Wisconsin by the numbers

What a great trip to the Dells (my Chicagoland team mocked me for calling it Wisconsin Dells):

• 4 hour drive
• 2 stops along the way, including 1 stop at Cohen's favorite rest stop in the world: walls he can climb up and walk along
• 3 days and 2 nights at Great Wolf Lodge
• 1 terrified toddler of the people in character costumes
• 2 hours later bedtime and 1 hour earlier wake-up for Cohen aand Jensen since they had to share a room and they have completely different sleeping preferences ("Jensen, will you please just stop talking so I can finally sleep?").
• 2 Cohen bathroom runs per hour at the waterpark
• 0 bathroom runs for most of the kids there. What are swim diapers really for anyway? I have never seen so many kids peeing in public. And I was a Boy Scout. Seriously, you could look in any direction and see the telltale signs on the faces of overfilled children testing the chlorine effectiveness in the pools. But I digress...
• 3 story cargo net climb for Dad, to Cohen's shock and to the shagrin of onlookers below
• Unknown number of inappropriate swimsuits worn by others that made me feel like I'm much better looking in my sweet swim shirt than I thought
• 14 inch fish (we caught 2) from the tourist trap kid fishing ponds in my feeble attempt to git some country back in my city boys. Didn't work. Though Cohen was impressed with the foreign exchange student working the gutting station who seemed to enjoy ripping the beating heart out of the fish just a little too much.
• 15,000 steps per day
• 6 Moosejaw root beers
• 12 dollars in tolls on the way home
• 45 extra minutes for trusting Google Maps to safely lead us through a 35-mile construction project
• 1 happy family with tuckered-out kids and tuckereder parents

We got back Friday, Liz was tired and sore, but it was from the walking and not from the chemo. So we got a sitter on Saturday and ran errands! It was a great date: Goodwill for donations, Old Navy and Gap for boys clothes, Eddie Bauer to make me feel super adventurous and want to buy a lot of safari pants. It felt...normal. I was starting to forget what normal feels like. It's definitely a new normal, but I love seeing Liz regaining her strength and exercising her considerable will.

Herceptin, Perjeta, and blood work yesterday. Her numbers are still great. Hopefully hair and nails will come back and the tingling pain in hands and feet will go away within the next 3 months, 6 at most (we hope!). Glad to be home. Gladder to be doing "normal" things again as a family.

Go Team Liz.

Attempting a family vacation

We're going to try it: road trip! Well, a short-ish one. We were going to go to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, for a few days starting tomorrow. But the weather might be iffy, Liz really is not ready for a sunny day at the beach, and I am not really ready to help keep Cohen afloat while chasing Jensen down the beach and keeping Eli from eating as much sand as he can find.

So we're off to Wisconsin Dells tomorrow. This will almost meet our obligations to the six-year old who never forgets promises. And it will provide a comfy space to hang out without having to venture outside. Good news for Wisconsin: regular swim trunks for me, no Speedos. Actually, that's good news for the world. And if we get sick of the indoor water park (yeah right) I can take the big boys to the fake fishing ponds where you throw in your line and haul 'em out quick. Wish us luck...

Two nights ago after I put Eli and Jensen to bed, I took Cohen to the park. Liz and I have not had enough chances lately for 1-on-1 time with any of the boys. He assumed my answers would all be no, so he posed questions as "I wish" statements:

"I wish we could go over and jump on the rocks."
"It would be fun to go run on the grass."
"I wish I could go climb the tree."
"Too bad the playground is too far away."

I decided to say yes to everything, which blew his mind. So I got this smile and a very happy (and tired) boy. Made it all worth it.

After I put Eli to bed last night, Cohen had some mommy-and-me time and I took Jensen to get a haircut at SportClips. If you are not familiar with the SportClips experience, it is basically a sissy salon that makes you feel super manly about getting a head massage with your shampoo because there are TV's everywhere showing ESPN. Awesome. Jensen was shy when he arrived, but after double-fisting their free suckers, he bore down for the long haul. Cohen loves getting the MVP Package, which includes hair wash, hot towl, head and face massage, and neck/back massage. But he wasn't there. So I asked Jensen. He said yes. Here he is, trying not to like the shampoo while sitting in the massage chair, and J trying not to like the back massage. He loved both.



