What am I doing?

Very often I wonder how my lack of knowing what I'm doing will affect my children.

I grew up very differently than my girls will. By the time I was five, we had moved several times and I was living in my third state (hush, now - my oldest has only moved twice and has only lived in two states). I didn't take a trip by airplane until I was 15 - my five year old has been on a plane more times than I can count. Several of her trips have been outside of the US - my first trip outside the US was after college. If either of my girls needed anything at all, suffice it to say we could take care of it. I'm not sure the same could have been said for me when I was growing up.

My girls are growing up with parents who have college degrees, in a nice neighborhood that is a suburb of a major metropolitan area. My parents are divorced, and I grew up in a rural town nearly two hours from a city, where a college degree was not required for most of the jobs to be had in the area.

These days, I can be at Wal-Mart, Target, or any fast food restaurant within 5 or 10 minutes. Growing up, the nearest Wal-Mart or McDonald's was 30 - 40 minutes away (there wasn't a Target anywhere close - tragic, I know).

We have over 300 channels on our cable (and there is never anything to watch). Growing up, we had three channels - sometimes four depending on the weather.

The elementary school here has over 800 students, just in grades K- 4. The school I graduated from had less than 500 students, K-12.

Don't even get me started on the fact that we are raising our girls in a bilingual household.

I am VERY unfamiliar with the world my girls are growing up in.

But this morning while I was driving her to school, my five year old says, "Mommy, I've changed my mind about being a paleontologist. I just want to be a mommy and I don't want to be away from the people I love. I just want to be with you."

So I guess we're doing something right. (But I hope she changes her mind about paleontology.)

It's possible I need to get out more.

So now that I am not nursing the baby anymore (sniff sniff), I get the honor of putting the five year old to bed at night. It is nice to spend that time with her after having had so much of my time otherwise spoken for over the last year or so. Our bedtime routine includes reading a story of her choosing, so naturally we go through periods of time where we read the same story every night.

Lately she has been on a "My Little Pony" kick (which I have encouraged, because it's NOT princesses, but that's another post), so when I saw a "My Little Pony" story book when she and I were at Target, I bought it. She can read now, so I thought this would be a great alternative to her watching the show all the time.

Well, at some point she decided she wanted it to be her bedtime story and at some point she decided I needed to make voices for each of the ponies. (Previously I had been giving everyone a different voice when I read "Thank You, Amelia Bedelia" to her.) OK, well so many ponies talk in the book that it's actually really hard to do! The first time we read it together I was just kind of trying to remember each pony from the show and give them a voice kind of like on the show, just so I could keep them straight. I didn't want to have-ass it, or give two ponies the same voice. I take pride in my work - I used to use my voice (somewhat) professionally. She watches the show at least every other day, so I am vaguely familiar with the characters. I don't actually watch it with her, but I am usually in the kitchen or following the baby around or somewhere where I can hear what's going on.

Well, she liked it. A LOT. So we are reading it every night now. But NOW... Now I find myself seeking her approval on how accurate my voices are! I'm stopping to watch the show a little more carefully so I can get an idea of what each character is like. Every time we read it, I try to do the voices a little better.

SERIOUSLY.

It's possible I need to get out more.

When I grow up...

I still haven't figured out what I want to be when I grow up. I kind of dislike the premise, actually. What does it mean to "grow up" anyway?

When you're a kid, it means being physically larger and being allowed to do what you want to. But I'm bigger and I can do what I want to, and I really think now I would prefer to be smaller and have somebody tell me what to do. So: FAIL.

When grown-ups refer to those who are "grown-ups" they are referring to people who are mature and responsible. Ewww. I don't like that, either. FAIL.

Another generally accepted thing to do when you "grow up" is get a job. But what does that mean? I stay at home with my children - I didn't interview for this position. I didn't have to have a certain level of education to have this job. So, though it is indeed "work", I do not have a "job". But I am pretty sure I'm a grown up. By definition, FAIL again.

