Does your significant other get uber pissed off at you for hobby bouncing?  Mine does, but I can’t stop.  A girl has to stretch her mind. Allow me to enlighten you about my hobby-load.

I like to paint. I’ve been painting lately quite a bit. Currently, I’m working on a painting of two of my friends from their wedding. This one is pretty big – 36×24 inches.  Love that.

I got a guitar. It’s a Fender. And it’s cool. And I WANT to play it. In reality, I play 3 chords (well, thank you very much).  Truthfully – I want to play, but don’t have time to play and my plan to buy online lessons for 20 bucks a month to keep me motivated has backfired since I’m still paying and not playing.

I bought 180 bucks worth of photoshop books. The proof of that pudding is above in the header. Oh yeah. (HA.) I’m that good.

I decided to be a MPMRPG’r  for a while and played Final Fantasy XI online. That introduced my husband to it (damnit). I quit, he played for 4 years at a minimum of 4 hours/day.

I went through a saltwater fish hobby. That was cool. Until my filtration system ate my goby and 3 clown fish.  Not so cool after the 3 year old screamed “OH MY GOD! WHAT HAPPENED TO NEMO!?!”

I love my animals. A lot. That’s a hobby – sortof.  I like to teach my animals stuff.  Molly, for instance, I addicted to skateboards as a wee pup. Now, she’s a hound with her skateboard. She goes through about one a month. She rides it AND she eats it.  See the videos below – one of her pissed because boards don’t roll in the snow, and the other of her actually riding it.

Reading has always been a hobby. I’m a book whore. Looking around my livingroom, I see easily 500 titles of my favorite authors.  I buy books to have them. I buy books because they’re pretty. I buy books because they are a direct window into the soul of the person who’s pen graced their pages. I love books.

Anyway – hobbies. I have a lot. I want to organize, clean, decorate, lose weight, travel, laugh, write. I want to take ballroom dancing (ala DWTS). I want to run a marathon. I want to accomplish a vast, unique, long, crazy, fun bucket list that would put any movie to shame.  That’s why I’m good with his incessant whining about my hobby load. He sees dollars spent – I see checkmarks on my list.

This one came out of my head. Let me know your thoughts!

I recently learned that I’m an arteest.  I had no clue. I decided to work on a project for my two youngest boys rooms, to help turn it into a whimsical space emporium.  So, I picked up a couple of canvases, some acrylics and went to work.  That spawned the following images.

If you’re interested in having me do one for you or your children’s room, go to the Contact Us area of the site and send me an email with a full description of what you’d like, and an image if you have one of what you would like, along with the size canvas you would like, and I’ll quote you a price.

(Here’s hoping that my husband won’t throw a fit that I want to buy a new camera on an “after-christmas-sale” because mine sucks. So I hope these capture these…)

This is the first one I did. What started it all (lol).  This one hangs over Sam’s bed.  I didn’t think to get pictures through the process of this one, but for most of the others, I did.

This next one is Logan’s. It hangs over his bed, and Sam and Logan share a room, so it’s all part of the space deal.  They’ve also got a remote control solar system, star hooks for their backpacks, glow in the dark stars over both of their beds and I’m quite seriously thinking about doing a mural on their one large wall that’s in their room.  This is kinda fun….

Then Came Dora.  Dora will look not finished.  At the last second Christmas Eve, I put Hola Caliana! on it, for the little girl who it was going to.

Next is the abstract I did for my niece’s room.  She got all new bedding for Christmas, so this matches it.  This one was fun. I was all sorts of excited to learn I could script free-hand.

The next one is one of my favorites.  I love Tink’s eyes. Her nose is a little dubious, but…i’m new. Cut me some slack. I did this one for my friends, Christie and John’s little girl Trinity.

This space one is for Christie and John’s little boy Christian.

This is the one I did for my son Alex’s room, and the little name plaque I painted to go with it.  His room is like a beach-surfer theme.  Lots of bright funky stripes etc.  I don’t like the way the flash made his painting look.

This next one is one of my favorites. I really like the way the background and the shading turned out on this one.  This is for my nephew, Camren.

Here’s one I drew but Mandi, my friend painted.  I don’t have a picture of the finished painting, just my drawing.

And finally, the one I am working on for my livingroom…(it’s a work in progress and I think it looks funny on the bottom left…)

Anyone who knows me, knows that my children are at least as sarcastic and twisted as I am.  It is in that spirit, I thought I’d share some of the stories of some of the things that have popped out of their little mouths.

What gave me the idea for this post was in talking with my boy’s Grandma Rebecky (Rebecca) as we were working on the launch of her new blog HumanTwined (coming soon – big post on that to introduce her and link you) and we were discussing some of the things over the years that the kids have done or said that have built a pretty hilarious childhood for them in the eyes of the adults who love them.

No Parent Should Ever Have to Say…

Some of my favorite things involve sentences and phrases that no parent should ever have to expel breath on. Such as:

“Sweetie. We don’t eat our boogers.”

“Logan, please do not let the dog lick the inside of your mouth.”

“Alex,  it was funny when the dog did that to your leg the first time. Not so much now…”

“Sweetie, Grandma doesn’t want to know if your head is still squishy or not…”

“Baby…the toilet is not actually meant to be your own personal cauldron to mix your potions…”

“No, you cannot go outside naked.”

Oh The Humiliation…

Then there are the things that inadvertently come out of their mouths that you really don’t want to laugh at, and you just can’t help yourself.

• We’re at a well known buffet style restaurant.  Alex, my 10 year old has disappeared from the table and is somewhere in the line for one of the buffets.  The waitress is there bussing the table.  I say to the rest of the table “Hey…where’s Alex?”  and then Logan, my 4 year old pipes up “If he was in your ass you’d know it.”  Instant mortification.

• While watching Beo Wolf, near the end of the movie there is a celtic burial. Where they push a boat out to  sea with the body wrapped beautifully on top of a bunch of wood, and archers await on shore for the boat to make its way out far enough and then light their arrows on fire and then fire at the ship.  All of us are a little teary. Very sad to say goodbye to this brave character, right?  Sam, my 7 year old says “Well.  Should’ve known. Water beats fire every time.”

• Tonight, Jason went out and got groceries, and then came home and was putting them away.  I hear…”Sam, so you did drop the butter.”  Sam replies “No…” Jason calls him on it. “Sam, you could’ve cleaned it up.”  Sam sheepishly says “Molly did.” (Molly’s our English Bulldog).  “Molly did it?”  Sam says, “Well, I dropped it, but Molly cleaned up the floor and then the butter bowl, so I put it back in the fridge…”

• When I was sick, Christina was here to spend time with us and help take care of me and to hang with the kids and spend some time with them.  She took all three of the boys to the park and on the way Sam visibly slugged Alex.  Christina says “Sam!”  Sam replies “It was an accident…but I’d do it again.”

• Alex, about 3 weeks ago starts howling. “Ooowww! The cat scratched me!!!”  I said…”Omigosh, what happened? They usually aren’t mean like that. How’d he scratch your face?!”  Alex says, “Well, I was trapping him in the litter box with my head…”

• And last, certainly you all saw my post a few weeks ago on Facebook on Sex In A Cup, referring to International Coffee’s new, unbelievably delicious coffee creamers.  So, my dad calls the house, and Logan answers.  I hear… “Um…she’s in the kitchen making sex in a cup.  You want to tawk to her?” Thankfully, I don’t think Dad understood him. 

What is some of the awesomeness your kids/nieces/nephews/loved tricycle motors have come up with?

My friend Elizabeth is the author of Table for Five, an awesome blog about parenting and life, and networking.  Today, she’s hosting a giveaway for a Curious George, A Very Monkey Christmas prize pack courtesy of Universal Studios.

To enter, go to Table For Five – the giveaway post , (you’ll stay waaaay beyond the giveaway – there’s tons to see there) and leave her a comment about who you’ll give the prize pack to if you win on the bottom of that post. (I of course chose my youngest, Logan who I am fairly certain would have Curious George ears sown permanently to the top of his head just so he could look more like his idol.)

Then, retweet her post there (not this post – do it at Table4Five for it to count), stumble it, buzz it, digg it, write about it on your blog (like this! ) etc. – and then leave separate comments with links to each thing you do for her on that comment thread.

Don’t forget to get to get your entries completed and commented by December 12th to meet the deadline, and tell Elizabeth I sent you!

Yaay! I love giveaways and contests. They make me smile.

That puppy was sooo freakin’ cute that you just couldn’t wait to get her home.  So adorable. So soft, so sweet, so…little.  But then she got bigger, right? And as she grew, all those things that were so adorable just really aren’t anymore.  And then you start to wonder if you just really got in over your head with this evil little furball that is eating literally everything she can sink her teeth into, and probably making your favorite rug her favorite puppy pad, jumping up on every person that comes through the door and seriously jumping on your last nerve.