Liz has a few new eyelashes showing up late to the party. Her skin is glowing. So are her spirits. I have not seen her with this much energy and can-do-ness since March. It really has been two steps forward and one step back so far over these past few weeks, but that is better than the other way around. And I think we are close to three steps forward. Her eyes still constantly water, so pray that her tear ducts will start to heal as well.

It was SO good to have Howie, Amanda, and their kids here for a couple of days. I'll post more this week about our fun adventures, replete with photos. Wish we were closer to family. So glad we have each other.

Go Team Liz!

P.S. Here are some more awesome photos from Jen as she takes a cross-country road trip. More to come, I hope. Good reminder that the Team Liz Logos contest is still alive and well. Thanks, Jen!

Friendly folks

Jensen and Eli are apparently still sick, at least as of yesterday. This is a nasty bug. My deepest apologies to Heather's back seat where Jensen was sitting. To my credit, I did try to chase her down with a gift bottle of Febreze, but she drove away too fast. We owe her.

The doctor said yesterday that if we just give the baby Pedialyte and take away all dairy from Jensen for 24 hours they should be able to kick it to the curb. So I ran to the Meijer grocery store early this morning for more bananas, crackers, apple juice, and a whole bunch of other stuff that I hadn't planned on buying (because I'm a guy, so I can't help it).

Holy moly, shoppers are really nice early in the morning. The employees were pleasant and helpful. And the lady I thought was going to attack me in the parking lot just wanted to congratulate me for "coming to my store so early, I love seeing other shoppers at daybreak!" I actually left with a smile on my face, whistling back to my car, and I sang all the way home. Sorry, neighbors, for having my window down.

I believe that happiness is a choice. Sure, some people are predisposed with happy genes (as opposed to happy jeans, which are basically acid washed mom jeans, I think). And others learn to cope to life based on their worldview or their upbringing. But overall, we all can decide how happy we want to be. Apparently I did not want to be too happy this past week. Just ask my team. Good thing they're forgiving folks.

A favorite Old Testament proverb of mine states: "He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city."

This cancer stuff is hard. Liz isn't going to be able to take care of the kids and her annoying husband for some time. Life moves on for the great people who have been such generous providers of support and service. They are tired. So are we. But we can choose to smile, to laugh, to enjoy the good moments we have. It makes life so much better.

Go Team Liz.

P.S. Great pics from my cousin and his family at the USAF Museum in Dayton, Ohio. Liz and I went to that museum back in our Ohio days. Love it! Thanks, Kevin.

No evidence of disease

I sure love the lady who wrote that last post.

Unfortunately, Liz was sick two nights ago, and I was worried it was the "new" medicine schedule. The good news is that it had nothing to do with the antibodies. The bad news is that she was first. Then Eli. Next was Jensen an hour ago. Eli again a few minutes ago. Now my gut is rumbling and I keep zoning out, staring at the screen. Hang in there, Cohen! I'm glad we have a sanitize function on our washer. Ugh.

Now for some more good news...

Liz had an echocardiogram this morning to see if her heart can handle the antibodies, since the medication can cause serious damage. I was a basket case waiting for the results (my apologies to the copier repairman who faced my wrath at work today). The breast cancer coordinator called early this evening: all heart function is normal, so we can keep going with the antibodies maintenance treatments! Whew.

I also asked the BCC if she could tell me what the radiologist report said about the CT scan. Cool words I heard were "no obvious signs of disease" on the liver. The report didn't even mention the primary tumor. And her blood work showed normal levels of liver enzymes and breast cancer markers.

No evidence of disease! Truly miraculous.

After Eli and Jensen went to bed tonight I took Cohen to Target. He wanted to buy some more painters tape so we can hang up a growth chart that he got for Christmas (sorry, Grandma, it takes me a while to get around to hanging things up -- just ask Liz about the whale picture in Eli's room). We left Target with two gigantic bouncy balls (they were on clearance!) and a bunch of really important stuff that I had not planned to buy. Oh, and painters tape. But we had such a good time just talking, looking at things together, chasing each other in the store. Kids need one-on-one time. So do dads.

