When life is tainted with death

Cancer is awful.

I don't think there's anyone out there who thinks cancer is a good thing. Whether you have family or friends who have struggled, fought, beat or lost a battle to cancer, you know: cancer is awful.

I've written before about my mother in law's battle with cancer, and it's awful. It's awful to think about it. It's awful to avoid thinking about it. It's awful to hear her talk about it. It's awful when she doesn't talk about it. It's the lingering, overcast subtext that infects everything.

When we found out that her cancer was back, we truly did not think that we would have her for that Christmas. Thankfully, we did. And it was a very sweet Christmas. We spent so much time with her, and we got to share that I was pregnant and that she was expecting her first grandchild. It was a really sweet moment.

Throughout the treatments, the medications and the pain, she's been so strong. We haven't been able to visit much with our crazy schedules, but we call weekly and we send care packages to remind her that we love her and we're thinking about her.

I don't know that writing my heart on the internet is the most useful way to deal with all the emotions I'm feeling about her cancer. I read a lot of cancer message boards, and I shouldn't because for every happy post, there are twelve sad posts.

We received news two weeks ago that the scans weren't showing the decrease that the doctor wanted. That the medications and treatments and chemo wasn't working. It's never easy hearing that news, but it's not hearing it that breaks my heart: it's thinking about how she must be feeling having to tell her son, how she must have felt when she heard the news herself. That is heart-breaking. That is awful.

Last week, she began a trial medication. It's actually quite cool: a cancer vaccine where they use her body to fight her own cancer. But it's a trial. And from what the doctors say, she has a 1 in 5 chance of success. And from what I've gathered, she doesn't have great odds if they're moving away from traditional cancer treatments to trial treatment.

I hate that we can't be there to stop by with dinner or flowers or hugs and sit with her, hold her hand, watch tv with her, bring her water or a blanket or whatever she needs. I hate that.

Cancer is awful.

It's scary. And it's sad. Her favorite thing to talk about is the baby. How he's doing. When he's moving. His heart rate. Whether he'll look like Bryan. If he'll like ice cream.

I sent her my only picture of his profile from the ultrasound in the last package. He's her inspiration, she says. She wants to meet him so badly.

My greatest fear is that she won't. With 7 weeks until my due date, it seems like a very reasonable goal. It seems like she will meet him and love him and everything will be beautiful.

We heard that she may not be up for the trip, driving nor flying, in August. That we need to keep it in mind that it may not happen. Which means that I need to find out how early I can get my baby on a flight to South Carolina to meet her. Which is absolutely nuts.

Cancer is awful.

When it rains, it pours

Things have been unbelievably stressful at the moment.

I am now 12 weeks pregnant with our first child. Some friends are excited, others disappointed. I don't care.

Bryan's waiting for the call for campus interviews. The next seven days are the days. I know Bryan's stressed, but I firmly believe that no call can change how great a teacher his students think he is or how talented his wife knows he is.

Our improv team is learning how to move forward without four members. I think that's great.

And we called Bryan's mom last night. I wish I could say everything was fine, but it's not. It's not, and it's fucking not fair. This sweet woman, this strong matriarch of the family, this supporter of her kids, this second mother of mine, this incredible woman is still battling stage IV breast cancer. It's spread to her stomach, liver and bones. Her hip that's been hurting her has been taken over by a tumor. Cancer is hurting her. She's been taking drugs, a whole cocktail costing thousands of dollars for months now, and while it was working in the beginning, taking the tumors down 15%, it doesn't seem to be working any more.

The fear and the sadness that she expressed in the call last night scared me. She's afraid. We're afraid. We're all sad. We all know the inevitable will happen. And it is so sad. Here I am, pregnant with her first and only grandchild, and she may not live to see the baby. FUCK.

I don't want to say that the whole reason we are having our baby is for Mom because it's not. But, we were not planning to start having kids yet. We heard Mom's news in September and after a month of talking, we decided it was important for our child to meet his grandmother, to have memories, for her to meet her grandchild, for her to see the next generation.

I was unbelievably shocked when we were pregnant in our second month, and I thought, this is a sign from the universe. This baby is going to make it, this baby is going to give her reason to hang on, this baby will meet his grandmother. I truly hope for this to still happen. I need this to happen. My baby needs to know his grandmother.

Currently, she's deciding if she wants to go through stronger therapy or not. It's a really tough decision, and I can't imagine what she's wrestling with. I wish we were there to hug her. All we can do from facetime is tell her we love her, that she's doing great and that the baby can't wait to meet her.

If you pray, pray for Mom. If you still have your mom, call her, tell her you love her. Love's all we got, guys.

Eeeek.

