The Shit Storm That is Life

When I first got my license my mom always said to me over and over, “I don’t worry about you out there, I worry about the other drivers on the road.” I always thought, Yea, yea, yea I’ll be careful, I’m a cool 16-year-old with my license.

***

I have always wanted to coach a girl’s lacrosse team. Lacrosse is a sport I have loved since the 7^th grade. I played in college and still play in a Boston league. This spring I found an opportunity to coach a middle school team that worked with my schedule – Tuesday and Thursday evening practices and Sunday games. I was psyched! Of course my schedule is already jam-packed and I didn’t know how I would take on more, but ‘tis my style. When I asked a couple of my good friends who are live-the-shit-out-of-lifers like me if I should take it on, they said, heck ya! Needless to say, I have been coaching the girls with my awesome co-coach since the beginning of April and it is SO fun and SO rewarding to see them improve. What is not so fun is being reminded how mean girls at that age can be.

It was brought to my attention that one of the girls on my team is bullied (in school) by other girls on the team. And bullying these days isn’t just making someone sit alone at the lunch table or not inviting them to the mall; it’s pushing someone down the stairs or saying nasty things about them on social media. Friggin’ crazy! I don’t know who the bullies on the team are, but I do know who the girl being bullied is. Of course, she is wonderful – so sweet and innocent and a true hustler on the field. Today, when we were leaving practice this girl was walking out with another girl and my co-coach and I asked if they carpool all the time because they live near each other. The sweet and innocent (bully receiver) smiled and said, “Ya! And it works great because we are best friends.” The other girl then kind of made a face where her eyes bugged out of her head.

In that moment I just wanted to fight off the Shit Storm and change the situation so the other girl truly believed they were best friends; but, I couldn’t. Will Sweet and Innocent most likely grow up to be a gorgeous, successful, well-liked business woman, mom, and whatever else she wants? Of course! But, damn does it suck she has to go through the awkward middle school years to get there.

***

What I will come to find out when I have kids – whatever way is meant for me – is as a parent, you can’t control the Shit Storm. My mom and dad couldn’t fight off the kids that were mean to me, the sports teams I didn’t make, the major disappointments I had to endure, the deaths I had to witness, and the big ass tumor that grew in my body. They had no control over any of those things – they had no control of all the other drivers out there. What they could control was how I treated others, how I handled situations, how I attacked life…and how I drove the car. The Shit Storm that is life will always be swirling around us, but it is how we face it, power through it, embrace it, love it, feel it, cry through it, and laugh through it that makes us who we are.

Because I Can

I was outside most of the day today because it was the first nice day we have had after this HELLISH winter. I had my sunroof open and my music blaring, hand outside the window to feel the air as I drove to the field for my lacrosse team’s first game (I’m coaching adorable 7^th and 8^th graders). After the game, I quickly got my grocery shopping done and headed home for a run around the Jamaica Pond. While in the car on my way to the game, and while running, all I could be was happy. I took a deep breath, smiled, and looked at the blue sky in appreciation – appreciation that I am here, happy, healthy, and CAN be coaching lacrosse and running outside. My other favorite Soul Cycle instructor, Erin, screamed at us a couple of weeks ago, “You keep going, because you can!” She was so right, dayum all of us riders it that room are so lucky.

I’ve thought for the longest time that my appreciation for life has come from my cancer journey – no doubt it partially has, but I recently discovered something. I was home in Albany and started reading one of my 11^th grade AP English assignments. We had to put together all of our writing pieces from the year and attach an autobiographical them to them. I titled my project “Facing” the Facts Through the Eyes of Becky. Here is the cover:

As I read through the project, it was almost eerie. My 16-year-old self was giving my 27-year-old self extremely wise advice. I structured the project into four sections that described what was most important to me: Family and Friends, Happiness, Health, and Love. Each section had an envelope you could open with a quote that complemented it. The quote for health was, “A wise man should consider that health is the greatest of human blessings, and learn how by his own thought to derive benefit from his illnesses.” (Hippocrates) Now that is just crazy, why would I have chosen a quote like that at the age of 16? It was almost foreshadowing what was to come in my life!

