Looking Back... Looking Forward

A few weeks ago I stood in front of my spice cabinet absently staring, trying to figure out what it was I was supposed to be doing???  I finally looked around my kitchen, saw that I was making pancakes and remembered that we were out of syrup and I would need to make some more.  
I had made it to the spice cabinet for a reason, but then I had become distracted.  I did not know that I was searching for the maple flavoring until I looked back to where I had been and remembered my purpose.
This simple experience struck me  - although we should not live in the past, we need to understand where we have been to know where it is that we want to go.  Learning from mistakes, learning from others, learning from triumphs... we will know the path that we want to pursue in the future.

Looking back at Pismo Beach.
Here is the wall I was leaning
against with Lori and her friends
when I first saw Mark.  He
came to the beach to go skim boarding
with his brother, Mike.  Everyone
wanted us to meet.. only our eyes
met, but it was a good start!

I have not blogged for a month - the reason is that the idea of "looking back" is so huge.  I have thought of it almost every day and there is simply too much to say, I cannot seem to corral my thoughts and express them clearly.

Oh dear - I keep typing and deleting ideas... so I will keep it simple and with the one thing that has stood out to me.

I like to watch past episodes of "Who Do You Think You Are" while I walk on the treadmill.  I have only seen 10 or 15, but when I started to think of looking back, I started to notice statements that the celebrities make.  (This is a program sponsored by Ancestry.com in which they trace the roots of celebrities.)  They say things like, "This has really changed how I see things."  "This will change the way I make decisions in the future."

Looking back at Montano De Oro.  A
favorite spot during childhood and
during our courtship, it is great to be
able to share it with our children.

I know that when I learn a story about my ancestors, my life is changed.  It is hard to explain to anyone who hasn't explored their family history, but for all that have - we comprehend that experience.   Last month I read some excerpts from Mark's grandmother's journal.  She was having a hard time and expressing her hurt and frustration.  I had known her story, but now I know her feelings.  I felt such love for her - and suddenly her life has impacted mine in a very real way.  I think that it comes from knowing about real people to whom we are connected, and knowing that they went through hard times but were still successful, were still loved.
...Well, I don't know what it is, but there is a connection and it is real.

Looking back at surfing, most
of our dates involved surfing
so it was fun for Mark to
teach the kids.

So, looking forward....again, too big of a subject, but to go along with the distant past... look into the distant future.  What will I do and say in my life that will have a positive impact on my future grandchildren and great-grandchildren?  Obviously they will not use me as a famous ancestor in a report - but they will have this connection.  Am I living my life in a way that will have a positive impact for generations to come?  I may never do anything grand, but I can live every day to bless my posterity, and those in my present life will benefit as well.

A few other looking back moments:

Looking back in Paso Robles, I love
being on this road on Grandpa's ranch
and thinking of all evening walks
with family during childhood.

Looking back on last night's overpriced but tasteless dinner - I hope to never eat at that restaurant again.
Looking back on how it feels when I sleep long vs how I feel when I get up and get going... I will hope to get ignore the temptation to sleep in.
Looking back on fun family times, I will try to remember to not get over scheduled and make sure that family recreation is a top priority.
Looking back on past photo albums, I will try to remember to capture our fun moments in pictures.
Looking back into my past journals I see who I really am, I gain confidence in my abilities, my relationships, and my future.

Looking back at the beach - watching
the children play I know this could
have been me and my siblings.
Family traditions are important
at all levels of living.

Since I often need to write about cancer - I can definitely say that when Jackie was diagnosed with cancer last year... and with all of the tumor-related events that have followed... The only way that I knew to deal with it was to look back - I went to my old blog, to past journals and other things that I had written when we were dealing with Greg's bone cancer.  I knew that I had learned lessons but I was in no state of mind to be able to recall them.  I was still feeling weak from that experience... how would I possibly deal with what was before me?  I was surprised that we had done well, and I remembered the formula for survival and success.