Work has been busy. Laundry has been nonstop since Saturday. Calls and texts from friends have been constant. It's been an insane few days.

My mother is having breast surgery today on an unknown something that needs to be removed. When it is removed, they'll know if it's cancerous or not.

Bryan's mother is having scans today and tomorrow to see how the tumors are reacting to her chemotherapy. Results for both mothers' work won't be available until next week. I don't know how I will survive if both receive anything but happy news.

I feel like everything is out of control, moving too fast and in the wrong way. Someone needs to steer this ship in a different direction.

Fearful Weekend

This weekend was not a great one.

In living in Oklahoma, we have experienced a handful of terrible happenings at our house. We've been egged, had our mailbox smashed, had our cars broken into and our doors jiggled (thankfully, they were locked). We don't exactly feel safe in our house or in this creepy small town.

On Saturday night, we came home from a day of shopping in Tulsa around 10pm. We watched SNL and went to bed. At 2:30 in the morning, we heard a loud bang that sounded like someone was breaking into the house. I was scared, and Bryan was nervous. We both sat awake listening for where in the house the noise was coming from. After a minute of silence, Bryan bravely walked through the house, turning on lights and checking for intruders.

He was unable to find anyone in the house, re-checked our locks and we went back to bed.

At 3:40 in the morning, I received a call from an unknown number. Being that I was already scared and that I never answer unknown calls, I let it go to voicemail. When I received a notification that I had received a voicemail, I listened to it. And immediately started crying for fear.

The message was the most disgusting thing I've ever heard. Vulgar. Sexual. Violent. Disgusting. And it mentioned me by name and described the inappropriate things the caller wanted to do to me while my friend watched. I was unable to discern the voice of the caller because the caller had used some sort of computer to scramble his voice.

I made Bryan listen to it, and he was freaked out as well. At this point, we're unable to sleep, and we realize that the two events must be related. How terrifying that someone who knows where I live, my phone number, my friend's name and that I used to work at the library. And that they actually came to my house. I couldn't sleep. I was scared shitless.

Eventually, we woke up, watched tv and made lunch, avoiding the conversation. Bryan went outside to check the perimeter of the house and found the most disgusting graffiti on our front porch, in line with what the phone call described.

Bryan snapped into protection mode. He was going to figure out who did it, and if he didn't, he was going to call the police like we did for everything else unsafe that happened to us in our Oklahoma house. He hugged me and assured me that he would fix this.

We narrowed it down to a group of people that I'm embarrassed to say: our own improv team. Who we host at our house every month to review shows and provide with a free, home-cooked meal. Who call me if they will be late to practice. Who know where I work. Bryan was furious. And I felt threatened.

We decided to bring it up at the top of practice in front of the entire team to see if anyone would confess. When Bryan began his speech, I never felt more protected before in my life. When I was in college, something awful happened to me and no one was there to protect me. And this weekend, Bryan was there to protect me.

He firmly, loudly and passionately described how we already feel unsafe in this town, that we already feel threatened in our own home, and that last night, we had two unusual things happen. He described the noise, the graffiti and the sickening phone call.

He gave them the opportunity to confess. One raised his hand. A student. A new member of the team. Bryan took him back to his office and I, through tears, explained how upset I was and that today's practice would be a team effort. We began choosing games for Friday's show.

About fifteen minutes later, Bryan called me into the hallway where the student apologized profusely, terrified of Bryan and upset for how he'd disrespected me. He said he was working alone. Bryan told him to immediately go clean up the graffiti and that he was suspended from the team until further notice.

We continued with practice knowing that one or two more students were involved. After warmups, we began practicing games for the show. After the first game, Bryan disappeared with another student who said he needed to talk to Bryan. This student confessed as well and said there was one more person who was involved. This student cried and was also suspended.

Practice continued, and we left. We were so sick that our own students would do this. Student on faculty/staff sexual harassment. I'm not sure how to feel about these students or the one who is letting his friends take the blame.

Later, when we finally got hungry for dinner around 8:30, Bryan wanted to get pizza and I went with him. Neither of us are okay with me being alone at the house anymore, even though it seems we may have resolved the issue.

This comes at a really terrible time because I was starting to like my stupid small town again, to feel like it was beginning to feel like home. And now I'm so disgusted, so unnerved that I am really hoping that Bryan gets a call later this month from one of those schools so we can get out of here.

And so it goes...

This hasn't been the easiest last two months for me - or for Bryan.

I think I'm finally ready to say it out loud, to write it for real, to put it on my blog.

My mother in law has cancer.

There. I said it. It's back for the second time, and this time, it's the last time. It's metasticized which means it has spread to her liver, her lungs and her spine. She's on too many drugs to count with more appointments that anyone should have and she's in more pain than I'd like even my enemies to experience. I hate it.

