A Baby Changes Everything

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 23, 2011 7:56 PM, EST

A Baby Changes Everything

I remember sitting in the audience watching my first production of The Nutcracker. Joy Kennamer was Clara. She was a friend of my sister Tiffany's, and she was amazing. I was nine years old the first time I was in the Montgomery Ballet's annual production of The Nutcracker. I can still hear Don Steffy's voice in a dark theater as he introduced "The Nutcracker" in an almost ominous tone. It was magical. And every year was memorable. But my most memorable Nutcracker performance was my second year. I was a Ginger Snap. There was something wonderful about being the comic relief in the ballet that drew me in. If I could have been a Ginger Snap every year, I would have been! But unfortunately those little clown-like costumes only fit a 10 year-old mold. We crouched under the skirt of a Montgomery banker, politician or the like (which apparently added to the comic relief for the audience), crowded beneath his giant hoop skirt. And on cue, we came out two by two, arms waving and clown wigs shaking. It was more than comical, it was just plain fun. At the end of the performance, I was to be left behind by my pack, make an exaggerated look of surprise to the audience, and run off stage. I added a little impromptu choreography - I jumped with the look of surprise, did a cart wheel, and blew a kiss to my Granny in the audience (it was her birthday). That choreography stuck for years...I was so proud!

Nutcracker was so fun, but it was a LOT of work. We spent a whole semester learning the choreography, perfecting the timing, and fitting costumes. We spent so much time together that we became a family.  The company dancers taught us how to apply make-up - a red dot in the inside corner of your eyes widens and brightens them on stage. The man who did the lights back stage called me "Mouth." I can't imagine why!  

All of that work led up to a 3 day weekend of several performances. And every year after Nutcracker, I would get sick. My body was worn, exhausted. And I was left with a funny kind of depression...kind of a now what?! Mama dealt with this every year. And every year it was an emotional time.

This cancer stuff has really been no different from a great big Nutcracker if I think about it. I've had the opportunity to muster up every inch of energy in my body to continue my activities of daily living while learning all the rights steps. Chemo wore my body down like a semester's worth of rehearsals. Surgery was kind of the performance, and recovery was...well, it was kind of a drag. And you have been quite the audience. This has been my best performance ever, and yet I was left with a bit of a sadness and depression - this feeling is indescribable. It was less like a textbook depression, and more like a thumbprint - a unique identifier that leaves an impression. It's so hard to describe the feeling of loneliness that a survivor goes through when it is "all over." This is especially difficult when I have had (and continue to have) all of the support that I've had throughout this journey. And when I think that one in every 8 (yes, 1 in 8) women is diagnosed with breast cancer in a lifetime, it befuddles me that I could feel the slightest bit of this loneliness. I guess that's part of this "new normal" - I'll call this the now what?! stage.

I was driving home today, and of course I was listening to the all Christmas, all the time station on the radio. When what, to my wondering ears should appear, but a song that reminds me not only that Christmas is not about the performance,  but it is indeed about thenow what?! stage. It you haven't heard this Faith Hill song, please take the time to watch the video. It invokes one of the most powerful versions of the Nativity that I have ever experienced. And it hit home to me today on so many levels. 

A Baby Changes Everything lyrics

Songwriters: Nichols, James Timothy; Wiseman, Craig Michael; Wiseman, Kim;

Teenage girl, much too young

Unprepared for what's to come

A baby changes everything

Not a ring on her hand

All her dreams and all her plans

A baby changes everything

A baby changes everything

The man she loves she's never touched

How will she keep his trust?

A baby changes everything

A baby changes everything

And she cries!

Ooh, she cries

Ooh, oh

She has to leave, go far away

Heaven knows she can't stay

A baby changes everything

She can feel it's coming soon

There's no place, there's no room

A baby changes everything

A baby changes everything

And she cries!

And she cries!

Oh, she cries

Shepherds all gather 'round

Up above the star shines down

A baby changes everything

Choir of angels sing

Glory to the newborn King

A baby changes everything

A baby changes everything

Everything, everything, everything

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah

My whole life has turned around

I was lost but now I'm found

A baby changes everything, yeah

A baby changes everything

I was first introduced to this song when I was pregnant with Logan. I shared it with BF Nicole when she was first pregnant with Deacon. There just isn't a way that you can possibly explain to a woman with no children exactly how having a baby "changes everything" without terrifying her. But these words, paired with the power of Faith Hill's voice remind us that we don't have a clue about how a baby changes everything...not until we look at how sweet baby Jesus changed the world. Now doesn't that put the season into perspective. 

