in his arm up to the IV machine, and he gets a liter of saline infused into his body, and it takes about three motherfucking hours. They have to hook him up, start the drip, and then unhook him. And then, because he's got a ton of fluids in him, he's up peeing for about 15 hours afterwards.
But he may be done with getting fluids on Friday, 9/9, which is Nathan's Birthday Eve (no pressure, dude, for reals). The discussion today (Sept 7) with the Physician's Assistant (who is lovely) was that he would see how he's feeling and if he feels like he needs more fluids next week, then he'll get to the Cancer Center for more fluids, but if not, then he he won't.
But the thing is, is that HE made the decision about stopping! And I am really really proud of him for that!!!!
HE felt strong enough and courageous enough and empowered enough to say to a medical oncologist, "I'm done. I am scheduled to have two more chemo treatments, but it's not going to affect the outcome because I am done with radiation and why am I prolonging just feeling like shit?"
Culturally, we perceive physicians to be omnipotent deities. We think they know best. And, yes, a doctor definitely knows a LOT about the body and if they're a specialist, like a medical oncologist, they are oftentimes presented in film or books as these highly emotionally distant people, who are probably on the higher functioning end of the autism spectrum. But, I can tell you that when you get a good doc, which my family is both fortunate and thankful to have...the good doctors...they listen to their patients, they recognize that they themselves are human, they are willing to think outside the box, and they are likely to check on you when you are in the hospital for an unexpected overnight visit, they are compassionate...and they truly care about their patients as people who have lives....these are the doctors that I want to work with on staying healthy and keeping my family healthy.
And, let's face it, from the beginning, one of the things I was trying to teach Randy Anderson was that he needs to listen to his body and advocate for his own health. For nearly twenty years, I've been teaching students to do this for themselves...and I think some of them get it. I'm thankful that Randy was able to effectively communicate what his needs were to his physician, and that she listened and agreed with him.
The final thing that was also huge about Wednesday last week, the last day of summer vacation, was that I spent a good part of that cold, wet, grey day prepping the boys for Thursday, which was the first day of school. I pepped a lot of food, so I could make the first two days of school easier on me, since I was not simply dropping them off. I was planning on being at school, primarily supporting Nathan as he transitions to the classroom, since I was anticipating a rough start. I also had them pick out their clothes, made lunches, and pack backpacks. You know, all stuff "normal"families get to do the day before school.
Wednesday I also took themonkeys boys to school for a visit...the one that was the open house...and there were a LOT of kids there. But we Andersons did really well. And we were excited to get back in the classrooms. And we each got an ice cream cone on the way out (thank you PTO!).
So, the last three days of summer 2016 were pretty big for the Anderson Family Circus. And we never have to live those three days again. It is behind us; we are moving forward.
HE felt strong enough and courageous enough and empowered enough to say to a medical oncologist, "I'm done. I am scheduled to have two more chemo treatments, but it's not going to affect the outcome because I am done with radiation and why am I prolonging just feeling like shit?"
Culturally, we perceive physicians to be omnipotent deities. We think they know best. And, yes, a doctor definitely knows a LOT about the body and if they're a specialist, like a medical oncologist, they are oftentimes presented in film or books as these highly emotionally distant people, who are probably on the higher functioning end of the autism spectrum. But, I can tell you that when you get a good doc, which my family is both fortunate and thankful to have...the good doctors...they listen to their patients, they recognize that they themselves are human, they are willing to think outside the box, and they are likely to check on you when you are in the hospital for an unexpected overnight visit, they are compassionate...and they truly care about their patients as people who have lives....these are the doctors that I want to work with on staying healthy and keeping my family healthy.
And, let's face it, from the beginning, one of the things I was trying to teach Randy Anderson was that he needs to listen to his body and advocate for his own health. For nearly twenty years, I've been teaching students to do this for themselves...and I think some of them get it. I'm thankful that Randy was able to effectively communicate what his needs were to his physician, and that she listened and agreed with him.
The final thing that was also huge about Wednesday last week, the last day of summer vacation, was that I spent a good part of that cold, wet, grey day prepping the boys for Thursday, which was the first day of school. I pepped a lot of food, so I could make the first two days of school easier on me, since I was not simply dropping them off. I was planning on being at school, primarily supporting Nathan as he transitions to the classroom, since I was anticipating a rough start. I also had them pick out their clothes, made lunches, and pack backpacks. You know, all stuff "normal"families get to do the day before school.
