Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Petting Faces

I haven't meant to let so much time lapse between posts. My intentions have been good but, I often have my small assistant by my side and we have different writing styles. She is more free-spirited and likes to crawl across the keyboard, pressing any and all buttons that inspire her. Whereas, I prefer a bit more uniformity and putting together specific letters to form words. To each their own, I suppose. Additionally, I've been on vacation. I spent a glorious week in the Las Vegas sunshine and to be quite honest, I enjoyed closing my eyes, floating in the pool, and forgetting real life for awhile. But, I'm back. Here I am, surprise! Now, let me get my pen...

Back to reality means back to pain and because of this, I need a lot of help. My main symptom has been intense pain and let me tell you, The Big C has no qualms about raising hell in each of the bones that it resides in. I have prescriptions of medications that can help keep the pain at bay; but, I have been adamant, since the beginning, that I won't take anything that makes me like a zombie. I want to be fully aware and capable of caring for Avery, so during the day I just take several Ibuprofen on a consistent schedule.

That's a Catch 22 however, because, as a result of the pain, I cannot adequately care for my daughter. I am unable to bend down to pick her up. I also can't lift her in and out of her crib and since she still likes to wake up for a late-night snack and girl talk, at least once a night, I require extra help. My cute husband would be the obvious choice but he can't very easily fly airplanes from the comfort of our quaint condo, so he is away quite often. When he isn't home, my mom and my college roommate Kari typically split the night-shifts throughout the week. It is an unbelievable help to have someone stay over and allows me to take stronger medicine to help the pain while I sleep.

One night when Kari was over, we were just relaxing and decided to have a cocktail to accompany our plethora of DVRed TV shows that had accumulated since our last slumber party. Kari concocted some vodka and pop combination while I settled on a beer. We each just had one drink and shortly thereafter, decided to go to bed. At this point, I had to sleep sitting up because of the pain so I constructed my five-pillow bungalow, popped a Vicoden and attempted to settle in. I say attempted because I hadn't slept comfortably in months... until, this night. I was knocked out and my body felt incredibly relaxed.

I remember waking up to the baby crying and Kari giving her a bottle in bed. I dozed back off and awoke again to myself asking Kari where the baby was. For some reason, I kept thinking she had fallen back to sleep in bed with Kari and I, but I wasn't sure. Time after time after time, after time, Kari assured me that Avery was in her crib. I'm pretty sure I asked her about 16 times through my grogginess before waking up again to realize that after a second feeding (A-bomb went through a short phase when she thought sleeping was way uncool and would wake up a lot.) Kari did leave her between us. I figured it was because it would be easier for me to see where the baby was, rather than have to continuously ask.

Now, I love my sweet little goose (Avery,  not Kari...I love her too, but Avery is my goose) and even though it will apparently scar her for life to sleep in my bed, I was content to have her there at that moment and I lovingly rubbed her face. Then, I leaned over and gave her a kiss on her cheek and rubbed her head while I fell back asleep, with my hand resting protectively on her for the rest of the night.

Fast forward to 5:30 am when I woke up; being more coherent, I saw that Kari had moved the baby back to her crib at some point before she left for the gym. When she got back, I was up making coffee and going on and on about how good I had slept. That's when Kari reminded me about how often I asked her where the baby was. At that point, I said "Oh man! I must have been talking in my sleep because I only vaguely remember that. BUT, it was sweet when she slept between us, she looked so cozy" This caused Kari to start laughing and inform me that the baby was never asleep in my bed. Indignant, I said, "Yes she was, I was rubbing her face." To which Kari replied.... "Nope. That... was me."

Turns out, Avery slept in her crib the whole night (she actually only woke up once) but, everything else was true.... The stroking of her face. The kiss on the cheek. The head rub. YES, it all happened... to Kari! It was supposed to be a well-intentioned motherly instinct, but I guess our friendship hit a new level. Maybe next time I better save the "good sleep," for when my husband is home, just in case.

Friday, April 5, 2013

Breaking Plates

The following events are true but no one was hurt in the making of this story... except for maybe a few dinner plates....

I owe Kim Kardashian a big -thank you.- Why you ask? Well, its definitely not because she wears too tight "maternity," clothes. No... definitely not. Instead, it's because she puts her life on television, and although I do not regularly watch the show, one night she inadvertently offered inspiration to my amazing and extremely supportive sisters-in-law and I. As the story goes, on one episode of her namesake show, Kim had trouble expressing her frustrations regarding stresses in her life and to help her release her aggression, her sister suggested that they shatter plates.

Well, my sister-in-law Nikki decided that emulating this act would be the perfect form of therapy as we all absorbed the news of my recent diagnosis. So, on a random Tuesday night, Nikki, my other sister-in-law Danielle, and I, set out with a stack of plates rattling in the backseat.

Despite my best efforts to consistently dress cute for cancer, I wasn't exactly sure what one wears to break plates. My superhero costume was at the dry cleaners so I was going to have to improvise. I felt like this was a covert mission of sorts and that dark colors would be most appropriate. Comfort and something that allowed for maximum range of motion would be key. I finally settled on yoga pants, a hooded shirt, and a pony tail. It didn't necessarily scream high-fashion, but I was confident that it would get the job done.

My mind was on fashion but my heart was on a quest that caused me to reflect a bit. I have realized that I am often responsible, punctual, and a rule-follower. In retrospect, I like to ask myself where exactly that behavior has gotten me in life. It got me cancer. Cool. So, maybe life isn't always about pleasing other people and doing the right thing; maybe sometimes, it about making myself happy and having fun.

This newly adopted attitude was put to the test on this night of plate-breaking. I was looking forward to taking my stress out on some once trendy dinnerware but a small voice in the back of my head insistently tried to push its way through and ask the responsible questions. Questions such as, who will clean up the ceramic shards? What if someone stumbles upon our mess and gets hurt or a car driving through pops a tire? I expressed my concerns to Danielle and Nikki, but quickly learned that we were doing this. No. Matter. What. ...Even if it meant gagging me and tossing me in the trunk in the meantime.

Eventually, we pulled into an abandoned and fairly dark parking lot and blared fierce music with a bass so deep that it caused the car to pulsate against the ground. First thing's first.. we needed to get into the spirit of the event, so we practiced our mean faces. Anyone that knows me is well aware of my innate ability to throw a menacing stink eye; but, when it comes to spontaneously sporting an intimidating mug... well, I just look constipated. So, after many attempts and failures, we decided to skip the characterization and get right to the plate throwing. The intention was to take a plate and throw it as hard as I could while simultaneously yelling something derogatory about cancer.

At this point, it had started pouring down rain. I think this was for effect, making it a completely authentic experience of release and cleansing. Either that, or it just made it slippery and cold...but that doesn't offer much by way of poetic justice so let's stick with option one... I stepped out from under a covered doorway, into the rain, and held plate #1 high above my head poised and ready to throw. But then, despite a million ideas racing through my mind of telling cancer where to stick it.... I froze. I felt silly; here I am, 29 years old, standing in the pouring rain preparing to spray a slew of swear words at cancer and break plates.

No, wait. Here I am, 29 years old, standing in the prime of my life preparing to fight the hardest battle I will ever face.

Ok, in that case, I'm ready.

Smile!

My 1st throw- Enter...bone pain. That throw nearly killed me and all subsequent plates had to be granny tossed across the parking lot to avoid pain.

The Aftermath