What do you say?

The phone rang very late last night, nearly midnight. The kids were finally settled down and my husband and I were ready to go to bed. I answered, reluctantly, since this is generally how we receive bad news.

"Hello," I paused waiting breathlessly for a response.

"Hi, this is Sammy's grandpa. Is he at your house?" I heard the hesitation in his voice and immediately wanted to reassure him.

"Yes. We went to bring him home about three hours ago, but no one was at the house, so we thought we would let him stay here until we could figure out what was going on. Do you know what is going on?"

"Well, we were wondering what Sam had done with the kids. We couldn't find them. So Sammy is with you, that's right?"

"Yes, he is right here, do you want to speak with him?"

"Please". I passed the phone to 10 year old Sam and I could see the fear and confusion all over his face. He spoke briefly with his grandfather, then handed the phone to me.

"I am on my way to pick him up. Sorry to impose."

"No imposition. Please, he can stay with our son if that is okay."

"I will pick him up shortly."

I knew from the sound of his voice that this was not a good situation, but I didn't want to pry. While I was waiting I wanted to speak to Sam's mother, my friend Gayle.

"Sammy, try your mom's cell phone again, would you?"

When I finallhy got Gayle on the phone I said, "Something is wrong, Gayle, your dad just called here to pick up Sammy. Sam is not home, we don't know where he is at. Do you think he went to Gunther's?"

"I don't know," she said and I could almost hear her voice tremble. "I will call Gunther's and find out."

Sam's grandfather came to pick him up and explained that Sammy's dad had an asthma attack and went to the hospital. "Whew!" I thought, "Good thing he was able to make it to the hospital," I thought.

The next morning I got up early to go to my kickboxing class. I love this clas. I feel more alive with every kick and punch. The more my body aches, the more determined I become. I worked up a good sweat and was feeling particularly proud of myself.

When I got home my son was behaving kind of odd. "What is it," I asked.

"Gayle called. She spoke to daddy" he toyed with me.

"Okay, what did she want. Did she want to talk to me?" I asked.

"Sam McGregor died last night in a car accident," my husband said to me.

"Are you kidding?" I replied.

"Would I joke about this?"

This tragedy is punctuated by the fact that one of my son's other friend's also lost his dad just a few months ago.

There is no good way to handle this kind of information. There is no smart or clever thing to say. In fact, generally speaking, we don't know what to say, or what to do. As human beings we are fortunate enough to have empathy. I could imagine Gayle's pain. I ached for her children and wept for all of them. This was no easy thing and there was not going to be any quick fix for any of them.

What could I do? I searched my brain to find an answer. Was there anything I could do or say that would somehow ease this pain. Surely not. So I just had to be there for my friend. Let her grab hold of me and cry and ramble as she tried to sort this out in her own mind. When I have to I can really plant my feet firmly on the ground. So I knew this would be my gift to her. I would plant myself and she could count on my to be right there, right where she expects me to be. I will listen, cry and laugh along side her while we figure this out.

My mind races to the future. Would we still go to her summer house in Massachusetts? Would the boys still want to play soccer and basketball together? Would she have to turn down that promotion now because travelling was out of the question?

The one thing I can think of for certain is... none of this has to be decided now. Life unfolds mysteriously slowly when it has to - almost like it is in slow motion.

What can we do for the people we love when we see their pain, and cannot wipe not one drop of it away? I pray.

I am grateful for my friendships, grateful for the love our children share, I am grateful that I was there for her yesterday and that I can be there for her tomorrow. Grateful that God has filled me with so much of his love that I can share this portion with my friends and still have more for the next day. Grateful that sleep allows us to forget for a little while and that every sunrise takes us toward a new beginning.

God bless you Sam where ever you are. Please find the peace that you need to cross over and know that we are all grateful for the time we share with you and that we will keep you alive with your children and your family that loves you so very much.

God blessed with you and we bless you with Him.

The Day Arrives

Ha! I was back to being Vainessa. I knew there were too many worse parts of chemo for me…the vomiting, the nausea, the lack of control of what was going in my body, but most importantly, I was going to lose my hair. Well, not really lose it, I knew where it would be – in the trash!

Despite all my worrying, waiting and wondering…the day arrived.

I brought my mother and my aunt with me to the oncologist’s office that day. These are two of the funniest women I know. My mom has always made me laugh at the most dire times of my life. I remember when I was twelve and I had my appendix removed. Oh, those stitches hurt, all across my belly, making it hard to laugh or take a deep breathe. When my mom came to visit me in the hospital after the surgery she brought me a joke book. A funny joke book…what kind of person does this to their child…I’ll tell you…the kind of person that loves their child so much that they can’t even imagine them ill or in pain, oh, and a funny person.

We were quite the site. Laughing and joking in the waiting room, other patients were chiming in with us and laughing along with us. I think it should be a rule in doctor’s offices that there be live, humorous entertainment that the doctor MUST provide. After all, they have no problem making us wait endless for them at the very least they should provide us with better entertainment than outdated magazines that are at best palatable and at worst, insulting. Give me some humor. On that day, everyone appreciated the humor of we three women. After the phlebotomist drew my blood we were shuffled to a small room where we WAITED some more. Isn’t it the truth though, all of this doctor stuff is about hurry up and wait.

While we are waiting a woman from the big waiting room comes up to our room. I thought this was a little over the top. We were funny, but not that funny. Why was she tracking us down?

“I was told I should be in this room” she announced. Now I got to tell you, I was impressed. Perhaps she thought if she said it firmly enough we would leave.