OK - I can agree that being mature and responsible are traits you should at least have access to as you age, but to "grow up"? Doesn't that imply that it is a finite process? That you reach a goal and you are done? Well, I don't like that at all.

I think I'd rather just find ways to enrich my life than decide what I want to be when I grow up. Because I really don't see myself being done with who I am anytime soon.

Life after my cancer treatment.

It is fitting that I am pondering my life after cancer right now: My older child is officially a kindergartener today and is about to lose her first tooth. There was a time when I was not sure I would ever be able to say a sentence like that.

As I said in my previous post, I have been cancer free since 1990, but there is a little more to it than that.

First of all, my husband and I have moved quite a lot over the years, so each time we move I have to find a new doctor and explain my entire health history to him or her, and then wait to see if they will overreact and order a bunch of tests I probably don't need. So that in itself is a huge pain in the ass.

Second, in 2001 I was having some discomfort in the area of the (huge) scar on my abdomen, which turned out to be a hernia for which I had surgery. The hernia was caused by scar tissue, which is the issue I had years ago with the two bowel obstructions.

Third... Third would be classified as *other* I think... I will expand on this one.

After my husband and I had been married for a few years, we decided we'd like to add to our family. I had NO idea if I could have children. There was no real way to tell. Technically, I should have been fine because I have a working ovary, a working fallopian tube, and a uterus. However, there was no way to know what the scar tissue inside of me had become and how it might interfere with the process. Also, there were concerns that the chemo could cause infertility, but no way to know for sure without trying. So after nearly a year of "trying" - including taking my temperature and making charts and whatnot - there was still no pregnancy. My doctor decided to try a round of Clomid and if that didn't work, he would do the somewhat invasive tests that make sure the fallopian tube is open and those sorts of things. Well, we didn't need to do that. That one round of Clomid did the trick (with a little help from me and my husband).

So: Great! Yay! I was pregnant! Awesome! Scary! All that first time parent stuff!

The first trimester was fine. I was nauseated most of the time, but it was fine. I was still working, even though my job was pretty stressful. Second trimester started fine, too. We even traveled to Costa Rica. But in the second trimester I did decide to leave my job because of the stress - physical and mental. It just wasn't worth it to risk the pregnancy and I planned to be a stay at home mom anyway. While I was still in my second trimester - a few weeks after I had quit working and on the weekend of my birthday - I got very sick and was throwing up. We went to Labor and Delivery to have me checked out and the doctor decided it was probably just a bug. I went home hoping to recover, but instead of getting better I got worse. So we went back to Labor and Delivery to see what was going on. One of the things that was going on was a little preterm labor, which was definitely not cool. They gave me medicine to stop that. I was also having quite a lot of abdominal pain and throwing up a lot. Turns out these are the symptoms of a bowel obstruction - a condition I was unfortunately familiar with... Just not when I was 23 weeks pregnant.

Not so great.

I was admitted to L & D after my doctor came to this realization, and from that point I think there must have been a lot of creative problem solving going on. I'm just guessing that bowel obstructions during pregnancy aren't too common. What I am NOT guessing about is that it is an urgent situation, for both mother and child. And it is a problem for which there aren't too many solutions.

The first attempt to remedy this was to drain everything that was stuck in hopes the obstruction would open up enough so that I would not have to have surgery. (In case you don't know, when the bowel is obstructed, it literally blocks your digestive system. My blockage was again caused by scar tissue.) The way to "drain" it is to put a tube down your nose into your stomach. While you are awake. It is exactly as fun as it sounds.

Although this attempt did relieve some pressure and make me a little more comfortable, the blockage remained: I would have to have surgery. Again. And at 23 weeks pregnant. There was no other option. This is the way I remember it anyway - I was hallucinating a lot thanks to the demerol they gave me for the pain. I also remember there being a lizard in my hospital room, but I am pretty sure that didn't happen.