Cohen read his new "Fly Guy Meets Fly Girl" book to Liz and me tonight on the couch. He read the whole thing. Well, except the part when Fly Guy and Fly Girl kissed: he started laughing uncontrollably, fell to the floor, covered his eyes, and yelled, "Tell me when it's over!"

Here's to a hopeful night of healing. And many, many years together.

Go team Liz.

What Cohen thinks of cancer. And what Liz thinks of the White Sox.

Melissa made this with our boys. We are off to great places...

The Results - Part II

200 Years.

I always have a lot to say, but I have purposely held off on writing another blog post -- until now. The reasons are mostly selfish and ultimately it comes down to my way of coping. Does it make sense? Probably not. I live this with this disease every minute of every day and the thought of going through my emotions to write them in a blog post is usually just too much. I would rather spend the time learning to deal and surviving. Fighting. Please, don't get me wrong: I completely believe this blog is essential for me, Aaron, our boys and each person who reads it. But, it's time for another post from moi. Why? Because it just is.

Ok, on to the news that we've all been waiting for. The news is good. Really good. The radiology report is not back quite yet, but Super Doc sees no evidence of disease in the liver and the breast tumor has dramatically shrunk. Yay and double yay!  Also, there are no new spots of cancer. Triple yay! The doctor is hopeful and grateful that the chemo did its job (so are we of course!). I have said for awhile I feel good except for all of the chemo crud going on so it feels amazing to get confirmation. The doctor said it's time for me to starting feeling better. I couldn't agree more. I will still go in every 3 weeks for antibodies -- the good guys that protect the cells from new cancer growth -- but no more Taxotere. Hooray! My hair will grow back, my fingernails/toenails will get healthy again & hopefully my eyes will stop watering very soon so I can wear contacts again. All very vain things I know. I am ready to begin our new life.

Speaking of fingernails, about 2.5 months ago when I began losing my nails I felt bad, sad & embarrassed. Aaron sat down one day and told me something that has stuck with me ever since. He said, "I think for every nail you lose, it's 10 more years." I know it's not a deep, profound statement, but it meant the world to me. It gave me hope again on a particularly hard day. I have now lost all of my nails...200 years. He is worried that he won't be able to keep up with me! I did tell him it would be my turn to take care of him.  :)

This is a new beginning for us. As sad as I am that our life will never go back to the way it was before March 5, 2013, I am ready for our new life. The journey to this point has been harder than I can truly express and I know the journey going forward will be full of ups and downs. I will not feel 100% tomorrow or even next week. It will most likely take a full year to feel like my old self again. I am looking forward to the point when I can send Aaron off to work and I can take care of our three boys all on my own. I wish I could today, but I know it will come. I have gotten really good at changing diapers on the couch, but I look forward to the day when I can sit on the ground again and not only change a diaper, but play cars & trains too!

The boys have been resilient through all of this and they amaze us every day. Cohen says the sweetest prayers each night full of deep thoughts and hope. Because he is our deep thinker, we have worried how he would take all of this...we had no reason to worry. He has adapted to this trying time and has blown us away with his strength. Jensen is our singing, dancing boy who always has something to say. He is 3 years old in every way. We are fully into the "I can do every thing on my own" stage which has its own challenges, but he is still so adorable that every tantrum is doable for us. Eli continues to be our mellow, happy baby. He is growing way too fast and I do wish I could go back to March just to see my 5-month old again. I miss him so much when he goes off to be taken care of for the day, but he always has a snuggle for me no matter how long it's been. I am so grateful.

My mother-in-law sent us this quote today and it sums up how I feel. Elder Boyd K. Packer said:

"Faith, to be faith, must center around something that is not known.  Faith, to be faith, must go beyond that for which there is confirming evidence.  Faith, to be faith, must go into the unknown.  Faith, to be faith must walk to the edge of light, and then a few steps into the darkness."

We have walked into the darkness, but have kept the faith. We have relied on both science and faith. We have tried our best to be lead in the right direction and to really listen to the Spirit to know which way to go. We feel so blessed to be where we are today. We know we have much to learn, but what we have learned to this point will only help us in the days to come. No matter what happens, we know we have a Heavenly Father and a Savior who love our little family and truly want the best for us. This life isn't easy, but we know there is a plan for us.