Looking back at Morro Bay - a trip home
to San Luis Obispo isn't complete with
family photos taken on our dolphin.  This
year we were surprised that it had gotten
so small - or are we getting so big?  Time
flies - I hope that I remember to make the
most of it!

I am realizing that when I write, I am writing to my future self.  I am writing to my children.  I am writing to family-to-come.  My blog is about learning from life's experiences.  Life happens, we make our decisions in how to deal with it, and time marches on.  We make good choices, we make bad choices... if we don't look back and learn, how do we know what to do in our future?


(The photos are all from April 2015, Spring Break)

SURPRISE...& Surprising Side Effects

Surprises at the airport

As I landed in Salt Lake City on Friday I got a text from Jackie that she and Greg were running a little late.  No problem.  Unbeknownst to me, they were waiting downstairs with a big sign and balloons to surprise (and embarrass) me.  Unbeknownst to them, I was bring a little surprise of my own.  Kimberly was my surprise - she was traveling with me to visit the "college kids" but we had not told them.

Kimberly was a surprise guest

Surprise to both of us - we went to the wrong places.  They waited at the wrong terminal, and we waited at passenger pickup, looking for a car that was not coming.  I stood up to wait, while Kimberly sat and read her book - it was rather funny to see them walk right past her to get to me... and even better several minutes later... when Jackie looked over and realization slowly dawned.
That was fun.
Later Jackie was able to surprise Nathan by having Kimberly in the car when she picked him up.
Yesterday Greg managed to slip out of church and back again without me knowing.  He was busy back at Grandma's house.  Later, he walked slowly home with me while the others walked ahead.

Surprise Birthday!

Fun surprise to open the door and find the room swathed in streamers and balloons, and even better that Nathan and Shanna were there several hours earlier than expected.  Surprise!  I thought it was a surprise for Greg, except they were all looking at me.  Great surprise birthday party 3 weeks early!  They figured that there were more family members in Utah that day (4 kids, 2 parents), than there would be on my birthday (3 kids, husband traveling).  How fun!  Even better - several weeks earlier I had asked Nathan if he needed anything while I was in town and he had requested a chocolate cake - so I had unknowingly maintained tradition and baked my own birthday cake!  (It's ok, I prefer it this way.)

You can see the port and tubing
under the skin.  Also the old scar.

We have a tendency to like simple surprises, or simply surprising each other.  This contributes to the "laughing through life" part of my blog... or maybe the loving.  Mostly the loving.
It is fun.

As I type I am sitting alongside Greg's hospital bed - here was a not-so-fun surprise.  Since I was coming, he wanted to drive to Huntsman for the week's chemotherapy.  This way we could enjoy that amazing view and sit in the comfy chairs.  Instead they brought us back into a private room with a bed.  No window.  No view.  No fun.... No big deal - we are having a nice day together.  The snack lady came by, so we are well stocked. The infusion should end in about 20 minutes - then they will hook him up to his two-day-take-home chemo and we will be on our way.
What surprises are in store?  Hopefully none... he would like to be able to predict how his week will go.  From last time he has learned to take it easy and get lots...LOTS... of rest. No surprise.  Nausea isn't a surprise and he has learned to keep it under control.
He has not been without some surprise side-effects.  They warned him about cold sensitivity, but who knew what that would mean?  Ummm, it means just what it says (duh).  Very sensitive to cold.  So sensitive that taking room-temperature mayonnaise off the shelf at the grocery store was uncomfortable.  Picking up his phone - brrrr.. way too cold!

Still Smiling!  No Surprise!

Since he is here - I asked him again just how it feels.  I had been imagining this like the pain we all feel when we have to hold ice longer than is comfortable.  Not even close - he describes it to be the sensation of hitting your funnybone.  When he touches something cold it immediately turns numb, like your hand has gone to sleep.  The really awful part is eating and drinking... his mouth and even his throat go numb. He cannot even tell that anything is in his mouth.  There is no taste, no sensation of swallowing... no pleasure of eating.
Just now - he took a drink of the apple juice he has been drinking.  This side effect has kicked in - his mouth was numb.  I guess the rest of us could imagine that the dentist had numbed our entire mouth - instantaneously.
The other day it was cold outside - not only his fingers, but his entire face went numb and tingling.  It was hard to talk and he couldn't smile...
This lasts about a week.
He says it is pretty cool, knowing that it is temporary.
Who knew?
Surprise!
Surprise Side-Effects... keeping life interesting...