Here is an excerpt from my Reflection section at the end of the project:

Life is an adventure. Life is a roller-coaster ride. Life is compiled of a series of tragedies, thrills, and journeys. Life is only worth living if you live it to the fullest. Life is full of influences from people and events. Life is about learning to love. Life should be cherished. Life is precious. Everyday, even when I am under tremendous stress, I pause to think how lucky I am to be alive and have such a wonderful life. The trivial aspects of life sometimes bother me, but I quickly realize they do not matter. In discovering my many faces, I have learned what is most important to me in life: family and friends, love, happiness, and health. My family and friends will help me through rough times. I have not lived unless I have learned to love, my health is essential, and happiness is what makes life complete.

After compiling numerous stories of my life, I have learned a tremendous amount about myself that I never realized before. It is somewhat ironic because it might be assumed that everyone knows themselves well, but writing about myself was a self-discovery process for me. I discovered what I truly value in life, and how I often lose sight of what is most important. After this project, I am unquestionably going to cherish all I have in life, even more. I plan to live each day to the fullest. I plan to show more appreciation and love for my family. I plan to have more confidence in myself. I plan to accept that life is essentially like a tapestry, and I will experience rough times, which will guide me to the wonderful ones. Evaluating my past has also enabled me to better understand many of my personality traits. Before writing this piece I viewed myself as having low self-esteem and not a great deal of strength. After evaluating my life experiences and achievements, I came to the realization I actually possess a tremendous amount of strength, determination, and an ability to persevere, even in the face of failure...Self discovery is an important process, and this work has helped me do just that. Most of all, I have determined that I will never cease to cherish life.

I still can’t believe I wrote that at 16…wow. She was SMAHT! Ha. After reading this I had such an ‘aha’ moment. My appreciation for life existed before my diagnosis! So my thought that people need to experience something traumatic to really appreciate life isn't true! (I do think it definitely helps.) How, at 16 was I so wise? I think a large part can be attributed to my parents. Mom and dad taught me everything I know, and I am who I am because of them. They taught me how to treat people, how to love, how to laugh, how to… live. In my Reflection I wrote:

Not only have I discovered who I truly am, but who I want to become. The person I strive to become has been modeled by the adults I admire most in my life. Among these people are my parents, my Aunt Lorri, and some of my teachers who have deeply impacted me. I have received all of my morals from my parents; morals and values I plan on maintaining and only making stronger in the future. My parents are loving, compassionate, strong, kind, and caring human beings; I can only hope to become half the people they are. My Aunt Lorri is strong, determined, and compassionate, and I hope to have her strength when I face obstacles. Some of my influential teachers have taught me to have a strong work ethic and to have confidence in myself as a student. In particular my math teacher this year has demonstrated to me that I must believe in myself in order to succeed. I recognize that I will not have the capacity to embody the personality traits of all these people; however I only hope that I can take a part of all of them with me as I mature, and become the best person I can be.

Thanks Ron and Sue for being such amazing parents, and Aunt Lorri for showing me what strength is in my most influential years of life. YOU prepared me for what was thrown at me down the road.

The other thing that the oh wise 16-year-old Becky had was a tremendous amount of self-awareness. I truly feel that this is so, so important in life. It is important in relationships, your job, challenges you face, and pretty much everything! It molds how you respond to situations. I think my constant quest for self-awareness and discovery has helped me persevere through my medical journey. I continue to always try to be the best person I can be. I go to yoga and Soul Cycle, coach middle school girls lacrosse, co-chair the Patient and Family Advisory Council at Dana Farber, read to a little girl at lunch time every other week at the elementary school down the road from work…all because I can.

Don’t Mess

Today is what I call “MRI Day.” What is MRI day? MRI day happens every four months, (used to be every three) and it is almost a full day at the Brigham and Dana Farber to check the size of Frank. I start with a 7:40 a.m. MRI, (7 a.m. arrival) then 10:15 labs, and 11:30 results with the doctor. The doctor normally runs up to two hours behind so there is a lot of waiting. Today was the first day I brought my laptop, which I am really happy about because I NEED to write. My fingers are currently slamming on the keyboard in the Dana Farber cafeteria.