Our 14th anniversary is tomorrow and I am blessed that Aaron picked me. While we were in college together he had girls chasing him all across campus daily and I relished in the fact that he was holding my hand! I hope and pray that we have 200 more years together. Aaron is my rock. I love you, hottie!

~Liz~

Go Team Liz!

Dr. Howie and clan doing the happy dance for us

Let's availeth

We have a big week ahead, and we miss Melissa and Katelyn already. They headed home early yesterday morning, and Howie and Amanda (and their awesome brood) arrived in the afternoon.

Liz's CT scan is tomorrow morning. Then we will meet with the doctor, she will get her first dose of chemo without the nasty Taxotere (we hope!), we will get her scan results back later this week, and she will have the echocardiogram on Friday. Time to see how well these six chemo treatments worked. Boom. Crush it.

Thank you all for your service and your care. We have received so many blessings and acts of kindness, and I only wish we could thank you all individually. We have felt your thoughts and good vibes, especially today. James 5:16 says that the prayers of the righteous "availeth much." Totally agree. Let's availeth.

Man, I'm tired. I got back from a fulfilling week of classwork and homework at Notre Dame after a busy work week. This progression through December will be tough, but I reserved hotel rooms for graduation in May 2014 to lend some perspective to the challenges ahead. It is hard for me to rely on others and allow them the opportunity to serve, but my Irish classmates are amazing and willing to help carry the load. 

Howie and I took the kids to Plainfield Fest last night. Great times, lame rides, expensive creepy carny stuffed animals, happy kids. Cohen was a crack shot on the cork gun.

Jensen has had a rough day or two. He has a high fever, hard time sleeping, then he threw up all over everything late last night. Dr. Howie was good to hang out with me, but I was shocked at how fast 30 minutes passed while he and I were fluidly talking. He remembers our conversation a bit differently: apparently I had my eyes closed, and it took me three minutes to start responding to each of his questions. He stuck around since it humored him.

I'm planning on another long night with Jensen, but I hope his fever breaks. Howie's clan left after a too-short one-night stay. Our boys love their cousins, and they especially loved the sweet bouncy house we bought at a neighborhood garage sale.

Liz is doing more and feeling a little better each day. She is fighting. So I bought her a pink Notre Dame shirt with the fighting Irishman on the front. Awesome. I'm glad that she and I are a team, as we have been for the last 14 years. Happy Anniversary this week, me gorgeous lady.

Go Team Liz.

 

Wait

This week I am on campus at Notre Dame, starting five more classes with graduation only ten months away. I feel terribly guilty for being away from Liz and the boys, and strangely enough, I feel bad that I am enjoying being here. She is still having a tough time, but I am grateful for her sister Melissa and the boys' cousin Katelyn to help out. 

This week is a big one: within the next eight days Liz will find out if these last 4½ months of chemo have worked, and we will learn if her body is strong enough to continue with the antibodies. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers.

One of my professors has a young daughter who had leukemia. She kindly shared the following poem with me because it gave her a lot of hope and strength during their times of trial. Methinks it can work the same for me. 

Go Team Liz. 

WAIT
By Russell Kelfer

Desperately, helplessly, longingly, I cried;

Quietly, patiently, lovingly, God replied.

I pled and I wept for a clue to my fate . . .

And the Master so gently said, "Wait."

"Wait? you say wait?" my indignant reply.

"Lord, I need answers, I need to know why!

Is your hand shortened? Or have you not heard?

By faith I have asked, and I'm claiming your Word.

"My future and all to which I relate

Hangs in the balance, and you tell me to wait?

I'm needing a 'yes', a go-ahead sign,

Or even a 'no' to which I can resign.

"You promised, dear Lord, that if we believe,

We need but to ask, and we shall receive.

And Lord I've been asking, and this is my cry:

I'm weary of asking! I need a reply."

Then quietly, softly, I learned of my fate,

As my Master replied again, "Wait."

So I slumped in my chair, defeated and taut,

And grumbled to God, "So, I'm waiting for what?"

He seemed then to kneel, and His eyes met with mine . . .

and He tenderly said, "I could give you a sign.