Better than Normal

Yikes, here is an old blog post that should have been posted March 13 - but I never went back to proofread/edit...
Speaking of Jackie and her chordoma... Today marks the date that it was actually removed one year ago!  Hooray - she is being watched very closely.  Her excellent surgeon was so careful to use micro-stitching rather than micro-staples with even the smallest blood vessels just to be certain that future MRIs would not be fuzzy at all - they would not want to miss anything.
A chordoma only responds to proton radiation - something that we would have had to travel to Seattle to receive.  Li-Fraumeni patients must avoid radiation of any kind whenever possible, so we weren't too excited about this.  The surgeons not only felt that they were able to remove the entire tumor - they were able to preserve the integrity of her spine, negating the need for further surgery and stabilization.  She experienced one miracle after another and it was great.
I have never gone back to read any details - it has been a year.  She feels great and is living a normal life - except for missing several inches of three ribs and permanent numbness on much of her left side.... and much poking, prodding, and scanning... otherwise normal.

Well, actually... better than normal.

I feel like a broken record, but I cannot say enough how important trials are to our lives, to make us the best that we can be.  Paraphrasing a story I heard from David A. Bednar - I want to share its lesson:
He knew of a man that really wanted a pickup truck.  His wife really didn't.  He says that the husband would tell her they needed the 4 wheel-drive to go and get milk for the children in case of a snow storm.  She reminded him that if they bought a truck they would not have money for the milk... Eventually they bought the truck.  To help justify the purchase, he took it up into the mountains to collect firewood.  The further up the mountain, the worse the conditions became, until finally, he was stuck.  There seemed to be no way that he would make it out of the mud (or snow - I cannot recall).  He thought that since he was already there and had time on his hands, he might as well cut the firewood and fill his truck.  He did so - and, lo and behold, with the back of his truck full of firewood he was able to drive out of the mess he was in and make it safely home.
It was the burden.  The weight of the load, or burden, gave him the traction that he needed to get home again.  We need trials, or burdens, to give us the spiritual traction to return to our Heavenly Father and our heavenly home.
This is why we are grateful for hardships.  Usually we look back and are grateful.  I believe that we can be grateful in the midst of our trials - maybe not liking them one bit, but being grateful that we are growing and gaining spiritual traction.
When life is going well there is so much to be grateful for also.  Truthfully, my growth hasn't been too steady during those times.  I get too comfortable and tend to just coast.
When there is darkness, fear, and uncertainty... we can put our trust in the Lord.  Not as easy as it sounds... and that is the secret!  If it were easy, we wouldn't grow.

Another recent story - Greg team-teaches a Sunday School class with a young woman.  Last Sunday she was upset and shared with him the story that her younger brother had just been diagnosed with bone cancer.  She and her family are naturally very upset.  Quoting Greg, "She's at the hard first week point, glad I'm not going through that part again!"  Those days are horrendous--- but it is going to get better.    Natalie tells people that "you get three really bad days - then do your part to make it better."  However, because Greg has experienced those days (more than once) - he was in a position to talk with her and share what he has learned.  She felt much better and he was pleased to be able to help.
This is not the first time and I am sure that it will not be the last time that Greg, and my other children (including the siblings without cancer), will be able to help others going through difficult times.  They have learned at a young age that life will present you with "opportunities to grow" that you would rather just didn't come your way...ever... - but are worth having.

Are my children living normal lives?  Not really. They are living better than normal lives and I am glad of it!