Alarm went off at 6:15 and I whined as I heard it, knowing what today was. I also woke up in a weird mood because I had one messed up dream about an ex from college and another disturbing dream I can’t remember. One of my medicines makes me have messed up dreams – I mean things I would never, ever think. I threw on some comfy clothes and my lucky jewelry – grandma’s watch, my cross bracelet, breathe bracelet, purple sarcoma bracelet, and lucky elephant earrings (thanks Lauren J). I could kind of tell walking out of the house that I was in one of those on-the-war-path moods.

I go to these days by myself now because it is just easier and the tumor has been stable for almost a year? I think? I have my routine down – I know which MRI machine I like, where I like to get breakfast, what questions to ask, etc. My on-the-war-path mood was confirmed when I got my sheet to fill out at the MRI place. On the back they make you list out your medications, which always pisses me off because I have so many and I know they are on my chart. So, today I wrote, “you have these listed on my medical chart, not writing them out.” BOOYA! They call me to get changed and I have to put on the gross hospital pants and gown. I lock up all my stuff and I was off to get my IV put in (need it for the contrast injection during MRI). The girl asks the typical, “Which arm?” and I say the typical, “Doesn’t matter, I just have small veins.” She looks around and decides on my left arm – for some reason I could tell she wasn’t going to be good. Yes I have small veins, but they are great veins and if you are good you get them right away. No second shot! (Learned that from my momma!) I never look at the needle because I just don’t like to…so I feel the prick and then she is friggin’ fishing around in there. Then she says, “Your veins don’t like needles, huh?” And I said, “They do, they are just small.” Again, I KNOW that my veins are great, you just can’t see them. At this point I think she saw and heard my sigh/eye roll as she was still fishing around. She said, “Sorry.”

The damn needle was finally in and the girl came over to bring me to the MRI. Needle pokes and fishing are no big deal for me now, but again, the mood. So the girl starts walking me down the hall and I say, “Music, right?” She tells me that I am in a different machine and they don’t have music there. I have had probably seven MRIs at Brigham and I specifically go to a certain location because the machine is slightly bigger and they have music. Poke #2 to the bear’s routine.

I lie down on the MRI table and they start to hook up all my shit. Earplugs, contrast to IV, big heavy thing over pelvis, and emergency squeeze ball in right hand – I know the drill. The helper dude introduced himself and I thought to myself wow, good job, just introducing yourself makes you feel like a person to me, and me feel like a person to you. Thanks, Dave? …Don’t remember his name ha.

The MRI is normally about 45 minutes. The girl told me that if I needed other headphones for the loud noise to let her know. The thing is pretty damn loud and I normally have extra headphones for the music. We start with a few pictures and some breath holds, and it’s wayyy too loud for me. I am thinking, ugh I should ask for those extra headphones but I don’t want to. It’s too much effort to speak up and I don’t want to be a pain. Then after two more pictures of loud ass noise in my ears I thought, you are the patient and you can ask for whatever you friggin’ want. It is their job to listen to you and your needs. I spoke up. She came in and gave me the headphones, no problem. I consider myself a VERY outspoken person, and I ask a ton of questions about my care, but I am still working on noticing those times when I am reluctant to speak up. It’s just so hard as a patient.

The MRI actually went by pretty quick today. Yes – I just said one positive thing! We get to the end and she injects the contrast, which makes you feel like you peed your pants. A few more pictures and they came in to get me out. The nurse starts taking out my IV and I said that I needed to keep it in because I am headed to the Farber for blood work. She quickly says, “You can’t keep it in. It’s contaminated. They should never do that – the labs could be wrong.” I told her that they have done it every time. She reassured me that it is not ok. I believed her, but then thought, are you fucking kidding me that you are the first person correcting this? So all of my other labs have been wrong? NOT ok.

I get back to the changing area and while I am waiting for another woman to get out, this lady starts chatting with me. Tells me her sister has cancer and I told her I have a pelvic cancer and she is in a great place, blah blah blah. She then starts to say that she has had a hysterectomy and has some bleeding. She wanted to know if I had that and thinks maybe she has what I have. OMG seriously…you don’t have what I have because of your damn pelvic bleeding lady. I am not in the mood for this. I know everyone’s problems matter but this is me, and my mood today, in all its honesty.

