I started December focused on timing. At 12:00 AM EST on December 1st I submitted an application for a $50,000 Pepsi Refresh grant for Waiting-Place. It had to be done on the first day of the month, and it had to be one of the first 1,000 which were received in just eight minutes. As Alanis Morisette sings in my head, I tell you that now we can only wait (Isn't it ironic, don't you think?). We will find out on January 1st if it was accepted and up for voting. Keep an eye on Facebook & the blog! We will be begging you, BEGGING you, to vote a lot and frequently to get us into the top ten to win. It will get us such an awesome start, but it is a total long shot. We are just forming. Really, I feel like I threw a Hail Mary pass on our very first play.
This time of year I think about my mom. A lot. This project has not distracted from that one bit. I will tell you that my mom made awesome fudge at Christmas and her idea of breakfast was Diet Pepsi and a Snickers. When I submitted that application, I was wrapped up in her robe and as it processed, a Diet Pepsi can spun around on my computer screen! I truly hope Waiting-Place can do as much for people like my mom as it will for those like Mr. 1inamillion.
It's proving easier for people to understand the concept of sponsoring time in chemotherapy for a cancer patient. That takes hours, if not days, in a treatment facility. It's harder to grasp the value in an appointment for a patient with something else such as Parkinson's disease. She might just see the neurologist for a few minutes. True. An athlete completes a 5K in about the same time. Much like running a race, there's a lot of effort that comes before and probably a bit of pain after.
My mom taught me that timing is everything. It's the secret to making the family fudge and was crucial with her Parkinson's. She would struggle to control her limbs, take her pills and still struggle while she waited for the medication to kick in. Once it did, she could function for a while until it approached time to take her medicine again. It always wore off before then, offering more times throughout the day were she battled to stay still, to keep her balance, and later, to move. Anywhere she needed to go and anything she needed to do had to be done in that sweet spot, when medication was working but not in danger of wearing off. It took some practice to learn to maneuver with that body, to determine how long she could last, to time her day, to determine what took too much effort and what was worth the difficulty. Making a doctor's appointment that might not be according to her own schedule? It meant shifting what she had down to a precision. Maybe stretching it a bit further beforehand or pushing herself a little harder.
Moving from house to car, car to office building, lobby to third floor. Receptionist to lab, lab to exam room, nurse to resident, resident to doctor. Exam room back to receptionist to elevator to lobby to car to pharmacy and back home. By the end, limbs are certainly shaking, feet cramping. A little like an athlete after a hard race. Exhausted and spent, but no sense of accomplishment. No t-shirt for the effort.
When you've seen it first hand, it's easy to recognize value in that time and see efforts worth sponsoring to benefit the cause. My focus hasn't been on Christmas cookies or family fudge yet, but on research foundations, non profit status and grant applications. Even still, my mom has been very much on my mind.
Joys
Our Christmas tree is up! This might seem like a small thing to most, but those of you with whom we attend church, you know it is a JOY in our house. Setting up and decorating our tree is not without challenges but it is still a simple accomplishment. The pre-lit tree had very few lights that worked. I did not set about the task of fixing. Oh no, I just strung around more lights as though the dead bulbs are not even there. And obviously I left the tree leaning, as it does every year. Simple. But as Thing 1 shared in church on Sunday, it was a JOY that we were setting up the tree that day.It's not a joy because he is aware of Christians around the world that may be unable to freely celebrate Christmas. Nor does he announce it as a joy because he thinks about the many families in our own neck of the world that can't afford a Christmas tree. You see, a couple of months ago our worship leader said to come every Sunday with a joy to share and our young Alex P. Keaton does what he's told. He has a JOY to share every Sunday. He announces joys from grade school and Boy Scouts and the whole congregation was counting down with us to Grandma's arrival for Thanksgiving. If you give it deep thought, setting up our tree together as a family is a big joyous occasion. We are free to worship, we can afford a tree and gifts to place beneath it and daddy is home to point out the gaps in need of ornaments. However, Thing 1 just enjoys the Christmas tree and acknowledges the joy.
Normally I just smile and shake my head a bit when he shoots his hand up in service with a JOY to announce, but sharing the simple joy of the tree made me think back to my favorite picture of the kids and honestly I was lost in thought for awhile. I refer to this favorite as our 'lemonade picture'. 
They are three and five years old in this picture and practicing fishing in the backyard. What you don't see here are the lemons. Well, aside from the mower that is their dock. It doesn't run. The picture doesn't show that the last time that lemon was used was eight months prior when Mr. 1inamillion fell off and injured his shoulder. The injury that led to the discovery of a sarcoma on his shoulder and another in his lung. You don't know that their father had been through four months of chemotherapy and four surgeries. The day the picture was taken we had hoped he would feel well enough to go fishing, but he didn't. We all were disappointed, but they made the best of it by practicing their casts in the backyard. They giggled and had a ball. With Mr. 1inamillion resting in the living room, I watched them through the kitchen window and thought...at the very least, our kids will learn to make darn good lemonade.
Mr. 1inamillion is in St Louis for chemotherapy tomorrow and will eat great Italian food on the Hill tonight. We will have fun here with basketball practice and a third grade performance of The Nutcracker Suite, maybe followed by ice cream. We are definitely learning to be thankful for the simple gifts and make the best of every situation. There's a lot of lemons, but there is JOY in setting up Christmas trees and throwing a line from impromptu fishing docks. We thank God for that.
Pink Reindeer ?
You know Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Vixen.
Comet, Cupid, Donder and Blitzen.
But have you met,
the most glitzy reindeer yet?
Comet, Cupid, Donder and Blitzen.
But have you met,
the most glitzy reindeer yet?
It's Sparkles, the breast cancer awareness reindeer!
Because nothing says Christmas like a pink reindeer.Except maybe a pink reindeer in a banana costume.
Or Sparkles, decked out in camo? 
Oh, so none of that screams Merry Christmas to you, either?
If you know me at all or read my first blog post, you know I'm not a fan of pink. I hate the color and as I've confessed, the constant presence of breast cancer awareness merchandise irritates me. I'm very aware of cancer. I don't need to be made aware when I'm buying groceries. At that moment I would, however, appreciate a reminder to pick up bread and lunch meat. We're already good on the cancer thing, thank you.
Now Christmas decorations? About breast cancer awareness? Aren't we missing the point...about CHRISTmas? Shouldn't we focus our decorating on raising awareness of the birth of Jesus Christ? Maybe I'm bitter because so little is done to find a cure for orphan cancers, or maybe my sister just completely overdid my childhood room with pink, but this reindeer got me worked up. A bit.
I want to be able to look at Christmas lights and focus on the joy of the holidays. Not the challenges that face us every other day of the year. I want to celebrate the Savior that came to give rest to those who are weary and burdened. I don't want to be reminded of sickness and death in pretty pink but of the One who came to conquer death so that we all may live in eternal glory. Sins forgiven. The Son of God who gave sight to the blind, who made the lame walk.
...so I dressed my neighbor's reindeer as a banana.
My bonus daughter asked if I was worried that some might think we're giving the middle finger to breast cancer. Hmm. Shouldn't we all want to give the middle finger to breast cancer? and prostate cancer, lung cancer or sarcomas that attack random connective tissue? Yes! Let's give it all the middle finger. Not commercialize it and wrap it in pretty ribbon.
And then let's move on down the block, sing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" and "Joy to the World" to others in the neighborhood, drink hot chocolate and praise God that he sent us the sweet baby Jesus so that we can be forgiven for giving the middle finger. And tormenting a little girl's pink reindeer.
Patience
I was raised to be patient. I was taught a song as a child that my children and their cousins are all learning:
I was given a love of reading. My mom was an avid reader. I remember when we would camp...the success of vacation could be determined by the number of fish caught by my dad and brother, as well as the number of books I read. My father is also a reader. We pass books back and forth and have a frequent exchange that goes something like this:
Have patience, have patience
Don't be in such a hurry.
When you get impatient,
You only start to worry.
Remember, remember
That God is patient too,
So think of all the times
when others
have to wait on you!
I was given a love of reading. My mom was an avid reader. I remember when we would camp...the success of vacation could be determined by the number of fish caught by my dad and brother, as well as the number of books I read. My father is also a reader. We pass books back and forth and have a frequent exchange that goes something like this:
Me: "Dad, can you take Mr. 1inamillion to chemo on Thursday?"
Dad: "I don't see why not. I just got a new book!"
My dad and I both can handle hours in any room by escaping it into the pages of a book. I used to knit, too. I made countless scarves in countless waiting rooms until carpal tunnel shut me down. Now I stick to the reading. Stop me at any time and there is likely at least one book or magazine in my purse. Maybe a snack or two. Possibly even a bottle of water. If I happen to be without a book, I've got a Blackberry to surf. Yep, I'm a champ at waiting. Usually.
Dane and the kids got me a gift card for a pedicure for Mother's Day. I was led back to a 'relaxation room' to wait. and wait. I sat staring out a large window overlooking a little pond with a path around it. That would be a nice little path to walk or run. People sat along the path eating ice cream from a parlor next door. I could get ice cream after I ran. I paced the room a bit looking around. Shifted amongst the comfy chairs. How long have I been here waiting? When I could be running? Or eating ice cream? 30 minutes. A half hour waiting when I don't HAVE to be here! Don't these people realize how much time I spend in waiting rooms just waiting? If they did, they didn't care. I left without the pedi and without my championship in waiting.
Dane and the kids got me a gift card for a pedicure for Mother's Day. I was led back to a 'relaxation room' to wait. and wait. I sat staring out a large window overlooking a little pond with a path around it. That would be a nice little path to walk or run. People sat along the path eating ice cream from a parlor next door. I could get ice cream after I ran. I paced the room a bit looking around. Shifted amongst the comfy chairs. How long have I been here waiting? When I could be running? Or eating ice cream? 30 minutes. A half hour waiting when I don't HAVE to be here! Don't these people realize how much time I spend in waiting rooms just waiting? If they did, they didn't care. I left without the pedi and without my championship in waiting.
We have spent countless hours in waiting rooms. Most of our waiting is for the oncologist here in Wichita. He runs notoriously late. We've spent a lot of time sitting in a little room contemplating how we should fire him for his tardiness. Mr. 1inamillion and I spent one afternoon sitting in a tiny exam room counting up the time we had wasted just waiting for him alone and talking about what we could have been doing with that time instead. Not in treatment, not in CT scans or lab, not meeting with or waiting for any doctor but him. It exceeded 24 hours. An entire day! That was close to two years ago. I try not to think about the math anymore.
While I sing to those who wait on me, the words of Dr. Seuss run through my head as we arrive at doctors' offices. Of all the Places You'll Go he warned us about, the most useless place is the The Waiting Place...for people just waiting. Medical buildings are full of waiting rooms, useless places on every floor with people just waiting. For lab tests, for lab results, for doctors...Everyone is just waiting. For IV drugs to drip, for radiation to pass, for more doctors, for more tests, Everyone is just waiting.
Most of Mr. 1inmillion's energy is spent in a Waiting Place. It's just wasted there and that is so frustrating for him. Even with good books, the routine has been wearing thin on me as well. It's gotten me thinking. What if the good doctor is wrong? What if The Waiting Place doesn't have to be useless?
What if Dane's time spent waiting meant progress towards a cure for soft tissue sarcoma? What if every hour spent waiting on Dr. McTardy to find his way to the exam room or waiting for the IV bag to finally empty equaled research dollars? What if the man sitting next to Mr. 1inamillion was also raising money for his cure? And one floor down, the woman waiting for her neurologist was also making progress towards a cure for her Parkinson's? And in a waiting room across town, money was being raised to fight lupus?
We sponsor miles for runners with a cause, surely we can sponsor patients being, well, patient. Those that want and need a cure probably aren't running. They're not swimming, they're not shooting hoops, jumping rope or cycling for miles. They might like to be, but their energy is spent elsewhere. Probably in a tiny room with a bunch of others unable to do anything else but be patient, too.
We are called upon to "be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, and faithful in prayer" (Romans 12:12). To be patient does not simply mean to bear delay without complaint or anger. It also means to quietly and steadily persevere. Not just a bunch of 'suck it up and wait', but progress steadily inching forward in the Waiting-Place. That's not useless. And it makes me joyful in hope.
There's a lot to be done to build the Waiting-Place. So far I have been overwhelmed by the reaction from those with whom I've shared the idea, but there's still funding to be found and cyber bricks to be laid. Will you pray for this project? And if you happen to see me pacing, climbing the walls of a relaxation room, or hyperventilating under the new weight of this project, feel free to sing me a song. Give the lyrics up top a shot. It worked for my mom.