Wednesday I also took the
So, the last three days of summer 2016 were pretty big for the Anderson Family Circus. And we never have to live those three days again. It is behind us; we are moving forward.
Monday, August 29, 2016
In other news
In other news, Nathan has decided he wants to go back to school.
And I totally support his decision.
We've talked about it on and off over the past year and a half (let go of the missing hyphens, grammar nazis; you know who you are).
This summer, he spent quite a lot of time with two women I trust implicitly: Momma Christine and Momma Bonnie. And they told me that Nathan said that he's going to school in September. Furthermore, he even said which school he's going to, which is the same school he's attended in the past and where Isaac currently goes.
So, I'm cool with this. He'll be 10 on September 10th. And his seizures are under some pretty serious control. He's in a very different place than he was a year and a half ago (now I'm just omitting them to piss you grammar nazis off. Is it working?).
He started a new pharmaceutical medication in April, after I returned from my trip with Stacie to Tucson. And I give this pharmaceutical medication credit for decreasing the seizures so significantly that he was able to play soccer this past spring. (yes I culturally reference myself; it's my blog and I can do what I want.)
Yes, this is his SEVENTH motherfucking pharmaceutical that we've tried to control his seizures. It's what happens when you're diagnosed with Lennox-FUCKING-Gastaut Syndrome, or LGS. There's not really a FUCKING in the name. It's just how I say it. And this syndrome was discovered by two neurologists:
Lennox-Gastaut Syndrome was first defined by Dr. Henri Gastaut in France in 1966 as a very severe form of childhood epilepsy, with certain common features. Dr. William G. Lennox in Boston described features of the EEG in this condition.
So, you gotta say Gas-TOE for Gastaut, because he's a French dude. Ok? Lennox-Gas-TOE. Not Gas-taught. Gas-TOE. And, this is the incredibly rare form of epilepsy that my son has. Of course. Because we Andersons don't do shit half-assed. Oh no. Only FULL-ASSED from the Andersons. (hyphens for the grammar nazis! you're welcome!)
Annnnywaaaayyyy...last week I met with the principal, who is fully supportive of Nathan attending 3 days a week, in the mornings, until about noon-ish. My plan is to roll both boys in at the start of the morning, because it'll be easier on ME to get them both up and moving and out the door at the same time.
And he'll be on the big playground. Because he has friends that he's known his entire life that are on that playground and that are going to want to play with him and who are going to look out for him and who are going to help him.
And he'll be in the lunch room. And he'll have the same special ed teacher, but we don't know who his gen ed teacher will be, but that's ok. We'll figure it out. He will have input.
But this is really exciting for us as a family. Nathan's taking initiative in his own life, and for any kid, it's huge. But for a kid with special needs, it's even bigger.
And I totally support his decision.
We've talked about it on and off over the past year and a half (let go of the missing hyphens, grammar nazis; you know who you are).
This summer, he spent quite a lot of time with two women I trust implicitly: Momma Christine and Momma Bonnie. And they told me that Nathan said that he's going to school in September. Furthermore, he even said which school he's going to, which is the same school he's attended in the past and where Isaac currently goes.
So, I'm cool with this. He'll be 10 on September 10th. And his seizures are under some pretty serious control. He's in a very different place than he was a year and a half ago (now I'm just omitting them to piss you grammar nazis off. Is it working?).
He started a new pharmaceutical medication in April, after I returned from my trip with Stacie to Tucson. And I give this pharmaceutical medication credit for decreasing the seizures so significantly that he was able to play soccer this past spring. (yes I culturally reference myself; it's my blog and I can do what I want.)
Yes, this is his SEVENTH motherfucking pharmaceutical that we've tried to control his seizures. It's what happens when you're diagnosed with Lennox-FUCKING-Gastaut Syndrome, or LGS. There's not really a FUCKING in the name. It's just how I say it. And this syndrome was discovered by two neurologists:
Lennox-Gastaut Syndrome was first defined by Dr. Henri Gastaut in France in 1966 as a very severe form of childhood epilepsy, with certain common features. Dr. William G. Lennox in Boston described features of the EEG in this condition.