This can be fixed. And it doesn’t require you taking her to the pound or putting her on some internet site to do it.  I am NOT an animal behaviorist, however, I do know a thing or two about animals.  I have 2 rescued Bengal Cats, an English Bulldog, a Maltipoo/Shih tzu, a Military Macaw, a Double Yellow Headed Amazon Parrot, and a Cockatiel (in a pear tree. ) And with that brood, I have made a vow not only to myself, but to each one of them that they will have a home with me until their end of days.

So with that experience, I’ve compiled a fun little list of common issues, the common sense solutions to those issues, interspersed in with some real life stories of our household for where I’ve applied them.

Potty Training

Getting your dog to go outside every time she has to is a big deal, and not always as easy as “Oh, you just take them out every few hours.” Like some of the pamphlets tell you.  There are a few steps to this that I have found to be tried and true.

• Set them on a regular feeding schedule. Puppies eat more frequently than adult dogs. So, feed at the same times, every day, and only leave down as much as they’ll eat in one sitting. Immediately pick up the food when the dog walks away, and immediately take her outside.

• Get a crate for when you can’t be in the room watching/paying attention, sleeping at night, and for when you’re away. This will save your rugs AND your furniture, as well as provide the dog with a safe place of her own where she can go to relax and have some coveted “me” time.

• Learn her cues.  For Molly, after she plays, she’s gotta go. After she sleeps…she’s gotta go.  After she gets excited for just about any reason…yeah, she’s gotta go.

• Use marker words. When you go out say “Go Potty” (or whatever your household says).  When she does it, say “Good girl Go Potty!”  Throw a little party. It’s a big deal. For Molly, we actually have 2 – Go potty is for #1, and Go Poops is for #2.

• Take them to the same place to poop – a place where you actually don’t mind them pooping.  It’s all fun and games until you have to inspect who stepped in what. Blech. Molly prefers the back fence line of our property, which is just fine by me. The kids don’t play back that far, and she can soil to her heart’s content.

The Meaning of the Word No

A dog, or bird, or cat who doesn’t know the meaning of the word no is not only a nuisance to beat all others, but also is in a very dangerous position.  Imagine a 3 year old child being able to do whatever they want, when they want with no direction, no teaching, nothing whatsoever to teach them the difference between right and wrong.  Then, when that child upsets you and ruins something that they didn’t know that they weren’t allowed to have (because you never taught them they weren’t allowed to have it), you take the child and drop them off at the nearest orphanage.

This happens every single day to millions of animals across the world, and it could totally be avoided if we just taught our animals the meaning of the word no.

The second Molly turned 12 weeks old, I enrolled her in PetSmart’s Beginner’s Obedience Class.  There, we learned Leave It, Sit, Lay Down, Not to Pull on our Leash and several other quick and easy commands.

The one that we use the most is “Leave It”.  If I tell her to leave it to pretty much anything, she will not touch it until I release her and say “Okay”.  I practice this every time I feed her, and a few times intermittently throughout each week. I can take the yummiest morsel in the world and put it right in front of her, tell her to leave it, and unless I release her and tell her “Okay” she will not touch it.

Listen To Them

Rio, is our Military Macaw.   When we met, he was a four year old monster of a bird who no one could handle, would bite absolute anyone who tried to handle him with a ferocity that would break bones and who was a loud screamer.  I decided right away that I wanted him.  I worked on paying for him over a few month period of time and during that time, he stayed at the pet store where we met.  The people that worked at that pet store were enamored with me because they thought I was some sort of weird bird whisperer.

I’m not a bird whisperer.   I’m not a behaviorist.  I am not an animal trainer.  All I did to get this bird to trust me, love me and not try to kill me was get on his level, provide an atmosphere with him that showed I respect him and his boundaries but that I would not tolerate abuse from him and I slowed the pace for him to give him time to trust me on his own schedule.

My Bengal Cats are brothers. They were rescued from a man who apparently was going to jail. I had always wanted a Bengal, so when they became available, I hopped on it and went and adopted them.  When I first met them, Olly who is the striped of the two, was my attention whore.  He was all over me, meowing at me, rubbing up against me – totally all about climbing in my car and going home with me.  Marshall, the spotted of the two hissed and growled at me, and I seriously considered only taking one, but decided in the end that I couldn’t split them up.

So began my attempt to try the same psychology on Marshall as I had on my Macaw.  I waited on his pace to get to know him and earn his trust.  I was always kind and sweet to him with my voice, and would pet him only when he would allow it.  Over time, I proved to him that not only am I not a threat, but my scratches feel great, and if all those other animals like me, I couldn’t be too bad.

Now, a year later, Marshall waits every night at the top of his cat tree for me to go to bed quite patiently. As soon as I head towards my room, he bolts down the cat tree, and sprints for my room, and then sleeps curled in a ball at my feet.  We have an amazing relationship because it wasn’t forced, it was earned through trust, love and while it took a bit to get there, we did.

Opposable Thumbs Take The Heat

The last thing I’d like to point out is that our animals are animals. There’s a reason we got the opposable thumbs and brain cells to get jobs, make technology and create fire – we’re the humans.  And, as the humans, we are the ones responsible for bringing these animals into our lives.  As such we should expect them to act like animals, and we should plan accordingly.

A few examples:

Problem: The Cat pees on a pile of clothes on the bedroom floor.

Question for you: Why are there clothes on your bedroom floor when they can be in a hamper?

Problem: The dog chews on your favorite pair of Jimmy Choos.

Question for you: You paid 600 bucks for a pair of shoes, and you should probably put them in the closet where they belong, don’t you think?

Problem: The dog eats your couch.

Question for you:Where were you when your dog was eating your couch? Could the dog have been in his crate when he was unsupervised, thus saving your couch and your sanity?

Problem: The cat won’t stay off the counter.

Question for you: Why would your cat think that it’s appropriate to be on the counter in the first place? Was this ever allowed?

My point is that at some point, we have to take responsibility for our actions, or lack thereof . There will always be something that will create drama with animals. It’s who they are and what they do.  However we cannot expect them to act like little furry Ivy Leaguers if we don’t give them the basic education of what we expect from them through consistency, rules, boundaries and guidelines.  If we don’t teach them those basic laws, we are putting them at risk – not only from traffic and poisons and things that can harm them outside, but from ourselves.  If we don’t teach them rules, eventually we’ll tire of their antics and off to the next home they’ll go, if they’re lucky enough to find one.

So, the story breaks that Tiger Woods has had an ongoing affair through his wife’s pregnancy, with proof showing up as late as 3 nights before the car crash in the form of a VoiceMail.

I can’t help myself here:

Celebrity 101

Rule #1 – Do not EVER, under any circumstances allow your “transgressions” to be caught in writing, video, voicemail or any other means of concrete proof of your screwing up.

Did they not teach the Tiger anything when he was thrust into celebrity status?

Personally, I dig Dave Letterman’s strategy for dealing with money grubbing news whores.  Call them on it on national television.

I think it’d be highly entertaining if Tiger went on Dave’s show to be inducted into the Asshole Hall of Fame.  Elin, Tiger’s wife has done her absolute best to stay out of the limelight through their entire marriage, and I think she should be commended for it.  I also think she should be commended for putting a golf club through the back window of his shiny SUV when she learned the juicy details.

It’s only fitting that he should say exactly what he did and be humiliated in the public now. Afterall, it was his decision to sleep with a cocktail waitress when he has an absolutely gorgeous wife at home.

They can get through all of this, but he’s got some serious groveling to do, and if I were him, I’d do it publicly and very sweetly.

My dear Grandmother gave me a copy of Dan Brown’s book Angels & Demons – The Novel about two months ago.  Up until that point, I really couldn’t have cared less about the Dan Brown series, other than that The Da Vinci Code was a great movie and I enjoyed it immensely.    After opening the first page, it delightfully pulled me into the story from which I would not emerge until two books later.

The book was AMAZING.  And by amazing, I of course mean that Mr. Brown artfully interwines truth and fiction so intricately that you honestly can’t point out what’s what throughout the whole book.  The characters are complex, and so real that you feel as if you know them in person.  I love the conspiracy element to Dan Brown’s books.

As a serial before-bed reader, I spent a few nights there reading a lot more than I was sleeping.  The book might be one of the best works of fiction I’ve ever set my eyes on.

Then, I learned that Tom Hanks made Angels & Demons into a movie in the series, a sequel rather than a prequel, Directed by Ron Howard.  I had just missed it at the theater and thus had to wait until November 20^th for it to finally arrive on DVD.

Here is my Facebook Status from about 5 minutes after I completed watching the movie.