The Village
It is that time of year that we count through our blessings and think about those things for which we are truly thankful. It's a big, big list for me but I want to focus this blog entry on those that enable me to do all the things I do and to be all the places I need to be. At the same exact time.
You've heard the expression 'it takes a village to raise a child'? It's true for us. At least until they've mastered human cloning. And time travel. We traveled last week for Mr. 1inamillion's appointments and treatment in St. Louis and I spent the few days before doing what I now refer to as 'deploying the village'.
You've heard the expression 'it takes a village to raise a child'? It's true for us. At least until they've mastered human cloning. And time travel. We traveled last week for Mr. 1inamillion's appointments and treatment in St. Louis and I spent the few days before doing what I now refer to as 'deploying the village'.
- Arrange room & board with my aunt and uncle in Olathe. They are close enough to half way along the trip and staying the first night there allows me to miss just two days of work instead of three. It is also so wonderful to spend time with them. I miss my mom just a bit less.
- Arrange room & board with my bonus kids in St. Louis. Mr. 1inamillion of course did this task as my bonus kid is his daughter (who is beyond a bonus, I adore her). She and her husband live in a very cute brown stone apartment just ten minutes from Siteman Cancer Center.
- Speak with the half neighbors about a ride to scouts for Thing 1. (The half neighbors live next door to my dad. The kids somehow determined this made them their half neighbors and have since referred to them as such.)
- Line up lunch dates for Things 1 and 2. Wednesday was the Thanksgiving lunch at their schools and the kids could invite their parents to join them. Oh my guilt. Gabe called me from the office on the morning they were to turn in their number of guests. I was driving to an appointment in Wichita, telling him mommy and daddy will be in St. Louis that day and could hear the disappointment rising in his little body through the speakers of the car. I asked who he would like to take our place. He said Grandpa but still sounding wounded, I fast and dangerously suggested our pastor and his wife both of whom Gabe thinks are cool. He was excited with that idea. Very risky on my part since I hadn't spoken with them and if they weren't able to go it would be double disappointment. I hung up, prayed and dialed right away. Thankfully they were delighted with the invitation and able to attend. phew what a relief. I was more cautious with arranging a stand in for Thing 2's lunch and asked before I spoke. Lucy's lunch date was one of my mom's dearest friends who babysat Lucy once a week before she began kindergarten. She, too was honored by the invite and an exciting stand in that overshadowed our absence. Hallelujah!
- Speak with wonderfully kind neighbor who walks the dogs while we're gone. A fellow dog lover, she understands Brit's need for exercise and doesn't see her as dangerous and vicious at all. I am so grateful for her because my dad adamantly draws the line at walking the four legged treadmill.
- Review the week's schedule with Dad. Lucy's basketball, Gabe's scouts, Dane's appointment schedule, etc. He more than anyone makes up for the lack of cloning. He stays with the kids and animals while we are gone, maintaining for them their 'normal' as much as possible. He takes Mr. 1inamillion to his local appointments as much as we need him to, minimizing my absence from work.
Yep, I am thankful for the village. Gratitude beyond words for those with whom the Lord has blessed us.
Gabe's Book Review
Thing 1 wants a blog. He's too young for a blog. Blogger even says so. As a compromise, he will be a guest writer here offering book reviews. Is it a sneaky attempt at getting him to read more? It would be except 1. He loves to read and 2. I am not at all shy about saying 'Ha! Now you'll have to read and write a little book report!'
Captain Underpants is where two boys get a hypnotizing ring and hypnotize the principal and he turns into captain underpants. I love the series because it has flip-o-rama and it is really funny. Flip-o-rama is pages with different pictures and it makes animated actions when you flip the pages.
There are eight books in the Captain Underpants series. In the first book they beat this guy that is really small and is in a diaper but is an evil genius. Captain Underpants and the Attack of the Talking Toilets is book number two and it is my favorite. I give it 200 out of 200 stars.
Are you questioning the appropriateness of his book selection? I had a professor who told us once that he and his wife fought about their kids' reading choices. He let them read as many comic books as they wanted and she thought those were a bad choice. Their daughter became a lawyer and professor and their son a successful business owner. So...bring on the talking toilets and principals in underpants!
Captain Underpants is where two boys get a hypnotizing ring and hypnotize the principal and he turns into captain underpants. I love the series because it has flip-o-rama and it is really funny. Flip-o-rama is pages with different pictures and it makes animated actions when you flip the pages.
There are eight books in the Captain Underpants series. In the first book they beat this guy that is really small and is in a diaper but is an evil genius. Captain Underpants and the Attack of the Talking Toilets is book number two and it is my favorite. I give it 200 out of 200 stars.
Are you questioning the appropriateness of his book selection? I had a professor who told us once that he and his wife fought about their kids' reading choices. He let them read as many comic books as they wanted and she thought those were a bad choice. Their daughter became a lawyer and professor and their son a successful business owner. So...bring on the talking toilets and principals in underpants!
Plan F (I think)
We have a bumper sticker on our SUV that says "Life is all about how you handle plan B." I love it. It suits us, although our 'plans' are inching down the alphabet and I've pretty much lost track of how far. Yesterday we set sights on yet another. Plan F, maybe?
We traveled this week to St. Louis for Mr. 1inamillion's CT scan and appointment. I don't spend time wondering about what the results will be, I simply pray, hope and focus on the road ahead. Dane spends a lot of time wondering, and he usually knows what the results will be. Just as he suspected, yesterday wasn't good news. There was a bit of growth and a new lesion on his right lung. It all is still very small and still in the same region. So it's not good news but it's not horrific, either. It just boils down to a new plan.
We spent close to three hours in a tiny patient exam room hashing out the next course of treatment. There was a clinical trial that the doctor attempted to get him in, but it required him to be 'unblinded' from the previous study in which he participated. The last clinical trial was a double-blind study and we believe he was in the placebo group, but can't confirm it. Much of our time was spent waiting while the doctor fought it out with the drug company. He lost and without that confirmation, Dane's ineligible to participate. We determined he would go on a established chemo drug, dacarbazine. An oldie but a goodie for sarcoma patients. Good being defined by a 40% response rate. Not quite a coin toss but far better than my odds at the slots.
Mr. 1inamillion will be part of a study at Siteman that focuses on PET scan monitoring in conjunction with dacarbazine. (PET scans look at how the tumors process glucose, monitoring the behavior of the lesions while a CT scan really just measures size and shape.) Participation in the study means driving the eight hours to St. Louis every three weeks for the chemo treatment and getting the scan on every third cycle. It could be done in Wichita because it is a standard regimen but participating in the study requires treatment be done there. It's a long drive, and I imagine it will be much longer for him post treatment.
You might wonder, why bother? It's in the name. He's a rare breed. If he's not willing to offer himself to teach them, when will they learn? When will there be progress and when will they find his cure? He's one in a million. He has to be the one to say, 'Yes! I'll do whatever it takes to help you find my cure.' All I have to do is coordinate the plan, pray, hope and drive.
We traveled this week to St. Louis for Mr. 1inamillion's CT scan and appointment. I don't spend time wondering about what the results will be, I simply pray, hope and focus on the road ahead. Dane spends a lot of time wondering, and he usually knows what the results will be. Just as he suspected, yesterday wasn't good news. There was a bit of growth and a new lesion on his right lung. It all is still very small and still in the same region. So it's not good news but it's not horrific, either. It just boils down to a new plan.
We spent close to three hours in a tiny patient exam room hashing out the next course of treatment. There was a clinical trial that the doctor attempted to get him in, but it required him to be 'unblinded' from the previous study in which he participated. The last clinical trial was a double-blind study and we believe he was in the placebo group, but can't confirm it. Much of our time was spent waiting while the doctor fought it out with the drug company. He lost and without that confirmation, Dane's ineligible to participate. We determined he would go on a established chemo drug, dacarbazine. An oldie but a goodie for sarcoma patients. Good being defined by a 40% response rate. Not quite a coin toss but far better than my odds at the slots.
Mr. 1inamillion will be part of a study at Siteman that focuses on PET scan monitoring in conjunction with dacarbazine. (PET scans look at how the tumors process glucose, monitoring the behavior of the lesions while a CT scan really just measures size and shape.) Participation in the study means driving the eight hours to St. Louis every three weeks for the chemo treatment and getting the scan on every third cycle. It could be done in Wichita because it is a standard regimen but participating in the study requires treatment be done there. It's a long drive, and I imagine it will be much longer for him post treatment.
You might wonder, why bother? It's in the name. He's a rare breed. If he's not willing to offer himself to teach them, when will they learn? When will there be progress and when will they find his cure? He's one in a million. He has to be the one to say, 'Yes! I'll do whatever it takes to help you find my cure.' All I have to do is coordinate the plan, pray, hope and drive.
Our Awesome Thing 1
Thing 1 is a pretty awesome kid. He is curious, has a remarkable memory and just soaks in so much.
Last year he watched an Arthur show in which they did a bicycle race to help their lunch lady who had cancer. It inspired him to do something for his dad. We talked about how cool it would be to help a lot of people with cancer in addition to daddy. Thing
1 went to his principal and asked to do a bear drive for Victory in the Valley. They went all out. Every class made posters to put up throughout the school and town. 267 Victory bears were collected to be given to cancer patients in Wichita on their first day of treatment. That was a whole lot of bears for our little town and it was amazing to watch him learn how easily he can make a difference and realize the satisfaction of it.
I worried about leaving that support and encouragement of their school in Douglass. But Gabe really is pretty awesome and has already started collecting bears with his new school.
Over the last few months Thing 1 has determined that he really likes to attend our contemporary church service in lieu of the Sunday school class with his age group. He's too cool to sit with me and prefers to sit with the teenagers in the praise band. He actually pays pretty close attention to the sermon and will talk about it with us throughout the week, so I let him (sorry, teenagers). He asked to be baptized and join the church. Note that he not only asked me, but he went right up to the pastor last week and asked him. He's eight years old. He is eight years old and already making this decision for himself.
This morning, he went up on stage and stated the church vision statement: Inviting all to experience the life transforming love of Jesus Christ. It's been the focus of sermons in recent weeks and we've been challenged to memorize it. (He had to tell it to me twice as I typed it just now, and was a bit annoyed that I needed the second reiteration.) He walked up on stage with his messy hair, recited it perfectly into our pastor's microphone and I thought, Dear Lord. Please don't let me ruin him.
Later in the service, there was the opportunity to go forward for prayer at the alter. He did it. I risked his cool reputation and sat beside him afterwards. I put my arm around him, put my head to his and prayed. and cried. Lord, Thank you for trusting me with this awesome kid. Help me to raise him to be the man you want him to be. Please don't let us screw this up.
As I wrap this up, Thing 1 and Thing 2 are in trouble with Mr. 1inamillion for playing with the garage opener. Now they are fighting and blaming one another for ruining Halloween. At least this time no one was riding the garage door. That's improvement. He is just eight years old. Providing his younger sister doesn't kill him today, he's got a lot of years ahead to learn from his choices and still be awesome. (As long as we don't ruin him.)
Last year he watched an Arthur show in which they did a bicycle race to help their lunch lady who had cancer. It inspired him to do something for his dad. We talked about how cool it would be to help a lot of people with cancer in addition to daddy. Thing
1 went to his principal and asked to do a bear drive for Victory in the Valley. They went all out. Every class made posters to put up throughout the school and town. 267 Victory bears were collected to be given to cancer patients in Wichita on their first day of treatment. That was a whole lot of bears for our little town and it was amazing to watch him learn how easily he can make a difference and realize the satisfaction of it.I worried about leaving that support and encouragement of their school in Douglass. But Gabe really is pretty awesome and has already started collecting bears with his new school.
Over the last few months Thing 1 has determined that he really likes to attend our contemporary church service in lieu of the Sunday school class with his age group. He's too cool to sit with me and prefers to sit with the teenagers in the praise band. He actually pays pretty close attention to the sermon and will talk about it with us throughout the week, so I let him (sorry, teenagers). He asked to be baptized and join the church. Note that he not only asked me, but he went right up to the pastor last week and asked him. He's eight years old. He is eight years old and already making this decision for himself.
This morning, he went up on stage and stated the church vision statement: Inviting all to experience the life transforming love of Jesus Christ. It's been the focus of sermons in recent weeks and we've been challenged to memorize it. (He had to tell it to me twice as I typed it just now, and was a bit annoyed that I needed the second reiteration.) He walked up on stage with his messy hair, recited it perfectly into our pastor's microphone and I thought, Dear Lord. Please don't let me ruin him.