So obviously our biggest concern about the surgery was the well being of the baby and the effect general anesthesia would have on her when given to me. The doctors told us that it would just make her go to sleep. And really we did not have a choice - without surgery it was likely that neither of us would make it. So, surgery it was. Almost 16 years to the day since my first surgery to remove the tumor from my ovary.

It was a successful surgery, by the way.

The surgery did the trick, but now I was recovering from major abdominal surgery with an ever growing belly. BUT all was well! I felt very blessed to be in the situation I was in when it could have easily gone the other way. I was really just hoping to make it to 37 weeks with no (further) complications. And I really wanted to have a natural childbirth... My surgeon thought I should have a C-section, but my OB saw no reason for that - Thank God!

Our first daughter was born two days before her due date. Born completely healthy and with no medical interventions. And she started kindergarten today.

My beautiful, healthy kindergartener.

The post where I talk about when I had cancer.

So my blog is pretty new and relatively without direction and nobody reads it except my husband and that's ok. I am really just using it as an outlet and letting it take whatever form it will for now. But this post is for a different reason. I actually want people to find it and hope they do. This post is about when I had cancer.

Dysgerminoma is the name of the cancer that grew in my young body more than 20 years ago. Very few people have heard that word and even when you Google it, the results are mainly definitions of sorts. It is a rare germ cell cancer that develops mostly in adolescent girls and young women. It is also a form of ovarian cancer.

When I got the diagnosis of "dysgerminoma of the ovary" I barely knew what my ovaries were. I had just turned 15 and knew nothing about anything. I was a good student and still in the process of making friends and getting to know people at the school I had just moved to the year before. The fall semester of my 9th grade year was pretty uneventful. I was 14 and on the basketball team and starting some games - in good shape but not really a great athlete. We had a homecoming dance that November for which my mom had sewn me a new outfit (it was the 80s - and we were "financially challenged"), and I was happy to be at the dance because I had missed much of the prior week of school due to a pretty severe bladder infection. Sometime around our Christmas break I felt like I was getting a little fat so I started wearing my shirts untucked. Upon further examination I realized my "pot belly" was hard... and that was weird. I brought this to my mom's attention and realized it was not just weird, but scary to my dear mommy.

It was the first Friday of January 1990 when Mom took me to our local doctor to see what was going on. This was a pretty traumatic event at that time of my life - nearly 15 and VERY innocent, the doctor wanted to do a pelvic exam. If that wasn't traumatic enough, it was inconclusive and she needed to get an ultrasound to know more. But we lived in a super small town and it was a Friday so it would have to wait until Monday and we'd have to go to the next bigger town. Monday was also my 15th birthday, so that was awesome. The ultrasound on Monday basically just showed a big mass on my ovary (which was causing me to look like I was 4 months pregnant) but still relatively inconclusive, so they had to send me to a specialist in Little Rock the next day. Upon his examination (yes, another pelvic) he decided I needed to have surgery to remove the mass. Immediately.

So, the next morning - two days after my 15th birthday - I was at UAMS in Little Rock having a major operation to remove a mass that may or may not be malignant. This was no neat little laser or scope surgery - this was before that technology. BUT the tumor was so large, they probably couldn't have used that technology anyway. The tumor was the size of a football, and was growing on my right ovary. So they removed that ovary, the right fallopian tube, my appendix, and several lymph nodes in the area. My uterus, left ovary, and left fallopian tube were unaffected (and are still right where God put them).

Had the tumor been benign that would have been the end of the story, but because it was malignant, the next thing on the "to-do" list was to consult with a chemo doctor at Arkansas Children's Hospital. I was to have six rounds of chemo on an outpatient basis over the next six months. I started my first round at the end of January and was given cis-platinum, bleomycin, and VP-16 over the course of five days. Doing this as an outpatient was not easy as we lived an hour and a half from the hospital. I remember that on one of the days we actually had car trouble en route to the hospital. I had the IV needle taped to my arm so they wouldn't have to start a new one (I didn't get a port because they were only doing six rounds of chemo) and we were just kind of stuck on the highway. This was even before cell phones, so I honestly don't remember who helped us and how we got to the hospital! So during that first treatment, OF COURSE the chemo made me sick - as it (in)famously does - but the week after the treatment I got very sick. We returned to the hospital to discover I had a bowel obstruction caused by scar tissue from the first surgery. So. I needed another surgery.