Angry at Ron Howard

Why Oh Why do Directors feel the need to dissect and change perfect story lines?  I must say that had I not read the book, I would’ve thought that it was a great movie.  However I did, and here’s what I have to say:

My opinion is that when you have such a superb story line, written by creative genius, such as Dan Brown,  Hollywood should do us all a favor and leave the story line alone.  If they were interested in a totally different story, then they could’ve picked another book or  GASP written one themselves.  But when you have something that is completely not broken – don’t attempt to fix it.  Jason and I sat there uttering not nice 4 letter words and scratching our heads throughout the whole movie.

Again, GREAT movie if you haven’t read the book. And regardless, if you’ve invested the time to read the book, you’ll watch the movie, all I’m saying is prepare to be perplexed at why someone would want to have people who die in the book live, and people who live in the book die, and then leave some characters completely out of the movie…it’s probably going to irritate you.

I also read The Lost Symbol during my little Dan Brown stretch, and I can absolutely recommend that as a great read as well.  One thing that I loved about that book, is that he touched on a bit of science throughout The Lost Symbol, through Noetic Science.  That was fascinating to read about.  The Institute of Noetic Science (IONS) is an actual organization, and there was a large writeup about the facility and one of the head scientists there that Dan Brown actually researched and wrote about without ever telling her that he was doing it.  It was pretty neat to read.

Next up, Hollywood actually DID get The Twilight Saga: New Moonright.  I loved it.  Mandi and I waited in line for 2 hours before midnight on November 19th to go see the newest in the Twilight Saga.  As an avid reader of the books (three times read and counting…am I pathetic? <.<  Don’t answer that.) I am a fan of Twilight and New Moon.

My only gripe for the Movie version of these stories is the constant need for Hollywood to throw a bunch of unnecessary fight scenes into a love story, but since we do actually expect males to watch it, I get why they do this.  It’s not as irritating as if, say…they decided that Jacob just shouldn’t be in this story anymore, so they cut him out of it. (COUGH RON HOWARD, ARE YOU LISTENING?)

Since it includes Rob Pattison’s chest in the made up fight scene in New Moon, and Taylor Lautner climbing things shirtless, I’ll do my best not to whine too much.  If you haven’t seen New Moon, I highly recommend it.

During the cancer crap (see here for more information on that), I read The Time Traveler’s Wife.  What a phenomenal story that was.  I’m not really your mushy-mushy romance novel type of girl, but this went way beyond that. To the art of human love and sacrifice, the give and the take in a relationship. It was a really great story.

When I had to go out to the Mayo Clinic for treatment for the cancer crap, Mandi and I went to go see it at the theater there in Rochester, MN.  I have to say that that too was right on the money and I loved the movie. Rachel McAdams has turned out to be quite the talented young actress. She’s beautiful, and I just really enjoy her in roles like this.  It’s kind of on the same lines as the Notebook, but with more mystery and intrigue. As soon as that’s available on DVD, I’ll definitely buy it.  Here’s a link to be notified when it’s available from Amazon.

The Lovely Bonescomes out in theaters this month too, another of my favorites. Such a haunting story.  Here’s hoping they make Alice Seabold proud!

Are you a yeller? Because I am definitely a yeller. The day that 90% of the surfaces of my home were covered in blue paint pen compliments of my Picasso-esque 3 year old I was hoarse from screaming so much. I fight a constant battle to not do this.

I was raised by a mommy who had absolutely no problem whoopin’ my butt right in the middle of K-Mart. Right there in front of everyone. She yelled, she screamed, she hollered and she called me names in front of everyone. In the late 70’s and early 80’s little thought was given to the delicate child psyche and building their self confidence. I work pretty hard to battle my own mommy demons to not continue the cycle with my own children. That being said, I do tend to yell. Sometimes more than anyone would care to hear. I have progressively gotten better about this in my old age, but it’s still a constant struggle every day not to BE my mother.

So, I have come up with a short list of things you can do to avoid yelling. Try them out over the next week, and just let me know what your results are.

Count to 10

To count to 10 before you act, react or say a word after you’ve just learned something heinous that your child has done.

Yeah, I know. Used, re-used and sometimes hard to even remember when you’ve just learned that your grandmother’s vase was a really pretty football until someone made a failed attempt at an interception.

What the 10 Method does do for us is gives us the time and ability to collect our thoughts for a short period of time before we say something we’ll regret.

Walk Away and Calmly Discuss Later

After putting a kibosh on the activity that sent your blood pressure soaring, go do something else. Go to your happy place for a half hour, and then come back to the situation calm with all of your points for discussion organized in your head.
This method is to be used for the big things. An example would be when your 10 year old has your 7 year old in a headlock and is describing various methods of torture that are coming up in his repertoire. Or your 16 year old was just overheard discussing last night’s activities that were supposed to include prayer group and ice cream and instead the phrases “Cow-Tipping, French Kissing and Tattoo Parlor” were all used within a very short span of time.

Send them to their rooms, let them stew on it, you go do what you need to do to calm down, think it through and come up with the lesson you need to get through to them to curb this from happening a second time.

When you’re in your happy place, you can calmly organize your thoughts so that you can get to the bottom of the situation. For me, I typically get the following questions poised in my head:

• Why did this happen
• How can we avoid this happening in the future
• Who started it
• Why did they start it
• How did it make each participant feel
• Who was victimized by the “crime”
• What they need to do to make it right

And then, after all is said and done, I give them a calm, clear view of what their consequences are for this action and what the penalty will be increased to for a re-run of this type of incident.

Consistency and Boundaries

Creating an atmosphere where a child can trust your answers.

Every child needs boundaries. Without boundaries, we do not have safety. A perfect example of this (and I am OH so guilty of the following) is when your adorable child comes to you and says “Can I have (fill in the blank)”. You say “Not right now.” And then the battle begins. “Please?” “No.” “Pretty please?” “No.” “Mommmmy! Please? I just can’t live without (fill in the blank). I really need it. I want it. Please?” And the tears begin. And every mother has done this. Every last one. They reply with:
“Fine. But that is all you are going to have. No more today.”

Which then opens us up to a whole new battle that will begin about 15 minutes after the first thing was eaten, played with or cast to the wayside.

By doing this, all we are doing is teaching our children that A) They don’t actually have to listen to us at all. B) They cannot trust our answers. We say no, but we totally mean if you bug me long enough when you can plainly see I’m busy, I’m going to give in so that you will stop that caterwauling. And C) that they can push our buttons.
We need to say No and mean No and stick by it. They will whine. They will cry, they will sometimes throw their little selves down on the ground and throw the tantrum of tantrums. And, in all my 33 years, I’ve never once heard of a child leaving this world out of a temper tantrum because they couldn’t have a pack of fruit snacks or go to a football game. They’ll get over it, and after 5 or so repeated No’s, they will eventually understand that you mean what you say the first time.
Reward their excellent behavior, and let them have their tantrums in their bedrooms when they’re having a bad hair day.

Would love to hear your comments on your methods for avoiding yelling at your kids!

My husband Jason and I have been through the gamut of relationship issues.  From infidelity to premature babies to lost jobs to a six month split up to my having and beating cancer, we have pretty much faced every obstacle that a couple can possible be faced with and here we are closing in on our 8^th year together.   We’re great.  Actually, we’re better than great. We’re a normal, regular, happy couple.  We rarely argue and we rarely yell at each other.  It’s few and far between that we even have a disagreement.

It’s not always been easy, but we’ve set a few ground rules along the way.  I sometimes see other couples and just shake my head at some of their antics, and wonder how two normal, cool people could end up as bickering, whining, control freaks that seem more interested in commandeering their partner’s every move, instead of just loving them and enjoying them, or worse yet, spend all their free time nitpicking and cutting each other down and then wondering where the spark in their relationship could’ve gotten off to.

With that in mind, I’d like to toss out a few suggestions  – not really rules, more like thoughts to keep in mind as you maneuver through your love life.  These are all things that my husband and I believe keep our marriage and our relationship strong.

1) Remove the Option to Leave

If you completely remove the option to leave the relationship, all that’s left is working on it and fixing the wrongs to make them right.  This has worked beautifully for us.  We’ve suffered infidelity in our relationship, which most couples really just can’t get through.  Instead of just calling it a day after we went through that, we just decided we’d work on it. We have three beautiful little boys.  And, neither of us could ever imagine raising them without the other. That has always been very important to us.  And that is where this rule was born.  We are a partnership.  Even if we screw up. Even if we make mistakes.  And, after a while and after those first mistakes are made, I can honestly say that neither of us have any want or desire to make those mistakes again. We learned from the hurt that it caused and honestly became educated with lessons of love in the most dire of circumstances.

***Note here: There are a few things we’d both leave for.  If one of us went nuts and physically abused the other, we’d for sure call it a day.  If one of us took advantage of this rule and just kept intentionally hurting the other – again, buh-bye.  This rule is to be used with common sense. If you’re being taken advantage of – talk it through. If you keep being taken advantage of, get the heck out of there.