I headed to Au Bon Pain for breakfast because they have better breakfast sandwiches than the Farber cafeteria. A quick call to my mom to bitch, then I was off to the Farber to grab a spot in the caf where I am now. I could really do without the TERRIBLE elevator music and “inspiring” stories around me on the walls and TVs today. I saw one of the heads of hospital in the cafeteria that I work on the Patient and Family Advisory Council but I pretended not to see him all three times he walked by. Just not in the mood. Can’t mix patient time with patient advocacy. Too much.

I’ll be here all day ladies and gentleman…no, really ha. Hopefully the rest of the day goes smoothly, we shall see.

Don’t mess…

Recovery X2 (Part 2)

I just ate pizza! Wahoo! I made it really soft in the microwave and cut it into tiny pieces and then used the roof of my mouth to maneuver the piece to the back of my mouth to lightly chew. VICTORY IS MINE!

So this was the scheduled hospital time – my tongue surgery last Wednesday. A lot of us cancer patients always have another bizarre thing wrong with them, well mine is in my tongue. I have a benign Arteriovenous Malformation (AVM) on the under side of my tongue. I noticed it in fifth grade and it slowly grew with my age. Docs had been watching it over the years and confirmed it was benign, but would grow with age and change with my hormones. It started to give me jaw problems and on some days it would swell and affect my speech, so I decided it was time to take care of it.

Boston Children’s Hospital is the place to go for these. Their Vascular Anomalies Center is world-renowned. The plan was to do sclerotherapy on my tongue, which basically means they do an angiogram to see were the blood is flowing and inject my tongue in different places to clot the weakened vascular walls. When I finally made the appointment for this procedure I couldn’t sleep because I was trying to maneuver my tongue in all different ways to make it feel 2-3 times the size. The docs said it would swell to at least 2-3 times the size, and I would be in the hospital anywhere from 1-10 days – if 10 days then time in ICU. That’s not a big range or anything!! My doctor called it the “tongue party” because it is very unpredictable how much it will swell.

***

Parental units arrived to my condo the night before surgery. My dad had his foam pillow and my mom had a ton of presents for me including a new monkey – Cooper! We watched a little of The Voice, I briefed my parents on my typed document with all my doctor info, (I get anal before surgeries; I guess that’s how I deal) and then we caught some zzzz’s.

To be honest, I wasn’t all that nervous for this procedure, I think mostly because I was hungry, (couldn’t eat the morning of and it was a 1:30 procedure) and I just didn’t have the energy to be nervous. The recent ER visit took everything out of me and I had no choice but to just go with it. Also, I unfortunately knew the drill.

We waited for about 20 minutes in the Interventional Radiology reception area with Dora the Explorer on TV and the tiny kids chairs with baby tennis balls on the bottom of them. Mom and dad were sitting and I was pacing in true anxious Becky fashion. The nurse then took me back to get my vitals, ask me a bunch of questions, and put on my gown and those gross hospital socks they give you. Then the fellow came over to talk me through the procedure and the doc came to see me too. I felt…calm?

Mom and dad came back and the anesthesia team came to see me. I, of course, asked for several “cocktails” and they assured me I’d get them. The anesthesia resident with the biggest rock I have ever seen (almost ugly because it was so big) put in my IV. Before I knew it, it was time for my cocktail. These things are great, you instantly feel drunk (?) but the best happy-feeling drunk. I think I kissed my parents and they wheeled me into the room. I was much more alert for this than my other surgeries. I moved onto the OR table and had to put my head in this circular foam thing. They gave me some oxygen, put a blood pressure cuff on that was tight for too long, and told me to think of a nice place. SEE YA.

***

Beep, beep, beep. “Becky, Becky…” It was over and I was awake. I immediately checked my surroundings and I seemed to be in recovery and had no tubes in my mouth or anything. My tongue was really swollen, but I felt more alert than when I woke up from my other surgeries. Where are mom and dad?

A few minutes later mom and dad came in and said I did great. Mom gave me Cooper and he immediately went between my chest and my chin. My mom told me the doctor said it went great and it was a “textbook tongue.” The fellow came to see me a few minutes after that. The doctor couldn’t come because he was busy at a reception getting an honorary degree, ha! These doctors are unbelievable.