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God. Romans 8:28

Looking Back - One Year Later

Flashback one year ago today - one of those days that burns into your memory, burns into your heart.  March 11, 2014 - I experienced what I then called a "heart-stopping moment" and with today's reflection, I can still recall that feeling - deep down inside where we store those moments for a lifetime.  Following this; when my heart began to beat again - my day was filled with wonder as I pondered what had happened and knew with a certainty that Heaven had intervened in our behalf.  
Today is the anniversary of our initial attempt to remove Jackie's chordoma - a fist-sized tumor tucked up in the center of her thoracic cavity.  It was bordered by her spinal column, her aorta and her lungs.  Four surgeons would be working on her, sometimes simultaneously, through two different incisions; one vertical along the left side of her spine, the second running along the rib line on her left.  They would have to collapse her left lung in order to access the tumor.  
Weeks later - two of the surgeons would declare it to be "one of the coolest surgeries they had ever seen."  On the morning of March 11, we weren't thinking it was very cool - it was rather frightening.  We did feel, however, that we were in very good hands.  Our primary surgeon was very accomplished, and just within our own family he had removed a tumor from Mark's left shoulder, multiple tumors from Natalie's right shoulder, and replaced 10 inches of Greg's tibia with an awesome prosthesis.
We had to wait several weeks to get the correct operating room for Jackie's surgery - she was almost ready to be taken in when there was a thoracic emergency in ICU and our procedure was bumped back several hours.  They finally came for her, so Mark and I decided to go eat and then enjoy the spring sunshine outside.  She had been gone for a couple hours when we decided to go to the family waiting area.  We were not there long when I looked up and saw our surgeon enter the room... how strange... why wasn't he with Jackie?  I knew the surgery could not possibly be finished.  Through the window into the hallway I thought I saw her anesthesiologist... who was with my daughter?  They asked to speak with us in a conference room - there were five doctors waiting to talk to us!  This could not be good....
They were quick to assure us that Jackie was alive and there were still several doctors with her (OHSU is a teaching hospital).  These several hours had been spent trying to start her arterial line - when the time came to collapse her lung they had to switch breathing tubes, but her airway had collapsed.  They had resuscitated her, but it seemed that they were all rather shaken.  They had come to ask us permission to stop the surgery and resume it in two days.  They did not want to begin a surgery such as this when her body had undergone such trauma.  YES!  By all means, stop and let her recover... (Apparently one of the doctors had seen this happen before and that family had been upset at the notion of postponing.)
Mark and I returned to the waiting area until she could be transferred to ICU.  We were both struck by the notion that his recently-deceased father had had a hand in this.  Mark said he could just see him there saying, "Stop!  Enough!"  Each doctor in the room had been in agreement that they needed to stop the procedure - I thought this somewhat remarkable from orthopedic, thoracic and neurosurgeons.  My experience working in the operating room was enough to know that these men are highly specialized, maybe a bit arrogant, and extremely busy and driven.  I appreciated their humility.
That night in the ICU was not very nice - Jackie woke up on a ventilator which is an awful experience.  Her hands were tied down and she could not speak or breathe on her own.  Then we had to communicate to her that the surgery was not over - she would have to begin again.  She was able to communicate with us by finger spelling.  
Naturally, no one was very anxious to remove the breathing tube.  We had many visits from a variety of physicians.  The anesthesiologist in charge was particularly attentive.  On one of his visits he expressed that this was an unusual situation, but it was as though God had told them all, "STOP!"
I don't know that he was a particularly religious man, but he had been struck by what had happened.
I had been praying that not only would the surgeons receive help, they would know the source of the help.  My sister, Lori, told me later that she had been praying that not only would they know the source of their help - that they would express this back to us!  
What a harrowing day!  What a beautiful day!
I would never want to repeat this day!
I would never want to change this day!
Writing about it has made me feel weak.  Reflecting on it makes me strong.  The testimony felt that day - that God is so very aware of us, his children - stays with me. The reality of angels - loving us and strengthening us - this stays with me also.  
Life's experiences teach us so much.  
Coming into the ICU and seeing Jackie unresponsive and hooked up to so many machines... well, it wasn't a high point in my life.  Throughout the night, one-by-one, tubes were removed and monitors were cleared away.  Memories remained.  Love grew and intensified.  
I am so grateful to have had this experience with my daughter, husband and family.  The weakness I feel in remembering isn't from the horrors of the day, it is from memories of my involvement in a day full of humility, love, trepidation, and support from loved-ones on earth and in Heaven.