Later in the service, there was the opportunity to go forward for prayer at the alter. He did it. I risked his cool reputation and sat beside him afterwards. I put my arm around him, put my head to his and prayed. and cried. Lord, Thank you for trusting me with this awesome kid. Help me to raise him to be the man you want him to be. Please don't let us screw this up.
As I wrap this up, Thing 1 and Thing 2 are in trouble with Mr. 1inamillion for playing with the garage opener. Now they are fighting and blaming one another for ruining Halloween. At least this time no one was riding the garage door. That's improvement. He is just eight years old. Providing his younger sister doesn't kill him today, he's got a lot of years ahead to learn from his choices and still be awesome. (As long as we don't ruin him.)
A letter to the Dog Whisperer
Dear Mr. Millan,
On a recent episode of your show, you stated that 'we don't always get the dog we want but we do get the dog that we need'.
I enjoy your show quite a bit and am fascinated by the success of your techniques. Your ability to convince Howie Mandell (of all people) to handle a dog with calm confidence was impressive, as was your ability to stop the dog Jodi from eating poop by redirecting her with bananas. I am, however, writing to regretfully inform you that your above statement is wrong.
I am a working mother of two, wife of a cancer patient and leader of our pack that includes a chihuahua mix up, a boxer and a couple of cats. I am growing rather confident in the idea that I don't need the boxer. She brings a lot of trouble, which is something that I am perfectly capable of getting into myself. She Houdini's her way out of any containment. She's squeezed out of a crate, and regularly jumps the fence. She's cost me a large vet bill for quarantine and time plus fees in court after allegedly biting a pedestrian. Not needed. I now must pay a $100 annual dangerous dog license and additional insurance to keep her, as well as house her in a 10x10x6 kennel. Except she has already managed to pull the fencing up and escape that, too.
You might think that maybe I needed the exercise I received last night as I ran around the block in an effort to find her. I used to think I did need her as my personal trainer. Considering my current shin splints that I can't shake, however, I really need to be working out on the elliptical and catching up on my DVR list. Maybe you have an episode on fence jumping that awaits me? If not, would you please come to Kansas and film one? Really, I have yet to see you leave the sunny west coast.
If you prefer to focus on poop eaters in California and are unwilling to travel to the Midwest, well, I suppose I don't blame you. Can you at least find one with a fetish for cat litter boxes that you can rehabilitate? That's another quirk of this dog I don't need.
Kind Regards,
Mrs. 1inamillion
On a recent episode of your show, you stated that 'we don't always get the dog we want but we do get the dog that we need'.
I enjoy your show quite a bit and am fascinated by the success of your techniques. Your ability to convince Howie Mandell (of all people) to handle a dog with calm confidence was impressive, as was your ability to stop the dog Jodi from eating poop by redirecting her with bananas. I am, however, writing to regretfully inform you that your above statement is wrong.
I am a working mother of two, wife of a cancer patient and leader of our pack that includes a chihuahua mix up, a boxer and a couple of cats. I am growing rather confident in the idea that I don't need the boxer. She brings a lot of trouble, which is something that I am perfectly capable of getting into myself. She Houdini's her way out of any containment. She's squeezed out of a crate, and regularly jumps the fence. She's cost me a large vet bill for quarantine and time plus fees in court after allegedly biting a pedestrian. Not needed. I now must pay a $100 annual dangerous dog license and additional insurance to keep her, as well as house her in a 10x10x6 kennel. Except she has already managed to pull the fencing up and escape that, too.
You might think that maybe I needed the exercise I received last night as I ran around the block in an effort to find her. I used to think I did need her as my personal trainer. Considering my current shin splints that I can't shake, however, I really need to be working out on the elliptical and catching up on my DVR list. Maybe you have an episode on fence jumping that awaits me? If not, would you please come to Kansas and film one? Really, I have yet to see you leave the sunny west coast.
If you prefer to focus on poop eaters in California and are unwilling to travel to the Midwest, well, I suppose I don't blame you. Can you at least find one with a fetish for cat litter boxes that you can rehabilitate? That's another quirk of this dog I don't need.
Kind Regards,
Mrs. 1inamillion
Campin' Out
When Dane's cancer returned in 2009, we started wondering what we were doing wrong. If hard times and wilderness journeys are here to teach us something, we seemed to be missing the lesson. Tired of repeating the same course, we decided we would start doing things differently. Whatever we had done before was clearly wrong so we would just give the opposite a try. We talked and joked that this would be our plan. Deep down we knew that in many aspects of life there was no longer a choice.
We reached out for help beyond family for the first time. We began to research and take advantage of the support organizations for cancer patients that we had heard mention of in the past but believed we didn't need. We fell to our church. I say fell to our church, because it was not a modest gesture for help. We walked into our pastor's door as he was working on a sermon series about Extravagant Giving. No more self sufficiency, no more appearance of having it all together. Pride? Huh-uh. We were no doubt a piece of a bigger plan. We became an example to help others give big and began to learn humility.
The help we received was overwhelming and enabled us to keep going. It minimized the impact to our children's lives and gave us the opportunity to travel to St. Louis for the best care for Mr. 1inamillion. It allowed us to secure him a place in a clinical trial for a maintenance drug. It gave us such relief. And hope.
In April we learned that the trial was not a success for him. The tumors had grown. Hello, rock. Hello again, hard place. What else did we get wrong? What else can we do differently? It's a long drive from St Louis to home. Long stretches of highway that provides time for a lot of thought. Especially following a visit with an oncologist who said your husband will likely be on chemotherapy for the rest of his life. I had always thought my job was to get us through it. Charge through and get my family to the other side of this. But this is it, no other side insight. This wasn't just his journey, it was my wilderness journey, too. And it wasn't going to end, damn it.
What can I do differently? What am I suppose to learn here? I began to realize and accept a few things along the highway. I never just sat in it. I never obsorbed or processed the wilderness experience. I certainly never talked about it. Now, understand I am not actually smart enough to have come to that realization on my own. I was reading a Priscilla Shirer bible study and she had recently just called me out with the following multiple choice question:
In a difficult season allowed by God to reveal Himself, I'm usually inclined to:
We reached out for help beyond family for the first time. We began to research and take advantage of the support organizations for cancer patients that we had heard mention of in the past but believed we didn't need. We fell to our church. I say fell to our church, because it was not a modest gesture for help. We walked into our pastor's door as he was working on a sermon series about Extravagant Giving. No more self sufficiency, no more appearance of having it all together. Pride? Huh-uh. We were no doubt a piece of a bigger plan. We became an example to help others give big and began to learn humility.
The help we received was overwhelming and enabled us to keep going. It minimized the impact to our children's lives and gave us the opportunity to travel to St. Louis for the best care for Mr. 1inamillion. It allowed us to secure him a place in a clinical trial for a maintenance drug. It gave us such relief. And hope.
In April we learned that the trial was not a success for him. The tumors had grown. Hello, rock. Hello again, hard place. What else did we get wrong? What else can we do differently? It's a long drive from St Louis to home. Long stretches of highway that provides time for a lot of thought. Especially following a visit with an oncologist who said your husband will likely be on chemotherapy for the rest of his life. I had always thought my job was to get us through it. Charge through and get my family to the other side of this. But this is it, no other side insight. This wasn't just his journey, it was my wilderness journey, too. And it wasn't going to end, damn it.
What can I do differently? What am I suppose to learn here? I began to realize and accept a few things along the highway. I never just sat in it. I never obsorbed or processed the wilderness experience. I certainly never talked about it. Now, understand I am not actually smart enough to have come to that realization on my own. I was reading a Priscilla Shirer bible study and she had recently just called me out with the following multiple choice question:
In a difficult season allowed by God to reveal Himself, I'm usually inclined to:
- acknowledge Him for a moment and then try to move forward expediently
- "camp out" to see what He wants to do in me
- grow impatient and miss what God is doing
I immediately responded with option 1 and Oh no she didn't. Did she really just say that to me? Which was followed with oh yes she did, AJ. Hope you can still find a sleeping bag. Crud.
So I'm not here to just pull everyone through and dust them off when we get to the otherside? Super. I was a Girl Scout and grew up in a family that camped every year in the Ozarks. This certainly was not Roaring River, but I'd pitch a tent. If You really want me to.
Thus the blog was born. Me obsorbing. Processing. Uncovering what God is doing within me and exposing a few of the frustrations. Talking about it all a bit more. Sharing my view from our camp site between the rock and hard place.
If it's not one thing, it's (still) the dog
I had a super time last night at court. Okay, not at all.
I was afraid to surf on the blackberry while I waited and I didn't pull out the Jen Lancaster book from my purse, because I suspected that belly laughs would also be frowned upon, so I just hoped for some exciting cases ahead of me. There weren't any. A few folks doing 55 in a 35, a minor in posession of tobacco and apparently a woman in a bar fight. I didn't get to hear the skinny on the bar fight, her lawyer established an agreement before they were even in the court room. I only heard mention of 'cowgirl to cowgirl', which I take to mean there was beer and guy. I'm sure she left thinking none of it was even worth the court fees. Unfortunately I left wondering if the bitch that brought me there is even worth the court fees, too.
Last night I paid a $25 fine for letting my dog run at large in the city plus $56 court fees. This followed the $305 vet bill I paid on Monday and precedes the expensive hoops that come with a uncontested dangerous animal charge. Here is what we jump through next:
I was afraid to surf on the blackberry while I waited and I didn't pull out the Jen Lancaster book from my purse, because I suspected that belly laughs would also be frowned upon, so I just hoped for some exciting cases ahead of me. There weren't any. A few folks doing 55 in a 35, a minor in posession of tobacco and apparently a woman in a bar fight. I didn't get to hear the skinny on the bar fight, her lawyer established an agreement before they were even in the court room. I only heard mention of 'cowgirl to cowgirl', which I take to mean there was beer and guy. I'm sure she left thinking none of it was even worth the court fees. Unfortunately I left wondering if the bitch that brought me there is even worth the court fees, too.
Last night I paid a $25 fine for letting my dog run at large in the city plus $56 court fees. This followed the $305 vet bill I paid on Monday and precedes the expensive hoops that come with a uncontested dangerous animal charge. Here is what we jump through next:
- SECURE ENCLOSURE: A locked pen or structure at least 6 feet in width, 12 feet in length and 6 feet in height, capped with a cap being secured to all sides, which provides proper protection from the elements for the animal, is suitable to prevent the entry of young children and is designed to prevent the animal from escaping while on the owner's property. The enclosure must be secured to the ground and have a floor which is secured to all sides. The secure enclosure must be inspected and approved by the Animal Control Officer.
- SIGNS REQUIRED: The owner or harborer of a dangerous dog shall display in a prominent place at the entrance to his or her premises a clearly visible warning sign indicting there is a dangerous dog on the premises. A similar sign is required to be posted on the secure enclosure in which the animal is harbored. (I am looking forward to taking a picture of little Bruiser sitting beneath one of Britney's signs).
- REGISTRATION AND INSURANCE: The owner or harborer of a dangerous dog shall annually register the dangerous dog with the Police Department and shall provide the Police Department with confirmation of the insertion of a microchip and the traceable number associated with such microchip. The owner or harborer shall pay a $100.00 annual registration fee (in addition to all applicable licenses fees) to the City and shall pay all costs associated with the microchip procedure. The owner or harborer of a dangerous dog required to be registered shall maintain liability insurance in the amount of $100,000.00 for each such dog against the potential injury or damage liabilities and hazards associated with the ownership or possession of such dog.
I've previously written that Britney is fabulous and I don't believe she bit someone, so you might be wondering why I took the dangerous animal charge without contest. Well, as exciting as the code sections listed above were for you to read, I am sure you will just accept the fact that the city code contains six definitions for a dangerous animal. ALLEGED bite aside, I would be up a creek with: 1. any animal that poses a threat to public safety or constitutes a danger to human life or property (don't they all?) and 2. any dog which chases or menaces any person in an aggressive manner (she loves to run and clearly the old man felt menaced).
I could probably get an adequate treadmill for less than the dog run we will have to get, but I think Britney still comes out cheaper than a personal trainer in the end. (No one write to tell me otherwise. That won't be helpful) We went for a run this afternoon because I was darn sure getting my money's worth out of her today. Great weather, good sweat and I was feeling a bit less stressed. Yep, she's worth it, I thought. No one feels this much better after a work out with Jillian.
I grabbed the mail on our way back in the house and saw that we got a postcard from the vet's office. I thought, that's nice. They're sending a note to say "hey, thank you for the business...we enjoyed your dog's company for the 10 days we had her." I flipped over the card and what it actually said was, "hey, your dog has hook worms. Come by and pick up medication".