I started with a red ice pop with a towel wrapped around it. The pain wasn’t really that bad. It was just the swelling and numbness, granted they were giving me IV pain meds and steroids. After shift change/a couple hours later I got to my closet of a room. The floor docs came in to see me and it turned out I worked with one of their wives. Small world! They said they wanted me to stay overnight because the swelling could get worse day two or three. So mom and I were hunkering down for the night and dad went home to my condo. Mom had to sleep on this chair turned bed thing.  At first it was too far for me to reach her hand through my bed rail so I made her move closer so I could reach J. My nurse was a doll, his name was Bong and he took care of me all night and tried to be quiet when changing my IV meds.

The next morning I was ready to go! I literally did a little flailing dance in my bed because it was so different to have surgery where I could move my whole body. The fact that I’ve had three major abdominal surgeries actually helped with this recovery, because my perspective is probably different than the average person. This was a walk in the park. Would I have opted to not take the damn walk if I could have? Yea, but what are you gonna do.

Mom and dad got me home and in bed for a nap, while mom made me homemade soup. It was so nice to have them taking care of me because the ER experience was so awful :/. Mom woke me up during the night to give me my meds. The next day mom and dad cleaned the crap out of my condo and hit the road.

Recovery…soup, pudding, painkiller, applesauce, antibiotic, sleep…repeat. Each day my tongue is less swollen. If that is anything I know about recovery, each day gets a little easier.

I hope that I don’t see the inside of a hospital again anytime soon…

Recovery X2 (Part 1)

I haven’t written in a while because, well, I have been recovering x2. One of these recoveries was planned, and the other was not. What I have learned about myself is I can’t really write during recovery; I just need to focus on getting better. As I look around my condo full of flowers from my amazing friends and family, I am so appreciative of their generosity, but I just can’t wait for the glum recovery phase to be over.

***

About two weeks ago, I went in for an appointment at Dana Farber. The appointment was to get labs done and then my Zometa infusion – the medicine for the bone loss the Lupron and Letrozole have caused. I had a really tough time making the decision about going on the bone drugs or not, but finally came to the conclusion that my life is more important than an unborn child right now. (My main reservation about taking the medicine is that the doctors don’t know how it affects children. I likely can’t have them but always hold onto a tiny bit of hope.)

After waiting an hour for labs to come back and meeting with a woman who coordinates the Young Adult Cancer Program at Dana Farber – cause I need to get more involved ha – I was back up on the sixth floor for my Zometa infusion. Most people take a pill form of these bone drugs but because of my acid reflux they said they would give me this one-time infusion. Great! My nurse Kerry (WHO I LOVE) comes in and we chat it up about boys, her new Anna Beck jewelry from the boyfriend, and shoes, of course. She puts in my IV and sets up the 30-minute infusion. The doctors told me that the only potential side affects were MILD flu like symptoms for the first 48 hours and I really shouldn’t worry about it. So I get my meds, pack it up and head into work.

Later that night I was living the typical single life, picking up dinner at Whole Foods. I started having this weird chest pain, but just ignored it and thought it would go away. I get home and can’t even finish my dinner. The pain was pressing so hard on the front and back of my chest that I would grunt when I tried to breathe in and out. Then came the chills…I just couldn’t warm up. I put on that new Nicholas Sparks movie, The Best of Me and just tried to get into bed. It would just go away, right? I don’t need this right now. I called my parents because I started to panic and well then, they did too. After about an hour of chest pain and my mom calling me every five minutes I started hysterically crying because I realized I needed to go to the ER. Fuck. That moment when you realize you have to go to the hospital? It just sucks. My parents and I suddenly shifted into panic mode and were trying to quickly figure out who could take me to the ER. I didn’t want to go in an ambulance. I texted my wonderful neighbor downstairs and he immediately came up. I was already dressed with my winter hat on, hysterically crying, gasping for air, and snot all over my face.

My neighbor got me right in his car and drove me to Brigham and Women’s Hospital. While trying to breathe, I was sending my parents phone numbers for my doctors and friends so they could come be with me.

