At 3:30 a.m., there’s no problem getting an elevator quickly at MD Anderson Cancer Center. I walked through the empty hallways with a Celsius thermometer in my pocket, not knowing anything at all about the Celsius scale except that 38 degrees marked the point at which my Dad had to go to the emergency room. Once he was admitted, I left alone.

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Fox News drones on endlessly in the hospital room, serving as a constant reminder of all of the ways my worldview differs from my father’s. And then, there he is in the hospital bed, reminding me of how little all of that matters at times like this.

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Leukemia is a nasty disease. It takes away the usefulness of your blood, meaning it compromises all those things that the blood cells do — transfer oxygen, fight infection, clot when your skin is injured. When that is going on, and not being aggressively fought, people don’t stick around all that long. Even when remission is achieved — at least in my father’s type of cancer — it tends to come back.

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It’s striking how much compassion and understanding pervade MD Anderson. I went once to the public restrooms off the main lobby, and, inside the door of the stall, they had posted a number to call if you had an accident or soiled your clothes and needed help. Cancer treatment, and antibiotics, both can have a troubling impact on your digestive system, of course, with nausea, vomiting and diarrhea being common side effects. I was just so heartened by that little sign in the restroom, which gave people permission to be human, and not be embarrassed by their body’s failings.”It’s not a big deal,” the sign seemed to say. “It happens to a lot of people, and we’re standing by ready to help.”

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A couple of weeks ago, my father was discharged from the hospital for the first time in 2 1/2 months. We brought him to a house my brother owns (and normally rents out), that he’d fixed up for my Dad’s comfort. That first night, and even on subsequent nights, it was hard for me to sleep. I got up more than once just to check if he was still breathing. I feared that I wouldn’t hear him if he called out, even though I was in the next room. It reminded me, in some ways, of bringing home a newborn baby. You come from the hospital, where there’s regular monitoring and 24-hour nursing, and feel weighed down with the responsibility of caring for this other person — of keeping them alive on your watch. You regularly check their breathing, you install a baby monitor, and you do your best.

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I go through periods of magical thinking, during which I feel traitorous for assuming my father is going to die. At those times, I believe miracles can happen, and it’s too early to count out a recovery. Hasn’t he come back from seemingly dire circumstances any number of times? Why is everyone giving up? But, when I’m honest with myself, I see these ideas for what they are — wishful thinking.

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Yesterday, I visited the Houston Hospice inpatient unit, where my Dad will presumably go in the next few days, when he’s transferred from the palliative care unit at MD Anderson.This beautiful brick building is homey and comfortable, and family members (and even pets) are welcome to visit. It also reminds me of something familiar — a birthing center. As a birthing center aims to help people come into the world in the most peaceful, natural way possible, so the hospice helps people depart with dignity and grace.

I mentioned before the gorgeous artwork on the walls at MD Anderson Cancer Center. I’ve frequently been captivated by this painting of Enchanted Rock as I’ve negotiated the hallway outside Elevator F. So I thought I’d share it in these virtual pages so you can absorb its peaceful aura. Even if you’re fortunate enough to avoid this facility’s elevators, the appreciation of beauty is still so very important.

Photo via the Austin American Statesman

I’ve written before about folks adopting untraditional living situations to find balance in their lives. Here’s another interesting example: an Austin couple who deliberately lives in a renovated school bus called “Rosie,” which is parked in a friend’s back yard. (Pictures)

Image courtesy Shutterstock

M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston is a surreal place. Walking in the main entrance, it’s not unusual to see two patients chatting in their lobby, each with their own rolling IV pole connected to an arm. More than once, I’ve seen someone walking out of the parking garage, rolling along an IV pole with one hand and talking on a cell phone with the other. Women with scarves on their heads. Men wearing woolly hats. Presumably, they’re outpatients getting their chemotherapy or other treatment and, to them, it’s just another day in the life.

The first time I walked into the place, I was bracing myself. This was a hospital dedicated to the fight against Cancer — the big awful C-word that sends dread into hearts. Surely it would be a depressing place to be, a place where reminders of death hide around every corner.

Instead, it’s light and airy, with amazing art on the walls and pretty much everything you need  to live there — tasty room service, a laundry room for guests, a post office, a library, foosball tables for the young folks, and even a barber/beauty shop. There’s child care for people visiting with kids (12 and unders are a bit too germy for room visits), and I think I could do all my Christmas shopping in their gift shops. Eighteen-thousand people work for M.D. Anderson, making it — not even including the patients — a city as large as the one we lived in, in California. (It’s much larger than where we live today.)