In defense of Britney
Britney is home! She was released from her unfortunate incarceration this morning. I'm not sure who missed her most, Bruiser or me. Bruiser is so delighted to have his alpha dog back and has ceased wondering around lost and barking at leaves. I had some busy days last week so I did not make it to the vet's office in time to take her for a run each day. I felt guilty, but the wonderful thing about Brit is that I'll be off the hook with her after just one run.
Britney was adopted last November at Dane's demand. We did not need another dog. The very last thing we needed, in my mind, was another dog. Two kids, two dogs, a cat, a husband undergoing chemo, a house and a job were already more than enough for me, thank you. Mr. 1inamillion, however, doesn't always play fair. It's very difficult to argue with a cancer patient. He had big sad brown eyes and a desire for a dog just like the one from his childhood. No way I could win this one. So off we went to the Humane Society and to home we returned with a boxer.
She was seven and a half years old. The people that brought her in had not had her very long. They had taken her to help out a friend but could not keep her. They reported that she peed on the furniture and hated cats. Britney did not seem at all interested in us when we met her. She just sat by the door and didn't approach us. She didn't really come when we called her and didn't want to play. Lots of BIG red flags. Dane was completely confident that she would get along fine with Chloe (the cat) as well as Harley and Bruiser (the dogs). The helpful adoption assistant thought we could crate train her and no harm would be done to the furniture. Super.
We left the Humane Society with the boxer laying beneath the kids' feet. We drove through Burger King for supper--which made me incredibly nervous--but she didn't budge. She showed no interest in the kids or their food. We stopped at Petco and spent an obscene amount of money on a large dog crate. Looking for my silver lining along the way, I decided that maybe this bigger dog could help keep me on track working out.
I've spent a lot of time wondering about the first 49+ years of her life. She is incredibly mellow, unlike any dog I had ever had. That is until she is on a leash and it's time to run. The first time I took her for a walk, she took me for a run and I began to call her my personal trainer. She gets excited when it's time to run and has corralled me to the door on several mornings. Her tail starts to wiggle when she sees me in work out gear and she starts to dance when I get the leash. Time to run for Britney means just that. She has never ventured off course. Nothing distracts her and I don't think she would choose to stop on her own. She is my four legged treadmill. Once she's on the leash it's like Forrest Gump. We nearly encountered a skunk on a pre-dawn run in Douglass one day. I was so very grateful for Brit's focus that morning. She didn't approach it and we made it by before it noticed us, returning home with just our own hard-earned stink. The only thing this dog wants from me is for me to put myself on the list and take her for a run. Mr. 1inamillion was right, we needed this dog. She is my stress relief and I adore her.
She doesn't do well with containment. The ridiculously expensive dog crate proved to be a complete waste of money. It is quite possible that Brit is Houdini reincarnated. She managed to wiggle her way out of that crate more than once. We have no idea how she could have done it as the doors were still latched, yet she escaped it but left no messes. She's perfectly content as long as she has the option to roam a bit.
It has been very clear to us that whomever had Britney first loved her very much. She is a bit of a princess and is clearly a dog who had a person. I wonder what made them part ways and I think she still might miss them. Honestly, I would love to find that person and give them Bruiser for a while. Brit is so well behaved.
She's never demonstrated a true love of the cats, but she's never proven otherwise, either. I once watched MC pounce Britney in the face three times. After the third pounce, Brit lifted her head and looked at me as if to say "Are you going to fix this or am I?" Because everyone else seems to love the Mangy Cat, I shooed him outside to leave her in peace. We did struggle with peeing on the furniture as her paperwork had warned, but that was just until we realized it only happened where she sleeps. One trip to the vet and she was put on pills for incontinence which has completely taken care of that little inconvenience.
Britney has made a few jumps over the fence at the new house. Guilty as charged. She didn't venture far and was perfectly sweet with the people she encountered. The first Sunday after our move, we came home to see her tagging along with the man next door as he mowed his lawn. A young couple brought her and Bruiser home after their adventure through the neighborhood. Brit has greeted the family across the park as cordially as can be. I own our containment issue. I unlawfully let my dog run free in the city. Whatever.
Britney was adopted last November at Dane's demand. We did not need another dog. The very last thing we needed, in my mind, was another dog. Two kids, two dogs, a cat, a husband undergoing chemo, a house and a job were already more than enough for me, thank you. Mr. 1inamillion, however, doesn't always play fair. It's very difficult to argue with a cancer patient. He had big sad brown eyes and a desire for a dog just like the one from his childhood. No way I could win this one. So off we went to the Humane Society and to home we returned with a boxer.
She was seven and a half years old. The people that brought her in had not had her very long. They had taken her to help out a friend but could not keep her. They reported that she peed on the furniture and hated cats. Britney did not seem at all interested in us when we met her. She just sat by the door and didn't approach us. She didn't really come when we called her and didn't want to play. Lots of BIG red flags. Dane was completely confident that she would get along fine with Chloe (the cat) as well as Harley and Bruiser (the dogs). The helpful adoption assistant thought we could crate train her and no harm would be done to the furniture. Super.
We left the Humane Society with the boxer laying beneath the kids' feet. We drove through Burger King for supper--which made me incredibly nervous--but she didn't budge. She showed no interest in the kids or their food. We stopped at Petco and spent an obscene amount of money on a large dog crate. Looking for my silver lining along the way, I decided that maybe this bigger dog could help keep me on track working out.
I've spent a lot of time wondering about the first 49+ years of her life. She is incredibly mellow, unlike any dog I had ever had. That is until she is on a leash and it's time to run. The first time I took her for a walk, she took me for a run and I began to call her my personal trainer. She gets excited when it's time to run and has corralled me to the door on several mornings. Her tail starts to wiggle when she sees me in work out gear and she starts to dance when I get the leash. Time to run for Britney means just that. She has never ventured off course. Nothing distracts her and I don't think she would choose to stop on her own. She is my four legged treadmill. Once she's on the leash it's like Forrest Gump. We nearly encountered a skunk on a pre-dawn run in Douglass one day. I was so very grateful for Brit's focus that morning. She didn't approach it and we made it by before it noticed us, returning home with just our own hard-earned stink. The only thing this dog wants from me is for me to put myself on the list and take her for a run. Mr. 1inamillion was right, we needed this dog. She is my stress relief and I adore her.
She doesn't do well with containment. The ridiculously expensive dog crate proved to be a complete waste of money. It is quite possible that Brit is Houdini reincarnated. She managed to wiggle her way out of that crate more than once. We have no idea how she could have done it as the doors were still latched, yet she escaped it but left no messes. She's perfectly content as long as she has the option to roam a bit.
It has been very clear to us that whomever had Britney first loved her very much. She is a bit of a princess and is clearly a dog who had a person. I wonder what made them part ways and I think she still might miss them. Honestly, I would love to find that person and give them Bruiser for a while. Brit is so well behaved.
She's never demonstrated a true love of the cats, but she's never proven otherwise, either. I once watched MC pounce Britney in the face three times. After the third pounce, Brit lifted her head and looked at me as if to say "Are you going to fix this or am I?" Because everyone else seems to love the Mangy Cat, I shooed him outside to leave her in peace. We did struggle with peeing on the furniture as her paperwork had warned, but that was just until we realized it only happened where she sleeps. One trip to the vet and she was put on pills for incontinence which has completely taken care of that little inconvenience.
Britney has made a few jumps over the fence at the new house. Guilty as charged. She didn't venture far and was perfectly sweet with the people she encountered. The first Sunday after our move, we came home to see her tagging along with the man next door as he mowed his lawn. A young couple brought her and Bruiser home after their adventure through the neighborhood. Brit has greeted the family across the park as cordially as can be. I own our containment issue. I unlawfully let my dog run free in the city. Whatever.
I do not believe, however, that the sweet mellow soul that is Brit charged at and bit someone. Friends, family and neighbors that have met her do not believe it either. My father came to her rescue that day and saw the alleged bite. It apparently looked like a small scratch. Perhaps the man was scared and tried to kick her and caught a paw. That I believe.
Dangerous and Vicious? Not guilty. So not guilty. That old man is probably a cat person. A scaredy cat person that scared my dog. I sure hope the judge isn't.
LiveSTRONG Day
Today is LiveSTRONG day. In honor of that, I am offering nothing original. Instead, I share with you the LiveSTRONG manifesto. So go ahead, read on. Puff out your chest and say "HA! Take that Cancer!" After that, check out the LiveSTRONG link and see all the ways they are making cancer cry uncle.
LiveSTRONG Manifesto
We believe in life.
Your life.
We believe in living every minute of it with every ounce of your being.
And that you must not let cancer take control of it.
We believe in energy: channeled and fierce.
We believe in focus: getting smart and living strong.
Unity is strength. Knowledge is power. Attitude is everything.
This is LIVESTRONG.
We kick in the moment you're diagnosed.
We help you accept the tears. Acknowledge the rage.
We believe in your right to live without pain.
We believe in information. Not pity.
And in straight, open talk about cancer.
With husbands, wives and partners. With kids, friends and neighbors. Your healthcare team. And the people you live with, work with, cry and laugh with.
This is no time to pull punches.
You're in the fight of your life.
We're about the hard stuff.
Like finding the nerve to ask for a second opinion.
And a third, or a fourth, if that's what it takes.
We're about preventing cancer. Finding it early. Getting smart about clinical trials.
And if it comes to it, being in control of how your life ends.
It's your life. You will have it your way.
We're about the practical stuff.
Planning for surviving. Banking your sperm. Preserving your fertility. Organizing your finances. Dealing with hospitals, specialists, insurance companies and employers.
It's knowing your rights.
It's your life.
Take no prisoners.
We're about the fight.
We're your advocate before policymakers. Your champion within the healthcare system. Your sponsor in the research labs.
And we know the fight never ends.
Cancer may leave your body, but it never leaves your life.
This is LIVESTRONG.
Founded and inspired by Lance Armstrong, one of the toughest cancer survivors on the planet
http://www.livestrong.org/
See what I mean? Chuck Norris has nothing on the bad ass that wrote that.
LiveSTRONG Manifesto
We believe in life.
Your life.
We believe in living every minute of it with every ounce of your being.
And that you must not let cancer take control of it.
We believe in energy: channeled and fierce.
We believe in focus: getting smart and living strong.
Unity is strength. Knowledge is power. Attitude is everything.
This is LIVESTRONG.
We kick in the moment you're diagnosed.
We help you accept the tears. Acknowledge the rage.
We believe in your right to live without pain.
We believe in information. Not pity.
And in straight, open talk about cancer.
With husbands, wives and partners. With kids, friends and neighbors. Your healthcare team. And the people you live with, work with, cry and laugh with.
This is no time to pull punches.
You're in the fight of your life.
We're about the hard stuff.
Like finding the nerve to ask for a second opinion.
And a third, or a fourth, if that's what it takes.
We're about preventing cancer. Finding it early. Getting smart about clinical trials.
And if it comes to it, being in control of how your life ends.
It's your life. You will have it your way.
We're about the practical stuff.
Planning for surviving. Banking your sperm. Preserving your fertility. Organizing your finances. Dealing with hospitals, specialists, insurance companies and employers.
It's knowing your rights.
It's your life.
Take no prisoners.
We're about the fight.
We're your advocate before policymakers. Your champion within the healthcare system. Your sponsor in the research labs.
And we know the fight never ends.
Cancer may leave your body, but it never leaves your life.
This is LIVESTRONG.
Founded and inspired by Lance Armstrong, one of the toughest cancer survivors on the planet
http://www.livestrong.org/
See what I mean? Chuck Norris has nothing on the bad ass that wrote that.
If it's not one thing, it's the dog
Mr. 1inamillion is in the hospital. Every round of chemo is followed by what we refer to as crash week. The amount of good stuff in his blood drops and as the poison runs through his system, he tends to crash. Usually in bed or on the couch in front of TVLand until the count of good stuff increases. This crash week, however, included far too much crashing.
Monday he fell off the porch. I finally met the one new neighbor I hadn't as he helped me pick Mr. 1inamillion up out of the yard. Dane heard our Bruiser barking in the back and headed out the front door expecting to catch Britney jumping the fence. Instead he got dizzy, lightheaded and fell from the front porch. He was dehydrated so his blood pressure dropped each time he stood. We headed into the treatment center for IV fluids.
Wednesday he started running a fever so we headed into the hospital. In addition to the fever, his blood pressure was sixty-something over forty-something (I retain just the bare minimum. Don't judge, it's one of my key coping mechanisms). Apparently that is incredibly low and made his walk up to the 7th floor a bit on the miraculous side. He was quickly admitted and started on more IV fluids, antibiotics and received two units of blood.