I could shake the heavens and darken the sun.

I could raise the dead and cause mountains to run.

"I could give all you seek and pleased you would be.

You'd have what you want, but you wouldn't know Me.

You'd not know the depth of my love for each saint.

You'd not know the power that I give to the faint.

"You'd not learn to see through clouds of despair;

You'd not learn to trust just by knowing I'm there.

You'd not know the joy of resting in Me

When darkness and silence are all you can see.

"You'd never experience the fullness of love

When the peace of My spirit descends like a dove.

You would know that I give, and I save, for a start,

But you'd not know the depth of the beat of My heart.

"The glow of my comfort late into the night,

The faith that I give when you walk without sight.

The depth that's beyond getting just what you ask

From an infinite God who makes what you have last.

"You'd never know, should your pain quickly flee,

What it means that My grace is sufficient for thee.

Yes, your dearest dreams overnight would come true,

But, oh, the loss, if you missed what I'm doing in you.

"So, be silent, my child, and in time you will see

That the greatest of gifts is to truly know me.

And though oft My answers seem terribly late,

My most precious answer of all is still . . . Wait."

Dinosaurland

I grew up in Denver. At least that's what I tell people when it gives me big-city credibility. But our family moved away from the Mile High City and I turned eight years old in Vernal, Utah: my home town. Dinosaurland.

We have had to miss a couple of awesome family vacations: last year because Liz was on bedrest, and this year because of cancer crud. My family all got together in Vernal last week, and to my surprise and delight, they sent these Team Liz photos to show their love and support for me lovely lady. She's starting to turn the corner, so these will surely lift her spirits. Awesome family.

Cleavinger Clan at the famous pink dinosaur in Vernal, Utah

My favorite brothers and sister

Note the Three Wolf Moon shirts, my birthday gifts to the bros

And the actual uphill Ragnar running photo from Andrea who is wearing her Team Liz angry unicorn shirt:

Andrea running the Ragnar in her Team Liz shirt

Go Team Liz.

Things adults say

I wrote down some things I said to my boys this past week. I never imagined I'd sound like such a dad:

No licking the baby.
Get your fingers out of your bum!
Should stickers be on windows?
Dancing with Doritos is not allowed in this house.
Pants aren't for hitting.

What is a different way to say that?

We do not wipe our faces with underwear.

It has been a rough week. Liz has an upper respiratory infection and nasty cough that are not getting better, though today will be day five of antibiotics. Neither of us sleeps enough anyway, and the coughing makes it worse. And she has cancer. And chemo. If you are reading this and feeling bad for her, send some happy thoughts in her direction. Gotta get over this sickness. All of it.

Yesterday after I put the boys to bed and I put my dinner in the microwave, I came upstairs to talk to me lady. Two hours later I realized that I flopped sideways on the bed and fell asleep. So I warmed up my dinner (again) and Liz and I had a great talk. In between coughs, of course. She's awesome.

It was so good having Liz's parents and sister Brenda at our home. We wish they could have stayed longer, but we were thankful for their sacrifices to come. I'm especially grateful for the food that Brenda left with us, including the fresh mulberry and strawberry popsicles she made (see big boys below). Of course, we got them some Giordano's on the night before they headed back to Idaho.

The boys have survived with me in charge. If you use a loose definition of survived. Cohen was especially sad to see our visitors leave: "Dad, when Aunt Brenda is gone, does that mean I have to eat peanut butter and jelly for lunch again, all of the time, like you make me?"

Nice.

The other night long after I put Jensen to bed, he started yelling from his room: "Dad, I got a boooooger. Daaaaaaaaad, I got a booooooooger. Dad? Booger?"
I went upstairs, opened his door, and said, "You need to go to sleep. Where's your booger?"
"I ate it, sorry dad."
"Good night."

I was most surprised this week at what I did not say when Cohen threw open his door and ran downstairs, crying through wide eyes. "Dad, I think something is seriously wrong."
"What is it?" I asked.
"I stuck a Lego up my nose and now I can't get it out."

I had instant flashbacks to my older brother encouraging me to stick Kix up my nose when we were kids, so I grabbed Cohen's nostrils and squeezed. Lego War Machine's minifigure head shot out, we wiped it down, and he went back upstairs.