This surgery was at ACH and my recovery from the surgery coincided with two events: 1) my hair falling out from the chemo, and 2) my first concert: New Kids on the Block. For my hair, we decided to get it cut shorter to make it easier to deal with as it was coming out, and get a wig. For the concert, I had a potential problem: I didn't know if my doctors would let me go! This was obviously a HUGE concern for me as a 15 year old girl in 1990. They DID allow me to go, but said I had to wear a mask (I didn't). They also hooked me up with an organization called Arkansas Children's Dreams and got me a backstage pass! Maybe not so impressive in 2011, but trust me, it was a big deal. The evidence (yes, the second pic is messed up - this is before digital cameras):

Me with Danny & Donnie from New Kids on the Block in February 1990.

Me with Jordan from New Kids on the Block in February 1990.

So moving on, for my second round of chemo they decided to make some changes. First, they were switching me from cis-platinum to carboplatin to reduce the severity of some of the side effects (and reduced the administration from five days to three). Second, the chemo would be inpatient instead of outpatient. Which was great and all, but after round two I got sick again after I got home. We went back to the hospital. The diagnosis? Bowel obstruction due to scar tissue. Another surgery. Awesome.

The good news is the rest of the chemo treatments were fine. That was my last surgery that year (yes, there is more to that story). In between all these treatments and surgeries I was going to school and trying to be kind of normal. I think I ended up missing 45 days of school my ninth grade year. But my teachers were very great and helpful. The school was small and in a wonderful little community with caring people who offered lots of support. And we were really lucky to be able to go to ACH for treatment. It is a fantastic hospital.

I've been cancer free since 1990. And there is a little more to the story as far as my health over the years is concerned, but I've been basically well since then. I will follow-up with another post regarding those issues later. But the main thing was to put my experience out there so that someone else who has this cancer might come across it and visualize the light at the end of their treatment tunnel. I have yet to meet anyone who has had dysgerminoma, so it feels like it's a pretty small club. I think that's a good thing.

Me without hair sometime in 1990.

Me and one of my precious girls just the other day.

Go the ______ to sleep.

So my smaller child won't nap. And she should - she's only 15 months old. I have no idea what the actual problem is (unless "chronic nap aversion" in itself can be a problem) but it doesn't help that she's teething. I'm pretty sure every tooth that isn't in yet is trying to come out right now. So that's awesome. But she has never really been a good napper. We've had a few good runs where she'll take some kind of nap every day for a week or two, but then it all goes to crap. So this leads me to reading a lot about parenting and child development, which I find very interesting anyway as at one point in my life I was an "Early Childhood Educator". Which I kind of still am, I guess.

Anyhoo, before I ramble more, I must mention this great article I read today about what NOT to say to your children. I always feel like I'm spouting psychobabble when I mention these things to anyone, but you know, that's kind of how I am. My older child's preschool teacher had shared a great article regarding the use of the phrase "Good Job" (and how you shouldn't use it) and I wish I had a link to it now because it was similarly great. But none of this really has anything to do with naps (or lack thereof). BUT due to the lack of naps, I am pretty tired and cranky, and it's very hard to parent mindfully when you are tired and cranky. And those moments when you are not at your best - where it's the end of the day and its all been just too much and too noisy and you are apt to snap - are some of what the article refers to. It also highlights how the things we say to our children with the best intentions can actually have a negative effect. It's a good read.

I don't believe in hitting or yelling at my children. I feel there are many other much more effective alternatives to discipline. I don't curse at them or use curse words around them. But on days like this - when the baby had a crap nap and takes two hours to fall asleep tonight - all I can think about is this: