Christmas Reloaded: Thanks Liza

I've spent the better part of the last two hours thinking about Miss Liza's comment on my blog post from last night.  ::sigh::

In turn, that made me think about the post itself.  If you missed it, you can read it here.  This post won't make all that much sense if you don't...

My father always used to say that anger wasn't a valid emotion.  Why do I remember this?  Because every time I was "mad" about something he would say that I needed to dig a little deeper.  Mad wasn't valid.  It was just the veneer covering up something else.  Naturally.  More often than not, that something else was hurt feelings.  You could always dig a little deeper to get to the whys and wherefores, but that was usually the crux of the matter.  Funny (or not) how often we had that little conversation.  All depends upon your perspective, I suppose.

After so many years of H-Girl hurting my feelings I had built up immunity.  I went into this Christmas EXPECTING her to do it.  And she didn't.  In fact, she surprised me by being the opposite of what I expected.  I didn't expect C-Man to do it and he did and I got mad.  In fact, I got really mad.  It isn't that I love him more.  I don't.  I just don't have an immunity built up.  And the more you love people, the more you give them the power to hurt you.  No one can hurt you without your consent.

And it was like I said in the blog explaining what those gifts were: they were ME.  Many of those things were what I treasured most when I was their age.  And still do.  They are actually parts of ME.  And they were mocked, scorned, ridiculed, and laughed at like they were nothing.  Actually less than nothing.  So, yeah it hurt.

And Miss Liza might be right that one day C-Man might understand what those things meant to me.  But, right now he can't even keep up with where his cell phone is.  So, I don't hold much hope of his being able to actually find any of these items when the awareness sinks into his brain, if it ever does.  The books will likely be in a library, Goodwill, or the local landfill.  And all of the cartoons that I painstakingly cut out will definitely be lining a trash can.  And the quote that I so painstakingly wrote out in calligraphy... who knows where it will be?  However, I highly doubt C-Man's ability to be able to find it when "the light" comes on.

I made a judgment call here.  C-Man is 15. H-Girl is 14.  I was at a place where I didn't have much to give for Christmas but me, and that is what I did.  I was counting on them being mature enough to understand what they were being given.  I asked a bit more of C-Man.  He was older and had exhibited more maturity to date.  I made the wrong call.  So, maybe the fault lies with me.  The treasures were mine.  I am the adult.  I could have just said that there will be no gifts this year and made that call.  It wouldn't have made me the most popular, but there are all kinds of lessons.  They would have still gotten the stuff.  I would have just saved it for a time when they were equipped to appreciate it.  Of course, that would have denied H-Girl her opportunity to shine.  And she hasn't done that in a really long time.

Seems to me this is another round of Lessons.  Maybe we all had to take one for the team in order for H-Girl to shine on this one.





 image found on facebook

The Roads That Take You Home

I have been awake for over an hour. That means I have been tossing and turning since about 7:30am, unable to go back to sleep. Now, if you only knew me, you would understand how mindblowing that is. Of course, the beginning of this wakefulness was prompted by a full-blown migraine. However, once that settled down to something to bearable, it just became my thoughts keeping me from going back to sleep.

We are still on vacation. Over the weekend we arrived in the town I grew up in and graduated high school from, blah blah blah. The last time I was here was last May for my dad's funeral. It is so strange to come back here and NOT see him. Perhaps, it is more odd to know that I never will again.

A friend of mine from high school has a twelve year old son who is undergoing chemotheraphy for a brain tumor. They are in the third and final round. The tumor is shrinking and things are looking good. His son has remained upbeat throughout the entire experience. I think that is because his parents, family, and friends have provided a positive outlook, and he has embraced it. This really makes a difference in how someone does in this sort of situation. Kids are so resilient. The brain decides whether or not you get better, so whatever you tell them, that is what happens. Voila. Anyway, he is a brave and remarkable young man and doing so well.