Happy Anniversary Jackie!!  

Why Me?

Why me?  Usually this seems to indicate someone feeling sorry for themselves and their circumstances.  I've been there a time or two, as has everyone I know.
"Why Greg?"  That was a question I had in the similar state of mind one day in Autumn of 2010.  I was outside when I looked up at Greg's bedroom window - he had been on chemotherapy for a couple weeks.  We were home from the hospital and I knew he was lying asleep in his bed.  He was very sick and weak - and the anti-nausea meds we had at the time were playing tricks with his mind.  It was just awful - It was definitely a "Why me... Why Greg?" moment.  He was such a good kid; always happy and helpful, setting goals for his life, etc.  Looking up at his window, I had a good cry... one of my better ones in fact.  Looking back - this was probably the beginning of change in myself...
At this point we were trying very hard to be positive and upbeat, and doing a pretty good job of it.  Embracing the situation, being grateful for this trial --this had not yet happened.  Then it did - I have written about this many times.

The sunrise on the way to Chemo

I went beyond knowing that this would turn out well in future years - I learned for myself that this could be well right now; all could be well in the present.  If I was going to be thankful for this later on, I was going to be thankful for this in the present.  After several attempts over a period of days I was able to pray and give heartfelt thanks that my son was able to have this experience.
And I meant it.
So do I still ask, "Why me?"  Sure, but in a new way with a new emphasis.  "Why" is a great question, but how about asking it and really meaning it... Take it deeper! Why?  Why this?  Why now?  Why not?  What am I supposed to learn?  How am I supposed to behave?  How do I need to change?  Who needs my attention? How will I be able to help others with my new-found knowledge and experience?
There are a lot of questions that go along with that Why?

Huntsman chemo infusion unit

What if there is no major life trial happening at the moment?  When life seems easy, do we ever ask why me?  Why?  Why are things going so well?  Why are awful things happening to other people but not to me?  Here is a chance to use the "who" question... Who around me is having trials?  Who needs my help?  How can I use  my time to brighten someone's day.  How shall I use this time to prepare for whatever is over the horizon.

Greg's fantastic view during Chemo

Enduring it Well - this is a radio program that I listened to a couple days ago.  I came in on the end... they were interviewing a man who was severely burned.  He said that everyone has trials, but some of them are very obvious.  He felt that those of us who have obvious trials have a responsibility to speak about it and share what we learn in order to help the majority whose trials are hidden.  I was so excited to hear him say that.  I have a very obvious trial.  I also have some that are not so obvious and I would not be comfortable discussing in public.  The strength I receive in being a mother of cancer-kids spills over and helps me in my other trials.  I hope that it can spill over and help my friends in all of their hidden trials as well.
If life has a purpose (and it does), then there is a purpose for our trials.
"Why?" is a good question, especially without the whine...

chemo-to-go!
Take one home today!

Speaking of not whining - let's check in on Greg.  He began chemotherapy yesterday morning.  He had a two hour infusion and then brought home a 48 hour infusion in a fanny pack to carry around for awhile...
...drum roll...

Greg sent me a screenshot of his
texting with one of his bishopric
member's wife.  I thought this was
so sweet!  Thank you!!

He is feeling great!  He texted me last night that, although he had not eaten anything at the hospital, when he got home he reported, "I have a huge appetite.  I ate almost a whole pizza.  I had pudding. Candy. Chips.   And I don't feel bad at all.  Being at home helps with sick feelings"
Has a mother ever been so pleased to have her child eating pizza, pudding, candy and chips?

Halfway done- there is a
hard ball in the center.