So, you gotta say Gas-TOE for Gastaut, because he's a French dude. Ok? Lennox-Gas-TOE. Not Gas-taught. Gas-TOE. And, this is the incredibly rare form of epilepsy that my son has. Of course. Because we Andersons don't do shit half-assed. Oh no. Only FULL-ASSED from the Andersons. (hyphens for the grammar nazis! you're welcome!)
Annnnywaaaayyyy...last week I met with the principal, who is fully supportive of Nathan attending 3 days a week, in the mornings, until about noon-ish. My plan is to roll both boys in at the start of the morning, because it'll be easier on ME to get them both up and moving and out the door at the same time.
And he'll be on the big playground. Because he has friends that he's known his entire life that are on that playground and that are going to want to play with him and who are going to look out for him and who are going to help him.
And he'll be in the lunch room. And he'll have the same special ed teacher, but we don't know who his gen ed teacher will be, but that's ok. We'll figure it out. He will have input.
But this is really exciting for us as a family. Nathan's taking initiative in his own life, and for any kid, it's huge. But for a kid with special needs, it's even bigger.
Saturday, August 27, 2016
Cry For You
I recently had the opportunity to practice yoga in the barn at a local lavender farm in Sequim.
But this isn't just any lavender farm. It's B&B Lavender Farm, and is owned by some very dear friends of ours, Zion and Kristy Hilliker (and her parents, Bruce and Bonnie--it's a family effort!).
But this isn't just any lavender farm. It's B&B Lavender Farm, and is owned by some very dear friends of ours, Zion and Kristy Hilliker (and her parents, Bruce and Bonnie--it's a family effort!).
And the yoga studio I recently started practicing at, Poser Yoga, does these pop up yoga classes every so often in different locations in the community. And while I'm currently unable to get to classes on a regular basis, and I've got a pretty strong yoga practice at home, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to practice with my friend Kristy in her barn. RIGHT? And, even though they have about 20 bazillion bunches of lavender hanging in the barn, the scent of lavender wasn't nearly as strong as I anticipated it would be. It was really hardly noticeable. Seriously. I'm not a huge fan of lavender, but I am a huge fan of supporting my friends and doing yoga with them.
The class was fantastic; there were about 10 people who attended, and no, I didn't know anyone except for Kristy and the teacher, Jenny (who is the owner of Poser Yoga). And it helped bring awareness to what I can add to my own practice to strengthen it; basic poses that have fallen off my radar, like Warrior II and Triangle. Who forgets the Warrior and Triangle series? This girl. Because CANCER makes you forget basic things, including your own name. Anyway, it was a pleasure to practice with a supportive group of strangers. It was humbling and beautiful; challenging and stress relieving.
After the class was over, Zion, who is Master Gardner (basically, this means the dude is a badass and knows more about lavender than I ever thought possible [and I mean that as a compliment]) gave me a tour of the barn where he uses lavender to create everything from lip balm to essential oil to soap to all purpose cleaner to sell in the gift shop. I also got to visit with Kristy, and inevitably we talked about my family's situation (not bad, it's just that it's gonna come up, right? It'd be like if you had a chance to talk to Paul McCartney, you'd talk to him about the Beatles, right? You wouldn't just be like "Yeah, your work with Wings was cool" and you certainly wouldn't say something like "I really liked it when you did 'Say, Say, Say' with Michael Jackson," and leave it at that. Right?! You're gonna ask him about Revolver or Sgt. Peppers. Seriously.)
Annnnnnyway....
Like many people have said to me, Kristy said something like "I don't know what to say. I'm sorry I can't find the right words. I read your blog, and Randy's blog...and I wish I knew what to say that would be helpful."
And, as usual, I said something like, "I don't expect you to know what to say. I am in an incredibly difficult and scary position.... Nobody knows what to say. And nobody wants to be in my position."
But then she said something nobody has ever said to me before, and it impacted me on a very deep level. She said: "when I read your blog, I cry for you. I just cry because I can feel what you're feeling when I read what you write."
And I'm thankful she cries for me. Because I also discovered that day that I don't cry for myself. Or for my situation, or my husband, or my special needs son, or my neurotypical son, and what he deals with in dealing with his family's ailments.
So I've started crying.
A lot.
Because why?
Why me?
Why my family?
Why my husband?
Why my children?
Why?
It's not because "god" pointed a finger and said, "Let's give her breast cancer and him tonsil cancer and him a constellation of brain disorders."