I cried as I listened to the swells of the song, and I sang as if I haven't belted a tune in years. Yes, I was that dummy driving the reindeer car down the interstate, crying and singing...and it felt good. It felt good to feel something. And what I felt was more magical than any performance thrill or standing ovation. It was love. In a few short verses, I was reminded of the reason for the season, pulled out of my now what?! thumbprint, and why I spent so much energy fighting this thing to begin with...because a baby (or two babies in this case) changes everything. Because I wanted to be here for those babies and see how they change the world...what kind of thumbprint they leave behind. And for the first time in a couple of months, I really smiled. And I felt. I felt love.

When I arrived home today, there was a shipping box at my door. Living away from family, especially during Christmas week, this is not an oddity. The shipping label read "This is not a return address. UPS Store." That caught my attention as strange, but again, it is Christmas...we have had packages at the door almost daily for a couple of weeks. I opened it. What I found among the Styrofoam peanuts was a delicately wrapped ball in tissue paper...and a note. The note was from Joy Kennamer Ohme...the same Joy who was Clara in my first ever Nutcracker experience. What timing! I opened the tissue paper to find a ball ornament that has my name in glitter on one side and "Survivor" on the other. Tears filled my eyes, and I fell sobbing to the floor - not for what I have done, but for what I will do. It was the end of my now what?! stage, and the beginning of my next stage...living. 

Merry CHRISTMAS!

Bean

Dear PITAs...

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 15, 2011 12:04 PM, EST

Dear PITAs...

Dear Tissue Expanders,

I've been thinking. I need names for you. Problem is, I can't think of two names that can express what a royal pain in the ass you truly are. So I shall dub you PITA (pain in the ass) 1 and PITA 2. Until now, I feel like I've been pretty positive. Almost to a fault, I have made cancer look easy. Well, that's all over. 

Someone told me that you would feel like areally uncomfortable underwire bra. Well, isn'tthat the understatement of 2012?! I will admit that I did succumb to this descriptive comparison just last week while I was explaining it to Mama. It's like I just want to wiggle around so that the underwire gets into the right spot...only to recall that I am not wearing a bra, and that I can't find relief from this discomfort. But after all, itis just discomfort. And who can't stand a little discomfort after what I have been through? 

And then I take you on a field trip to the Filling Station. You go from discomfort to dis-appointment! Holy buckets! Let's just say that the fill-up is the most pleasant part of this process, and that's the part that makes me want to pass out. By the time I leave the Filling Station, I cannot move my arms from the elbows north, and from the elbows down I am pretty stiff. My robotic movements must be somewhat entertaining to those around me. I'm your quintessential Southern girl who talks with my hands, so watching this is quite a hoot, I'm sure.

And then by the time I get home...pain. Why, oh why does my chest feel as though it has been placed in a vice grips? And why, oh why does it tighten with every passing moment? Wednesday was filling day. I was prepared for the vasovagal response to the initial fill (when your body wants to just completely shut down - or pass out - in a response to initial pain). I was prepared to feel like I was hit by a baseball bat, both in the front and the back of my chest. I was prepared to take Valium and pain meds to counteract this pain. I was NOT prepared to not get relief. I was not prepared for sleeping in a recliner because I was experiencing muscle spasms between my spine and my shoulder blades - pain so bad that there was little relief and no sleeping through it. I was so tired, and yet no sleep was possible. I was emotional. I cried for the first time in weeks, but it hurt to cry, so I had to force myself to suck it up and stop crying. But I still felt the emotion, and it still hurt. And if it hurts to cry, it hurts to laugh, which is mostly impossible for a mother of two small children. It hurts to breathe deeply, to cough, and don't even get me started on a sneeze!

Thursday I was scheduled to be off of work to recover. I called Dr. Q's office for a different medicine to allow me to sleep. It helped a little, but it wears off quickly. The pain was more intense, and the emotions were still high. I couldn't hold the phone to my ear. Any correspondence on Thursday was through texting (which allows me to keep my arms down) or via speaker-phone. I literally cannot hold a phone up to my ear. I cannot hold a glass to my lips. I was so tired. I slept on and off. 

Last night, I awoke, crying from the spasms. I grabbed my heating pad and strategically placed it on my pillows where my spasms would absorb the heat. I went back to sleep, and awoke in a sweat. It seems that heating pads cause hot flashes. Pain in the ass. This is for the birds. How is it that I can handle chemo and surgery with such "ease," but a little intense pain just tosses my Pollyanna attitude out the window? 

Today is better, but not great. I find myself in the recliner again, mostly because it allows me to shift positions without too much strain on my chest. I wish my core was stronger. I am already getting less saline than Dr. Q wanted, and now I'm tempted to ask him to put in less next time. This lengthens the process, and there is no guarantee that it will cause less pain. 

