The Night Before the First Day of School: A Mom’s Story

Supplies dropped off, lunches made, first day clothes laid out, showers, and teeth brushed all checked. Tomorrow’s the big day for my kids, not me. Well maybe me too.

Will both boys (1st, 4th) know where to go? Know where to sit in the cafeteria? Will they have friends in their new classes? In a new environment with so many posters will they be able to concentrate at all? Will they be the nice or naughty list? Remember the movie Matilda where the boy had to eat the entire cake?

What will lunch be like? Will their lunches be cool enough to trade or am I a lame mom for going with the traditional sandwich instead of overpriced lunchables. (Once a week for emergencies only, I swear)!

What about the summer assignments, will those be mentioned on day 1? What mom really did make their kid read 1 hour a day and not watch video games? I was proud of the assignment homework completed and an attempt to keep up on summer reading. Will that be good enough? That’s the question will they be good enough as students and will I be good enough as a parent to the teacher? You know LEGO Minecraft is problem solving and creativity. 😉

A million worries flood into my brain just thinking about tomorrow and it’s mostly for them. I can only hope that each year is better than the last and they keep on growing.

Do my boys always have perfectly brushed hair and coordinated outfits? Nope. Sometimes it’s a struggle to get a shirt on, a victory even. I spray hairspray as they’re running out the door. You have to work with what you can and do your best. Do I get looks when I show up with a dozen store bought cupcakes, you bet-ya. If you were a good mother you would have baked them yourself and volunteered-why don’t you volunteer again, don’t you care? Part of it is that little gremlin that sits on the left shoulder nagging with negative self talk but part is society’s unrealistic expectations.

It’s not going to be a perfect year, and I’m sure I’m going to get several calls from the principal (please not on the first day like last year). Kids are going to have bad days just like their parents. The main message I need to consciously remind myself this year is to say that “they made a bad decision, that they’re not bad (or being bad)”. We’ll see how that one goes but I’m optimistic. The bookshelf of mindful books are sinking get in.

Does all this really matter or is it in our heads? Are we overthinking all this drama and making ourselves much more anxious than we really should be? How much of it is bad memories being transferred to out kids? Random thoughts.

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MD Anderson and the First Infusion

This place is like a fortress. It’s spoken so highly about around the world that you think you’ve arrived at the pearly gates, which hopefully you haven’t yet.

Each type of cancer has has their own area and team of nurses/doctors. It’s easy to see who has the same type of cancer you do and identify their symptoms. You can also see in their faces where they are emotionally. It’s very draining but one of the very few places where there’s true empathy. Bonus, they had good chemo friendly food and even a chick-fil-a on site (always a highlight).

The first day is always an endless stream of tests, blood work, and doctor’s visits. During my initial visit in March doctors had hoped to have me enrolled in a late stage trial. The trial would mean not paying and a good chance of success as most of the kinks were worked out in earlier trials. One of the conditions of being in the trial was to not have brain tumors to be in the study. No problem I thought confidently. They only found them in my lungs. A few weeks later I was scheduled for an MRI brain scan and to begin the trial treatment infusions just a few days later over Spring Break. The MRI scan usually takes 30-40 minutes where your head is completely surrounded and you can’t move. High pitched sounds echo in your ears. The only way to not panic is to meditate and leave the world behind. Sitting on the doctor’s table I was anxious about starting chemo infusions. What would it feel like? What reactions would I have? When would I see results?

My original doctor was on vacation and another took over. She had a third doctor come into the room to explain to me that I wouldn’t be receiving treatments that day and a 3mm brain tumor had been found. Didn’t qualify for the original study and another required a larger size brain tumor. The suggestion was to begin treatments in the usual way. I wanted to begin these right away.

During this time Brandon was also still looking for another job andwould soon be changing companies. This meant changing insurances and having a new set of deductibles to meet. I pushed to get the first treatment round covered by his old company. This gave me relief as I was doing something. With MD Anderson being in southeast Houston and us living 2.5 hour away I asked to have my infusions done at home and continue to see doctors at both places. Scans and treatment plans would all be done at MD Anderson.

The first infusion was scary. I arrived half an hour before they opened and saw a room of 60 reclining chairs waiting for the day’s patients. They came in slowly with the same look of resignation. They dozed off or stared into nothingness. Somehow those thoughts come into your head of why am I here, what did I do to deserve this, I’m too young to be here. Those questions and thoughts have no answers. During the first infusion I stared at the clock counting the minutes till I’d be through. Till I could say that I did it, I survived my first round.

After the first round I made it a point to make eye contact with someone else receiving their infusion and smile. It may not have been much but it said that together we’ll make it through this three hour hell.

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Cancer is a journey that unfortunately most people go through alone. Your friends and family try but often they don’t know what to say or how to help. The usual “I’m sorry, and we’re here for you, whatever you need” are pretty typical lines. The thing is that people have their own lives with their own problems. They sometimes don’t know what to say or how to help.

I received a phone call about 10 minutes after making it home and started crying in my garden. I hadn’t even had the chance to tell my family what was going on. I shouldn’t have picked up that call but did and of course it was work. They wanted to talk work and how a training went, In tears I blurted out that I just found out I had cancer and would talk about the training tomorrow. That’s an extreme example of unloading on someone, but you never know what someone is going through. This person still avoids me months later and barely speaks to me. Maybe they’re afraid of saying the wrong thing.

In another moment, about a week later I was washing my hands in the restroom when a colleague came out to do the same. She asked the typical “how are you” expecting to get the automatic response we all give of “fine”. Instead I broke down and told her what I was going through. She was beyond encouraging and continues several months later to follow up with me. This person took the time to listen and more importantly have compassion.

It stinks but cancer is a journey where you find out who your true friends are, who just wants the gossip, and who’s ready to write you off as if you’re broken or already dead.

You look for those moments of peace and hope your true friends and family stick with you. We all fall down. Who do you have that helps you back up and how do you help yourself back up? Two questions that take time to answer.

In the messiness also comes the beauty and kindness of the humanity where coworkers and neighbors bring you meals, family and friends make quilts as a comfort during chemo treatments. Those moments of true generosity are unexpected but mean so much. So thank you to those friends and family for sticking with me on this journey through all the ups and downs.

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