2) If You Don’t Have Something Nice To Say: SHUT UP.

One thing that Jason and I do to keep the peace is to try to be nice. Even when you’d rather get out your cast iron skillet and whack him a good one with it…don’t.  We don’t name call, we don’t yell, and we rarely even argue.  Instead, we discuss.  And we do so respectfully.

I tend to get highly irritated that he won’t argue with me. I’m by nature a debater. I like to argue, and occasionally have a nice, heated argument.  His version of an argument sounds a lot like: “Whatever Shan.”  End of argument.

It’s actually a really nice balance that he flat refuses to argue with me.  When he whatever’s me, I go off and stew about whatever I’m mad at, and then I come back and say “We need to talk.”  And, we do.  Nine out of ten times, talking about it calmly gets the results we’re looking for, which is usually a compromise of some sort that makes us both happy.

3) You Cannot Control Another Person, So…Quit Trying.

I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard a friend or acquaintance say something to the effect of, “He won’t let me (fill in the blank)”, or “She told me I had to (fill in the blank).”

If we wanted to live with someone telling us what we can and can’t do, we’d go home and live with our beloved parents.  Since we’re all adults, I’m going to go out on a limb here and suggest that we make our own decisions for ourselves.

What I mean is, trust your mate to make decisions that are responsible and suitable for them, that will also be mindful of your needs and feelings.  And, if they screw up, talk about it, and be nice. Explain the way their actions made you feel, and talk about how to avoid it in the future.  Just leave out phrases like “How could you be so dumb?!” and “You only care about yourself!”

It goes back to #2.  Talk about it and be nice.  And if they’re not being nice, call them on it. Nicely – but do call them on it.

4) There’s No I in Team!

To go hand in hand with suggestion #3, remember it’s not just you anymore.  Every action has a consequence.  Whether it’s good or not depends on the decision made.  If you opt to buy that new $500 dollar Coach handbag if you’re tight on money and  you know darn skippy that he’s been fretting about getting the lawn mower fixed, he’s probably going to be pretty upset – and rightly so.  You’re not taking his needs or wants into consideration.

We always strive for balance.  We work on making sure that the other has what they need to get their goals accomplished.  By doing so, we rarely get out of whack in our relationship because we always know that we have each other’s back.

Looking back on when we bought Molly – that could’ve been a train wreck from hell.  Molly is our English Bulldog.  English Bulldogs are ridiculously expensive.  I have always wanted an English Bulldog.  With Jas – he’s always whining about the amount of animals we already have.  He thinks we have WAY too many animals, and he was not remotely interested in adding to the mix.  So, we talked about it.  I let him know how I felt – that I really wanted one.

So began the discussions and negotiations. He agreed that he also wanted to have a bulldog and while it took some time to come to this decision, it was made together and we both were ecstatic about it.

Had I just bought the dog and had the breeder fly her here, this would’ve been bad. When you spend thousands of dollars on something (or anything over $50 bucks is our actual limit), it’s really best if  both partners are involved in the decision, and if the other isn’t happy about it – find something else that will make both of you happy.

5) When all else fails, LAUGH!

When you’ve had as much as you can take, and there’s no compromise on the horizon, and you aren’t making any headway whatsoever, figure out what is comical through the situation, and then laugh about it until you can’t laugh anymore.  The most important part is that you don’t intentionally hurt each other while you work to figure it out.

Last weekend, my 4 year old and my bulldog partnered up to create catastrophe. I’d love to tell you this is abnormal, but they are frequent cohorts in crime.  My son wears extremely expensive glasses for some pretty serious eye issues he has.  (Strabismus and Amblyopia ). He hates wearing glasses.  So, as everyone was getting ready to leave for a family Thanksgiving feast at my Grandmother’s house, being the resourceful little guy that he is, my son took that opportunity to feed his glasses to the dog, as a toy, and of course she was all too willing to play along.  By the time we were all showered, dressed and ready to go and the obvious question of “Logan, where’s your glasses?” was asked, they had been already been transformed to a sharp, squiggly mess of metal and the lenses were gouged  so deeply there was no way of repairing them.

My husband’s first instinct was to freak. My first instinct was to cry. But, there was nothing we could do about it on a Sunday morning.  So, we got in the car and went to Grandma’s.  There, we cracked jokes about Logan buying a week off from his glasses,  and that Christmas this year will be positioned on Logan’s nose because of the horrible expense of replacing them.

We got to a place where this became intensely funny to us, and by Monday morning when I called the Pediatric Ophthalmologist’s office and learned that I apparently had purchased insurance and the replacement was only going to cost me 50 bucks – neither of us were mad and we were very pleased with the way we had handled it.

The point to all of this is just love each other through it all.  We live by a No Matter What sort of love. NMW.  If you love each other NMW, there are no other options. You just work on balancing the load, laughing when life happens, and learning together constantly and continuously.

So, I’m working on a new site design, as you can obviously see.  I’m working on learning Photoshop, Thesis, CSS and everything inbetween.  I’ve learned tons already. So, hopefully you won’t get annoyed with my constant site changes over the next while as I’m learning this stuff, and hopefully I can share a little of what I learn.  Pretty cool, really.

Thanks!

Shannon

Going hunting for Dilbert so I can kiss him.

I have been married for 7 years on December 26, and just reached the 8 year mark in our relationship altogether.  When Jas and I met, we liked each other, we hung out a bit, and the next thing you know, I’m very pregnant.  We pretty much skipped that whole dating phase, and went straight to middle-aged-dom of our relationship.  We married at Notre Dame on December 26, 2002.

There are times of course when I think we missed out. Missed out on the courting period where we presented our best outfits, our best thoughts, our funniest jokes, stayed up late for long phone conversations,   brushed hands and got butterflies, stole glances and got butterflies, got spooked about meeting the friends and family…you know, the usual dating milestones.

It occurred to me today when talking to my friend Adam, that there are a few other things we missed out on that I’m pretty freaking thankful for.  Texting, emailing, Facebooking, Myspacing, and Twittering.  Back then, a whole 9 years ago, none of those things existed.  If he didn’t call, well…he didn’t call.  (Of course, in my knocked up state, we were living together, but for a normal relationship I’m pretty sure living together wouldn’t even be considered until like the year mark.)

I’ve been contemplating this today.  In a world of new transparency, also transparent are our relationships, whether we want them to be or not.  Every single person that you know is on all of the social networks, and when you update one person, you update all persons with the touch of a button.

In a new relationship it seems like we tend to be more careful with what we post, but we must be careful. If you post less, will your new flame think you’re withholding?  If you post more, you risk a TMI overload.  If he/she doesn’t text, does is mean they’re less interested?  What if their texting volume decreases over time? Are they getting complacent?  What if they text too much? What if they friend your friends on Facebook? Is that too quick too soon? Do you want to share your friends with your current love interest?

When/if you break up, is your heartbreak public fodder to be discussed on the networks? Do you twitter about it? What’s the etiquette there if you’ve friended your best friend’s boyfriend? Do you publically proclaim how much the other person sucks and defend your friends honor?

Transparency is a touchy subject. Not just for Corporate America, but for we the people.  We’re conquering new mountains daily in technology, love and relationships, friendships and networking. I’ve watched a few different Facebook and Twitter exchanges that made me just scratch my head and think to myself “What in the SAM hell was going through their heads when they typed that…”

I urge you the reader to remember the guy in the car next to you at the stoplight who’s picking his nose like no one can see him.  He’s so comfortable in the comfort of his own car that he fails to realize that he’s surrounded by glass and the whole world can see him digging for the big one behind the wheel.

Like booger car guy, on the net, everyone can read this stuff. We can all see it. When you say how you’re falling in love with Joe the New Guy, not only will he see it, but likely all of his friends, all of your friends, and likely even your Grandma.  If that was a fleeting thought, and a spur of the moment thing that you wrote one day…you’re screwed.  Save the I love you’s for that special moment, in person over dinner or snuggling watching “Hope Floats” and don’t put it on the networks until you’ve said it in person.

The same thing applies for work. If you Facebook about how much your job sucks, there’s a real good chance that your boss, bored out of his/her mind one day may go “Oh, look, there’s (insert name here) on Facebook. I’m going to friend him/her!”  And the next thing you know, you’re in line for unemployment.  Remember that the next time you update your status with “Gearing up for another shitty work week!”

Don’t get me wrong. Technology is the glue that holds my life together. The running joke is that if I’m off skype for more than 2 hours, you should dial 911 because something horrible has happened.  I love technology.  Guess what else I love?  COMMON SENSE.

I’m just saying.  Think about what you write.  No one wants to air their romantic dirty laundry in front of Grandma or to just succinctly tell your boss you hate their guts and that you think your job is a mindless, boring waste of time that could be accomplished by trained garden gnomes.