It's not because I curse a lot. Or not enough, in some instances.
It's not because I'm being challenged by "god" to be stronger, or more diligent, or more or less of WHATEVER.
It's not to make me stronger.
It's not because I pissed someone off in a previous life. Or because I was "a difficult child."
It just is.
But, GODDAMNIT I am sick and tired of dealing with these major health crises in my family.
I'm not a crier. My therapist, Jan, who just retired after me seeing her pretty much weekly for 3-1/2 years, can attest that I'm not a crier. I cried on her less than a dozen times. I started seeing her just after Nathan was diagnosed with autism, when he was 6; he'll be 10 on September 10th. And she's been with me through autism, my breast cancer, the death of my father-in-law while I was going through cancer treatment, my husband's cancer, my mother's undiagnosed dementia, and the incredibly rare skin disorder my mother-in-law has. Normally, a therapist will have a person come to them for support with ONE of these issues; but, unlucky me, I get them all at the same time. The experience, insight and support Jan provided me throughout these health issues was a tremendous help.
At one point, she said, "maybe you're like Nelson Mandela, who was forced to embrace his situation and his life's work became that of a great leader and a great man. Maybe you're life's work is to embrace this shitty situation that you're in and you're becoming a great leader, especially in the field of Health. I mean, look at what you went to school to do. Look at what you chose to major in. Look at how you're educating people. Look at the fact that you're a college professor, teaching about Health issues. This is your life's work, Rachel."
And so I find myself working to embrace my situation. To accept it. And with that, it's ok to cry for myself. It's ok to feel sorry for myself, for my family, and to wallow in it for a little bit. To feel weak, as alien as that feeling is for me.
But, it's also important to get up and do Warrior and Triangle. To build strength. To feel strong.
And, it's ok to cry while I'm doing Warrior II. Because sometimes in life, we find ourselves in a dichotomous situation, and it's important to find a balance.
So, thank you Kristy, for being honest and telling me that you cry for me, because I am learning to cry for myself.
It's not because I curse a lot. Or not enough, in some instances.
It's not because I'm being challenged by "god" to be stronger, or more diligent, or more or less of WHATEVER.
It's not to make me stronger.
It's not because I pissed someone off in a previous life. Or because I was "a difficult child."
It just is.
But, GODDAMNIT I am sick and tired of dealing with these major health crises in my family.
I'm not a crier. My therapist, Jan, who just retired after me seeing her pretty much weekly for 3-1/2 years, can attest that I'm not a crier. I cried on her less than a dozen times. I started seeing her just after Nathan was diagnosed with autism, when he was 6; he'll be 10 on September 10th. And she's been with me through autism, my breast cancer, the death of my father-in-law while I was going through cancer treatment, my husband's cancer, my mother's undiagnosed dementia, and the incredibly rare skin disorder my mother-in-law has. Normally, a therapist will have a person come to them for support with ONE of these issues; but, unlucky me, I get them all at the same time. The experience, insight and support Jan provided me throughout these health issues was a tremendous help.
At one point, she said, "maybe you're like Nelson Mandela, who was forced to embrace his situation and his life's work became that of a great leader and a great man. Maybe you're life's work is to embrace this shitty situation that you're in and you're becoming a great leader, especially in the field of Health. I mean, look at what you went to school to do. Look at what you chose to major in. Look at how you're educating people. Look at the fact that you're a college professor, teaching about Health issues. This is your life's work, Rachel."
And so I find myself working to embrace my situation. To accept it. And with that, it's ok to cry for myself. It's ok to feel sorry for myself, for my family, and to wallow in it for a little bit. To feel weak, as alien as that feeling is for me.
But, it's also important to get up and do Warrior and Triangle. To build strength. To feel strong.
And, it's ok to cry while I'm doing Warrior II. Because sometimes in life, we find ourselves in a dichotomous situation, and it's important to find a balance.
So, thank you Kristy, for being honest and telling me that you cry for me, because I am learning to cry for myself.
Wednesday, August 10, 2016
Seven Hours
Today, while Randy Anderson and I were at the cancer center for seven, yes I said SEVEN, hours...
And who gets cancer treatment for seven motherfuckin hours? Jesus it's been a long motherfuckin day!