In many respects, kids are like dogs. I mean that in the best of ways. My dog has responded so well to losing her leg to cancer. She was in pain for a few days and struggled. However, she was walking on the first day. A few days later, she was running. She hasn't slowed down since. She wipes out sometimes; she pivots because she forgets that isn't her strong suit, but immediately picks herself up and is off to the races again. I love that about her.

Here's the thing: kids and dogs don't second guess themselves. They just go with what is. It seems like my life would be so much easier if I could learn this lesson. And I freely admit that I am trying. However, I can't seem to help myself. I like having Plan A, Plan B, Plan C, etc. And all of that leads to a lot of second, third, and fourth guessing. I just don't want to be stuck with absolutely no ideas. The thing about this philosophy is that it leads you wandering down the same mental roads hoping you find something you missed the last time you were there.

The mental road taking up all my energy these days is my Schmidt's Syndrome Diagnosis, simply because autoimmune issues are so tricky. It has me on that What If path constantly. Based on the fact that I have other autoimmune issues, I probably did mess up the doctor's blood test the last time I took it by taking the Herbal Adrenal Supplement. Hence, the low results, but the surprising result of it not being autoimmune. So, we are retaking the test in a few months. However, even the doctor has no way of knowing how much time it takes for the Herbal Supplement's effects to leave my system. So, my test could still come back a false positive. If that is the case, I actually do have Addison's Disease. We just didn't wait long enough. The thing is this: the doctor and I both truly believe this is the case. Where the doctor and I part ways is right here: The only way he "knows" to treat Addison's Disease is internal hydro cortisone for the rest of your life, while I would say go back to the Herbal Adrenal Supplement because it is a cure. It actually flipped the antibodies, making them positive. It stopped them from attacking the adrenal gland. All autoimmune means is that your body doesn't know your own body and attacks it until it kills it. And Addison's Disease is literally a death sentence. All hydro cortisone does is slow down the process.

Like every other good thing I have ever done, I found the cure by accident.

Of course, that is IF I found the cure. Unless, I never had it. Unless the antibodies are just waiting to flip on me. You see, this is why it would be better to be a dog. They don't think of this kind of junk. In that case, my death sentence is just out there waiting for me. Or it's out there waiting for me to find the cure. Either way, it sounds very exhausting. At least, at 9:00am.

At 3:00pm, on normal days, I tell myself things like the point of all this health junk is that maybe on top of MY IDEA, I am meant to find natural cures for all of these autoimmune issues for the entire endocrine system. Why? Because that is the next place they are going to take me down if they haven't already. For instance, the vascular system is part of the endocrine system. And it is constriction of the vascular system that causes migraines. And I have had a constant migraine since 2003. Doesn't it make you think that maybe someone should test those antibodies to see if they are autoimmune? Maybe that's just me. But, one website I was on said that anyone with Schmidt's should have their endocrine system checked regularly. Your antibodies can turn on you at any time. That includes antibodies for organs like your kidneys, pancreas, etc. You sort of need those things to work and don't want your antibodies to start attacking them to the death.

Writing so much about health and health issues makes me think even more about my dad. He always felt like Don Quixote tilting at the windmill. He spent the last forty years of his life trying to get anyone to listen to him that natural supplements were the way to go. Prescriptions were band-aids at best. Ironically, he barely got my attention. It was so non-stop that some went in, but most went out. I was like, "Yes, dad, I am taking my vitamins. Prescriptions are bad. And be careful of doctors. They are not trustworthy. Got it."

He was right. Each time you see a doctor, be careful. You are entrusting them with the most precious thing you have: you. If you have an ongoing problem, and the doctor continues to write a Rx, you are getting paperclips and duct tape. That would be an unacceptable fix for your car. Don't allow it to happen to your body. A symptom is a wonderful thing; it means you have a problem and you need investigate until you find the SOURCE. A Rx simply masks the problem. So, dad, I was listening more than you thought. I got it.