We pulled into the ER and my neighbor asked if I was okay to walk in. I said, “yes, yes.” The minute my feet hit the pavement, everything started to go fuzzy and dark and I got hellishly dizzy. Then, noodles. My legs were noodles. Luckily I was able to grab onto one of those large silver poles where you pull up to the ER, so I didn’t go down. I started screaming my neighbor’s name and full on panicking, hanging from the pole. My neighbor jumped out of his car and came to help me, while some guy slowly walked up behind me with a wheelchair and casually asked if I needed it. Yes I fucking need a wheelchair; I just collapsed IN FRONT OF AN EMERGENCY ROOM. AREN’T YOU SUPPOSED TO HELP ME?

They wheel me in and some miserable woman asks for my blue medical card, with NO urgency. Meanwhile, I was shaking, crying, gasping, and all of the above. I rifle through my purse and yank out the card, mumbling under my breath, “of course ‘cause this is fucking America.” Yeap – I was upset. Then they ask me if I have been to Africa and finally bring me into a room to get vitals. This nurse with a bad dye job and a scrunchy, yes a scrunchy, asks me about every medicine I am on which takes forever to go through. I try to tell her that I have Sarcoma and think I am having a reaction to a medicine. Bruce – the medical assistant is in there too with a smug look on his face, chomping on his gum, and not even cracking one leak of compassion. I even tried to joke with him about my bear named Bruce – but nothing. After that I got to spend even more time with Dick, I mean Bruce, as he hooked me up to an EKG. It is highly uncomfortable having an asshole man you don’t feel comfortable put monitors on your boob. When he was finished I said, “do I need to keep the leads on?” He says, “Those aren’t leads, don’t believe everything you see on TV. And yes, keep them.”

After the EKG, I thought they would bring me right back. I mean I was having extreme chest pain and trouble breathing! Right back is not where I went, I went to the waiting room for TWO HOURS. The ER is probably one of the worst places on earth.

Shortly after my EKG my BFF Jennie came to relieve my neighbor. Did I mention the ER is the worst place ever? Everything takes FOREVER. After finally going back and getting a bed, they put in an IV and took labs. Two hours to get those back. Then they wanted to do a chest CT – oh and had to put in a different IV because the first one was in the wrong place, excellent communication ER staff. Two hours for the CT results. They were pretty sure I was having a rare reaction to the Zometa but had to rule out a blood clot or PE. Oh, and when I say rare reaction to Zometa I mean my expert doctor had to look up case studies for this reaction. SERIOUSLY, BECKY? YOU ARE HELLA SPECIAL! Six a.m. rolls around and THE amazing Jennie is still with me. The doctor comes in and says they saw a spot on the chest CT that could be something or “just an artifact,” and they want to do another type of chest scan and a leg ultrasound to be sure. At this point I had to let out a little cry because I just wanted to go home and wanted my parents who couldn’t get to me because there was a BLIZZARD that was about to start.

Another two hours later and they transferred me to observation, which is between the ER and getting admitted. At this point the fever started and Jennie and I were eating sub-par breakfast sandwiches from the hospital cafeteria. At around 10 a.m. Jennie was relieved and Ryan and Amanda came to take the day shift. (I don’t know what I would do without my amazing friends). Amanda took over secretary duty from Jennie and talked to my mom and doctors as I was in and out of sleep. Each time I woke up “transport” was there to wheel me (on my stretcher) to the next test. Finally after everything came back negative they determined with certainty I had a terrible reaction to the Zometa. My endocrinologist felt terrible and was baffled by the reaction I had.

By 5 p.m. on Saturday (I went into the ER 11 p.m. Friday) Amanda and Ryan had me back at my condo to rest. It was recovery time. Tylenol every four hours for the fever, fluids, and lots of sleep and TV for three days…

And here I am two weeks later on the couch recovering again…to be continued…

Laugh Always

Thanks Momma for inspiring this post and reminding me of a hilarious story from one of my surgeries. As much as I have cried, screamed, pouted, you name it, I have laughed MORE! Laughing, crafing (crying and laughing – my friend Jennie and I named it), whatever! – it’s what gets me through and lifts me up. Here are some fun stories of laughter.