Greg has enough experience with anti-nausea pills to be able to manage this ---so far so good.  Another bonus - the chemotherapy is clear.  Last time there was one that was off-color.  I won't say the color because we try not to think of it... As he got progressively more sick the nurses would fill his hospital room with spearmint scented cotton balls before he was admitted.  We carried mint gum to sniff just in case... but the moment that off-colored chemo made it on the scene... ugh!  Let's not talk about it.
Anyway, the good news is that he is doing well.  I am humbled and grateful for the prayers of so many.  I have received many answers to my question of Why - and they are all good.  I will surely learn many more in the future.  We CAN be grateful for our trials!

Blogging question?  I have had so many people tell me that they comment on this blog but it never works.  Almost a year of blogs and only a few comments, but several people that try... who can tell me how to leave a comment?   I would love to have comments to read!

The Lower Lights

When I say that my children are my favorite people, it is more than a mother thinking that her kids are great.  They are strong and good  - smart and fun - and I learn from them.  They are more than that... and all of these things puts them at the top of my favorites list.
   Today, as I was walking down the sidewalk to church, I received a text from Greg.  He had read my blog post from this morning, and he agreed that it was good to write those things.  He also told me that while he was at church this morning they had sung Brightly Beam Our Father's Mercy (by Philip P. Bliss).  This was on Greg's mind while he read the blog - and he reminded me that we are the lights along the shore.  Here are some of the words:

Brightly beam our Father's mercy
From his lighthouse evermore,
But to us he gives the keeping
Of the lights along the shore

chorus: Let the lower lights be burning;
Send a gleam across the wave.
Some poor fainting, struggling seaman
You may rescue, you may save.

Trim you feeble lamp, my brother;
Some poor sailor, tempest tossed,
Trying now to make the harbor,
In the darkness may be lost.

chorus: Let the lower lights be burning;
Send a gleam across the wave.
Some poor fainting, struggling seaman
You may rescue, you may save.

It wasn't until I typed those words that I remembered I had used a wave/ocean metaphor this morning.

Bless that boy!  I felt like smiling all through church.

Why do I blog?  A year or so ago I continued to hear the message that there was a need to have clean and uplifting content on the internet... The feelings kept coming that I had something that I could share.  It was incredibly hard to begin - social media had never held too many charms for me.  However, I had a lot to say and was ever so grateful to be able to put it all into a format that could be viewed by friends, family and others.  I am usually not too inclined to share personal thoughts - but I do like to keep a journal.  In a journal I would be able to go deeper - but who would know about any of that until after I die and perhaps a great-grandchild shows an interest...
I have discovered that a positive, joyful, peaceful approach to life isn't natural for everyone.  Sharing this approach to a world that is saturated with trials of all kinds... well, I hope that it does provide light to someone.  As we shared our story with a medical assistant at Huntsman, he asked if he could share our story with others when it seemed appropriate.  We gave him our blog address and asked him to please share with anyone he felt could use it.

Christ can calm the waves
when we are tempest-tossed also!!

Back to the hymn - I read the words and pictured myself holding a light on the seashore, hoping to be of help to someone lost in the waves.  Here on the shore there are also storms.   It can be cold, rainy, windy and dark - but having a foundation under my feet is worth everything.  I am not tempest-tossed.  Out in the waves it is too easy to get
lost or feel like giving up.  Lights along the shore may be dim, but they are there, and their purpose is to help others.
Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and
glorify your Father which is in heaven (Matt. 5:16).
God is the source of our light.  Brightly beams our Father's mercy - He has provided our light and then "to us he gives the keeping of the lights along the shore."  It may be a "feeble lamp" - last week my light felt rather dim, but it was there.  I feel discouraged when I don't have the mental or physical strength to be out serving in a traditional sense, but I do have light.  My Savior is my light and I will serve for now, in the best way that I can for now... and simply share that there is hope for peace and stability in the harbor!

