Mo drama fo yo mama

Long time since my last post. Crazy days.

We had another scare with our sweet boys last Saturday: bad car accident. Our babysitter, Victoria (or Vik-tor-dya as Jensen says) who was with us for the last 2+ years decided to move to the city (that means Chicago around these here parts), and she had a big goodbye planned with the big boys. She took them to the zoo, to the park, to an apple orchard. On their way home from her farewell tour, she decided to do one last thing and stop by an aircraft museum. As she turned off the main road, she was hit by a fast-moving SUV.

I must have a crisis mode in my brain, and it has unfortunately received some excellent training and good practice. Just after my classes let out in the city, I glanced at my phone and saw that Liz had tried calling twice and sent an ominous text: "Call me!" I knew something was wrong, so I started walking quickly to the parking garage while I called her, thinking all the while about how to get home in the fastest way possible in the trust '02 Civic. Liz answered and said in her emergency voice, "They were in an accident, they're going by ambulance to the hospital, meet me there."

She got a good friend to watch the baby, then she rushed to the hospital about 45 minutes away. I raced there from downtown (I had been in school in the city) and I arrived five minutes after she got there. I was so relieved to see Cohen, scraped and dirty, but calm and resting in the ER bed. Jensen was playing with Victoria's phone, he was fine. We pray for her: her back and neck still hurt a week later, and we hope she will have a full and fast recovery.

Cohen's back was sore for 3 days, but he's 100% fine now. Jensen had no symptoms at all. We saw pictures of the car and the SUV after the fact. The car is totaled from being broadsided by the SUV, which is probably totaled as well. The side curtain airbag probably protected Jensen from any injuries. A big ol' public thanks to Victoria for making sure the boys always were in car seats. We are so grateful for their collective safety: it could have been so much worse.

I won't complain about how busy I am, since the Harvard Business Review told me not to:

"Yes, we all have some strange need to out-misery each other. Acknowledging that is a first step. But next time you speak to a friend and want to lament about how busy you are, ask yourself why. Try steering the conversation away from a complain-off. With some practice you might find yourself actually feeling less “buried” (or at least feeling less of a need to say it all the time)."

So no out-miserying anyone here. At least not today. Until I feel like it again. OK, I feel like it again.

Work is good, but very busy, and I am thankful for my department peeps that help carry the load. Schoolwork is overwhelming lately. Apparently we're near the "I think I'm going to die" part of the program, although we just passed the half-way point. Good thing I have great classmates who are always willing to lend a hand. I have a whole lot of favors to pay forward.

I need to also publicly thank Gym Guy. Not because of any particular favors he has done for me, but because he helped me realize that I shall never, no never, sit on the nice leather couch to watch TV in the fancy locker room. Let's just say that I hope it's a fake leather couch that easily cleans with Clorox wipes. Gym Guy really needs to put some clothes on.

Boom.

Just felt the need to celebrate. Happy upcoming International Talk Like A Pirate Day and Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

6 months and counting

The six month mark came and went, and we didn't even notice until a few days later. Liz was first diagnosed six months and five days ago. It's crazy to think that, especially during those first few weeks, the doctors couldn't even tell us if she had six months left. Now we have hope that those six months will stretch to sixty years. How refreshing to "forget" about such a milestone. Hopefully because it's only the first of many, many more to come. Our friends are going through round two of their cancer journey, and they shared this reminder from Romans 12:12 to find joy, patience, and faith during difficult times:

On a lighter note, I'm still going to the gym. (Pause for laughter.) The good news is that I don't groan nearly as much when I get off of the floor after changing the baby or playing with the kids at home, and I generally feel a lot better, or perhaps I just appreciate the non-gym times more since I hate gym time so much.

So the demented mistress of the dark my trainer must be encouraging me to do something right. Still haven't lost much weight, but I really think it's because I'm converting fat directly into magical powers so I never have to work out again lean muscle mass.

The gym has mirrors everywhere. Usually it destroys my soul doesn't bother me. But I have learned a few things by evaluating my reflection:

1. Everyone looks way tougher than they really are when they use kettle weights.
2. It might look like I'm a super fan of a certain brand of workout clothes, but I'm not. I'm just cheap and bought a whole bunch of stuff on sale at Target.
3. No one looks cool prancing down the aisle touching opposite elbows and knees. I swear that my trainer makes me do things like that just to shame me into accepting further punishment entertain herself.

Gym Guy is still around. A few words of advice to him this week:

► Purple silk briefs aren't a thing.
► I know you want to impress yourself with your weight loss, but a pair of underwear really wouldn't add that much weight when you're on the locker room scale.
► In case I am wrong and purple silk briefs actually are a thing, perhaps you could do us a favor and keep your leg off the counter when you break out the Axe body spray.
► If you are going to bring a manscaping device into the shower with you, at least try to hide it under a towel so we won't know what you're about to do.
► Oh, and since you're over 30, Axe body spray isn't a thing either.

Go Team Liz.

Cohen and Mom holding hands in the waiting room at his checkup last week.

Cohen's latest creations. I love his drawings.

Success! We tossed the toddler bed, then the big boys and I built a new one for Jensen.

What having cancer is really like

I asked Liz to share this, from a conversation we had a few days ago. Here is a note from the patient (with stadium picture from me -- Go Broncos!).

Struggling to make sense of cancer is hard. It doesn't make sense. It probably never will. But after a difficult couple of days, this is what I came up with to help me make sense of it all.

***********

Having cancer is like playing football.

You are unexpectedly thrust onto the field during the first game of the season. The roar of the home crowd strengthens you, the cheerleaders cheer. You dig in, you fight, you hurt, you bleed. You follow your coach and give your all, then with a little luck, you win. The fans lift you above their shoulders and carry you off the field.

But after the game, the lights go out and nearly everyone goes home. Only your most ardent supporters stay by your side, quietly helping you pick up the pieces of your life that you just left on the field. You nurse your sore body, eat right, exercise, and you try to enjoy practice when you know it is just preparation for the next game.

No one knows when you will play in the next game. You hope the team, coach and cheerleaders will be back when that day comes. You quietly hope that you don't have to play again, but if you do, you only want to play if you will win.

***********

As awful the physical "game" of cancer has been, equally as tough is the mental game. Knowledge is power, but sometimes knowing all the plays is just too much. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't wonder what next month will be like, let alone next year. I am a worrier. So now I pray for peace daily, sometimes hourly. If I don't do this, the emptiness of the field becomes too all-consuming.

I am determined to win every game, big or small. I have to beat the opposing team. I am not ready to have a losing record. I need to win.

Liz