It makes MY IDEA even more important. It really is your idea. You just didn't know it. It's your idea on a much bigger scale. Word of mouth taken to a whole new level. I am my father's daughter after all. Not only did I get all of your crappy DNA, I got your fighting spirit. That means I might come up with Plan Zs, but I will never GIVE UP. However, I will always miss you and it will always make me sad that you won't see this come to fruition. You would have loved it. And I would have loved sharing it with you.

I'm sure we'll go by the old house this week. I always stand outside on the sidewalk and imagine doing this, but I never do.

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

M is for Memories

*I read over my last blog and decided to tackle just one topic. All of you said to go and just spend quality time with my dad. Focus on the good stuff, i.e reminiscing over the good times. I was set because I had a plan. I got thrown for a loop when I saw my dad for the first time. He looked really sick. Grey. Thin. Frail. However, I bulked up my internal reserves and pushed through. I don't think I have shared this, but I have my father stuck in my brain at 45 years old. I know that it is unreasonable, so it is always a shock when I see him and he doesn't look 45. Since I am in my early 40s, this is particularly unrealistic, but I can't help it. Each time I see him, I go running to the mirror, because he is OLD, and that means that I am OLD, and it makes me look for signs of aging anywhere and everywhere. Eyes, eyebrows, frown lines, hair. Yeah, I am a girl. This time I got sucker punched and couldn't make the trip to the bathroom. I had to sit down. Anyway, I made it out to see dad every day but one. *It quickly became frustrating for both of us. The thing is that I don't think my father suffers from senile dementia. I don't think that that his memory issues are a result of the cancer. I think that adrenal episode that he went through back in 1978 did a lot of damage. He didn't get migraines. His symptoms are different than mine. But the whole thing is otherwise the same. Except for this: he was in a chronically stressful situation at work that finally brought him to his knees. It took him about a year to get over it by living in a non-stressful environment and taking a boatload of vitamins. I lived in a stressful situation for three years (clearly I have a harder head and didn't really understand what I was doing to my body and my recovery time) and five years later my adrenal gland is still barely hanging on. *Fast forward for my dad: that one year plus the year or so of chronic stress has wiped about forty years of his memories. How do I know this? Because all of this reminiscing that I was looking forward to in order to get me through this enormous heartbreak was denied me. Instead it became an exercise in frustration and irritation. I would say something like, "Dad, do you remember the time I learned to drive the stick shift car and I kept stalling it out in the driveway? It was hilarious. Even the neighbors came outside to watch the show." And he would say, "No. I don't remember that." And I would say, "You were the only one brave enough to come outside and get in the car with me. That was until I shook up your insides sufficiently that you couldn't stand it anymore. Remember now?" He now gets agitated. "No. Don't remember that. I drop it. So, I would pick up another one. And it was always the same. No. Don't remember. No. Don't remember. Finally, I asked him what he remembered. It was precious little. Not enough to converse about. *However, he seemed to remember a lot about his childhood. Well, that was a good thing because I had a bunch of old photo albums from his apartment that needed labeling. Well, that got old REAL fast. It didn't take long at all. He always recognized his father and brother and my Uncle Jerry. After a while, I got good at recognizing them, too. I was more interested in his grandfather, grandmother, uncles, and aunts. He didn't do so well there. And after about a day he was tired of that. Unfortunately there were three boxes of pictures. So, what I hoped would lead to lots of stories of his childhood was just another annoying project. He was frustrated because there were people he felt like he should know. And then there were people that when I found his dad's obit that he didn't know at all (like an uncle), he was super annoyed. Mostly it was really hard to know that my father forgot just about all of my childhood and young adulthood. *That being said, he remember just about every episode of the Dukes of Hazard. So, we watched TV. And then it occurred to me that was what we did most of my childhood. All of the vacations that I tried to get him to remember, the activities I was involved in, etc. Well, they just didn't take up the same amount of time as the time spent in front of the TV. My dad loves me. With his whole heart. I know that. And I love him. With my whole heart. But he will never really know me. And I will never really know him. He spent his whole life keeping the world at bay and he succeeded. *There is a lesson here. And I don't think we have to look too hard to find it. *If you are a friend of mine, keep telling me about our shared memories. *I don't want to forget you or what we have. This blog is becoming more and more important by the day. I don't want to forget my life. Even if I have to read it like I am reading about someone else. I figure the only plus side is that all of those people that make you have to scrape out your brain because they end up doing something mean in the present, and you can't quite shake them because you have ties to them. Well, you might forget them entirely. There is always a silver lining. I have been listening to the ACM Awards on and off. I did catch Sara Evans and her new song. I kinda think that it might be off of the Country Strong soundtrack. Don't quote me on that. I am going to look for a video. That song was pretty awesome and hits the spot for Inspirational Music Sunday. Maybe by next weekend, I will have the MTV part rolling, too.