I’m just glad that I didn’t have to go through the wonder, worry and craziness of Social Networking with my husband. I got him the old fashioned way – by getting all knocked up and setting the date myself.  Bwahahaha.

Hi, I’m Shannon and I’m a menopausal freak without chest hair (thankfully), but with an attitude that is continuously waning.   (Chant from the crowd:  Hi Shannon!)

For those who don’t know me well, I do not cry. There was a 7 or 8 year stretch there that I didn’t shed a single tear.  Not because my life was perfect, but because I was physically unable to produce any.  I just don’t cry.  I don’t like people to see me cry, and I would much rather fight, or work on solving the problem than sit there and bawl about it.

Yesterday, I was a hot mess.  I noticed a sock that had made its way to a dining room chair, instead of the dirty clothes.  It belonged to a child.  I looked at that sock, and I started sobbing. Yes, sobbing. As in, “Oh my GOD. That sock. How COULD they blaspheme the dining room with a sock. Oh the tragedy of it all.”

Unreasonable? Oh no. At the moment, it seemed as if I had been taken over by emotion of the sock, and that the perpetrator of the sock would pay dearly with their PS3 privileges for months to come.  This seemed completely appropriate.  (**Authors note: No children were harmed in the creation of this post, and the sock incident happened around oh, 10am, so thankfully she had several hours to contemplate the meaning, or lack thereof for the sock’s presence in her bubble prior to handing out the sentence for the pseudo-crime.)

Then, the noise started getting to me.  Let me preface by explaining the “me” before the surgery:

Every day, I work. Work, work, work. It’s who I am and what I do.  I work from home, but not much distracts me from my tasks.  I am typically buried in my laptop, almost in this steel, tiny invisible bubble that no one can penetrate.  Phone rings – don’t hear it. Kids fighting – don’t hear it.  “Mommy can I have a snack?” – auto responder says “Ask your dad.”  There could be a nuclear fallout, and I’d be oblivious until it affected my internet.

Now though… Oh holy hell.  Let’s take stock first of the inhabitants of my household:

Me and My husband
Alex, age 10, Sam, age 7 and Logan, age 4

Dogs: English Bulldog – Molly, Heinz 57 variety little dog – Katie.

Cats: Bengal Cats, brothers.  Resident homosexuals. They love each other and are blatant flamers. Olly and Marshall. We support their homosexual tendencies, and have discussed marriage options for them.

Birds: Military Macaw – Rio, Double Yellow Headed Amazon – Elvis, Cockatiel – Disco

Basement Inhabitants: Husband’s best friend and girlfriend Mandi (you’ve met Mandi – she went to Mayo with me) are temporarily staying in our Rec Room downstairs.

Now, I have a fairly large house.  Space shouldn’t be an issue. BUT. The NOISE of it all.  I didn’t hear it before the surgery.  Now, I can hear the dogs squeaking on squeaker toys, the birds squawking, the cats pouncing on each other, the kids: Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. MOM., the TV in the livingroom,  the tv in my bedroom. The tv downstairs in the rec room, the tv in the downstairs play room,  the cars going by outside. Laundry in the dryer. The basement inhabitants talking, the birds outside talking to the birds inside.

It’s ridiculous.  It makes me feel like I’m climbing the walls. My concentration has been shattered.

I feel rage at things that there is just no reason to feel rage about.  I cry at things that not only do not deserve a tear, but rarely even deserve a conversation about the object.

The doc’s have me on a Vivelle-Dot  Estrogen patch (lovingly referred to as my butt sticker) that is supposed to replace my hormones.  I’ve been on them for exactly 4 weeks. My body is used to them, I’d think. And for the most part, they’re doing a good job, but yesterday was nuts.

I called my step-mother last night (as she’s the only one I know who went through menopause that I can actually ask about it without offending them), and asked her what her experience was like.  She said she had hot flashes, but nothing like noise irritability and crying all the time.  She said of course that everyone’s body is different and you deal with it in different ways.  She went through menopause gradually. I went into menopause literally in an instant.

Then it hit me. Yesterday was September 30.  Typically, I have my monthly coughFLOcough on or about the 3^rd or 4^th of the month.  My body thinks it’s PMSing.  Except, it has no hormones to do that with, so my subconscious mind is basically taking the very worst of my former PMS and recreating it in my mood.   I’m having the worst PMS ever (without cramps or pain) because my body thinks it is supposed to every month.  I’m pretty sure that’s what’s going on.  I’ve got a call in to talk to the nurses at my OB/GYN just to make sure I haven’t fallen off my rocker, but if I had to bet, that’s what I’d put my money on.  We can give this a new clinical term: FMSing.  (Faux-Menstrual-Syndrome).  In a sentence: “I swear to all that’s holy if you piss me off when I’m FMSing, your mother will cry when she sees what I’ve done to you.”

Can’t wait to see the first court case for this one.  “Jurors, I think you can agree with me that Faux-Menstrual Syndrome took over my client’s body and mind and it is for THAT reason, and that reason alone that she would commit this heinous act.  Otherwise, she is completely sane and healthy.  Not guilty, Not Guilty, NOT GUILTY BY REASON OF FAUX MENSTRUAL SYNDROME!  The defense rests, your honor.”

Then I call Christina.  The conversation went as follows:

Shannon: “Christina, is something wrong?  Are you mad at me?”

Christina: “Sweetie, what makes you think that?”

Shannon: “Well, you answered the phone ‘Hello.’”

Christina: “Shan, love, that’s kinda standard.  I mean, in some countries they say “Hallo” or “Yo” or maybe they just don’t pick up with caller id (wait, that’s America” – did I mention I love you!”

Then, while I’m  crying my eyes out, she sat with me on the phone, not laughing while I couldn’t find the Zoloft that Dr. Kelly prescribed me during my PMDD days, well,  because somebody apparently thought it would be hilarious to hide it in a big smiley face mug that is in the cupboard.  Bastards.

I suppose it’s good news that I know I’m nuts, right? I mean, it could be worse. If I thought that the sock blasphemy was truly a blasphemy and didn’t eventually realize that it’s a stupid sock…that would be bad.  Since I know that the sound is bugging me, the sock is bugging me and that emotionally I’m two fries short of a happy-meal, I can at least have a starting point for getting back to the normal me.

We could always start a wager on how many drugs it will take to make me only as insane as I was prior to the surgery.  That could be fun.

So, in a shocking twist, Sparrow was right.  I have Serous Borderline Ovarian Carcinoma, often referred to as Borderline Ovarian Tumor.  Stage 1c.  This means that it’s in each ovary and has spread to my abdominal cavity, but has not yet formed a tumor. When that happens, I become a stage 2.

Borderline behavior is widely disputed amongst doctors, often misunderstood, and a major sticking point for GYN Oncologists.  On the beginning of each article written by doctors, there is usually something that says exactly that.  Such as:

“The borderline category of ovarian tumors is one of the most controversial topics in gynecologic oncology and pathology, and is confusing to both clinicians and patients.” – Johns Hopkins Pathology

In short, every university or hospital has a very different opinion for what works and what does not for Borderline Patients.

I will be conducting a ton of research myself to mix all of those opinions up and to come to a better informed conclusion for what I should be doing.  My Oncologist here was talking Chemo. I see him Monday.  Mayo says that all the chemo in the world is not effective and does not prevent new tumors from forming.  Their method of treatment is Radical Hysterectomy, and then watch and wait.  Every 3 months for 24 months I will have a CA-125, CA-199, Vaginal Ultrasound and a CT Scan.  When the next one pops up, we do surgery.  Rinse, Lather, Repeat.  After 24 months, we move the testing intervals back to every 6 months.  There’s no preventative. There’s no awesome studies going on to participate in.  There aren’t enough patients who have it to even try.  The clinical studies that have been conducted in the past have taken place over many years (as many as 16) to try to understand both the behavior and recurrence rate.  I do not have ovaries anymore, so my only option is to wait for the next ones to pop up.

Unless my doc here can present a compelling reason for why he believes that Chemo would be effective, I think I’m going to skip it.  I’ll see him on Monday to find out what he thinks and we’ll go from there.

In the meantime, I’m going to approach all of the Universities and Oncologists that have conducted trials and research on the disease, and see if I can’t get my hands on some of those summaries.

Basically, I have just found my next project. J  No sense sitting here waiting for this to take over my life. I’m going to learn as much as I can about it, learn from others who have it, and then see what we can do to journal our relapses, progressions and remissions to learn more about the behavior of the disease.  If we can get some doctors to pay attention to and help us, that’s even better.

Hell…some people do Sudoku to pass the time.  I’m going to learn oncology.

We’re still on the road, almost home and I’m absolutely exhausted but I need to get some  stuff out of my head and on paper because I doubt that I’ll ever feel as humble as I do in this moment ever again.