I did not ask why he did it. I knew there was no explanation, so what's the point. Extra credit for the person who posts a comment with the most interesting things you or your kids ever stuck up a nose.

Another day down, many more to go.

Go Team Liz.

Happy Forfajuwhy

Liz is not feeling well. Darn chemo: neuropathy, mouth pain, swollen tongue, insomnia, joint aches, nausea. She got a new side effect last night (or she's coming down with an unfortunately-timed cold): chemo cough. Ugh. She is at least eating English muffins and cream cheese, so that's something. And she loves Brenda's chicken sauce and rice. Hopefully only five more days of the worst of it before she starts feeling better. Then if the CT scan and echocardiagram confirm that she is kicking cancer in the can, we can kiss Taxotere goodbye.

The breast cancer markers and blood work all remained normal (WAHOO!!!), so that's still good news.

We had a great Fourth of July with the boys, Aunt Brenda, Grandma and Grandpa. And Liz found the strength to join us out front for our family fireworks show. I am so impressed with her strength and resolve to give our boys quality moments with their mom. We bought a large pack of fireworks last week at Walgreens. Glow snakes, poppers, and loads of fountains. Illinois is super lame doesn't allow the big stuff, unless you're on unincorporated land around the corner from our house (that fireworks show was AWESOME). But we had a good time rating the quality of each pyrotechnic. Jensen liked the names ("They are so beautiful, Dad!").

Violet and Umbrellas
Silvery Chrysanthemums
The Golden Unicorn

My favorite was The Peppermint Twist. Sounds like a sweet dance move. It ejected small, loud crackle explosions and scared the owner of the Audi parked nearby.

Earlier in the day, while Jensen and Eli were napping, I thought I would be super dad and let Cohen do the honors and set off the first firework. I pulled out a smoke grenade that had a pull string instead of a fuse. Super safe. Right?

We went to the back yard and talked about the associated risks, which basically meant that I told him to throw it as far as he could. I should have spent a little more time on the safety discussion. He couldn't yank the string hard enough, so at the last second he placed his hand on top of the smoke grenade to get a better grip, then he pulled the string before I could stop him. Whoops. Dime-sized second degree burn. He let me know his displeasure:

"I didn't even want to light fireworks."
"Why did you make me burn myself?"
And my favorite: "YOU DID THIS TO ME!"

He thinks the blister is cool now, so we're good. I won't be winning any Father of the Year awards, though.

The worst fireworks of the night were the sparklers at the bottom of the fireworks pack. They were like flash paper and instantly were engulfed in flames. They lit up like, well, like the Fourth of July. So I decided to put my Boy Scout hat on and see what would happen if I put two packs together. My experiment resulted in a burn (Cohen let me know that his was better) and a whole lot of flashy fire. So we have tons of unused sparklers if you want to dig through our trash.

One more chemo day down, hopefully not many more. It is hard not to think about the bad while so much good is happening. But I am very optimistic about the results of Liz's upcoming tests over the next few weeks. Here's to many more Forfajuwhys with the complete Cleavinger Clan.

Go Team Liz.

If you want to beat her record, that's fine with me

Chemo #6

Something I've learned from chemo: "premeds" are just "meds" before they give you other "meds."

We are at the cancer center. The People's Court is on in the private room, though the clicking of the medicine administrator machine makes it hard to focus on high quality television. We are enjoying our sandwiches from the new shop around the corner and catching up on emails and text messages. And we are smiling.

Me lady in Cancer Center waiting room

Blood draw was a while ago, after which we met with the doc. He was upbeat, and unless something is unexpected from Liz's CT scan and echocardiogram 3 weeks from now, we'll just keep coming back every 3 weeks for her to get the antibodies (Herceptin and Perjeta). I asked him how long these treatments will continue to work. He gave the best response yet:

"I have a patient who has been on that treatment for 18 years. If you want to beat her record, that's fine with me."

That's not typical, but it's possible, and that's good enough for us. So we'll plan on kicking out the Taxotere after today, and she can get feeling better. It will take a while to feel back to "normal" but it's good news.

Go Team Liz.