I am back but look a lot like roadkill.

This is going to be another short one (I think). I am back home, but very tired. So much happened in the two weeks that I was gone. I suppose that the best thing was that I came to a place of acceptance about my dad and his cancer. It is still really hard for me to imagine this world without him in it, but we all leave this body sometime. And that is one true thing. For everyone.

I will post more details as I get them sorted out in my head. I also have some pictures that I will post. Though I have to say that it hurts my heart a bit to look at them. My dad was 6 feet tall. He says that he has lost a couple of inches. Despite that loss, 130 pounds just doesn't look good on him. He is sitting in the recliner and it just swallows him right up. With that weight loss, he looks my nanny (his mother), which is something I never saw before. She was always very thin and angular. Of course, he was always on the thin side. Now he is on the gaunt side and the resemblance is a bit uncanny. Or not. She was his mother, after all.

We also visited (briefly) our next door neighbors while I was growing up. I have dreamt recently frequently of my old house. The Miranda Lambert song, The House That Built Me, will often make me cry. I even considered knocking on their door and breaking song acapella. Yeah, kinda desperate, but I haven't been inside since my parents moved out while I was in college. When we drove by my jaw dropped. They resided the house. It isn't blue anymore. It is this awful beige color. It doesn't even look like our house. They tore down the barn that was in the back and built a blue monstrousity. These are the same people who bought the place from my folks. Not much turnover in that neighborhood. Anyway, they aren't very well liked according to my old neighbors. Given that info, I decided against the song. That and I might cry at the interior changes they've made. That wouldn't have been pretty. Given my stress levels already, more stress didn't seem to be the right call. However, we had a lovely visit with my former neighbor and her daughter just happened to be there with her husband and kids. I hadn't seen her in years. Excellent chance to catch up.

Anyway, I will give you more details next blog. And I will start reading tomorrow. Yah, that means no Thursday event again this week. However, things should be on track for next week. I have appreciated all of your support throughout this difficult time. You all are awesome.

Take a quick trip with me.

On the Crazy Train. I haven't forgotten about the Thursday post. It is just pushed to Friday. How shocking! Anyway, look for it tomorrow (sometime). My mom and I are planning on driving to Ohio on Sunday for the trip to see my dad, so there is a LOT going on here right now. However, I am trying to maintain some degree of normalcy. We will be there two weeks. That might mean that I miss my regular posting for the next two weeks. In fact, it is very likely. However, I know that you will understand. When I get back things will return, more or less, to business as usual. Thanks for your lovely comments and encouragement. Also, those prayers and well wishes mean tons. So, too much is never actually too much. Did that make sense? My brain is not working so great these days. Anyway, I am hoping that sorts itself out, too. Thanks again. You fine people are amazing!

This might not look like grief. It is.