The Mayo Clinic was amazing.  I will likely detail their awesomeness in a later post, but I’ll touch on a few things this time.  The first thing that should be known about Mayo is just how efficient they really are. Blood tests, CT Scans, Radiology… all of those things seem pretty routine, right?  At home, those things take weeks to plan, and hours of waiting and sitting around in waiting rooms to accomplish.  At Mayo, even when there’s 400 patients at once, you only wait five minutes.

My Oncologist at Mayo is Dr. Harry Long.  A few googles of his name and you’ll know he’s a legend, and he is not only an expert in the field of Oncology, but he is a Professor of Oncology.  His mind, his Clinical Trials, his research along with his colleagues are what will define the future of Oncology and Cancer Research.

Before I get to what he said, a few more things…

Rochester, MN is absolutely beautiful.  On Sunday, our first day there, Mandi and I wandered around inhaling the beauty and wonder of the place.  It’s literally a massive campus with a beauty that’s unmatched.  Sunday, the campus was deserted. No doctors, no patients wandering about.  It was really easy to forget that we had a purpose for being there.  The artwork in the Gonda Building, the sculptures scattered throughout the campus coupled with the fact we just got in from a ten hour drive, it was easy to completely forget that I was there because I’m sick.

Monday morning, it started to sink in.  Walking to the Clinic from the hotel, we passed probably 500 people.  You can tell the difference between who works there and who are patients.  It’s probably one of the most haunting experiences I’ve ever had.  The only comparable experience that I can come up with was the day I visited the footprints of the World Trade Center this summer, and felt the loss and heartaches of not only all of those lives we lost on 9/11, but also of their families.  It felt like that walking to Mayo on Monday morning.  Those who work there are all upbeat people with positive attitudes, but you can see in their eyes that they have become jaded.  You can see that they don’t see the faces of the people on the street who are not their colleagues.  They have a purpose, and it’s to work on the disease.  They accomplish this by working on the patient.  Don’t get me wrong – all were extremely pleasant, but you can see them distance themselves from the patients because a heart can only take so much death and unexplained loss of so many good people.

Those who do not work there – well…I’m not sure if I can actually adequately describe it.  They are fighters, and at the same time, they’re terrified.  They’re strong, but their bodies are weak.  They are there because it’s their only hope.  Their faces and eyes each tell their own story.  At Mayo, people without hair are not the minority, they’re the rule.  At Mayo, everyone has a story, and I had the pleasure of hearing several.

I met a few really great people.  Charlie is: 69, Rare Liver. He’s on his 5^th recurrence.  He told me that the leading cause of dying is birth.  It made me laugh.  He told me that the chemo is the only thing keeping him alive right now.  Arlene is 54, Ovarian.  Lately, her bones have been spontaneously breaking for no good reason.  She was there to see if her ovarian metastasized to her bone.  I met a small child, who I don’t actually think was a child at all. I think he had a growth anomaly that has caused him to be smaller than my 10 year old son, and he did not look well.  This boy asked ME, how MY day was going.  Selfless, brave, heart of gold with the purest of intentions – to live. All three of them have yet to leave my thoughts.

I also met a Gynecologist who was there with a liver cancer.  His brother has stage 4 liver and is terminal.  I keep thinking how hard that must be…you decide to be a Doctor so that you can make a dent and help save the world.  Then, you yourself, and your brother and best friend both get sick, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.  It’s surreal and heartbreaking.

I still don’t have the answers I’m looking for. I thought I’d have them by the end of the day, but alas, tomorrow’s the day.  I saw Dr. Long this morning.  He hadn’t looked at my slides yet.  But, based on my pathology from Sparrow Hospital in Lansing, he told me that my prognosis is one of two things.  Here’s where it gets confusing, but I’ll try to explain this as best as I can:

East Lansing diagnosed me with Ovarian Cancer: Borderline Ovarian Tumor, Stage 1c, which essentially means it’s in both ovaries and beginning to metastasize.

The problem with this is that the type Borderline Ovarian is extremely rare.  As in, it’s rare enough that I would need to win a 1 in 200,000,000 chance lotto ticket to get it.  Dr. Long said it’s either exactly what they said, or it’s Invasive Ovarian, Stage 2b.

The differences are vast.  If it’s truly borderline, there are perks, and major issues.  Because there are so few patients who have Borderline, they don’t really know much about it.  No one does.  It metastasizes at will, and chemo has not proven effective on it to slow metastasis in the clinical trials that they have been able to do.  The only option for these tumors is to treat them as they pop up, and they require surgery every time.  The perk is I don’t have to do chemo if this is the truth.

If it’s Invasive 2b, well, then that will require 3-6 trials to begin with of chemo, and well…that too is subject to metastasis and it’s terrifying.  He had 3 separate trials that he said he would be looking at for me if that’s the case, should I decide on treatment out there rather than here.

Of the two, I’m not sure which I’d rather.  I’m probably more scared in this moment than I’ve been since I learned about all of this.  Cervical was the very least of my problems, it turns out. To have the borderline is terrifying because I have no idea how many surgeries my future will hold.  They know so little about it, there’s no way to treat it other than cutting you open and surgically removing the tumors every time, and you’re not clear until you’re 8 years without a tumor.  Because of how rare it is, it makes me think that Sparrow’s pathologist was mistaken in the diagnosis.  The Invasive is far more common and Dr. Long is not taking Sparrow’s word for it.

At Mayo, the doctors cannot go home until their work is done.  And they’ve had those slides since Monday morning.  Dr. Long himself put a rush on the results, and Mayo’s pathologists still had them as of 6pm EST tonight.  It’s one of the two.  I’m not a candidate for clinical trial for the Borderline if that’s my problem because my ovaries have already been removed.

Remember in my last post how I was whining about the pseudopapillary reactive clusters in my pelvic wash, and that my doctor told me that the pelvic was clean and I was like…um…..it doesn’t look clear to me based on this path! So yeah that’s metastasis.  Those cells are there because of when the original rupture of the first cyst that took me to the ER in the first place.  There are still more of those in there, and those will cause tumors.

The rest of my organs and blood work looked great.  All my other organs are awesome.

For Genetic Testing for BRCA1/BRCA2, I have to do that at home.  It’s going to take some doing to get it done.  I have to clear it with my insurance to do it because it’s a three thousand dollar test.  Then, from there, that sets the stage for my siblings and my children to be tested.  If I’m BRCA positive there’s a high chance my kids and my siblings also have it.  And that will cause problems for them and their children.

I also have to have some stuff done with my tush.  There’s some issues there with tissue that didn’t show up on the CT Scan, but that Dr. Long found in my pathology from my previous stuff with my OB/GYN.  We’ll need to biopsy those as well.

So…I guess that’s where I’m at right now.  If it’s borderline, I’m essentially in remission until the next tumor pops up.  If it’s invasive, that grows much faster than borderline, and chemo will need to start at the end of my 6 week post op from the hysterectomy.

I need to cry. I need to just cry my eyes out and get it over with, yet I’m afraid to do that until I know all of the truth, regardless of how shitastic it is.

The good news is regardless of which one I have, 5 year survival is 95%.  That’s pretty good.

“Sarabeth is scared to death, because the Doctor just told her the news.

Between the red cells and white, something’s not right but were gonna take care of you.

Six chances in ten it won’t come back again with the therapy we’re gonna try,

It’s just been approved and it’s the strongest there is,

I think we caught it in time…”

So, I’m packed and ready to roll to Minnesota to visit the Mayo Clinic for the next week. I wanted to write a quick post to let you all know I’m going and to check back frequently as I’ll be updating as I go. Don’t forget to friend me on Facebook as well (see the left side here to friend me). I figured out how to put up pictures from the Crackberry straight to Facebook, so I’ll update that often with the Mayo’s awesomeness.
I’m very much looking forward to getting some answers this week. The hardest part about all of this has been getting information in teensy little morsels and then trying to google it to ask the right questions.
One sticking point right now that we’re working on is that when the Oncologist and the GYN both came in to my room the morning after surgery, they both, (separately, mind you) told me that the left lymph node area would be sore because they biopsied it. I know I’m not crazy, because Christina heard all of this too. Since I KNOW she wasn’t drugged or nuts, even if I was, I’m pretty sure this was not a hallucination.
One of the requirements for Mayo is that I have to hand carry all my records, including my op notes, slides and pathology to the Mayo. So, I picked those up yesterday and I of course read them. Right on the Oncologist’s op notes it says this exactly:

Preoperative Diagnosis:
Borderline Ovarian Carcinoma

Procedure:
Exploratory laparotomy, pelvic lymphadenectomy left, multiple peritoneal biopsies, partial infracolic omentectomy, diaphragmatic assessments. Staging procedure for ovarian borderline tumor.