I have a lot more to say about this, and I probably will. But not yet. I'm still trying to sort out my thoughts in my head, and my blog is the next place for my thoughts. It always has been, and I think it always will be. For better or for worse, I'm a writer and I'm a performer. I need to write for things to be real, and I need to share in order for it to be real. Real.

I suppose this is all real even if I don't write about it in a public place, but to me, when I reread this post, I will know that it plagued my mind so much that I had to let it out. It is somewhat freeing to dump my thoughts on this blog.

The subtitle of this blog that I wrote on a lonely day in Philadelphia more than two years ago is: The splatter of my own musings and curiosities in blog form. Splatter couldn't be more accurate.

What's been on my mind lately, in splatter form:
How long will I have to spend with my mother in law? A month? A year? Next Christmas? Two years?

Marriage is a crazy thing: a commitment to a completely different human being who is also so much the same. What's wild is that marriage means something different to each crazy pair willing to promise forever to each other.

I need to get out of Oklahoma. I think I've thought this since the moment we moved here, and I tried liking it, and I'm at the point of tolerance, but I just don't like the people, the culture, the town, the place. I'm an East Coast girl, and I have found that to more true now that any other point in my life.

I hope Bryan gets that job at Furman. Oh, did I tell you Furman is hiring exactly the kind of economist Bryan is? And that Furman is 25 minutes from where Bryan's parents live? I'm trying not to get too excited, but I am. I know that probably 100+ applicants will try for the job, but really, Bryan's the perfect guy for it. If you know someone at Furman in the Economics department, GET IT TOUCH WITH ME!

I saw a lot of friends at Ben & Adrienne's wedding this weekend (which was beautiful and made me cry twice), and it was great to be around old friends. History, shared memories, inside jokes, I mean, I love it. I miss it.

Also, Bryan and I got to enjoy our weekend getaway complete with a performance at a coffeeshop that was both tragic (I can't stop thinking about death) and silly (our escape), sleeping on a twin bed with Bryan, making Mom's secret recipe for spaghetti with her supervision, enjoying Disney movies in the basement, hearing stories about Bryan as a child, shopping with Brooke (at a REAL mall) and cleaning a house that wasn't mine. Definitely the best visit to the upstate we've had since hearing the news almost exactly two months ago.

I'm feeling guilty that we're still spending Thanksgiving with my family this year. I try to justify that it's okay because the Buckleys haven't asked us - and they'll have other family coming down. To be honest, I miss my family, and as much of an insensitive bastard as this makes me, I want a weekend family trip without tears and talks of death.

Things are quite crazy right now for me. I'm swamped with work as the application deadline is next Tuesday, my boss is out of town and I'm handling lots more than I normally do, the improv kids have a show next weekend, and I'm still recovering from the little sleep and the sad thoughts of this past weekend.

But I have a good picture to share. Bryan and I had a romantic evening at our dear friends' wedding enjoying wine, dancing and thinking about the day we decided to join lives in our sweet and crazy marriage..

Lady Gaga in the Morning

I dreamt that Bryan died, and I had to drive with his family to Kentucky to bury him. It was the worst dream I'd ever had. For what seemed like an eternity, I lay in a field of flowers that people had sent for his death. I woke up and he was still next to me and started crying.

I had to make chicken dumplings before work today, and I was chopping onions when the onions overcame my face and I started crying. The onion tears turned to real tears. I was crying.

I'm not sure what's happening, but it seems like I need a good cry.

Instead, tonight I'm hosting the comedy improv shows. Oh boy.

Life and Such

Blog, I don't know what to tell you. Bryan snapped this picture of me this weekend, and I thought I was smiling. I suppose I am, but it's not a real smile. It's a forced smile. It's a I-can't-stop-thinking-about-this smile. It's pain.

I'm hurting. I'm scared. I'm not sure. I'm in need of a hug or two or forty.

I hate this. I hate how unpredictable this is. I hate how unstoppable this is. I hate how I can't talk about it. I hate how it makes me feel. I hate how I can fix it. I hate how it's hurting family.

I can't focus. I can't understand. I can't believe.

What? Why? When?

I spent a weekend with family, and it was good, it was bad, it was sad, it was happy, it was awkward, it was good.

We said a lot of things we needed to say. We heard a lot of what we needed to hear. We shared some of our new intentions, our new hopes, our new plans, and I'm not sure how much weight I will attribute to them, but I am certain that my perspective has shifted.

Life has no guarantees. Life has no easy roads. Life has no bandaids. Life has no apologies. Life is and isn't.