I don't know how some dear friends of mine, who are also on a cancer adventure drive to Seattle, which is like 2-1/2 hours plus a ferry ride...I mean they go over the night before, but still. Because his treatment was like NINE motherfuckin hours!!! And then those crazy sonsabitches drive HOME after that! That, THAT, is some super motherfuckin powers right there! (Don't correct my grammar, bitches!)
Anywho...
So today, the pharmacist who's mixin up the chemo is a former student of Randy's. Thank you, Jake, for paying close attention in math. Seriously. You're saving lives.
Oh and thanks Randy Anderson for being a kick ass math teacher. That's paying it forward, yo.
So while we were at the cancer center for seven motherfuckin hours, the boys were with their first ever kid sitter, Trey, who is now 20 and home on summer break from college. And Trey took the boys to Salt Creek, which, everybody knows is THE place into be when you're a kid because there are tide pools, and old WWII bunkers, and a park and its beautiful!!! Even on a grey day, like it was today.
And I did not worry about them.
So thanks, Trey, for showing my kids the best day ever. I'm so thankful for you.
And thanks Jackie, you're an awesome mom. I love you.
Monday, August 8, 2016
Excruciating
Being here is excruciating.
We're at the Sequim Cancer Center.
Again.
Every week day, Randy has radiation treatment to his throat. The inside of his mouth is sunburned, making it impossible for him to eat orally. As part of his radiation, he has a bite guard, and he's struggling to get it in his mouth. This morning's treatment took a little longer than usual. I don't know why: he didn't say; I didn't ask. He's had a rough morning.
The G Tube is in, but he's still nauseated and woke up the past two mornings vomiting. I think it's because he's not putting enough "food" in his tube. Really, we need to stop calling it "food." It's a shake. Not like a $5 milkshake, but a high-calorie, nutrient-dense shake. So more like a $10 milkshake. And corn syrup is the first ingredient after water. No, it's not Boost or Ensure; it's Fibersource HN brought to you by the good folks at Nestle' Health Science, which is the same company that makes Boost. So, remind me again why this $10 milkshake is better than me taking the food he normally eats and just throwing it in the Vitamix with a lot of water (or milk or chicken broth or bone broth) and putting it into his tube?
Two cases of these Fibersource HN shakes arrived via FedEx on Saturday. One of the home health nurses came by on Sunday, because, according to our insurance, who is covering the cost of the "food" at 100%, Randy needs to be supervised the first time he is "fed the food." In other words, we gotta jump through a hoop. Fine. It's not like I haven't accessed the tube; it's not like he's not "feeding" himself. I told him last week that I need him to feed himself, because, really, if the boys are left unsupervised for the hour it was taking Randy to pour what I was making into the tube, the house would fucking burn down. I left them alone for five minutes yesterday while they were eating, and somehow, the counter next to the sink, as well as most of the kitchen floor, and several large areas around the kitchen table were covered in water. COVERED. They even managed, somehow, to get food in the Lazy Susan cabinet. What the fuck? No rest for the weary.
The home visiting nurses have told him that it should take him about 10 minutes, and certainly no more than 20 minutes, to "feed himself" or, "pour your shake into your tube" as we are starting to say. "Feed himself" implies the man is going to eat by picking food up with his hands or a utensil and putting food in his mouth. My autism dictates that we call a spade a spade. So, the dude is pouring a shake in his tube. Be honest about it. It's not a "feeding" it's a "pouring." And we're moving on!
So, anyway, we're here. At the Cancer Center. He's getting fluids, and he's asleep. He needs to, I am sure of it. And I get it. Going through cancer is excruciating.
His schedule looks a little like this:
Monday 7:30 am radiation, 8:00 am fluids; typically done about 10:30, home by 11.
Tuesday 7:30 am radiation, 8:00 am radiation oncologist, 8:30 the nurses change the bandage on his PICC line and draw blood to send to the lab for prep for chemo tomorrow; typically done about 9, home by 9:30.
Wednesday 7:30 am radiation, 8:00 am medical oncologist, 8:30 am fluids and chemo; last week we rolled out of here about 1:30; home by 2 pm.
Thursday 7:30 am radiation, and that's it! Out by 8:00 am!
Friday 7:30 am radiation, 8:00 am fluids; typically done about 10:30 and home by 11.
The schedule is incredibly intense. They say it's one of the most intense forms of cancer treatment going. Of course it is.