Purple Ports and Deep Breathing

   Sometimes I picture myself swimming in the ocean... I am underwater and can see the foamy white water above me... I swim toward it, anxious for some air.  As my head rises above the surface, I try to take in a nice big breath, but manage only a gulp before another wave knocks me tumbling back beneath the surface.

   This past week has felt like this.  Sometimes there is no energy, only heaviness.  I look at the things that I need to do and just think, "hmmm.  that needs to get done..."   I wrote that sentence in lower case because that best matches the depth (or shallowness) of how I feel about getting those things done...

   On top of our own cancer issues, my friend's stage-4-cancer-husband is back in the hospital.  We visited with them yesterday and hope that I can take some of her heaviness onto myself because I have an idea how it feels and wish I could ease her burden just a bit.  It is for her sake that I really, really wish I had more energy.  My friend with the darling little brain-tumor-removed-the-pituitary-and-drastically-changed-the-course-of-life daughter marked their one year surgery anniversary this week.  Bless her heart!

   I still feel very deeply all of my positive, uplifting, grateful feelings.  That is very, very real.  But this week the heaviness is here as well, and I cannot deny the weight of it all.  I also have had some great experiences that I am anxious to share, but not quite able - until this passes.

This is Greg's actual port from 2010-2011.  They saved
it for him.  He can make his wife a necklace.
Natalie thinks that it belongs on Dr. Who.

   In the meantime, Greg is working hard at his schoolwork, trying to catch up and maybe get ahead before chemotherapy begins this week.  His first infusion will be on Friday at Huntsman.  After this he will be able to go to a clinic which is somewhat closer to his apartment and will be able to schedule it around classes and work a little better.  This is truly the source of my burden this week.  I feel that I am going in with him, yet I won't even be there and the distance doesn't help me at all.  I can totally remember that first night with the nurses gowned, gloved and masked while hanging his chemo-bag which was in the dark brown wrapper.  It seemed unreal that they had to wear so much protection while it was being pumped inside my child's body.  

   These are the feelings that I am reliving.

   Enough of that...

   One of the best moments of Greg's first cancer experience was during our pre-op visit before he had his port implanted.  I have mentioned it before.  The doctor brought Greg a sample of what his port would look like and asked if we had any questions.  Greg took it, studied it, and said that he did have a question...... "Do they come in any other colors?"  The whole room busted up laughing.  I feel like that moment set the stage for our approach to his treatment.  

This is what Greg's new port looks like.
This would make a better necklace.

   When his port was implanted on February 12 - he was pleased to tell me that his port was, indeed, a different color.  They didn't give him an option - but this time it is purple.  He says that it is state-of-the art; MRI friendly and even three raised portions that will help the nurse locate the edges of the injection site.

   We are used to ports, but as I talk to people I realize that not everyone is familiar with them (lucky them).  Essentially it is implanted under the skin with an injection site and a catheter that can go into a larger vessel.  He will not need another IV during treatment.  His surgeon said that she would implant it at the same site as his old one which was in the center of his chest.  She got to surgery and went into auto-pilot and put it in her regular spot on the upper left chest.  Greg said he can feel the catheter at his clavicle.

   His surgery was on a Thursday and he went to work on Friday night and Saturday morning.  It hurt to wear a seat belt, but he did.  He tells his mom these things so that I am grateful he wore a seat belt and this lessens my scolding about going right back to work.  This is why he tells me to stay in Washington.  He has a sister and a grandmother to take care of him, and he does quite a good job of taking care of himself.  Apparently his roommates are trying to help him gain back the 20 pounds from last semester... so he is in good hands.

How it works...

 BLAH - I have not wanted to write anything while feeling so BLAH... but I think that it is important to record this experience as well.  It is a reality.  All of the wonderful parts of our trials are also a reality.  This is my focus - sometimes it is more difficult to keep that focus, but it is always there. I think that even these BLAH weeks are important, they make the peace and gratitude that much more powerful.   How can we know the magnificent if we don't experience the less-than-magnificent?  I wouldn't trade a moment!  The waves keep coming, I can scarcely catch my breath, but.... LIFE IS GOOD!!!