12 years ago, at this time, it was still just me

12 years ago today, at this time I was in being poked, prodded, monitored and medicated. I was induced into a labour that never progressed into anything further than a crap load of pain that made even my hair hurt. I even had the joy of passing kidney stones at the same time, (more about that later), and throwing every maternity ward nurse into a tizzy because they knew how to deliver babies not kidney stones. 12 years ago today, at this time, I kept straining over my nurse's head to watch a new type of reality game show called "Survivor" to keep my mind off my fear of how my life was going to change forever. And laying there thanking God for the invention of epidurals and morphine (for the kidney stones). 12 years ago today, at this time, facebook was not on my mind, (I am pretty certain it wasn't even on Mark Zuckerberg's either). What was on my mind was "was it going to be a boy or a girl?", and "Please God, let my baby be healthy despite what the medical texts say". Infection and fever was setting in on me. And the doctor could only imagine that my baby had the same thing going on with him/her. 12 years ago today, at this time the doctor told us we'll have to do a ceasarian in the morning. She didn't really specify a time, but we figured sometime after she'd had a good night's sleep. So my sister, who had been waiting so patiently all day to see her first niece/nephew arrive, went home to get some sleep and return in the morning... To be continued in a few hours :D But, before I go... For those of you ladies who have never experienced kidney stones but have been in labour... When a man tells you kidney stones hurt. Believe him and don't come back with "Oh ya? Suck it up! Try labour pains!" Because I can say, without a doubt, from the experience of having both AT THE SAME TIME, kidney stones hurt MORE!!! Cut the guy some slack and take him to the hospital. It's even worse for men. He needs morphine. LOTS OF IT! I'm back :D 36 minutes ago · Like Cheri Koschir 12 years ago today, at this time, it was still just me. But only for a few moments longer. The final moments, strapped to an operating table all 250lbs of pregnant me and my baby. Fear, excitement and anticipation wrapped me like a blanket while the doctors and nurses worked through what was just another day to them. It was actually the beginning of a new day for everyone. But it was the beginning of a new life for two of us. Me and my baby. The doctor changed her mind and decided not to sleep but instead to make a sleepy, crooked incision across my abdomen and change my life forever. 32 minutes ago · Like Cheri Koschir 12 years ago today, at this time, I no longer felt the labour pains. I no longer was passing a kidney stone that felt like a jagged boulder ripping through my body. What I felt was the surgical instruments cutting through the chemically numbed muscles of my uterus and heard the unimportant chatter of the hospital staff. Talks of plans to Disney World and what not. Nothing I really cared about too much in the moment. I missed my sister and wished she were there for all of what I was thinking. 28 minutes ago · Like Cheri Koschir 12 years ago today, at this time, I felt the tugging and pushing and pulling of the tiny little body that fluttered, then kicked and turned and rolled inside my body. The little alien being I had been reponsible for for so long, without ever seeing its eyes. A love that grew and multiplied and ripened until that moment. And exploded out into this world with screams and cries. And in that moment, at 1:34 am, my son was born! Covered with gunk and goo. And in that moment, 12 years ago today, at this time, I looked into his age old eyes and I knew. I finally knew what it meant to love someone so much I was willing to kill or die for him. In that moment, he introduced me to the most powerfull emotion there ever was. He gave me the gift of what every first born child gives. He was the first to give me the gift of knowing the power of love. He gave me the gift of being his mother. 12 years ago today, at this time, I touched the softest skin and looked into the oldest eyes I had ever seen of my first born son, Julian, and fell in love with the tiniest, most powerfull person in my life. He gave me the most beautifull gift there can ever be. One that I do not take lightly or for granted. A gift that was always wanted by my sister, and by so many others, but was never given. Thank you Julian for the 12 years of the love and joy you have given me. 12 years ago today, at this time, you changed my life from it being just me, to forever being US. And gave me courage to keep it growing to more than I had every expected ir deserved and now have been given the gift of three voices calling out to me... "Mommy" Happy Birthday my sweet baby boy! You deserve so much more in return for the gift of motherhood you have given me, but I hope my words in this note will do for now. I love you!