Entering this place after we learned of my father’s leukemia diagnosis, I felt like we were entering another dimension entirely. Suddenly we were “the family” of a patient. We learned all sorts of terminology we’d gratefully had no need for before — “Blasts,” “Neutrophils,” “BMB” (for bone marrow biopsy). And words we knew, but didn’t fully understand the meaning of in this context, began to take on immense importance — “Rounds of Chemotherapy,” “CR” (for complete remission), “Side effects,” “prognosis.” (Xeni Jardin wrote beautifully about her own recent breast cancer diagnosis here.)

Blood cancer is a noxious thing. Most cancers are graded by “stages,” based on how much of the body the bad cells have invaded. Stage 1 = localized, possibly removeable. Stage 4 = everywhere. Blood cancer, by its very nature, has invaded the body pretty much completely from day one. It affects, literally, a person’s life blood — the thing that carries oxygen and energy to all of the body’s cells.

My brother and I — and probably most people — are planners by nature. We want to know what’s next, what we can do, how we can prepare — both mentally and physically. And in a situation like this, focusing on actions that you can take can be immensely consoling. It gives you something to do other than focus on the grim reality that very few people my father’s age are able to ward off this disease for any length of time, and it pretty much kills everyone, eventually.

So, we ask lots of questions and try to get ready for whatever comes. The message we get, though, from almost all fronts is… wait and see. We can’t know what’s coming — it all depends on how he responds. To the drugs, to the physical therapy, to the disease, to every aspect of everything. It’s a frustrating thing to hear for people who thrive on planning, on control.

Slowly, however, it’s been dawning on me. This is a message not just for leukemia patients and their families, but for everyone. No one knows how many days they have left with their loved ones. No one knows what’s going to happen tomorrow. Will we be sick? Will we be well? Disabled? Mentally competent? They’re not questions that anyone can answer. Only time will tell.

All we can do is treasure each day as it comes along, telling those around us how much we love them, and enjoying every single moment in their presence. We can stop thinking and planning and doing, and just be with whatever conditions exist now. There’s good to be seen in pretty much any circumstance, if only you take the time to appreciate it.

So lets venture out of our respective hospital rooms, despite IV drips and lost hair, and live — for whatever time we have left.

Fascinating story about a woman who’s leading a drastically simplified life — in a modified shipping container house that she’s customized herself — so she can spend more time with her daughter. Gets you thinking about what’s important in life, and what isn’t.

Thanks to Walgreens for underwriting this post. I was paid as a member of the Clever Girls Collective, but the content is all mine. Visit http://moms.dailybuzz.com/channel/style.

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Fall, for me, is a time of re-evaluating, re-focusing and starting anew. My birthday is in September. Autumn is typically back-to-school time. It seems appropriate that the Jewish New Year falls around the same time. It’s also a time of returning to routine, after a less-structured summer.

In the past few months, I’ve been seeking to re-invent my morning routine for a few reasons. First, I am now working from home, which means I can be a bit more casual and natural. Second, I’ve become concerned about some of the chemicals in everyday beauty products. Third, hair products, especially, can be outrageously expensive, and keeping the budget light is always beneficial. Following are some of the routines I’ve come up with that I’ve found successful:

Hair

My hair routine has undergone the most radical transformation. My biggest hair problem has always been fine, light hair that flies away. Many products — notably Redken Extreme Anti-Snap ($18/bottle) — have been recommended to me. As much as I love Redken Extreme Anti-Snap, it’s like most products in that it can weigh my hair down — especially if I let it dry naturally, as I’m now able to do.  Put on a product and let your hair dry naturally and, for the most part, it looks like a greasy mess — at least mine does.

Meanwhile, I’ve been reading about a trend where people aren’t washing their hair (or showering) quite as often. Growing up, I washed my hair every single day, and this pretty much continued until the last few years. Turns out washing your hair too often strips it of its natural oils. And I discovered that with these natural oils, and without the harsh hair dryer, my hair is smoother and even curly sometimes, which I love. I also love that I’m going with my hair’s natural tendencies, instead of continually fighting against them.

My hair care regimen now is pretty simple, and it involves things you’d more likely find in your pantry than in your bathroom. Taking a cue from Simple Mom, I use baking soda for the “shampoo” and diluted vinegar for the “conditioner.” My method is to pour a little vinegar (a few tbsps)  into a squeeze bottle and fill it the rest of the way with water. With the baking soda, I use two cups in the shower. One is my main supply of baking soda, and the other is where I mix together baking soda and water until it forms a kind of runny paste. Once I mix it together, I put it on my scalp and rub it around, like I would shampoo — it won’t foam up, though. Then I rinse it out. I finish by squeezing the water and vinegar over my hair, massaging that in a little, and then rinsing it out, as well. No, I don’t smell like vinegar when I’m finished.