Thursday the color returned to his face and he started gaining a bit of strength. (Thank you, A-negative donors. We are very appreciative of your good stuff.) His blood pressure was up, his fever continued but remained low-grade.
Friday morning I returned to the hospital with my laptop in tow, anticipating a relatively routine day of Mr. 1inamillion napping while I worked. I arrived to hear his fever had spiked to one hundred and four during the night. (Did you catch that? Not one hundred point four, but really 104.00. F%$!) It had dropped to one hundred point something and my working while he napped began.
Thirty minutes later that ended when my phone rang for the second time. The first was a call from my office line, which I let roll to voice mail whenever I'm working by the side of a snoozing cancer patient. The second call was from a number with our hometown exchange, so I answered. It was the school nurse, Thing 2 had a fever and was complaining that her stomach hurt. I needed to come pick her up within 30 minutes (which is just the distance from the hospital).
I packed up office, kissed my snoozing man and headed out the door as fast as I could while dialing my dad. We were on the phone as I walked, discussing who could get to the school faster when call waiting displayed another Mulvane number. Thinking for sure this would be the other school about Thing 1, I hung up with Dad and answered the call that would begin my full blown decent into profane rants, out loud.
"This is the Mulvane Police Department. Do you have a Boxer? There is one loose hanging around your yard."
"Son of a b%#@!, Yes, I have a boxer."
"Your dog has bit someone and we have an officer on site but it's giving her a hard time. How soon can you or your husband get there?"
"Well, My husband is in the hospital. I am leaving there to pick up my daughter from Munson who is sick. I have to get her within thirty minutes so I can make it over to the house SHORTLY AFTER 30 MINUTES."
I called Dad. We decided he would head over to rescue Brit from whatever trouble she had gotten into and I would go get Thing 2. (He has proven to be a pro at helping us out of self-inflicted troubles)
I did laugh for a moment at this chaos and then... $%*&....$#!!!......%^&!!!....*%$#.
I called my sister (hands-free of course) as I sped down 135 and greeted her with, "Are you with a customer? Because I need to rant!" She was not, so I was able to continue with,"%$#^....!#$!!....and I'm pretty sure I could be a reality TV star if I could just stop cussing. %^&!......$%^&!!!"
(Shelly said she always thought her life could be a Lifetime movie. I refuse to be one of those. They are not funny. I want to focus on the funny, and I don't want to be one of those who is completed blocked out with all of the bleeps. I need to get my %^&! together and send in a bio to TLC.)
I picked up my daughter and her tiny fever and we made it to our house to be welcomed by the officer with the Animal Control van. Brit had indeed jumped the fence and had ALLEGEDLY charged at a man walking across the street and ALLEGEDLY bit the back of his leg which may have left a small scratch.
God bless that officer. She was incredibly kind and as gentle as she could be while placing the following straw on this camel's back:
"Angela Johnette Daniel unlawfully allowed her dog to run at large within the city as defined in section 205.180."
"Angela Johnette Daniel unlawfully kept, possessed or harbored a dangerous and vicious animal within the city."
I get to appear in court on October 5th to answer the above complaints. (awesome. because I don't have anything going on that day.) If I fail to appear a warrant will be issued for my arrest. Brit has to be in quarantine with the vet of our choosing for ten days.
I tried very hard to bear the weight of this crash week until the officer left, and I almost did. I turned away when the tears started as she was getting into the van but I was heaving in my father's arms as she pulled out.
Thing 2 was fine after one dose of Tylenol. Britney's paperwork was faxed from the Humane Society proving current shots and we got her secured into quarantine at our vet's office in Derby. MC tagged along for that ride and is now caught up on kitty boosters. Thing 1 got to visit Daddy at the hospital while Thing 2 hung out with Grandpa.
This morning, one of my rock star nieces got up early (morning after Homecoming, how awesome is that?) to watch the kids (and made them clean!) while I stopped by the vet's office to take Brit for a quick walk/run and then headed to the hospital. (Yes, puppy prison allows run visits.) Mr. 1inamillion's temperature is normal. He may be able to come home tomorrow, providing it stays that way through the night.
In less than six hours, crash week should be coming to an end. Our chaos is settling, my vocabulary is improving and after only two minutes of attention this morning, I still have cute hair (Thanks, Carrie!). I may be ready for TLC after all...or news cameras. Or to totally rock a mug shot. (Whatever. It's hard telling what can happen in six hours.)
Monday he fell off the porch. I finally met the one new neighbor I hadn't as he helped me pick Mr. 1inamillion up out of the yard. Dane heard our Bruiser barking in the back and headed out the front door expecting to catch Britney jumping the fence. Instead he got dizzy, lightheaded and fell from the front porch. He was dehydrated so his blood pressure dropped each time he stood. We headed into the treatment center for IV fluids.
Wednesday he started running a fever so we headed into the hospital. In addition to the fever, his blood pressure was sixty-something over forty-something (I retain just the bare minimum. Don't judge, it's one of my key coping mechanisms). Apparently that is incredibly low and made his walk up to the 7th floor a bit on the miraculous side. He was quickly admitted and started on more IV fluids, antibiotics and received two units of blood.
Thursday the color returned to his face and he started gaining a bit of strength. (Thank you, A-negative donors. We are very appreciative of your good stuff.) His blood pressure was up, his fever continued but remained low-grade.
Friday morning I returned to the hospital with my laptop in tow, anticipating a relatively routine day of Mr. 1inamillion napping while I worked. I arrived to hear his fever had spiked to one hundred and four during the night. (Did you catch that? Not one hundred point four, but really 104.00. F%$!) It had dropped to one hundred point something and my working while he napped began.
Thirty minutes later that ended when my phone rang for the second time. The first was a call from my office line, which I let roll to voice mail whenever I'm working by the side of a snoozing cancer patient. The second call was from a number with our hometown exchange, so I answered. It was the school nurse, Thing 2 had a fever and was complaining that her stomach hurt. I needed to come pick her up within 30 minutes (which is just the distance from the hospital).
I packed up office, kissed my snoozing man and headed out the door as fast as I could while dialing my dad. We were on the phone as I walked, discussing who could get to the school faster when call waiting displayed another Mulvane number. Thinking for sure this would be the other school about Thing 1, I hung up with Dad and answered the call that would begin my full blown decent into profane rants, out loud.
"This is the Mulvane Police Department. Do you have a Boxer? There is one loose hanging around your yard."
"Son of a b%#@!, Yes, I have a boxer."
"Your dog has bit someone and we have an officer on site but it's giving her a hard time. How soon can you or your husband get there?"
"Well, My husband is in the hospital. I am leaving there to pick up my daughter from Munson who is sick. I have to get her within thirty minutes so I can make it over to the house SHORTLY AFTER 30 MINUTES."
I called Dad. We decided he would head over to rescue Brit from whatever trouble she had gotten into and I would go get Thing 2. (He has proven to be a pro at helping us out of self-inflicted troubles)
I did laugh for a moment at this chaos and then... $%*&....$#!!!......%^&!!!....*%$#.
I called my sister (hands-free of course) as I sped down 135 and greeted her with, "Are you with a customer? Because I need to rant!" She was not, so I was able to continue with,"%$#^....!#$!!....and I'm pretty sure I could be a reality TV star if I could just stop cussing. %^&!......$%^&!!!"
(Shelly said she always thought her life could be a Lifetime movie. I refuse to be one of those. They are not funny. I want to focus on the funny, and I don't want to be one of those who is completed blocked out with all of the bleeps. I need to get my %^&! together and send in a bio to TLC.)
I picked up my daughter and her tiny fever and we made it to our house to be welcomed by the officer with the Animal Control van. Brit had indeed jumped the fence and had ALLEGEDLY charged at a man walking across the street and ALLEGEDLY bit the back of his leg which may have left a small scratch.
God bless that officer. She was incredibly kind and as gentle as she could be while placing the following straw on this camel's back:
"Angela Johnette Daniel unlawfully allowed her dog to run at large within the city as defined in section 205.180."
"Angela Johnette Daniel unlawfully kept, possessed or harbored a dangerous and vicious animal within the city."
I get to appear in court on October 5th to answer the above complaints. (awesome. because I don't have anything going on that day.) If I fail to appear a warrant will be issued for my arrest. Brit has to be in quarantine with the vet of our choosing for ten days.
I tried very hard to bear the weight of this crash week until the officer left, and I almost did. I turned away when the tears started as she was getting into the van but I was heaving in my father's arms as she pulled out.
Thing 2 was fine after one dose of Tylenol. Britney's paperwork was faxed from the Humane Society proving current shots and we got her secured into quarantine at our vet's office in Derby. MC tagged along for that ride and is now caught up on kitty boosters. Thing 1 got to visit Daddy at the hospital while Thing 2 hung out with Grandpa.
This morning, one of my rock star nieces got up early (morning after Homecoming, how awesome is that?) to watch the kids (and made them clean!) while I stopped by the vet's office to take Brit for a quick walk/run and then headed to the hospital. (Yes, puppy prison allows run visits.) Mr. 1inamillion's temperature is normal. He may be able to come home tomorrow, providing it stays that way through the night.
In less than six hours, crash week should be coming to an end. Our chaos is settling, my vocabulary is improving and after only two minutes of attention this morning, I still have cute hair (Thanks, Carrie!). I may be ready for TLC after all...or news cameras. Or to totally rock a mug shot. (Whatever. It's hard telling what can happen in six hours.)
All I Can Offer...
One of the things we loved about our house in Mayberry when we bought it was the tree in the front yard, a beautiful Bradford Pear tree. Those trees have a special place in my heart because it's a family name and I remember my grandpa planting one in his front yard. It wasn't long after we had moved into our home that our tree was struck by lightning. It split right down the middle. One half remained standing, the other half fell onto the house. We had both halves of our tree cut down, hauled off and the stump buried.
The following year, odd weeds started to grow where once stood our tree. We'd mow them down, but they multiplied and got stronger. We finally realized they weren't weeds. They were branches of a Bradford Pear. Our dead and buried tree was sprouting new life. Of course at that point we kept it and let it grow. I'm sure to most of the neighbors it still appeared to be weeds. Then eventually a new odd little bush of some sort. Now it appears to be a very large bush that is as tall as the house and beginning to maybe resemble a tree.
In the last few weeks we've learned that a friend's cancer has returned. They are at that point of slow....motion. The biopsy said cancer and tossed the puzzle pieces of normal life high in the air. The scans have been done. The pieces are now slooowly falling from the sky as they wait for results. How far will they land? What exactly are they up against? This slow motion, holding out for the next steps, is the worst. I have been praying for joyful distractions for them as they must wait. Now at this point in our journey, I keep thinking I should have something to offer them. Something to say that could provide wisdom or comfort. I mean, really, haven't I learned something here? But I feel I've got nothing. All I can offer them are my tears and the same thing I tell Things One and Two.
Be a tree.
We had quite a storm roll through our part of Kansas last night. Locals reading this may be really questioning my 'be a tree' mantra after driving through town today. There are leaves and branches scattered throughout yards. My dad's yard looks particularly rough. I questioned it myself as I picked up limbs in his yard and attempted to move a very large branch, failing miserably. Then I looked up. It was indeed a very large branch that could be mistaken for a small tree, but it fell from a mighty oak. A might oak that is still a mighty oak but is now letting a little more light shine through.
The storm hits. It shakes out our weakness, sheds what is weighing us down. We are strong when we are flexible and we bend in the wind, moving in the direction God intends. So, be a tree my friends. I do believe we will be stronger and just maybe, even transformed into something brand new.
The following year, odd weeds started to grow where once stood our tree. We'd mow them down, but they multiplied and got stronger. We finally realized they weren't weeds. They were branches of a Bradford Pear. Our dead and buried tree was sprouting new life. Of course at that point we kept it and let it grow. I'm sure to most of the neighbors it still appeared to be weeds. Then eventually a new odd little bush of some sort. Now it appears to be a very large bush that is as tall as the house and beginning to maybe resemble a tree.
In the last few weeks we've learned that a friend's cancer has returned. They are at that point of slow....motion. The biopsy said cancer and tossed the puzzle pieces of normal life high in the air. The scans have been done. The pieces are now slooowly falling from the sky as they wait for results. How far will they land? What exactly are they up against? This slow motion, holding out for the next steps, is the worst. I have been praying for joyful distractions for them as they must wait. Now at this point in our journey, I keep thinking I should have something to offer them. Something to say that could provide wisdom or comfort. I mean, really, haven't I learned something here? But I feel I've got nothing. All I can offer them are my tears and the same thing I tell Things One and Two.