There are certain truths that are becoming self evident to me. We know things theoretically, but we don't really know them until they happen to us. So, there is knowing and there is knowing. For instance, we all know that everyone dies eventually. All of my grandparents have passed. They all lived lived into their 80s. I wish that I could say that they all lived with their minds and bodies intact, but that would not be true. Funny how you often get one or the other, but not both. That was not a ha ha funny, btw. I even had a great grandparent live until I was in my 20s. By the time that each of them went, it was a blessing. They all had senile dementia and didn't know what was what. That is no way to live and I could tell it was frightening not knowing who anyone in their world was. They felt alone and frightened. Every now and then they got a good day and recognized family when they saw you. They might not be able to place exactly who you were in the scheme of things, but they knew you on some level. Those days were rare. When someone passes after years of that, we call it a blessing because it is a blessing for everyone. It has been painful all the way around.

On my dad's side, my aunt died of colon cancer that spread through her body and she was in a lot of pain. Her passing was a blessing simply because it was such a painful way to go. My father's mother had some senile dementia going on and her cancer, by the time they caught it was all through her body. However, they think it started in her colon. Yeah, I think I probably said this before.

For those of you who have been reading this here blog for a while might remember how shocked I was that my dad's memory has shorted out on him so much. This was a discovery that was made in April or so of last year when we went on a family vacation. We were telling stories and such, and my dad just didn't remember stuff. Huge chunks of his memory were just gone. It seemed to be completely random. Other stuff totally intact. If you want to picture his brain like a computer, just imagine a whole bunch of wires pulled out. Those wires represent memories. And they seemed to be pulled out at random. No rhyme. No reason. And no real way for anyone to know what he remembered and what he didn't. For instance, it never occurred to me that he forgot that his sister and mother died of colon cancer, and that he needed to be on top of that. Or that my brother wasn't aware of it and not paying better attention as the person who lives closest to my dad.

Anyway, let's get on with what is. The biopsy came back Stage 4. I think they cat scanned him to determine how far the cancer had spread. Though it could have been an MRI or PET scan. I am really not sure what scanning system they used. His gastric area is laden with cancer. It is all through his colon, into his intestines, and liver. There was a spot on his lung that might or might not be cancer. In any event, with Stage 4 cancer that has spread as much as his spread, they are giving him 4-9 months. It is amazing how great Medicare is when they know that they only have to take care of you for a limited time. They really monkey up everything and are happy to do so. Care with a smile.

Fortunately my brother and sister-in-law just redid their downstairs in anticipation of taking care of her parents. My brother went out Tuesday night to get my dad his hospital bed and table. Thank you Medicare. Hospice has a nurse who will come out twice a week to check on him and make sure he doing well. Help him with anything he needs and make sure he is getting the right amount of pain meds. In a terminal patient they do not worry about addiction. It all about making sure that the patient does not suffer. Hospice also will have an aide come out two days a week. I think that person is there primarily to help him with his hygienic needs. Showering. Shaving. Changing the sheets on his bed. That sort of thing. I will know more once it all gets into a groove. The doctor may come out periodically to check on him, too. The team meets once a month to discuss all of their patients in hospice care, so I imagine everyone tries to be "in the loop."

In about a week, my father will have the better, "permanent," colostomy bag that is easy to replace the bag and has snaps. Right now, it is the biggest thorn in his side. They have to use adhesive tape to keep it in place and it doesn't always hold real well. Blah blah blah. The other problem is that my dad feels gassy whenever he stands up. I think it might be because he has a tumor pressing on a nerve in his colon. They didn't remove any of the tumors and some were fairly sizable. So, every time he stands he feels the need to go to the bathroom, but he can't. It is an uncomfortable pressure. However, in terms of his pain, my brother says he is doing really well. Surprisingly well.