Many people who’ve tried this report that it takes their hair some time to adjust. Their scalp is accustomed to over-producing oils in response to being stripped by the shampoo every day, so it takes it a little while to calm down. So, if you try it and are disappointed at first, give it some time.

Body and Face

I’ve always had kind of itchy rash-prone skin. In some places, like under my running bra, I’ve occasionally gotten yeast rashes, too. Since I switched to using Dr. Bronner’s Lavender Castile Soap as my bath soap, that’s come to an end. Lavender, it turns out, is a natural antiseptic, so that must be working its magic.  (The verbiage on the label is a bonus!) Castile soap is also free of harsh detergents — it doesn’t foam as much as what you might be accustomed to, but it’s certainly doing the job. This is working really well in the autumn, and hopefully will also hold up in the dryer winter months.

I’ve also been using this as a facial cleanser, but it’s a bit drying for my taste. Still looking for the perfect solution there. Thoughts, anyone?

Underarms 

Here is where I’m very open to suggestions. Since it’s been getting slightly cooler, I’ve been experimenting with a Weleda Deodorant –it’s more natural and without the aluminum that characterizes many antiperspirants. Basically, you spritz your underarm (as many times a day as you need), and the citrus scent is supposed to mask any unpleasant odors. So far, I’m not thrilled. It gets hot in Central Texas — even in autumn we’re seeing temperatures nearly in the 90s — and I’d like to be active outside without driving away my companions. I may have to go back to the regular stuff in the end. (Many articles I’ve seen dispel the idea of aluminum causing breast cancer or other health problems, though I’d still rather err on the simple side if possible.)

Have any of your been successful with anything other than antiperspirants that use aluminum? I want something as natural as possible, but it has to be something that actually works. Thankfully, with my other new beauty regimens above, it’s possible to have the best of both worlds.

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Thank you to Walgreens for sponsoring this blog post. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective. All opinions are my own.

Landscapes: Volume Two from Dustin Farrell on Vimeo.

Watch it full-screen and at the highest resolution you can. Here’s the info about how it was done by Dustin Farrell and the Crew West team.

I feel so lucky that we found an amazing preschool for Rory when we moved to Central Texas. This school has become the center of what we consider our “community” here — so much so that I’m already dreading Rory’s graduation to kindergarten, as we won’t have the excuse to see all the wonderful school folks quite as often.

When I found the school’s Web site before moving here, I think I literally cried with joy. Its values were so aligned with what we wanted for our kids — and it was in our price range and actually had available spots. Those values are expressed through the fact that the children spend a good amount of time outdoors, the instruction includes caring for animals (a miniature donkey, two pigs, sheep and cats), and — most importantly — they feed the children healthy, organic meals and snacks.

I would love for my eldest son to get such high-quality food at his public school, and it seems like the best hope for that would be a farm-to-cafeteria program  – where kids help grow fresh vegetables on land near the school, and the produce is then used to cook from-scratch meals in the cafeteria.

Recently, I had a chance to join the ranks of contributors of a new web site, Foodie Parent, and, in that guise, I did some interviews with a farmer and some parents involved in a really revolutionary farm-to-school program in Colorado — the first of its kind in the state. I ended up really inspired by what these folks have accomplished — and the benefits the school children will reap — but also a little daunted by the amount of work it (of course) took to bring it to life.  Check it out: Making Farm to Cafeteria Happen, Parts 1 and 2.

In the cafeteria with the bounty. Photo courtesy Sprout City Farms.

No big linkfest today, folks, just the next (and final) installment of the Austin Airport Women’s Bathroom art extravaganza. After that last post, I think we could all use a little lighter mood. So, here goes…

This, I think we can all agree, is a bat. Austin is known for these, having the largest urban bat colony in the U.S. (The world?) Anyway, the bats get 5 stars on Yelp!.

This appears to be bluebonnets, the state flower. Or at least it was the state’s flower, when it used to rain enough to support flowers. If this tile were to represent today’s landscape, it would be mostly brown.

And, here we have it, the mystery tile of the day:

I have my suspicions about what this is supposed to represent, but I’d love to hear your thoughts. In case you missed it, friends have now convinced me that the “chupacabra” depicted in the last round was actually a Texas horned toad or, to be correct, a horned lizard.

Have a good weekend!