Be a tree.
We had quite a storm roll through our part of Kansas last night. Locals reading this may be really questioning my 'be a tree' mantra after driving through town today. There are leaves and branches scattered throughout yards. My dad's yard looks particularly rough. I questioned it myself as I picked up limbs in his yard and attempted to move a very large branch, failing miserably. Then I looked up. It was indeed a very large branch that could be mistaken for a small tree, but it fell from a mighty oak. A might oak that is still a mighty oak but is now letting a little more light shine through.
The storm hits. It shakes out our weakness, sheds what is weighing us down. We are strong when we are flexible and we bend in the wind, moving in the direction God intends. So, be a tree my friends. I do believe we will be stronger and just maybe, even transformed into something brand new.
I don't know
"How's your husband feeling?"
I've mentioned before that I don't like the question when not proceeded by "Hello, How are you?". I have come to realize, however, that I simply do not like the inquiry. There is always the question of how honestly do I answer? How concerned is the person really and how much time do they have? Is it just a polite concern? How open should I be? I usually have a response ready, but I always struggle to answer. Regardless of their delivery or our boundaries, I really just hate that question.
This is why:
I don't know. I really truly do not know. I can't comprehend how he feels. I know the burning ache of fibromyalgia causing my nervous system to misfire, but I can't imagine the pain caused by a tumor growing directly out of a nerve.
I only know nausea that comes with a hangover, the flu or a first trimester. I don't know the sensation of having poison run through my veins in an attempt to eliminate cancer. Just think about that...it's poison. It is meant to kill just enough. I imagine it is more woke-up-by-the-toilet-worst-hangover-ever nausea than morning sickness, but still. I swore off vodka before I could even legally drink it. He goes back for chemo again the day after tomorrow.
I have had three surgeries in my adult life all of which for I was awake. For Mr. 1inamillion's first surgery, he was put under anesthesia and woke up the following day to hear that what was removed was the size of a soccer ball. He would need radiation and another surgery. My first surgery removed a nine and a half pound human and was followed by joy. And colic. That boy's head was as big as a soccer ball but my scar is a small fraction of Dane's.
His most recent surgery? He went under thinking a benign tumor was being removed and expecting a couple of tiny cuts. He awoke with a very large incision along his shoulder blade and another cancer diagnosis. My last surgery? A doctor hollowed out the carpal tunnel in my right hand while we all talked about his plans for an upcoming mission trip. I walked out an hour later and Mr. 1inamillion drove me to IHOP.
Clearly, I don't know how he's feeling. Ask the question only if you are prepared to forgive me. Whatever answer I give, I will likely be lying.
I've mentioned before that I don't like the question when not proceeded by "Hello, How are you?". I have come to realize, however, that I simply do not like the inquiry. There is always the question of how honestly do I answer? How concerned is the person really and how much time do they have? Is it just a polite concern? How open should I be? I usually have a response ready, but I always struggle to answer. Regardless of their delivery or our boundaries, I really just hate that question.
This is why:
I don't know. I really truly do not know. I can't comprehend how he feels. I know the burning ache of fibromyalgia causing my nervous system to misfire, but I can't imagine the pain caused by a tumor growing directly out of a nerve.
I only know nausea that comes with a hangover, the flu or a first trimester. I don't know the sensation of having poison run through my veins in an attempt to eliminate cancer. Just think about that...it's poison. It is meant to kill just enough. I imagine it is more woke-up-by-the-toilet-worst-hangover-ever nausea than morning sickness, but still. I swore off vodka before I could even legally drink it. He goes back for chemo again the day after tomorrow.
I have had three surgeries in my adult life all of which for I was awake. For Mr. 1inamillion's first surgery, he was put under anesthesia and woke up the following day to hear that what was removed was the size of a soccer ball. He would need radiation and another surgery. My first surgery removed a nine and a half pound human and was followed by joy. And colic. That boy's head was as big as a soccer ball but my scar is a small fraction of Dane's.
His most recent surgery? He went under thinking a benign tumor was being removed and expecting a couple of tiny cuts. He awoke with a very large incision along his shoulder blade and another cancer diagnosis. My last surgery? A doctor hollowed out the carpal tunnel in my right hand while we all talked about his plans for an upcoming mission trip. I walked out an hour later and Mr. 1inamillion drove me to IHOP.
Clearly, I don't know how he's feeling. Ask the question only if you are prepared to forgive me. Whatever answer I give, I will likely be lying.
We're home
"Hi there. Have you by chance seen a boxer running lose? She's being followed by little dachsund-chihuahua mix."
This was my opening line as I met a few of the folks around our new neighborhood. Not 'Hi, I'm Angie. Nice to meet you', but 'I'm the one that just moved in with the hooligan dogs.' Thankfully, Britney and Bruiser stuck together as predicted and a nice young couple found them and gave us a call.
"Hello. Did you happen to see how she got out? ....She jumped it? ....Darn it, we hoped she wouldn't be able to do that.....Oh, sorry. I'm Angie, by the way. Nice to meet you."
That was how I had introduced myself to the man next door two days prior to their neighborhood adventure. He was mowing his lawn and being followed by our boxer when we got home from church. We had already witnessed Bruiser slip between the gates that morning and secured him inside before we left that day.
As my sister and I were analyzing the situation, trying our best not to install a invisible fence, we were greeted with "Are you trying to find how they got out?" from the neighbor that lives behind us. She had witnessed the start of their break out. After Bruiser slipped through another spot along the fence, he paced along the front yard waiting for Britney. She made a few failed attempts to jump the fence before giving up and climbing it. My fabulous new neighbor said that if we can block the holes to keep the little one in, we ought to have them both contained. Thanks to the help of my sister's knight in denim, the holes are plugged. We did not have to spend a large amount of money on invisible fencing, and Mrs. 1inamillion did not have to exert crazy amounts of energy installing it. (Oh, and the fabulous neighbor's dog's name is Chaos. I think that is a great name and it likely means we aren't the only ones with hooligan pooches.)
M.C. won't leave the garage. He's now a bigger, healthier scaredy cat. And I think I'm giving up the battle to find him a new home. (Unless of course you want him, in which case I will bring him to you right now).
Chloe, the only cat I really like, would not come with us on the day we moved. She was willing to let me put her in the car when I went back the following day. She accidently got trapped in the garage at the new house, then made a run for it after the door opened. I thought for sure that between a mangy kitten and the move, she was done with us for good and off to find a new family. After nearly two weeks, though, Chloe has returned. Excited, I called my dad to tell him that she didn't hate us and hadn't left us for a new family. Dad being my dad pointed out that maybe the new family she found went out of town for the three day weekend and she just needed fed.
The dogs are enjoying their new back yard and playing through the fence with Chaos. So far, they seem content and in no hurry to climb fences. M.C. did finally step foot onto the grass today and Chloe still hasn't left us. It's only a couple of days past the holiday but surely a new family would have been back by now. I think maybe she still likes us. And I think now that our comfort creatures are finally settled, maybe we're home.
This was my opening line as I met a few of the folks around our new neighborhood. Not 'Hi, I'm Angie. Nice to meet you', but 'I'm the one that just moved in with the hooligan dogs.' Thankfully, Britney and Bruiser stuck together as predicted and a nice young couple found them and gave us a call.
"Hello. Did you happen to see how she got out? ....She jumped it? ....Darn it, we hoped she wouldn't be able to do that.....Oh, sorry. I'm Angie, by the way. Nice to meet you."
That was how I had introduced myself to the man next door two days prior to their neighborhood adventure. He was mowing his lawn and being followed by our boxer when we got home from church. We had already witnessed Bruiser slip between the gates that morning and secured him inside before we left that day.
As my sister and I were analyzing the situation, trying our best not to install a invisible fence, we were greeted with "Are you trying to find how they got out?" from the neighbor that lives behind us. She had witnessed the start of their break out. After Bruiser slipped through another spot along the fence, he paced along the front yard waiting for Britney. She made a few failed attempts to jump the fence before giving up and climbing it. My fabulous new neighbor said that if we can block the holes to keep the little one in, we ought to have them both contained. Thanks to the help of my sister's knight in denim, the holes are plugged. We did not have to spend a large amount of money on invisible fencing, and Mrs. 1inamillion did not have to exert crazy amounts of energy installing it. (Oh, and the fabulous neighbor's dog's name is Chaos. I think that is a great name and it likely means we aren't the only ones with hooligan pooches.)
M.C. won't leave the garage. He's now a bigger, healthier scaredy cat. And I think I'm giving up the battle to find him a new home. (Unless of course you want him, in which case I will bring him to you right now).
Chloe, the only cat I really like, would not come with us on the day we moved. She was willing to let me put her in the car when I went back the following day. She accidently got trapped in the garage at the new house, then made a run for it after the door opened. I thought for sure that between a mangy kitten and the move, she was done with us for good and off to find a new family. After nearly two weeks, though, Chloe has returned. Excited, I called my dad to tell him that she didn't hate us and hadn't left us for a new family. Dad being my dad pointed out that maybe the new family she found went out of town for the three day weekend and she just needed fed.
The dogs are enjoying their new back yard and playing through the fence with Chaos. So far, they seem content and in no hurry to climb fences. M.C. did finally step foot onto the grass today and Chloe still hasn't left us. It's only a couple of days past the holiday but surely a new family would have been back by now. I think maybe she still likes us. And I think now that our comfort creatures are finally settled, maybe we're home.
Since my last post...
- We spent a couple of weeks medicating MC three times a day. He has grown to be Mighty Cat, attempting to play with the boxer and pounce on Dane. He still has a crazy eye with a bit of an ulcer but he is definitely on the mend and healthy enough for a new home. I have been told by people who like cats that he is a very pretty cat. (Someone please take him.)
- We traveled to east Texas for a long overdue visit with family. Thing 1 and Thing 2 got to see Grandma for the first time in four years. They were able to get to know more cousins and their uncle and aunt. They saw a poisonous snake, a centipede, a scorpion and Lucy fed a bear fruit snacks. I managed to run against the east Texas humidity and my allergy to pine trees. Mr. 1inamillion got to fish with his brother. It was a trip we will all cherish.
- They've added a kidney specialist to Dane's team, to help with the damage chemo has caused. The hope is for him regain kidney function so he can safely return to the previous chemo regimen if needed. A reduction in one medication and a low sodium diet have been ordered. Adventures in low sodium dining have brought new challenges. We’ve had to let go of the Church Lady suppers and many of the convenience foods to which we have been accustom. Needless to say, it's a struggle for a meat eater from the south and his tired wife.
- We’ve found a house and are moving to Mulvane. The kids have started their new schools and we have started packing. We are getting up early to drive to our 'new' home town and I’m conquering their insane drop-offs and pick-ups at two different schools, missing the ease of standing on the porch with a cup of coffee while watching them walk together across the street to the same school.
Mr. 1inamillion has chemo tomorrow. Movers arrive on Saturday. I am terribly behind on work projects and there is still a lot of packing to be done.
There is little time and an even smaller amount of brain power to write anything funny or meaningful but I am taking this moment to breath deep and share the following.
Little Hercules is a song by Tricia Yearwood that has comforted me for many years when I am overwhelmed by mostly self-inflicted pressures. I shared it with my sister long ago and she gave it back to me yesterday via this link. Enjoy it.
Mangy Cat
This is M.C. M.C. stands for Mangy Cat. It could also refer to mean cat, malnutritioned creature, or possibly more appropriate, master of comedic chaos.
This kitten was discovered under our vehicle on Tuesday morning. Gabe yelled down to the office, "Mom! There's a cat under the Suv." It's not unusual for there to be stray cats lurking and tormenting our sweet Chloe, so my response was to instruct him to chase it off with the broom. "No, Mom. It's a kitten! It's little. Come see", so I left my work to check it out. Sure enough, it was a kitten and it appeared to be in pitiful shape. And mean. I tried to reach it and it hissed at me and moved away. Again I tried and again it hissed. Gabe fixed it a small bowl of food and we left it alone.
Throughout the day we checked for the kitten. It was still here and still wanted nothing to do with any of us. It ventured from beneath the car but as soon as approached it would hiss and run. It ran from beneath one car to another and back again. We spent some time in the evening just sitting near by. Not posing a threat, hoping this poor thing would come to us. I certainly have no desire for another cat, but this tiny creature was in need of help. It was digging and scratching at its long white fur, its face was a mess with mucus and its eyes were so matted it could barely keep them open.
