Rodeos and Roller Coasters (originally written October 29th, 2009)

We’ve all been through times like this before. I know I have been. Just not this caliber. And it’s not just the caliber of the situations we are all going through; it’s also the number of them. Wow, I have never been able to fathom something so great and so terrible at the same time.
The thing I have noticed is that everyone has had at least one person, someone special, close to them, or even themselves who has lived with cancer. It touches everyone’s heart in some way. Some look at it as a disease from which you suffer terribly from, or it’s one that can be a gift in barbed wire packaging. It is a gift like no one can imagine receiving. It is one of pure terror and utter bliss. Your appreciation for the fleeting moments of your life becomes a millionth fold more. Just being able to sit here and write this makes me filled with joy and gratitude.
I was diagnosed with cervical cancer in 2005. It was diagnosed after a long delay in having my physical. My doctor’s receptionist/angel reminded me six months after I cancelled my last appointment. Back then I didn’t get out much. Going to the doctor’s office was the only break in the monotony of agoraphobia, (the fear of open places). I was “only” afraid to reach my hand outside my front door to get my mail. My only goal in life was to get through my day without crying.
The doctor’s office seemed to be the only place I could go on my own. By myself. It was safe.

This beautiful angel of a woman reminded me to get a Pap smear. She really did look like a delicate little angel, by the way. At least she did to me. She had beautiful long flowing blonde hair, crisp sparkling blue eyes, a fantastic smile and an incredibly sweet demeanor. I still can’t understand how she bore a child naturally with those tiny hips. “Cheri, you haven’t had your physical yet. When are you going to book it for?” She said to me sternly in her little less than lyrical accent. “Oh boy!!! “, I said in my sarcastic we’re going on an adventure voice. Always remember… We build the houses with the words we speak… I can’t remember who originally said that, but it’s true. Oh yeah, it’s true.