The other thing is that apparently this has been a problem for a long time. Every time he stood up, he felt this pressure, so he walked hunched over, etc. Anyway, he has pretty well lost all of his muscle tone and is down to 135 pounds. He is 6 feet tall. Yeah, everyone in our family is freaking wasting away! My brother is down to 150 and is just as tall as my dad. Of course, the difference is that he is working a manual labor job right now and he is solid muscle. I swear that he has the fastest metabolism in the world! *sigh*

Anyway, I talked to my brother about the best way to manage a visit and suggested that we stay in dad's apartment since he had a full house. He was going to let the apartment go at the end of this month, but was more than willing to pay one more month rent if we came up in March. His house is full to the brim! So, that is what we are doing. I moved all of my doctor's appts to this week. He went over and cleaned up over there this weekend. He is going to get a friend to help him move the "stinky" stuff out before we get there. And mom and I bringing up one inflatable bed to sleep on. She left another inflatable bed at my brother's for when she visits and he will bring that over. So we will each have our own bed and room. We will probably stay for two week or so.

And I am hoping that my brother and my dad talk again about the C-Staten vitamin therapy. One of the things that I hate the most about this whole thing is being so FAR from the situation. I feel like I have to input on anything. No control over anything. It is very frustrating. Perhaps most frustrating of all is that I would like to stay longer than two weeks, and I think that my brother and sister-in-law would be happier if I stayed a week. I could be wrong about that. However, it isn't up to them. Chances are reasonable that this is the last time I will see my dad alive, and I think that if I want to stay right up until March 31, they should encourage me to do so. If the roles were reversed, I would do that for them. But, hey, that's just me.

Cancer is a Thief.

This is going to be short because I don't have the strength to make it long.

My aunt died from colon cancer. I am pretty sure that my paternal grandmother's cancer started in her colon and spread from there. So, when I found out that my father voluntarily admitted himself to the hospital for gastro-intestinal issues, my red flags were up. He was supposed to have a colonoscopy a few months ago that went awry because that stuff that you drink kept him on the toilet for days. He literally couldn't make his appointment because he had the runs for days. No, he didn't reschedule. Sigh.

So, I made sure to relay all of this to my brother who lives close by so that they could get a handle on this, because I wanted to make sure that they checked his colon out thoroughly while he was there. Turns out that thoroughly wasn't even necessary. In order, to get him "unclogged" they had to do a coloscopy (or something like that) and, in short order, found a very large mass. It was the source of the problem. They sent a portion of it in for biopsy, drained the rest, and hooked him to the bag. You know the bag? The one that saves you those trips to the bathroom.

While we were all hoping for a benign result, apparently the doctor took one look at that mass and knew it was NOT benign. My brother called last night confirming that it is cancer. They have yet to get a stage number on it, but they are talking hospice care vs. let's beat this cancer by doing this, this, and this. So, I am preparing myself for a 4 and anything else will be a blessing. They are also using words like "make him comfortable." Oh, and the bag isn't coming off. For my father, that is reason alone to depart this earth. I have no doubt that once you can't do your business on your own, the "game" is pretty much over. All that is left is wrapping up your business and saying your good-byes.

And, so here we are again, back to the lies we tell ourselves. In this case, it is the lie about time. We seem to think that there is a surplus of time. There will always be more time. Or that we know everyone dies, including our parents, we just don't want it to be today. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Next month. Next year. Truth be told, no one wants anyone else to die before them because the worst thing is the being left behind. Can't we just all go together? No, of course not. And we don't really want that either. Can't we just all die by going to sleep and never waking up? Lovely thought. No. The clock seems to have run out when I wasn't looking. Or is winding down.



My father was not a perfect man. However, when I was going the marriage from hell I found out that a lot of people just really didn't have enough love in their hearts for me or my situation. Two people who did ~ unwaveringly ~ were my parents. Unconditional love. That is what parents do. Love is a verb. I know that when my father dies his spirit will live on, but that support he gives me here in the present when I need it now. Not many people love you unconditionally, in my experience, and my heart is breaking for the loss of this one who has been a rock for me.