Then, under the procedures part of the document, (I won’t type the whole thing, just this part about the lymph nodes so that you can understand my confusion)…

“We decided on the pelvic lymphadenectomy only because of the Pfannenstiel Incision and the patient’s small body habitus, could not get near the aortic nodes, but palpably nothing was out of the ordinary. Because of the likely low yield of metastasis and overall good survival, we felt that creating a new incision for the sole purpose of getting aortic nodes was unnecessary.”

Ok. So, now that you’ve seen that…we googled the hell out of lymphadenectomy and found that by definition, that means “removal of”. As in, there’s no lymph nodes there anymore. So, why on Earth would they tell me that they only biopsied it? Shouldn’t that be a “Hey, we cut an organ out of you that had some functionality…thought you should know.” Type deal?

The 2nd issue on the table is that the GYN told me that my Pelvic Wash pathology was clear. Apparently not clear enough, as she included this sentence in the summary to the Mayo Clinic:

“Washing showed “reactive cells”. Remainder path, benign.”

In the actual path report it says:

A single mildly atypical pseudopapillary cluster is present, favor reactive.

What the shit does that mean??? I read a bunch of other peoples path reports, and from all I can tell, that looks like the beginning of metastasis to me. That’s on my list of Q’s for the Mayo Clinic Geniuses.

So, anyway…I’m looking forward to getting some real answers. The trip is 10 hours, according to my handy dandy GPS system. I bought groceries for the trip, we’re staying at the Holiday Inn Express, which is connected to the Mayo by skyway. There’s wireless, so I’ll have the laptop, and I’ll be connected by Crackberry to Facebook and my email as well.

Drop me a line! I look forward to sharing answers with you as I get them. It’s a little scary that I’m so geeked up about this trip, but for once I feel like there’s a real shot at me finding out something important that will actually be helpful.

So, for the first time, really since all this began, I feel comforted, medically taken care of and like there’s really a bridge to the other side.  It looks really pretty over there.

Today, I had my appointment with my doc, and she has referred me to the Mayo Clinic.  It’s not that I feel that these guys don’t know what they’re talking about, or don’t know their field, but she said to me herself that this is East Lansing, Michigan.  Cutting Edge and Michigan don’t really belong in the same sentence – ever.   She said “Listen, we are human.  Ovarian Cancer is pretty much the worst cancer you can get, and if we missed even a few cells, that’s a problem.”  Ovarian cancer is known for metastasizing all over the body, and it’s a scary thing.  A very scary thing.  She said to me, “If this were me this were happening to, I would be in my car, on the way to the Mayo Clinic.  And that’s what I’m recommending for you. We will coordinate the slide transfer, and then they can manage your treatment here, from there.”

I am not really the crying sort.  When life presents challenges, I fight. I’m  a “Alright, let’s pick a battle and get started”  Type of person.  Today, I cried.  I called Mayo, and explained everything that’s happened, I read my path results:  Cervical Dysplasia, Severe Dyplasia, Carcinoma in Situ, Dysmenorrhea, double uterus (for the googlers, that’s Bi-Cornuate), Ovarian Cyst, Borderline Ovarian Carcinoma of the Left and Right Ovaries, adhesions on the bladder, cervix, uterus, fallopian tubes and ovaries.

The gal I talked to at Mayo, Mary was very kind.  She has already assigned me a doctor, and they are discussing what tests I need done prior to getting there.  They will call me and my doctor back with those tests by Monday.  I will likely go to Minnesota mid-next week or the beginning of the week of the 21^st of September.

She put me on hold like 3 times. And all three times, I sat there, lower lip quivering, chanting “Don’t Cry, Don’t Cry, Don’t Cry.”  It’s not that I’m getting treatment that made me cry – it’s that there’s finally a plan, there’s something tangible to hold onto.

I will be receiving chemotherapy.  I will likely have that here, not in Minnesota, and I’m good with that. I’d rather be home.  I will lose my hair. I will get sick.  I will be very ill.  And, then, I will get better, my hair will grow back, and I will get to live.

It was my personal goal to get through this without chemo.  That was still a good goal, because it gave me something to focus on.  Now, my focus is on the fact that the best doctors in the entire world will be responsible for signing the orders for my care. They will have a team of doctors that will discuss my treatment, not behind closed doors – but with me.  The will work for me, with me, and on behalf of me to allow me to live a full life, to watch my boys graduate, get married, start their careers and have children of their own.  They will allow me to love my husband unconditionally for many more years, as he has loved me.  They will allow me to hold the hand of my best friend, traipsing through New York City as we pave our professional journeys forward.  They will allow me to complete my own personal bucket list, where the number one to-do on the list reads   1.) Live on purpose, with purpose with no regrets.

Another thing that Dr. Kelly recommended was BRC1/BRC2 testing.  Those tests are genetic markers that determine your odds for breast and ovarian.  Obviously, I have ovarian cancer, so likely, I’ve got the gene.  If I have BRC1, I will need to have my breasts removed.  Most people would be pissed about this, I’m thinking – Well, FINALLY, I’ll get a boob job.   (I jest. Sort of.) So, one of the Mayo tasks to do is to go through the genetic counseling while I’m out there, find out if I have it, and then we’ll also make that decision then too.  I’d be pretty pissed to go through all of this with ovarian to find out in a year or two that I’m dying of breast cancer.  So, we’ll nip (ha) that in the bud now, and the perk is that they’ll perk again.  Let’s be honest. 3 kids? Yeah, my breasts haven’t looked towards the sky in 10 years.

So, anyway, the tears I’m crying today are of gratitude.  Like I was telling Christina this morning, I don’t mind doing a shit ton of work – as long as I know it’s my responsibility, what needs to be done, and I can have a second to map it out, I will nail every detail and I will make it look effortless.  Likewise, I can deal with cancer.  I just need a plan, an itinerary, someone who is the end-all-be-all of experts on the subject to learn from, and I will nail every detail, I will overcome it, and I will make it look effortless.

Now, the next decision to be made is do I go with the hot-pink Britney wig or something a little more understated?  The obvious perk to the Britney wig is how cool would it be if my wig and chemo puke bucket matched?

I am alive.  My normal phrase typically conveys that I’m also vertical and kicking, but we’ll stick to alive for this particular blog post.

Before I get started on the events of the last five-ish days, I feel the necessity to share the gratitude that I feel for the people in my life that are close to me.  Jason and the boys, of course are my heart, entertainment, and cause for breathing.  I feel very blessed to have the truest love of my children and my husband.

Christina, my esteemed colleague and bestest friend in the universe (mostly for her Spork Meta-Philosophy) is my twin soul, twin brain and twin heart.  I’m not real sure how I sustained myself for 32 years without her, but you can bet your sweet ass that I won’t be sustaining another minute without her consult.  She flew in a few days prior to the surgery to be with us, she didn’t shut me up when I looked at the absolute worst case scenarios, instead she examined them with me and popped that bubble in the universe for the worst case scenario to play out.  She held my hand when I cried, she listened when I needed to talk it through, and she knew just what to say when I was feeling bleak.  Without her as my Recovery Management Specialist, I’m pretty certain my children would be attending their first day of school tomorrow with faux-hawk mullets and kool-aid mustaches.  I’d be eating hamburger helper (blech) and my dogs would be in separate pounds somewhere waiting for bail.  Christina is the glue that holds my life together. I try to tell her how much she’s loved, but I’m not sure words will ever be able to convey just how much we need, love and want her in our lives.  I am utterly convinced that our friendship is the most magical in the universe. We’re a dream team, professionally.  Ivy League meets Sarcastic, Smart ass – you won’t find a team that is faster, more intuitive or efficient than we.  We’re a force to be reckoned with in love and life – we stand for truth and truth alone.  And the fun. Oh the fun we have – and to think it’s only begun.  I just want to publically state that Christina is my other half. The sister I always prayed for, the inspiration in my life I so desperately needed, and the Godmother to my children.  I love her, and thank her for all that she is, all that she has been, and all that she will be.

So, this has been quite a journey, and it seems to be the gift that just keeps on giving.  Whodathunk this would’ve turned into a damn cancer blog?  Right?  I don’t write about cancer. I write about crime. Justice.  Injustice.  And now, apparently not just any cancer, but my cancer.

Going into the surgery was a tidbit terrifying.  I was terrified that maybe I wouldn’t wake up from the surgery.  I was terrified that maybe they’d find more than cervical cancer in there (they did.).  I was terrified I’d learn I’d have to do chemotherapy and radiation and that life as I knew it was over.  I did survive the surgery.  That’s one down.