Wednesday morning brought another full day of hiss and run. Not posing a threat did little good, so again on went the chase. I would not be surprised if neighbors popped some corn and pulled up a chair to the windows for a good laugh at our failed antics. Despite my general dislike for cats, this was a baby in need of medical help so we increased our pursuit. I dubbed it MC and it in turn became a bit more confident. It spent more time out on our porch, and began darting up the tree or under a bush, as well as the two cars. We tossed things up at it in the tree, hoping we could scare it down or knock it off and catch it. I thought it might deem us as much of a threat as whatever chased it our way but it still refused to venture beyond our home. This mangy cat seemed to have claim sanctuary in our yard. It was in need of refuge and was claiming it at our house. UGH.
Thursday came and there was more hiss and run, but never beyond our yard. The kitten was looking a bit better, it could hold it's eyes open wider but they still had a nasty glaze over them. Growing more annoyed and not willing to be outsmarted by this mean cat, we borrowed a critter trap from the city. We set it up on the porch beneath our two chairs, slid in a bowl of food, water and left for the evening. We crossed our fingers hoping we wouldn't find our own cat stuck in the wire cage upon our return. We came home to find success. Mangy Cat had been caught! HA!
Friday afternoon we slid the trap in front of a very large dog crate (all we had) and gently prodded Mean Cat into it, tipped it a bit and latched the door. HA! It took all four of us over three days, but we finally did it. I drove the dirt roads into Derby to the vet office with the kids and the tiny hissing kitten in the big dog traveler.
They guessed MC's age at about six weeks. The doctor was the first one to actually touch it. No actual mange, but this kitten had a upper respiratory infection, loads of fleas, probably a herpes virus in its eyes, ear mites and maybe leukemia or AIDs. The herpes virus was very contagious so we would need to keep it completely away from our cat. (Too late for that, there had already had a few close hiss fights over the last few days.) Super. What on earth have we gotten ourselves into now? Before going to any further trouble on the pathetic stray, the doctor wanted to do the test for leukemia/AIDs which would take about an hour.
We left for a happy hour trip to Sonic and a visit with Grandpa. I reminded him about B.C., the black cat my sister discovered and on which my mother, also not a fan of cats, took pity. B.C. was a bag of bones with scabs on its feet. It healed at our home, then left, never to be seen again. I was hoping for the same kind of luck with M.C. Soon the Vet called and the tests were negative so I could come get M.C. I will admit that after the laundry list of things wrong with the kitten, I was hopeful to be freed from obligation by bad test results, so I cursed my luck once I hung up, and my father laughed. Quite a bit, actually.
I headed back to the vet's office alone. Laughing much of the way. God is funny. This pathetic creature of His was now in our care, of all people. I laughed as I paid the $146 invoice (it was the only acceptable response), laughed in more disbelief as the young lady showed me the medicines the doctor would soon be going over. I chuckled as I asked do we even know yet if it's a boy or a girl? She went back to check. It's a boy.
The doctor soon called me back. He showed me how to apply the ear drops (once a day), the eye ointment (3 times a day!), explained that the amoxicillan drops (2x a day) must be refridgerated, and the powder could be mixed with food (2x a day). And I laughed. The good news, the kitten was no longer mean and terrified. He was very cooperative for them through all that they put him through. And he needs to be back in three weeks for a check up and kitten shots. Awesome.
So far, Mangy Cat has also been tolerable of us. Fingers crossed, we'll get him healthy and adopted by someone not living here. He's been cuddled and we've been administering medicine and ointment without any hissing. Although I'm tempted.
Hope, Joy & Mickey Mouse!
“PLEASE, just let Mommy finish her homework and she’ll take you to Disney World when she graduates,” I pleaded with the small humans in our home.
“Did you just tell them you’d take them to Disney World?” Mr. 1inamillion soon questioned.
“Yes! Just let me finish my homework and we all will go to Disney World when I graduate.” I then promised him too.
This is how our vacation planning began years ago. I was doing online classes at that time, and my pleading promises continued on through the degree completion program that began in March 2006 and ended in October 2007. During that time, both my father in law and my mother passed away. Dane had four surgeries and four months of chemotherapy. Graduation was scheduled for May 10, 2008, my 32nd birthday. I wa
s blessed with the help of really good friends in the program, understanding professors and a fierce determination to graduate on my birthday, so I actually made it despite the odds. Our money, however, did not so the promise of Disney World was delayed.
On Memorial day 2009, we traded in our mini-van for a couple of reasons. The first being who really wants to drive a mini-van? We had traded in our Tracker for that van the weekend following the birth of Thing 2 as quickly as possible. We discovered on the way home from the hospital that we did not have room for two car seats. It was a painful drive home for me with my knees at the dashboard and bent slightly forward over a line of staples that followed the C-section because the passenger seat was pushed forward to accommodate the added car seat. I hated that van and after five years, I still was horrible at parking the thing. The second reason we traded the van for a new Escape was it came with a trip for four to Disney World. A year late, but we could keep our promise to the kids!
I was so hesitant to commit to scheduling the trip. Mr. 1inamillion had just been through another surgery and radiation following tumor number four. We booked it for the following Thanksgiving. It was several months away, leaving a lot of time for things to go wrong but the kids wouldn’t miss school and it timed with an expected bonus. Not long after making the reservations, tumors five, six and seven appeared. Dane began chemo, and we cancelled our trip. Thanksgiving was spent with him suffering through shingles and me painting the kitchen, determined to overcome something. The kids were of course disappointed but bought into the promise that we would go next year.
After four rounds of chemo, Dane began a clinical trial based out of St. Louis. Several road trips back and forth followed, along with a CT scan showing diminishing tumors. Secretly, we rebooked the trip, despite my concern that maybe God didn’t want us going to Disney World and we could just be asking for more trouble. Just in case, we scheduled it quickly, for the week before his next CT scan.
In an effort to prevent further disappointments and unkept promises, we managed to keep it completely from Things 1 and 2. We were leaving early on a Sunday and the plan was to send them to a Mother’s Day Out event at the church on Saturday so we could pack in secrecy. Gabe threw up that morning. I thought for sure that might be the beginning of the end, but it happened just once and he was fine. They remained home and I managed to pack suitcases because…umm….we needed more room in our drawers and closets so I was packing away summer clothes.
Early Sunday, we loaded the car then woke the kids and quickly got them ready, bundled and out the door. We hit the road on our way to…umm….church, the long way around because of construction. We parked in a satellite lot, yanked suit cases out of the back, told them to grab their car seats and we hurried through the snow onto a shuttle bus. Gabe began to grin, wide-eyed, but said nothing. I was drilling Lucy on Mommy’s cell number, terrified of a Home Alone 2 moment and giving her no time to question. We entered the airport, checked in, made it through security and to our gate.
“So where do you think we’re really going?” we finally ask.
“I don’t know. A different church?“ suggested Gabe hesitantly.
Lucy exclaimed, “Rachel’s church!” and I suddenly understood just how very easily children are kidnapped. They were still utterly clueless, but were so very excited once we told them. It really was a great moment. Too early in the morning for me to have been fast enough with a camera to capture, but Mr. 1inamillion and I soaked it in completely.
I was still expecting for everything to go wrong; plane delays, to be completely stuck in Houston, to lose luggage, horrible weather, anything. It was in fact pouring rain when we arrived in Orlando but as we pulled into the hotel, the rain stopped and the weather was beautiful the remainder of the week. I am sure that God found entertainment in baffling me with the perfection of it all.
I had emailed teachers previously, but Monday morning as we walked into the Magic Kingdom I called the school office to excuse Things 1 and 2 from school for the week and
giggled a bit. Our first ride was the Tea Cups and it was there that I saw it. Joy! All three of my most-loved ones were smiling and giggling at once.
Aside from Gabe asking for the barf bag as we spun on that ride, there were no complaints of nausea. There were no mentions of doctors, appointments, scans, or cancer. There was no mention of how long there may be before the next surgery and no mentions of chemotherapy. There was excited talk of what tomorrow would bring and even talk of a next vacation. A couple of days into the week, I recognized it. Hope!
“Did you just tell them you’d take them to Disney World?” Mr. 1inamillion soon questioned.
“Yes! Just let me finish my homework and we all will go to Disney World when I graduate.” I then promised him too.
This is how our vacation planning began years ago. I was doing online classes at that time, and my pleading promises continued on through the degree completion program that began in March 2006 and ended in October 2007. During that time, both my father in law and my mother passed away. Dane had four surgeries and four months of chemotherapy. Graduation was scheduled for May 10, 2008, my 32nd birthday. I wa
s blessed with the help of really good friends in the program, understanding professors and a fierce determination to graduate on my birthday, so I actually made it despite the odds. Our money, however, did not so the promise of Disney World was delayed.On Memorial day 2009, we traded in our mini-van for a couple of reasons. The first being who really wants to drive a mini-van? We had traded in our Tracker for that van the weekend following the birth of Thing 2 as quickly as possible. We discovered on the way home from the hospital that we did not have room for two car seats. It was a painful drive home for me with my knees at the dashboard and bent slightly forward over a line of staples that followed the C-section because the passenger seat was pushed forward to accommodate the added car seat. I hated that van and after five years, I still was horrible at parking the thing. The second reason we traded the van for a new Escape was it came with a trip for four to Disney World. A year late, but we could keep our promise to the kids!
I was so hesitant to commit to scheduling the trip. Mr. 1inamillion had just been through another surgery and radiation following tumor number four. We booked it for the following Thanksgiving. It was several months away, leaving a lot of time for things to go wrong but the kids wouldn’t miss school and it timed with an expected bonus. Not long after making the reservations, tumors five, six and seven appeared. Dane began chemo, and we cancelled our trip. Thanksgiving was spent with him suffering through shingles and me painting the kitchen, determined to overcome something. The kids were of course disappointed but bought into the promise that we would go next year.
After four rounds of chemo, Dane began a clinical trial based out of St. Louis. Several road trips back and forth followed, along with a CT scan showing diminishing tumors. Secretly, we rebooked the trip, despite my concern that maybe God didn’t want us going to Disney World and we could just be asking for more trouble. Just in case, we scheduled it quickly, for the week before his next CT scan.
In an effort to prevent further disappointments and unkept promises, we managed to keep it completely from Things 1 and 2. We were leaving early on a Sunday and the plan was to send them to a Mother’s Day Out event at the church on Saturday so we could pack in secrecy. Gabe threw up that morning. I thought for sure that might be the beginning of the end, but it happened just once and he was fine. They remained home and I managed to pack suitcases because…umm….we needed more room in our drawers and closets so I was packing away summer clothes.
Early Sunday, we loaded the car then woke the kids and quickly got them ready, bundled and out the door. We hit the road on our way to…umm….church, the long way around because of construction. We parked in a satellite lot, yanked suit cases out of the back, told them to grab their car seats and we hurried through the snow onto a shuttle bus. Gabe began to grin, wide-eyed, but said nothing. I was drilling Lucy on Mommy’s cell number, terrified of a Home Alone 2 moment and giving her no time to question. We entered the airport, checked in, made it through security and to our gate.
“So where do you think we’re really going?” we finally ask.
“I don’t know. A different church?“ suggested Gabe hesitantly.
Lucy exclaimed, “Rachel’s church!” and I suddenly understood just how very easily children are kidnapped. They were still utterly clueless, but were so very excited once we told them. It really was a great moment. Too early in the morning for me to have been fast enough with a camera to capture, but Mr. 1inamillion and I soaked it in completely.
I was still expecting for everything to go wrong; plane delays, to be completely stuck in Houston, to lose luggage, horrible weather, anything. It was in fact pouring rain when we arrived in Orlando but as we pulled into the hotel, the rain stopped and the weather was beautiful the remainder of the week. I am sure that God found entertainment in baffling me with the perfection of it all.
I had emailed teachers previously, but Monday morning as we walked into the Magic Kingdom I called the school office to excuse Things 1 and 2 from school for the week and
giggled a bit. Our first ride was the Tea Cups and it was there that I saw it. Joy! All three of my most-loved ones were smiling and giggling at once.Aside from Gabe asking for the barf bag as we spun on that ride, there were no complaints of nausea. There were no mentions of doctors, appointments, scans, or cancer. There was no mention of how long there may be before the next surgery and no mentions of chemotherapy. There was excited talk of what tomorrow would bring and even talk of a next vacation. A couple of days into the week, I recognized it. Hope!
I had never thought that the 1inamillion family was without hope. But our hope for so long had just been for less bad stuff. I hoped for the basement to remain dry, not that it would ever become a finished and enjoyable space. We hoped for more time before another treatment, instead of no more cancer at all.