Last week went pretty well, considering he had chemo on Wednesday, then he took a shower on Thursday, mostly by himself. It wasn't what I'd call "fun naked time" by any stretch of the means. The man has a one tube coming out of his body and another one coming out of his left arm. He's lost so much weight that he looks a little like a white Ethiopian child from the 80's. Live Aid anyone?
The problem, from my perspective, is that he's already got food issues (the man has an aversion to fruits and veggies; he tells me he can taste the chlorophyll in plants). So, when you take a person with limited food choices, and then whittle it down even further because he's going through cancer, and everything, according to him, tastes like shit...then he's not going to be able to eat orally. The G Tube helps, but he's got to put shakes in it every 2-1/2 to 3 hours. Three hours is pushing it. If he gets too empty, then the nausea starts again. And the dry heaves. And this morning he threw up because he was so nauseated.
And I get it. Because it's not like I haven't been there.
But the bottom line is, he's got to take control of this and stop letting it control him. He is the patient...
So.......
You've got to pour a shake in that fucking tube every two and a half hours. Set a timer, motherfucker, because I have to deal with boys, and I can't be keeping an eye on your shit. I got a whole bunch of other shit to deal with, including my own shit. So get your shit together. You have the ability. You have the drive, the inner motivation, to get through this. I know you do! I cannot do it for you. I can support you in many of the things you're going through, but I've been there and done that. You need to figure out...you need to force yourself...to get out of bed, to get up and be proactive as a patient, to participate in your food! Aren't we trying to teach that to Nathan? Jesus, we gotta spoonfeed him sometimes, and that motherfucker is 10! You've got to pour shakes in your tube, to take your meds, to set your timers as reminders for each of those things. Food is medicine, be it consumed orally or via the tube. And you need to do what you can to empower yourself to get through this.
I love you with all my heart. But GODDAMNIT, you need to get your ass in gear and start participating in your treatment. Stay ahead of the hunger and the pain and the anxiety. You did a really good job last week with it, especially the first few days after chemo, and I'm really proud of you for that!
The nurses and the doctors have told you, I've told you, your entire job is to live through this. It's not teaching. It's not worrying about your students. It's getting out of bed every hour. It's pouring a shake in your tube so you can sustain. It's TEMPORARY. And you need to use every fucking tool in your toolbox to get through each day. And if you're stoned all day long, who gives a shit? It's not like you're allowed to even drive anywhere! I'm carting your ass all over the Peninsula! And on Thursday, I'm taking the boys to the lake because the three of us need to get out there!
Bitches!
Get to it!
All my love always,
Rachel
You know I'd give you everything I've got
For a little peace of mind
I'm so tired, I'm feeling so upset
Although I'm so tired I'll have another cigarette
Lennon/McCartney
We're at the Sequim Cancer Center.
Again.
Every week day, Randy has radiation treatment to his throat. The inside of his mouth is sunburned, making it impossible for him to eat orally. As part of his radiation, he has a bite guard, and he's struggling to get it in his mouth. This morning's treatment took a little longer than usual. I don't know why: he didn't say; I didn't ask. He's had a rough morning.
The G Tube is in, but he's still nauseated and woke up the past two mornings vomiting. I think it's because he's not putting enough "food" in his tube. Really, we need to stop calling it "food." It's a shake. Not like a $5 milkshake, but a high-calorie, nutrient-dense shake. So more like a $10 milkshake. And corn syrup is the first ingredient after water. No, it's not Boost or Ensure; it's Fibersource HN brought to you by the good folks at Nestle' Health Science, which is the same company that makes Boost. So, remind me again why this $10 milkshake is better than me taking the food he normally eats and just throwing it in the Vitamix with a lot of water (or milk or chicken broth or bone broth) and putting it into his tube?
Two cases of these Fibersource HN shakes arrived via FedEx on Saturday. One of the home health nurses came by on Sunday, because, according to our insurance, who is covering the cost of the "food" at 100%, Randy needs to be supervised the first time he is "fed the food." In other words, we gotta jump through a hoop. Fine. It's not like I haven't accessed the tube; it's not like he's not "feeding" himself. I told him last week that I need him to feed himself, because, really, if the boys are left unsupervised for the hour it was taking Randy to pour what I was making into the tube, the house would fucking burn down. I left them alone for five minutes yesterday while they were eating, and somehow, the counter next to the sink, as well as most of the kitchen floor, and several large areas around the kitchen table were covered in water. COVERED. They even managed, somehow, to get food in the Lazy Susan cabinet. What the fuck? No rest for the weary.