**

I was recovering from my first surgery at home in Albany. I spent most of my time in my dad’s recliner because it was THE only thing that felt comfortable. I couldn’t lay flat in a bed and would have to sleep in the chair. My family would have to help me out of bed, down the stairs, into the chair, and into my nightgowns (yes this was all I could wear for weeks and those AMAZING stretchy hospital underwear). This help also included showering me. I couldn’t bathe myself and just standing in the shower for five minutes took all the energy out of me. It was a huge task to go upstairs and clean my little tushy. Well, one day when my sister was bathing me, (thanks Allie J) I noticed how heavily she was breathing – she has allergies so tends to breathe heavy, but since she was so close to me it sounded like a rhinoceros! I said, “You are breathing like a rhinoceros.” Next thing you know we were both CRYING laughing. I was actually crafing because laughing hurt like hell with the pressure of the 32 staples down my tummy.

**

After my third surgery I was back at my old apartment in Boston with my delirious mother. Delirious because she never left my side in the hospital and brought me back to life. I was relaxing – or trying to – on the couch and of course my mom was running around the apartment cleaning anything and everything she could find. My mom could find dust where dust doesn’t exist. All of a sudden I see her with the Swiffer and she slips and does a full out split. I started cracking up which then turned into grabbing the pillow for my belly and yelling at her because it hurt so much! She was rolling around on the floor laughing too.

**

Panic attacks happen. They actually happen a lot on my drive home from work, which is definitely not the best time because I am DRIVING a “potential death machine” as my mom called it when I first got my permit. They happen on my way home because I have likely been holding in my emotions all day at work. So it basically starts with hyperventilating, my whole face tingles, then comes the crying, then comes the muscles getting all tight, and the anger and the flailing in my seat and the screaming. At some point during all of this I call my parents. Sometimes my mom is so upset to hear me upset that she says hold on and throws the phone at my dad. SOMEHOW he manages to make me laugh by saying the stupidest thing!! “So I saw Casey M. working in Stewart’s can you believe that. He dropped out of college.” What?!! So random of my dad to say – Casey graduated high school with my brother but was always a little bit of a question mark as to whether or not he would go to college or just end up staying in our home town. The randomness made me laugh and completely distracted me. I did my little I am still crying but also laughing and you are ridiculous laugh/grunt thing. Thanks, Datty. (My dad has many names – Little Ronald, Faja, Datty, Mr. Sir…)

**

My second surgery I had this adorable redheaded Irish nurse for one of the night shifts. Her name was Mary and she was just a gem. As with every nurse, my mom (a nurse) watched her every move. Some got the evil eye, but Mary was a keeper, she got an A. It was probably somewhere around 3 a.m. when Mary came in to give me my heparin shot (blood thinner shot into my thigh that stings like a biatch). Mary tiptoed in and explained what she was doing in her little Irish whisper. My mom was sleeping on the chair to my left. Then, poof, my mom was up and at ‘em standing right next to Mary, like the sneaky guy with the foot fetish in the movie Mr. Deeds. Mary got very startled and in her Irish brogue said, “Oh, I didn’t even see ya there.”

**

Surgery number two, back at the apartment again with my mom recovering and I was on the toilet – sure you wanted to know that. The reason I tell you that is because from the toilet I could see into my bedroom. (I was just peeing for the sake of this story, don’t worry. My mom would help me onto the toilet then leave me alone for a few then come back to help me off. Dignity, shmignity.) I look up and there is my 50-something mother trying to walk around in a pair of my three-inch Nine West stilettos. Okay, now let me define what trying to walk in these looked like – she could barely lift up her feet, was wearing her pajama pants that always manage to shrink and look like flood pants, and was concentrating very hard. I said, “WHAT are you doing?” We both looked up at each other and starting crying laughing.

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Those are just a few stories of laughter for now. One note I have to end with is that my dad is very attached to his recliner I mentioned – it is his buddy. Of course he didn’t think twice about giving it up for me for a month because it was all I could get comfortable in, but I know he missed that thing like a fat kid misses cake. When I was starting to feel better and was able to get comfortable in other places, I came downstairs one day and there was a piece of paper taped to the recliner that said “Eviction Notice. This chair is now being returned to the care of Ronald A. Sail.” Very funny, Datty! J

Being that it is February 11th, I have to give a Happy Birthday shout out to my one and only rhinoceros, my sweet chinchilla, my other half -- Allie Wik.