Clashes and Flashes

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 2011 9:57 PM, EDT

Clashes and Flashes

There's something truly amazing about a thunderstorm. Clashes of thunder, pouring rain, and flashes of lightening - there is just so much energy, coming together in musical genius.  Another Bambi reference comes to mind when discussing a thunderstorm - baby Bambi huddled next to his mother in the thicket while cymbals and strings create the terrifying, yet intriguing performance of thunder and lightening. He finds comfort in the warmth of his mother...and the clashes and flashes clear.

I often describe motherhood as this incredibly elite club that you never knew you could be a member of...until you have officially joined. You aren't invited, hazed, recruited (well,some are recruited)...you go through this indescribable (though many of us try) journey, and then the storm clears -you are a mother. You have all the love in the world for a new life that you created. And finally, you realize that all this time you thought that you would jump in front of a bus for your spouse...and that feeling now seems so trite! You can'tjump in front of a bus to save your husband! Your baby needs a Mama! But you would jump in front of a bus for your baby! 

I remember the first time I told Mama that I had no plans to have children. I was 22, dating Nathan, and neither of us wanted children. She responded, "Well, I think it's perfectly wonderful that you are so selfish!" And she meant it, too...with no intent what-so-ever to offend. But it was too late. "I'm not selfish because I don't want kids...It would be selfish to have them knowing that I don't want them!" End of conversation. We agreed to disagree.

One month prior to getting married, I was ready to send out our wedding invitations. We already had 40 people going to Mexico to celebrate our marriage, and I am pretty sure that we were the only ones who insured our trip. I sat Nathan down, and I said, "Nathan, I know that we have talked about this time and time again...but I've changed my mind. I want children." Crickets. "Not right now, but I know I am going to want kids. So if you want to go to Mexico and have a blast, and tell our friends and family that we decided not to get married, then that's what we'll do...but I am telling you now, I am going to want to be a mother." He simply said, "I want what you want...but can we wait a couple of years?" Two years later, we owned a house in Wisconsin but lived in Nevada. We were in no state to even discuss having children. But when we sold the house, we decided to start a family. We promised over dinner one night that we would not stress about babies...if it was meant to be it would be, but otherwise we were perfectly happy "just us." We were pregnant 2 weeks later. We never felt like anything was missing until we had Logan - turns out, he was missing all along. And there it was...my induction into the most elite club I have ever been a member.

When I was pregnant the second time, I couldn't imagine how how in the world your heart could have room to love another being as much as you love this baby in front of you. And there it was when Parker was born. It was as if a new part of my heart opened up when Parker was born, allowing the same amount of love for the second as I have for the first. He just fit right in...as if he too had been missing all along.  How is that possible? To have a part of my heart that I didn't even know I had? Is it possible that a part of my brain shut off so that a new part of my heart could open?

My brain shuts off. They call it chemo-brain. Your thoughts get lost, synapses don't fire, thoughts don't connect. You can't find words that you've known and used for years. I find myself wishing that I had Wordly Wise workbooks to work on in chemo...just so that I can keep meaningful words on the front burner. Chemo brain. This is my cloud cover before the storm. Fog.

Irritability. Thunder. Comes and goes, makes a big noise, irritates and befuddles those around me. Thunder.

My ovarian function has officially been "interrupted" by chemo. I know this because I officially have hot flashes. My heart goes out to every menopausal woman on this planet. How do I describe a hot flash? Hmmm. Lightening. Picture a rush of anxiety, accompanied by the overwhelming desire to strip every stitch of clothing off of your body - not in a Carmen Electra Stripper Work Out kind of way, but an if-I-don't-get-these-clothes-off-in-a-hurry-I'm-going-to-DIE kind of way. All of this followed by a feeling that you look like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, just after she finishes dancing - "She's a maniac, maniac on the floor...and she's dancing like she's never danced before..." Only Jennifer Beals makes sweaty look sexy, and there's nothing sexy about a hot flash. It feels wet and dirty, and all you want to do is take a dip that will have you coming out of the water looking like Bo Derek in Perfect 10. Ahhhh. Lightening.

Through all of the fear and anxiety, I have found a real cleansing in The Cancer Blog. Pouring rain. Tomorrow marks what I like to call the "half-way point." Tomorrow is my last chemo treatment. It marks the closing of one chapter and the opening of another - surgery. During this storm, I have found much comfort in the thicket with faith, my friends and family, and for that I am truly grateful and fortunate. I feel all the energy of the storm around me, I look forward to the day when the clashes and the flashes clear, and I am waiting for the sunshine...and the moonbeam.

Sunshine and Moonbeam (which I sing to Logan every night, to the tune of "You Are My Sunshine")

Logan's my SUNSHINE

And Parker's my MOONBEAM

They make me happy

When skies are grey - or black - or white - or blue!

You'll never know dears

How much I love you - and you - and you and you

So please don't take my SUNSHINE and MOONBEAM away!