Therapy

My name is Cheri Koschir. And this is my story. Cheri is French for beloved And Koschir is pheonetically translated from Jewish as "blessed by a rabbi" so I was once told. It was what I had believed until only moments ago. Google - Dictionary Your search - requirements to be kosher - did not match any documents. Reset search tools Suggestions: Make sure all words are spelled correctly. Try different keywords. Try more general keywords. Try fewer keywords. Wikipedia kosher has become English vernacular, a colloquialism meaning proper, legitimate, genuine, fair, or acceptable I believed what you are called, is what you are. I was one hell of a teenager, with very few teachers or guides. I was judged for crimes I didn't do. And had no help when I really needed it. I was a mess. But I somehow survived. I really haven't got a clue as to how this happened. By the grace of God, some would say. To be able to teach from it, others would also say. I learned the hard way, there is meaning in life. And, there is purpose. Growing up with a name like Cheri Koschir was pretty freaking tough. How does one live up to a name like that?! It's like eating an elephant one bite at a time. But that is what life is about. For anyone. I have worked at many jobs in my life. I think I am doing my favourite one right now. To be a Realtor. And to be a writer. Because with both, you get to experience the most amazing people. And observe the beauty of who we are. Today, for instance, I was able to witness two people sharing a very caring moment, despite the fact that they no longer have a weak relationship, but a strong friendship. I saw two people who grew apart, but somehow found themselves still in eachother's hearts. I am blessed with many moments in my days. I am blessed with being able to help people move on to the next stage of their life. I am blessed to watch my children grow up and be apart of their daily lives. I am blessed with being able to talk to both of my parents and walk with them on their journeys. I am blessed to have a man who cares for me and makes me laugh much more than cry. And he can ring a bell like no other :D My journey hasn't been the easiest. But I chose it to be so. I am responsible for my choices. And I am responsible for making the changes that needed to be made. It was hard work. However the rewards are worth it. CAMH The Centre for Addiction and Mental Health. DBT Dialectical Behavior Therapy Marsha Linehan The woman I am so very greatfull to for taking her challenges and turning them into her victories. So that I may do the same. Google her. She's very interesting. And has helped so many. I would like to eat a few more bites off the elephant. Not that I condone eating elephants. I am talking hypothetically here, PETA. I have always wanted to volunteer my time somewhere. I value my time very much now. Since my sister's death. And even before that when I was diagnosed with cancer. It is the only thing we can never get back. Including the 13 months I needed to get help to change my life. That time will never come back. I have the rest of my life to make up for not talking to my sister during that time. But now I give my time to Heart House Hospice.

Dear God, Please have it so that I win the Lotto/Max jackpot tonight. You have seen me fit enough to be blessed with my beautifull, healthy (and sometimes a little too smart) children. Can you now see to it that I can afford the little buggers too? Thank you for being such a great listener all these years, but I think it might be time to lend a little extra help. Thank you for any help you could send my way. I really appreciate it. Thanks! Cheri (Heidi's Sister)
Please tell my sister Heidi that I say hi. And tell her that I miss her so much. We all do. Tell her I am doing the best I can around here. But, I am not her and never had the energy like she always had. Anyways, I am sure she knows everything going on down here. And I am sure you have her pretty busy up there with you. I can't imagine you got her to be with you for any other reason than for something really important. Let her know that I tell the kids about her as much as I can so that they will always remember her even though the little ones didn't really know her love well. I am sorry. I gotta go. I can't see the screen anymore for crying so much over her. You know what to tell her. Afterall, you are The All-knowing. Please? Thank You!

The Want to Write Overwhelms Me

The time to write eludes me.

By Cheri (Heidi's Sister)

Since I was born, I had been know as Cheri. Heidi's sister. Heidi would take me with her everywhere she went and people would ask, "Who is that?" and someone would always answer, "That's Cheri. Heidi's sister." And then I would be cooed at and tickled.
If I weren't in tow, Heidi would talk about me to her friends. She was my only sibling, and I was hers. Heidi was 14 years older than me. She was the one that looked out for me. And always tried to make my life easier than hers.
When I was older, she would take me to her friends' parties. I could hear the whispering again. "Who is that?", "Why, that's Cheri! Heidi's sister." I was accepted into their social realm.
When I was desperate to make big changes in my life I applied for a job where Heidi worked. People looked at my resume and saw my last name. I heard them huddled together again, waving the pages of my employment history, and hearing those familiar words, again in secret whispers, "That's Cheri. Heidi's sister." I got the job!
Years later, I wasn't hearing those words as often. Life took us both into different directions. I became a single mom. She became married, once again. Life became busy and difficult. I had always heard those words somewhere in the background of my life. It had become part of my identity. By not hearing them, somehow caused me to loose who I was and my connection to the world.
Time went on again. And slowly I no longer needed to hear those words to know who I was. I am Cheri. Heidi had named me.
I became independant as Cheri. I had metamorphasized into a stronger being. I had found power within myself to take on the world and laugh.
Then it all crumbled once again.
The nurses all whispered behind their desk and their mountains of patient files. Just beyond the beeps and rushing of air through the myriad of tubes, I left her room and I heard them say, "That's Cheri. Heidi's sister". I entered a foreign world.
I gingerly stood up from my seat, took a deep breath, wiped away the tears streaking down my cheeks, touched the smooth glazed oak of the coffin as I walked past it, and then exhaled. I heard whispers again, as I stepped up to the sanctuary, "Who's that?" Her friends were asking in solemn tones through their tears. "That's Cheri.... Heidi's sister." It was the last time I was to ever hear those words. They were to be buried with my sister in her still unmarked grave.

I stood there before her friends and our family. The hundreds of the thousands of lives and hearts Heidi had touched. I spoke the words that Heidi lived by. "Let me be an instrument of Thy Peace..." The Prayer of Saint Francis. My final gift to her, my only testimony to her life that I could find the strength buried deep within my grief to speak. And then said good bye to my sister.

And from now on, again, I am Cheri. Apart of the world. Strong and powerfull, and living a life again filled with laughter.

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."