We had stopped hoping for the great stuff God has in store for us. We stopped believing his promise to prosper and not harm us, his plan for our hope and a future. (Jeremiah 29:11) By enabling us to fulfill the promise we made to our children, our faith in the greatness of His promise was restored. I still fear planning and long term commitments, but a bit less. That long awaited visit with Mickey Mouse made us again joyful in hope.
We had stopped hoping for the great stuff God has in store for us. We stopped believing his promise to prosper and not harm us, his plan for our hope and a future. (Jeremiah 29:11) By enabling us to fulfill the promise we made to our children, our faith in the greatness of His promise was restored. I still fear planning and long term commitments, but a bit less. That long awaited visit with Mickey Mouse made us again joyful in hope.
Chasing goals
I set two goals for myself at the start of 2010. The first was to complete a bible study. I hadn't really spent time in God's word since I was a child. I read verses here and there over the years, but never as I should. I completed Priscilla Shirer's He Speaks to Me and am now in the middle of her study, One in a Million. Taking the time to read the Bible and search my heart to apply it makes such a difference in my days. I am so glad I accomplished that goal and am continuing forward.
Meet my personal trainer, Britney! This is her happy face after our loop around Mayberry.
My second goal for this year was to participate in a road race. This is something that I've longed to do for quite some time. I desperately want to be one of those real runners. Someone who easily kicks out enough miles to efficiently burn a few extra brownies. Slim, sleak in little running gear posing with a big smile after a race, I long for that to be me. Well, I managed to participate in a road race in early June to at least accomplish the goal that I had set.
I regularly run/walk 2 miles with my personal trainer in 30 minutes, so I had hoped I could manage 3.1 on my own amongst a crowd of people in possibly 45 minutes. I huff and puff and am beat red by the time Britney's dragged me the two miles around town. There is nothing slim and sleak about me, but I convinced myself at the last minute to do Victory in the Valley's East Meets West 5K. They are the cancer support organization that has done so much for us, so it was without a doubt an excellent cause. I went alone so there would be no significant witnesses to my potential failure, but I made it. In less than 45 minutes. I was so proud of myself!
"Did you win?" That was how Things 1 and 2 greeted me after my drive to meet them post run, busting my bubble. "Well, no."
"It wasn't really that kind of race," Mr. 1inamillion tried to save me.
"But did you get a ribbon?", Gabe asked. I began a list in my mind of the chores I would soon dish out to this little buzz kill.
"No, I finished it. That's what matters!"
"But what place did you get?", he persisted.
I sighed, then replied with "NOT LAST!" and followed with the laundry list of assignments.
The record shows that my time was 42:31 and I came in 410th place. I take great pride in the fact that there were 44 people slower than me. I was beat red, gasping a bit, and alone in my accomplishment so there are no smiling photos of me with my race number. There was no one to hug or high-five once I crossed the line, but I achieved my goal.
Yesterday I changed a statement about my self. I used to say, "I would love to do a marathon, but there's no way I could do that". I am so proud of my friends that have done it! To focus, and work hard training for so long, I have so much admiration for them. Not to mention total envy of their cute smiling post race pics and finisher medals. I used to say I wanted to train for a half-marathon. I even have a training plan pulled from a magazine that's hung by my desk for a year.
Yesterday I said, out loud, I am training for a half marathon. I followed by typing that in an email. Now I've done it again. I am training for a half marathon. I do have the personal trainer so she might as well be training me for something, right? I need to have another goal to chase, to focus on something I am capable of conquering.
Now that I've said it and committed myself to the goal, how many people will hold me accountable? How many people will join me? I don't want to do this one alone. Miserable finish or not, I want a picture and I want someone to share the sense of accomplishment with me! I can't imagine that I will be able to run the entire 13.1 miles in October, but my goal is to just complete it. Run, walk or crawl. Hopefully, there will be at least a few people crawling slower than me so I can tell my kids what place I got and have a little bit of pride left.
Meet my personal trainer, Britney! This is her happy face after our loop around Mayberry.Chemo update
Mr. 1inamillion has completed three rounds of chemo. We traveled two weeks ago to see his St. Louis oncologist and have his CT scan. The film shows that the cancer is stable. Nothing new has appeared and the small existing tumors showed no real growth. It wasn't the quick and obvious progress for which we hoped but it is considered to be good news.
The concerning news is in his blood work. It's showing signs of some early damage to his kidneys. They're changing him to a new regimen of chemo that has proven effective on soft tissue sarcomas but should be easier on his system. There's still a lot unknown to us regarding the new regimen. Honestly, I prefer to ask the nurses at the treatment center my questions. They see it all face to face, day in and day out and I am in awe of their care and knowledge. There are already some perks in sight, though. The schedule is one day instead of 5 and there is no Matilda. Dane won't spend all of his days in treatment week at the cancer center or be chained to a pump for five nights. Hopefully he will recuperate a bit faster and have more time and strength to spend on things he enjoys.
Tomorrow is his first day on the new regimen. We appreciate your prayers for this new battle in his ongoing war.
The concerning news is in his blood work. It's showing signs of some early damage to his kidneys. They're changing him to a new regimen of chemo that has proven effective on soft tissue sarcomas but should be easier on his system. There's still a lot unknown to us regarding the new regimen. Honestly, I prefer to ask the nurses at the treatment center my questions. They see it all face to face, day in and day out and I am in awe of their care and knowledge. There are already some perks in sight, though. The schedule is one day instead of 5 and there is no Matilda. Dane won't spend all of his days in treatment week at the cancer center or be chained to a pump for five nights. Hopefully he will recuperate a bit faster and have more time and strength to spend on things he enjoys.
Tomorrow is his first day on the new regimen. We appreciate your prayers for this new battle in his ongoing war.
What We Need
Is there anything you guys need? What can I do to help? These are questions that we hear often and always struggle to answer. It's hard to know what we need, and harder still to ask for it. We don't like to impose, let alone admit our weakness.
Mr. 1inamillion asked me months ago what we needed to get through this. "What do I tell people when they ask?" My reply was I have no idea. I have no idea what help we need to get through this again. My response was construed as not caring, but honestly I didn't know. God hadn't told me yet, perhaps he had told someone else. Our situation can be so very overwhelming, so I really liked the thought that He had told someone else. That became my prayer. "Lord, help. Please just tell someone else what we need. I can't manage it anymore so please tell somebody else." Soon after that, our basement flooded. Again.
Years ago we had water in our basement with every rain. I spent lots of time cleaning it up, then we finally spent lots of money fixing it. Still I have yet to see a rainbow down there and though I've considered painting one, I decided that would be cheating and wouldn't offer the assurance I desired. This time the water wasn't coming from the ground, it was dripping from the air shaft. Handy as I am, I bought a couple of buckets at the Family Dollar, identified the perfect arrangement to catch the drips and called it good. After a few trips down to empty and reposition my solution, I decided it might be pipes above the air shaft and called my sister and her plumber husband.
Shelly and her knight in shining armor rode out and saved the day. It wasn't leaking pipes, it was condensation from the air conditioner and he fixed it with his pocket knife. He scraped enough lint from the coils for a scarf, two sweaters and a stocking cap then opened the shaft enough to let the remaining water drain out. So far, so good. The basement has remained dry and the air conditioner is much improved.
Shortly after their departure from our humble abode, my big sister called with apologies. After spending a bit of time observing my chaotic mess, she hoped I didn't mind but she called our brother and scheduled a work day. We had talked before about her girls coming out later in the summer to watch kids and help a bit with housework, and though she had been listening, she hadn't really realized my need for immediate, bigger help. And she was sorry for that.
Let's just say that a lot has remained undone in the 1inamillion household after three years of surgeries, chemo, radiation, traveling to find the right doctors, traveling for the clinic trial, traveling for work, and fibromyalgia. We commit to being fed, bathed and dressed in mostly clean clothes upon leaving the house. Anything beyond that is a rare bonus. I managed to say nothing more than thank you and shed quiet tears during that call. There was no brave face, no down playing our weakness and need for helping hands. I thanked God for flooding the basement and sending in the troops. Then I thought "of course You'd tell her what I need!" I should have known. She spent years practicing as the boss of me.
Almost immediately a posse of nieces arrived. I was tucked away in the office on a conference call while two teenage girls took charge of Things 1 and 2 and began tackling the downstairs playroom with great speed. Two more were upstairs cleaning the kitchen and then they straightened up the living room and began to make a dent in the kids' bedroom. In the following weeks, my sister, one of her girls, my brother and his wife arrived with trailers. The storage room and shed that have easily accumulated much too much were cleaned out and the kids' room received an extreme makeover. Really, they were days meant for reality television.
We have since decided to proceed with our desire to move to my hometown. Close to Dad, my sister's family and our church, and closer to the treatment center and pharmacy that is so often our destination. We (Dane, myself and the boss of me) have decided our family needs to be closer to our resources and we need a landlord. The goal is no longer to wait, sell then buy another house. Accepting our limitations, the goal is to soon rent, then sell this home. Give up the dreams and burdens of home ownership in our sweet little town for the freedoms proximity and a tad fewer responsibilities have to offer.
I am praying for the Lord to bless this move. To make this particular path clear and easy. There is still much ahead of us and much that needs to be done. But I know that He is listening. I can't tell you what exactly we may need, but I'm not so overwhelmed by the question. I will just suggest you talk to my big sister.
Mr. 1inamillion asked me months ago what we needed to get through this. "What do I tell people when they ask?" My reply was I have no idea. I have no idea what help we need to get through this again. My response was construed as not caring, but honestly I didn't know. God hadn't told me yet, perhaps he had told someone else. Our situation can be so very overwhelming, so I really liked the thought that He had told someone else. That became my prayer. "Lord, help. Please just tell someone else what we need. I can't manage it anymore so please tell somebody else." Soon after that, our basement flooded. Again.
Years ago we had water in our basement with every rain. I spent lots of time cleaning it up, then we finally spent lots of money fixing it. Still I have yet to see a rainbow down there and though I've considered painting one, I decided that would be cheating and wouldn't offer the assurance I desired. This time the water wasn't coming from the ground, it was dripping from the air shaft. Handy as I am, I bought a couple of buckets at the Family Dollar, identified the perfect arrangement to catch the drips and called it good. After a few trips down to empty and reposition my solution, I decided it might be pipes above the air shaft and called my sister and her plumber husband.
Shelly and her knight in shining armor rode out and saved the day. It wasn't leaking pipes, it was condensation from the air conditioner and he fixed it with his pocket knife. He scraped enough lint from the coils for a scarf, two sweaters and a stocking cap then opened the shaft enough to let the remaining water drain out. So far, so good. The basement has remained dry and the air conditioner is much improved.
Shortly after their departure from our humble abode, my big sister called with apologies. After spending a bit of time observing my chaotic mess, she hoped I didn't mind but she called our brother and scheduled a work day. We had talked before about her girls coming out later in the summer to watch kids and help a bit with housework, and though she had been listening, she hadn't really realized my need for immediate, bigger help. And she was sorry for that.
Let's just say that a lot has remained undone in the 1inamillion household after three years of surgeries, chemo, radiation, traveling to find the right doctors, traveling for the clinic trial, traveling for work, and fibromyalgia. We commit to being fed, bathed and dressed in mostly clean clothes upon leaving the house. Anything beyond that is a rare bonus. I managed to say nothing more than thank you and shed quiet tears during that call. There was no brave face, no down playing our weakness and need for helping hands. I thanked God for flooding the basement and sending in the troops. Then I thought "of course You'd tell her what I need!" I should have known. She spent years practicing as the boss of me.
Almost immediately a posse of nieces arrived. I was tucked away in the office on a conference call while two teenage girls took charge of Things 1 and 2 and began tackling the downstairs playroom with great speed. Two more were upstairs cleaning the kitchen and then they straightened up the living room and began to make a dent in the kids' bedroom. In the following weeks, my sister, one of her girls, my brother and his wife arrived with trailers. The storage room and shed that have easily accumulated much too much were cleaned out and the kids' room received an extreme makeover. Really, they were days meant for reality television.
We have since decided to proceed with our desire to move to my hometown. Close to Dad, my sister's family and our church, and closer to the treatment center and pharmacy that is so often our destination. We (Dane, myself and the boss of me) have decided our family needs to be closer to our resources and we need a landlord. The goal is no longer to wait, sell then buy another house. Accepting our limitations, the goal is to soon rent, then sell this home. Give up the dreams and burdens of home ownership in our sweet little town for the freedoms proximity and a tad fewer responsibilities have to offer.
I am praying for the Lord to bless this move. To make this particular path clear and easy. There is still much ahead of us and much that needs to be done. But I know that He is listening. I can't tell you what exactly we may need, but I'm not so overwhelmed by the question. I will just suggest you talk to my big sister.
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