“Your PAP smear came back for positive detection. You tested positive for carcinoma in situ. You will have to go to the Colposcopy Clinic to have it biopsied”, or something like that. “It. What is IT??? My cervix, the cancer, my whole womanhood? How much of my anatomy are they going to biopsy? How much are they going to check before they find something? How much do they remove until I feel they have got it all?”, my mind was screaming, while my mouth was barely whispering. I don’t really remember. It went something like that in my head. I was already in a fog with a pain killer addiction – maybe that’s how I managed to not completely lose my nut. Or maybe I already had lost my nut, hence the addiction.
Holy Jabolies! This was going to be one hell of an adventure. I always did love rodeos and roller coasters.
I don’t think about this time in my life too much anymore. Unless I can use it for something positive. Like now.
Anyways…
Yup, I had cancer and got through it. I learned how to deal with pain – my secret is not to suffer. And meditation. I went back to work. Had a baby. Then another. Took an extended parental leave. Bought a new(er) Buick. Was accepted and graduated as a student of life at the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health. And had only my mortgage and utilities to pay. And diapers. And formula. Yup, I didn’t have a care in the world. I got to the other side of it and saw how fantastic it was to have freedom of mind. It only took the realization that appreciating everything in life, the good and bad, was always there for a reason. My cancer was a blessing for many reasons. Mine made me take a real good, hard look at my life. The good, the bad, the ugly. I just had to choose what I WANT.
I got personalized plates for my truck that says UOYKNAHT. I would have put an exclamation point on the beginning of it, but that’s not available yet.
I say it was my cancer, because someone else’s is always different. There seems to be no two alike in how it affects people. The diagnosis, the treatment, the drugs, the doctors, the attitudes, the procedures. The prognosis. Mine was good. Mine was the kind of cancer someone would want to have. That’s if someone ever wanted cancer. That’s what people consoled me with at least. I call it good only because it taught me what it meant to fear for your life. It taught me prayer. It taught me to love without question, and to accept all that comes my way. You could say it was a “quality experience”. However there are some things in life you don’t want to go through again. At least not too soon. Maybe later.
They say you are the average of the five people you spend the most time with. I spend the most time with my family. My partner 45 year old Kid… I mean Ken, my compassionate son Julian who is about to turn nine, my terrifically terrible two year old daughter Trinity, my bubble blowing 10 month old son Gabriel, and our four year old red Labrador Retriever Tiatoo, (loosely translates to Dog of Many Names in Ken-eese). You do the math. I’ll tell you my psychological average… Sometimes I am just barking immature. Not mad. Barking mad would insinuate that I was angry. I somehow lost the ability to get angry. If you find it, please bring it back to me. It just feels darn good to be able to get a little angry once in a while. There’s only so much Iggle Piggle, Miley Cyrus, Sesame Street and the never ending roar of W.W.E. Championships you can take before becoming barking mad. I choose to become barking immature.
My two favorite singers are no longer Stevie Nicks or Pink, its Bobs & Lolo. That’s okay if you don’t get that reference. It just means you don’t use a television to babysit your children like I do.
Some days I walk around saying, “Maka Paka aka wakka, mikka makka moo”, as if it was the first language spoken in our household. They haven’t put that language on the census yet. However, I am sure there are many parents and caregivers that know what the hell I am saying. Even if I don’t.
My sister would be the one I would call and relate my adventures in LaLa Land with. There was this one particular day I am thinking of was one where I didn’t have anything too exciting to tell her. It was a day where she needed to talk to me. But I still had something to tell her. I didn’t know how to come right out and tell her. She was, after all, never able to have kids of her own. She had a history of benign fibroid tumors, (never cancerous), that had left her so scarred that there wasn’t enough space for an embryo to imbed itself. That’s what she was told only after years of hormone injections, and countless in vitro-fertilizations, and a number of failed embryo implants, not to mention the thousands of dollars invested in the tuition for the School of Hard Knocks. I always felt some guilt that I could have children, and she couldn’t.
She came right out and told me. But only after a few minutes of talking about the antics of our aging parents and what they got up to in each of their daughters’ homes. “I have a lump on my breast. They know it’s cancer. They just don’t know where it started yet. You should feel it so you know what to look for.” I didn’t know how to respond. After a long pause, “I am pregnant.” was my complete and utter failure at attempting to put on a silver lining. I felt selfish. I was denying that her cancer could be anything serious. It was Heidi after all. Nothing life threatening could happen to HER.
Here, in my head, I could hear the universe murmuring in the background, “You got through that last pile of shit pretty good! Let’s see how you are going to take being pregnant while watching your sister die. You just might surprise yourself.” I don’t remember buying any tickets, but I think I had just got front row seats of the Calgary Stampede with the special opportunity to ride in the saddle of a bucking bronco. Not only do I get to feel the dirt on my face, I also get the thrill of going for the big prize! Yeehawwwww!!!
Two nights ago I bathed my sister. Washed her hair. And changed her diaper. She has hair again! They stopped the monthly chemo treatments that were keeping her alive. The chemo had decreased her red blood count so low that it was killing her. Ironic. Ironically, when straight hair grows back after chemo, it comes in curly. It’s called “Chemo Curl”. Heidi always wanted curly hair like mine. More irony.
She is in so much pain the simple act of taking a shower or a bath is too much. She can’t bend her legs to get over the side of the tub. She’s now considered to be, as the professionals call it “palliative” – suffering from an illness from which she will not recover and death is imminent, just keep her comfortable and happy. Wow, I just realized… Living without an illness could be seen like that too. All it takes is just one random bus. I guess we could all be “palliative”.
There’s a big difference between the cancer I had and the cancer my sister has. I never had to decide if I wanted to die at home. I am glad that my sister is getting a couple of things she has always wanted. Her curly hair is pretty cute.
Gabriel was born six months after Heidi was diagnosed with the completely inconceivable Small Cell Lung cancer. Inconceivable because she did not smoke. The doctors gave her eight to ten months to live. I bathed her for the first time in the final days of month 17. Gabriel finally got his third tooth that same day. We are looking forward to what month 18 has to bring.
I go to a gym every morning now. It’s actually the local community centre. It’s the only place nearby where I can get a little “me” time. It has another angel of a woman who cares for children while their mothers sweat off the frustration of the mediocrity of their lives in the allotted hour and fifteen minutes babysitting time. I know that’s what my kids’ mom does. The mediocrity in my life is my postnatal belly.
I have learned routine is a good thing for both mothers and children. Especially when it comes to wandering through the maze of gym equipment trying to remember what body part I was trying to focus on next. Today was a back and legs day. I am fighting my genetic joke of thunder thighs that both my sister and I have the unfortunate experience of inheriting. We physically did not look alike from the hips up. However, there is an uncanny resemblance of cellulite and orange peel skin from the thighs down. It’s the one time of the day that I forcefully push all thoughts of my sister out of my head and focus on those ridiculous thighs. It’s actually a time when I come up with all the things I am grateful for. I also remind myself how important it is for everyone that I stay as positive and keep my mood up. My own good health depends on it, physical and mental. And you really don’t have anything if you don’t have good health. Ask my sister.
Cancer taught me that. That was another part of the gift that cancer gave me. Bitching and complaining about how terrible your life is and how tough things are, really doesn’t make you any happier. It doesn’t make your life any better. And it certainly doesn’t give you more time. It makes your pillow really wet with tears. And then you get the additional problem of how to get those mascara stains out of cotton pillow cases.
People don’t seem to do things they know will bring them joy in life because of fear. Fear of not enough money, not enough time, fear of not being good enough, not getting or having enough love, or just the seemingly simple fear of going outside. Fear of kicking the bucket is one of my all time favorites. Trying to not kick the bucket only gives you sore feet.
We all die. That’s the truth. That blessedly, beautiful gift wrapped in barbed wire given to me four years ago wasn’t cancer. It was life.
Filled with rodeos and roller coasters.
Thank you for every minute of it!