The home visiting nurses have told him that it should take him about 10 minutes, and certainly no more than 20 minutes, to "feed himself" or, "pour your shake into your tube" as we are starting to say. "Feed himself" implies the man is going to eat by picking food up with his hands or a utensil and putting food in his mouth. My autism dictates that we call a spade a spade. So, the dude is pouring a shake in his tube. Be honest about it. It's not a "feeding" it's a "pouring." And we're moving on!
So, anyway, we're here. At the Cancer Center. He's getting fluids, and he's asleep. He needs to, I am sure of it. And I get it. Going through cancer is excruciating.
His schedule looks a little like this:
Monday 7:30 am radiation, 8:00 am fluids; typically done about 10:30, home by 11.
Tuesday 7:30 am radiation, 8:00 am radiation oncologist, 8:30 the nurses change the bandage on his PICC line and draw blood to send to the lab for prep for chemo tomorrow; typically done about 9, home by 9:30.
Wednesday 7:30 am radiation, 8:00 am medical oncologist, 8:30 am fluids and chemo; last week we rolled out of here about 1:30; home by 2 pm.
Thursday 7:30 am radiation, and that's it! Out by 8:00 am!
Friday 7:30 am radiation, 8:00 am fluids; typically done about 10:30 and home by 11.
The schedule is incredibly intense. They say it's one of the most intense forms of cancer treatment going. Of course it is.
Last week went pretty well, considering he had chemo on Wednesday, then he took a shower on Thursday, mostly by himself. It wasn't what I'd call "fun naked time" by any stretch of the means. The man has a one tube coming out of his body and another one coming out of his left arm. He's lost so much weight that he looks a little like a white Ethiopian child from the 80's. Live Aid anyone?
The problem, from my perspective, is that he's already got food issues (the man has an aversion to fruits and veggies; he tells me he can taste the chlorophyll in plants). So, when you take a person with limited food choices, and then whittle it down even further because he's going through cancer, and everything, according to him, tastes like shit...then he's not going to be able to eat orally. The G Tube helps, but he's got to put shakes in it every 2-1/2 to 3 hours. Three hours is pushing it. If he gets too empty, then the nausea starts again. And the dry heaves. And this morning he threw up because he was so nauseated.
And I get it. Because it's not like I haven't been there.
But the bottom line is, he's got to take control of this and stop letting it control him. He is the patient...
So.......
You've got to pour a shake in that fucking tube every two and a half hours. Set a timer, motherfucker, because I have to deal with boys, and I can't be keeping an eye on your shit. I got a whole bunch of other shit to deal with, including my own shit. So get your shit together. You have the ability. You have the drive, the inner motivation, to get through this. I know you do! I cannot do it for you. I can support you in many of the things you're going through, but I've been there and done that. You need to figure out...you need to force yourself...to get out of bed, to get up and be proactive as a patient, to participate in your food! Aren't we trying to teach that to Nathan? Jesus, we gotta spoonfeed him sometimes, and that motherfucker is 10! You've got to pour shakes in your tube, to take your meds, to set your timers as reminders for each of those things. Food is medicine, be it consumed orally or via the tube. And you need to do what you can to empower yourself to get through this.
I love you with all my heart. But GODDAMNIT, you need to get your ass in gear and start participating in your treatment. Stay ahead of the hunger and the pain and the anxiety. You did a really good job last week with it, especially the first few days after chemo, and I'm really proud of you for that!
The nurses and the doctors have told you, I've told you, your entire job is to live through this. It's not teaching. It's not worrying about your students. It's getting out of bed every hour. It's pouring a shake in your tube so you can sustain. It's TEMPORARY. And you need to use every fucking tool in your toolbox to get through each day. And if you're stoned all day long, who gives a shit? It's not like you're allowed to even drive anywhere! I'm carting your ass all over the Peninsula! And on Thursday, I'm taking the boys to the lake because the three of us need to get out there!
Bitches!
Get to it!
All my love always,
Rachel
You know I'd give you everything I've got
For a little peace of mind
I'm so tired, I'm feeling so upset
Although I'm so tired I'll have another cigarette
Lennon/McCartney
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