And so, PITA 1 & 2, I will agree with the many people who told me that you are the worst part of this entire process. You pretty much suck. You make it difficult for me to remain positive, when I have tried so hard to do that. It seems that all I want for Christmas is a higher pain tolerance!

I have at least 3 more fills to go, so I guess I should focus on the positive - when you are gone, I won't have to worry about 2 things - pain and underwire. 

Bean

A Little Bit of Folklore

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 9, 2011 7:50 PM, EST

A Little Bit of Folklore

I was starting to think that the loss of Bess and Gretchen was clouding my creativity…but it seems that my return to “normal” has gifted me with another blog posting. Thank heaven's! I was starting to think I had run out of stories...

Lil’ sis Jayme and I shared a room growing up. As we grew older, we were exactly like the Tanner girls on Full House. We had tape down the middle of the room, and Heaven forbid Jayme cross that line. It took us years to grow out of that, and it took us years to get there.

Mama was a single working mother – A Supermom in every way. I can’t imagine having 3 girls as naughty as we were. My guess is that it causes a little bit of a flair for the dramatic, and a tiny bit of embellishment. It’s a kind of folklore to listen to her tell a story…it seldom varies from the first time she tells it, but every time you hear it you are left thinking, “There is no way that this was thatdramatic!” But then when you hear it the same way every time, you have to wonder…I guess that’s how I learned to hear and to tell a story. And now I’m going to tell one like I’ve heard it. Keep in mind I’ve heard it a million times. I don’t recall this particular incident, so I’m telling it as I remember it...from someone else’s perspective. But after all, that’s what folklore is, right?

We all hear thumps in the night from time to time. A Christmas tree falling to the ground at 3am when you’re the only one home (oh, yes, this happened to me last year and it was terrifying). A dog moping about the house. A child who discovers that he needs to go potty in the middle of the night. But what if you are in your 30’s, with 3 girls in the house, nuzzled in their beds? And thump. You wake up – eyes wide open, but not quite focuses. You see nothing but darkness. Your eyes adjust. No more noise. You are on your way to falling back to sleep…thump. Back up – focused right away. You get up, check on the kids across the hall, sleeping angels as they are. So sweet. You smile. You go to the other child’s room…another angel. You smile and go back to bed. THUMP! Full alert! You get the revolver and you are ready. You check on the kids again. All three sleeping. Thump, thump. Oh, that’s your heart this time. You walk around the house, and…nothing. Nothing. You breathe. You hide the revolver, and you go back to sleep.

Morning comes. Normal morning. Nothing out of the ordinary. You are making breakfast. Your little girl comes sleepily wandering into the kitchen, dragging feet (this is where the story gets a little stretched – I mean, first of all anyone who knows me know that I am bright eyed and bushy tailed in the morning…and there is no second of all).

“Mama?” I said.

“Yes, Beanie?” Mama responds, cooking.

“Something really weird happened last night,” I continued.

Mama paused – eyes wide open, spoon in hand. “What happened?”

I began to pull up my nightgown slowly. Now you can just imagine the absolute fear in Mama’s eyes as her little 6(-ish) year old daughter says something weird happened and then raises a nightgown. Sheer terror. I continued to raise my nightgown, only to reveal that the something weird that happened was that I woke up from a night of deep sleep, completely distraught that I was covered in My Little Pony stamps. Jayme apparently kept thumping into the Barbie Doll house when she heard Mama getting up to check on us. You can also imagine the comic relief.

I was expecting to come back to work and to have this “new normal” that I’ve been hearing about. I returned Wednesday, and I would just like to extend a warm and genuine bit of gratitude to my co-workers and leaders, who have been extremely supportive throughout this entire process. The fact of the matter is that the work is the same; the people are the same; and the daily life is the same. But I am my “new normal.” I am different. I will live my life, see things, eat and see differently. I know it sounds funny to think of it this way, but cancer has been a little bit enlightening.

No matter what your diagnosis, your prognosis, your disease, your circumstance…you learn from it; you grow from it. I've heard before that it is not our experiences that define us, but how we handle them - I disagree. I believe that our experiences define us. How we handle them defines us. What we learn defines us. What we do with the knowledge defines us. We are often scared of the thump (or the lump as the case may be)…but we can often look back on it with a little bit of reverence…a little bit of embellishment…and a little bit of humor, and find the beauty in it. And so it is with my new normal – finding the joy in the circumstance as I remember it.

Please pray for health and peace this week for Jayme (despite the My Little Pony assault, I still love her!) – she is pregnant, and she is having her routine mid-pregnancy ultrasound next week!! Love you, JayJay – Can’t wait to meet that little Baby Teague!