“Come join us,” I offer, the consummate peacemaker,” there is room for more.” I lied, but it was a desperate circumstance, I wasn’t giving up my room!

“I’m Lisa, this is Phyllis and Emelia,” I offer.

“Hello,” she responded. Nothing more, no name, no nothing! Where did she go to finishing school? “What are you in for?” she asks. Realizing her mistake immediately she offers, “I have too much blood.”

Shit! My brother-in-law, can’t make enough blood. We found a match! Call the guards, let’s get her over to Adam’s we can set up some sort of Frankenstein castle and make the swap. They will both benefit and we can get the hell our of the doctor’s office…back to reality.

“Oh, really. I just need chemo,” if she only knew what I was thinking. I could see it now, her with one aluminum hat on and Adam with the other. Flip the switch and IT IS A-LIVE!

“Can I ask what for?” You can ask.

“Breast cancer,” is my solemn reply.

“I’m sorry,” her solemn response…everyone’s response.

Flip the switch…

The nurse arrives to inform us that by sharing conversation we are in breach of our HIPPA agreement and our guest must leave. (For more on HIPA see ridiculous rules to protect insurance companies and doctors made to seem like they are protecting your privacy…(read the small print!) Ha! It was my room.

Enter the oncologist. Time to go to chemo, any questions?

Yeah, just one. How do I get out of this? No, really, just lead me to the place I need to be.

And so, it begins. I go into this 10 x 15 room with four other chemo patients and my mother and aunt in tow. There is not much room, but we make do. I think how odd that we are all sitting in a small circle in varying stages of cancer cure and no one says a word, so I begin by saying hi to the guy next to me and before I know it my mother and aunt are shaking everyone’s hands and saying hello.

“Let the games begin.”

Waiting for Chemo...

Waiting, wondering, worrying are never as good as you think they are when you start out. Anticipating and waiting are just playgrounds for your imagination to create the best and worse scenarios for you to rehearse. Wondering…well, when I think of wondering of think of it more as the awe-aspiring…but it usually ends up being more head games of what if…which brings me right back around to worrying. I have often quoted the story about Jesus when he visits his friends Martha and Mary. Mary stops everything she is doing and sits with Jesus to talk with him about what’s up in his life and travels. Martha on the other hand is so concerned about having a guest and wanting to do all the right things she is bustling about getting food, cleaning up and basically ignoring Jesus just to make a nice display for him. Martha begins to complain to Jesus about Mary’s obvious laziness and Jesus replies, Martha, Martha, you are worried and anxious about many things, but only one thing is required and Mary has chosen the greater portion. I quote the story to remind myself that worrying doesn’t do me any good. I quote it…I try and remember and I worry anyway!

It was like this waiting for chemo. Sometimes I would not even think about it. “Oh, well I start my cure in six days!” I would laugh when people would ask. But then as the day drew closer and the reality got more real, I began this waiting, wondering, worrying thing. Some nights I would stay up all night watching TV because I couldn’t sleep. Then other times I would just bark at my kids or my husband for no reason. I considered every cliché you can imagine. “This is the easy part.” “Your hair will grow back” “It is only for a short time.” “You’re alive.” All shit. The fact is some suited up doctor who is very nice, by the way, is going to pump chemicals into my body that are designed to stop cell division. If I remember my high school biology right, that is the ‘stuff of life’, cell division. Well, it is a necessary evil. I weigh the balance, risk my life…save my life…easiest choice that is not really a choice.

I think back to one day in the hospital when I discovered Vain Lisa…let’s call her Vainessa. I never thought of myself as the type who worried much about looks. Well, gee, it all came pretty naturally all of my life. There were three things about my physical appearance I could always count on – I have a nice face, great boobs and beautiful hair. Oops! Something changed!

While still in the hospital, I woke up one morning and decided I should take a look at what’s happened to me. Courageously, I head off with my walker to the bathroom. I am so cool, I’m thinking. How very enlightened of me, to look at my wound and begin the healing. Hehehehe…what did I know.

I arrive in front of the mirror. I begin with my face. My hair is much shorter now, but, frankly, I like that, my face looks very thin, I look a lot like my sister (who is about half my body weight and I believe twice as beautiful as me). I gaze at my face in disbelief; I have NEVER looked like my sister. I begin to wonder about what they did in that surgery for eleven some odd hours. I digress….back to the matter at hand, enlightened one. So I look at my shoulders…God, they are skinnier than I remember, too…how long have I been in this place?!

I am wearing the equivalent of a straight jacket for a bra..it has zippers, hooks, and Velcro…they didn’t want one of these girls escaping, I guess…

I pull up the Velcro to release the strap of the right side, as the cup starts to fall away I begin to cry…I’m afraid to look. Well, shit…I look like a darn Christmas tree with drains hanging off of me like balls on a tree. My coloring is all wrong, I am much too thin…oh my God…I have cancer! I HAVE CANCER! Shit! When did this happen? All at once I am aware of the term Frankenstein. I am overcome with the reality of what has happened…no great boobs…soon no more hair…and it really does matter to me what I look like…not just to other people, it matters what I look like to me! Enter Vainessa. Where was she my whole life? Was I always like this?

I became aware of someone knocking on the bathroom door. “Are you okay, Lisa,” called the day nurse,” I need to check your vitals. Do you need any help?”

The irony of all this came crashing in on me and I just burst out laughing.

“I’ll be right out. I was just finishing up.”

I’m not such a long way from that day now as I approach the next phase of this process, my chemo, my cure!