What's a Henway?

I don't know why I chose this title. It's come up recently in a blog, and I sat and wondered who thought this before they realized the set-up. Lizzie and I were in a restaurant recently and she saw a black sticker with the letter F and the words "the president" underneath. I could tell she was working on it, and then said "who's F the president?" Before the words were completely out of her mouth she caught on, too late to call the words back. She was embarrassed. Life does that to you at times.

I've been thinking lately about how much I want to just get away. It happens every year this time when the kids are getting out of school. I miss summer vacation... and recess. Weeks and weeks to hang my toes from a porch swing and read, or go to the lake and swim sound like a plan to me. Corporate America isn't so forgiving. If I did it there would be hell to pay. I think I'm going to take a week in August when I turn 50; call it a golden break or something. I wonder how or why we all ever decided to give up summer vacation. It seems like something that we should have fought for when we were negotiating health plans and 401ks.

Pediatric Cardiology

I took Lizzie to her cardiologist this morning. She was being a brat about having to go there. It doesn't help that the average age of the patient in this clinic is around 5. She hates going there. She hates that there might be something wrong with her heart. Once again her QTc measured at 430, which is a very good thing. And they didn't find any other alarming wave action going on so for another year she is off the hook. She can participate in school physical activities, but she can't have any of the drugs that are on the long Arizona CERTS list. That's more of a pain for me and her doctor. She was happy that she isn't going to have a stress test this year, but they are going to order a holter monitor next year. She says that she's going to put it on the dog. That wouldn't be the weirdest thing I've ever heard done with a holter monitor. Cardiac Tampanade had a racey account of what she did while wearing her monitor, and I was shocked. I wonder at what age Lizzie will have to start seeing another cardiologist. I'm pretty sure she will like Dr. Kopelman, but when we were leaving she told me that she liked Dr. Campbell because his hands were always warm. She is a strange child.

Three Years

It was three years ago; I woke up and went to the Breast Health Center and was somewhat surprised that it was located in the Oncology Wing. I hadn't accepted at that moment that I was facing cancer. Walking in I felt as if my mother was with me, I don't know why. I understood why it was so hard for her to be going into the Oncology Unit in the hospital. I was supposed to be a work in for a diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound, but I was taken straight back for the mammogram in front of other women who had appointments. Then I scaresly had time to sit before I was called back for the ultrasound. I remember feeling panicked as the radiologist clicked and clicked. I didn't feel as if it was a hopeful sign. After getting dressed, I was led back to a small room with two recliners and a table. It was then that I knew I was in trouble. A doctor that I'd never seen came in and told me I had cancer. It must be an awful job to have to break that news to people you don't know. How can you have any idea of what to expect from them? I will never ever forget his words. "You have several masses in your left breast and axillary and I'm 90% sure that it is cancer. I'm just as sure that it must be spreading to other places in your body." It was just after 9 am and I had cancer. I felt the presence of God there in that room and sat in wonder that the doctor and the nurse who were there seemed oblivious to Him. How could something that strong and powerful go un-noticed? I spent the rest of the day getting biopsies, the record says there were 20 of them. I don't remember that many. It was late when I left, but too early to be getting home from work. I sat in a parking lot and cried because I didn't know how to tell my 11 year old daughter, or my sons. I didn't want anyone to know. The radio was on and I heard that the brother of one of my co-workers had committed suiside that day. John and I share an awful anniversary. In two weeks time I'd had every test and a port-a-cath and started chemo therapy. My son told me that I was awake and alert for the first one, but I don't remember any of it after the oncology nurses came into the room. I wonder if it was the drugs or if I just blocked it. I don't know.

That was three years ago. I've seen diagrams that chart the survival rates of different cancers, but I've never seen one for breast cancer. I've heard alternately that if you survive three years you can expect to not face cancer again, and that it doesn't work that way for breast cancer. I've also heard that the seven year survival rate is worse than the five year. I've never asked my oncologist, he's never offered the information. I've thought about it many times and always when I'm in the office I decide not to. It almost seems like an unspoken pact; I won't ask, he won't tell.

Three years. I've lived three years longer than I thought I would. If the media is right and my future is a grim as they say then at least there is this much that the doctors can pride themselves on. I had three more years.

It's a God thing

Being a single mom of three kids is hard enough on the finances, add to it all the medical bills from heart disease and cancer and, well...finances are an issue. So when the front axil on my car broke last November there wasn't any money to get it repaired. The car is sitting in my drive way. I carpool to work, and my brother lives with me and he has a car. It wasn't as much of an issue as it could have been. But still, it has been trying at times. I have to take public transportation to most of my doctor appointments, and Marta isn't as smarta as they say they are. One of my doctors is a little less than a mile away from where I work and it is actually easier to walk than to wait for the bus. Even with all this, the real need to have a car continues to rear it's ugly head, but the money just wasn't there. My son was talking to his friend who'd just given a car to her priest. He was probably complaining about having to drive his mother and his sister around all the time, but that's ok, it's deserved. She mentioned to the priest that there is a single mom cancer/heart patient struggling to get by without a car...and the priest has now given me the car he had been driving. It has some minor body damage. I take it the priest wasn't the best parker in the world. And the windshield needs to be replaced. The speedometer isn't working all the time and I have been warned against parking it on hills without having a full tank. But then another of my son's friends, who is a mechanic and was listening to the conversation has decided to take it on himself to fix the problems with this car. I tell you it's a God thing. I'm not even Catholic. Why should they care? But God does care and He provides for me when I need it.

April Fools

There was a  time when it was considered great fun at my house.  We planned our tricks to get the maximum effect.  You had to keep in mind that everyone else was planning too so they would naturally be thinking of the day.  It couldn't be too obvious.  It worked better to do something that would come at an unconcious moment.  "Wow! Look at that house falling out of the sky!" wouldn't do, unless of course, there actually was a house falling out of the sky, and then the next moment was a good one to spring your trick.  The best one I did was to wake the boys up on a Saturday 4/1 and have them dressed and ready and waiting on the school bus.  They didn't get the trick until they saw their friends riding by on bikes and definately not going to school.  Yesterday there were no tricks at my house.  Lizzie stayed at Tim's the night before and I went to church alone.  I wonder if anyone will even want to die Easter eggs next week. It seems the traditions are slipping away.  No longer needed because we are all too busy for them.  I'll make a basket, and if no one is around for it, I'll take it to church and they can use it on the coffee table.  This is not how I imagined growing old.