Learning Patience for Picky Eaters

I was recently asked what my favorite hobby was. The answer used to be a resounding "Cooking!", but being a mom to 3 very picky eaters has slapped that passion right out of me. I found myself answering the question with, "Gardening... It teaches me patience."

My Name Change

Some days I think my last name has been changed to INEADU... as in Cheri Ineadu, and Mommy Ineadu

Young and Old

I am starting to believe that there isn't any difference between young children and elderly parents. Among other similarities, both like to test their boundaries and and push it to the limit. Then use their sweet innocent, (toothless) smiles to get away with it.

mommy's mistake

My youngest child, Gabriel, was walking around with his dirty face and hands up in the air, looking quite distressed. He kept repeating "Fa cough, fa cough, fa cough..." (I am spelling it so no one will be offended). I was completely startled that he knew such words at the tender, innocent age of 2. I couldn't understand where he could have possibly heard this language. No one here would say such smut.
No one but his father on occasion, and maybe, sometimes, after a few too many telemarketers have caused me to drop what I was doing and run for the phone with the expectation that it just might be the Ontario Lottery and Gaming Corporation finally ringing me to notify me of my jackpot win, only to stumble in my stretch for the handset across the laundry decorated dining room table. The stumble causes me to plow through the recently folded but not-yet-put-away drifts of freshly cleaned toddler clothes. Scattering the yet to be matched socks and now adding to the frustration of the mediocrity of my life. I claw the handset and blindly push the buttons before the last ring sends the caller to voice mail oblivion. At least that's what it is in my house - who has time to check personal voice mail? "This is an important message from... (brief pause where I clench my eyes waiting to hear the letters, O-L-G, only to be irritated with...) your Credit Card company. You are paying too much interest! Please wait while we connect you to one of our operators to see how you can decrease your rates..." The wait is eternal. How dare they keep me on hold for so long? Ten minutes go by. I hear a click. Oh good, I'll be next to be served! Then another click.
Followed by the dial tone.
"FAAAAAAaaaaa Coooooooooouuuuuuugh!" I scream into the phone. My children are startled out of their imaginary play world of talking trains and kleenex confetti snow flakes. I breathe deep and anounce, "T

Finally, he got real angry, face turning red, with teeth clenched, he looks me straight in the eye and screams "Faaaaaa... cough!!!!!" It was only then that I realized my dirty little boy was demanding a "Face cloth" I am such a bad mom.

A Milestone in Parenting.

You have reached another milestone as a parent when you have realized that all of your questions have become rhetorical.

Hoarders

You know your parents are hoarders when... You are 40 years old and your mom brings you your old school gym t-shirt from Grade 2 - and it's in mint condition!!!!! I am glad she didn't want to make me try it on :D True story, happened today. Will have pictures later to prove it.