When I went in for the hysterectomy, the deal with Dr. Kelly was that she and her colleague would do the surgery.  They would first take out the left ovary, biopsy that and send it to the cancer lab to have it tested.  If that came back clear, they would continue the hysterectomy, it would take a few hours – they’d take the cervix, which we already knew was a stage 2 squamous cell cancer, which she scooped most of out – when she did the cone procedure.  That still had positive margins though, so it had to go.  We were proof positive of the cervical cancer, but I felt the ovarian cancer.

With the ovary – the left one in particular, it caused a ton of pain. The days proceeding my period, it felt like a butcher knife was sticking out of my ovary.  This has been around since April.  They knew there was a mass there, but they didn’t know what it was.  The only way to officially diagnose ovarian cancer is to biopsy the ovary – so the only way for her to do that was to do that while she was in there.  I was advised against having that biopsy done. I was advised against taking that ovary.  I was told about the increased risk for breast cancer, heart disease, yada, yada, yada.  I felt that there was a problem, and on the 25^th when we had my Pre-Op, I requested that the doctor  1) do the surgery abdominally, not vaginally.  2) Take the left ovary.  That was the deal.

If the lab came back that the left ovary was cancerous, the deal was, Dr. Kelly would stop the surgery, go out and inform my family (Jason and Grandma) and then the GYN Oncologist would take over the surgery from there.

The left ovary did indeed come back as cancerous, so the oncologist took over, removed both ovaries, both fallopian tubes, cervix, uterus and then he biopsied my lymph nodes, my intestinal lining, did a stomach wash, and now, I await the determination from those findings tomorrow.

As far as being just out of surgery – I’m sore. I’m very sore, very slow moving.  My incision hurts like an SOB, and I’m a bit wiley.  I have turned out to be even more opinionated and headstrong than I was with ovaries. I’m not sure if this is a good thing or not.  It’ll be interesting to watch that play out.

As far as results tomorrow, I guess we’ll see.  From all I’ve read on borderline tumors in ovarian cancer it looks like if I’m lucky, it’s gone, they got it all, and now I have to have CT Scans and pap smears every 3 months for the rest of my life.  That’s the best case scenario.  The other option is that it spread into my abdominal cavity, stomach, intestines or lymph nodes, and then I’m in trouble.  That will require chemo, radiation and all sorts of therapy to reach a cancer free-state.

From here on out, I’m the oncologist’s patient.  I’m hoping for as many answers as possible tomorrow.

From there, I’ll write more, I guess. I don’t know emotionally where I’m at, because I’m still in a bit of a drug induced haze.  I’m worried, scared, tired of all this cancer shit and ready to just be done.  I had hoped we’d reach that point on September 3^rd.

For those who feel that doctors are a scary bunch, that tend to help you trip over your own thoughts, like me – I have one thing to say to you…If you hear something from your doctor, and you disagree – push.  Push back.  If you feel like something’s up with your body, then that’s the signal, and likely the only one you’ll get that you need to do something about it.  Ovarian cancer is the highest ranked woman killer out there.  The reason for this is simple – you hear quotes like “Ovarian cancer is rare. Ovarian cancer is extremely rare.  Those symptoms you have can be fatigue, PMDD, and on and on and on…”

Push back until you get the answer you’re looking for.  In my case, a CA-125 test saved my life, because without that little number being elevated, my doctor likely wouldn’t have removed my ovary, and had she not done that, we would’ve just done a complete hysterectomy, leaving both ovaries, and cancer still in me. She listened to me. And I will be forever in debt for her simple ability to trust me.

by Dr. Christina

It’s almost 1am on Friday.  I’m sitting here in a Lazy-Boy recliner thanking the hospital gods for wireless.  Shannon is next to me, sleeping.  There are tubes and wires connected to machines that remind us she is ok.  Seeing her open her eyes a few hours ago, and smile, well, suffice it to say I cried.  A lot.  And she giggled a smidgen through the grogginess… as she always does at my frequent teary-eyes.

Her surgery lasted almost 5 hours.  They found the presence of cancer in her other ovary, so both were removed.  They also took samples of lymph nodes and removed some lining from her intestine to test further to get more clarity.  It seems this journey has been filled with bits of truth, here and there, and we’re still waiting for that moment where everything just makes sense.  That moment where the questions are all answered, and we can find our way to the other side.

But life doesn’t work that way – even in the simplest times.  Questions bring answers, and answers open the doorway to more questions, and clarity becomes fog.  And so we’ll find our way through the darkness, making our own Light along the way.

Shannon and I share a language of the heart with one main tenet: Truth.  No sugarcoating.  No BS.  Just truth, in its purest form.  And we share truth, and we give each other truth, no matter what.  We share that type of connection that is outside this realm, but peers into it, to help each other as best we can become that person we dream to be.  I know when she’s in pain, she knows when I’m in pain.   She knows when I’m sad, and knows just the words to say to help me through any cracks of my heart.  I know when she is sad, and why, and how to help her mend what aches.  We see the palate of each other’s lives, with clarity our own eyes don’t give us.  I see vibrant colors on her path, when she sees shades of gray.  She sees pathways, when I see detours.  It’s a beautiful medallion of each other’s soul that we both carry.  I imagine we’ve carried it in other lives, and will through the end of our days, and to the stars.

This experience with the “C” word has been filled with lessons after lessons… after lessons.  We have cried together, googled till we pretty much fell asleep in our respective laptop keyboards… laughed at the very likely possibility she will say “I will beat your ass” to a nurse that won’t allow her to smuggle Starbucks… (I have already informed them to anticipate such contraband only upon their approval).  We have just tried to bottom line everything to get to the truth.  And we’re getting there.  We’ll get there.

In case anyone might be wondering, I’m not really Shannon’s doctor.  I just pretend to be one here in this blog, the kind of doctor without a medical degree, that doesn’t practice or diagnose anything, well, except for sporks.  That’s my speciality.  If you know anyone who may have a spork lodged somewhere it shouldn’t be, call me.  Unfortunately, it’s a tough economy, and not many people have issues with sporks.  So business is rather slow.  Rest assured, even if I do get my first official patient (besides Shannon) I’ll be sure to keep you all posted on how she is.

Shannon is my best friend.  She is my sister, not by blood, but of the heart.  I love her, Jason, their boys, and their family, with all of my soul.  And as I watch her sleep… I have tears, yet again.  It’s that connectivity we share.  Sometimes we cry the tears the other can’t find.  I cry because I am so proud of her, for all that she has survived in her journey, and for facing this with grace (I probably should delete that word before she reads it, as she doesn’t want to ruin her tough-as-nails reputation)… that one can kick some ass, take some names, but her soul is of love.  And her spirit is of the marathon kind.  Give her a wall – she’ll chisel through it.  Give her a door, and she’ll stare at the space between the window and the door, and wonder why the hell not at least try?

I love you Shan.  More than words could ever say.  Goodnight my bestest friend.  I promise you I’ll be here when you wake up, and right beside you, always, no matter what.

Today, Barack Obama will be on Blogtalkradio.  This should be one of the happiest days in my career. I am producing the show, and it’s fitting.  I followed his career path, I read his books, I enjoy him both as a person and as the man who is working hard to bring some sense to this country.  For the most part, I have agreed with most of his decisions (except the ridiculousness of overtaxing private oil, rendering the industry unprofitable, which will in turn lose another million jobs across the country, including my father’s if this actually passes.)

Let’s back up a bit, and give you the history of the weeks I haven’t written.  Aunt Robin, lives in Texas, and the way for her to help through this ordeal was that she called the Cancer Treatment Centers of America.  They in turn called me, asked me a million questions and I explained that I think there’s something more going on in my ovaries than the doctor is willing to look at.  I explained that when they say the word Cancer to you, you become hyper aware of every single little cell in your body, and you tend to know something’s up.  I have all the symptoms, as detailed in a prior post.  I explained all of this to the guy that called, and explained that I didn’t think that the doctor had taken it seriously.  He said to call and demand the CA-125 or CA-19-9 Blood test.  These tests look at the cancer protein pathogen that is pumped out from cancer cells in your ovaries.  Doctors have found this to be an unreliable means of testing for Ovarian Cancer because it can also be elevated by Endometriosis.

I asked the Doctor about ovarian cancer in my visits.  Her response, and her nurse’s responses every time I asked were that Ovarian Cancer is very rare.  My questions about the symptoms were usually rebutted with “Well, that can be attributed to…” with a reference to something else.  Pressing further, my response was usually, “Well, yes, but isn’t that the problem with ovarian? That the symptoms can be attributed to something else? Isn’t that why it kills so many women, because it’s not detected early enough?”

So, I called and demanded the CA-125 that the gentleman from CTCoA suggested, and they did it last Friday.  Easy as pie, didn’t hurt a bit, just a simple blood test.

Yesterday, in preparing for the President of the United States of America to be the first President in the history of mankind to broadcast via internet radio during his term, on our network, at 4:45 we had scheduled a test show with some of the most well respected religious leaders in our country, to simulate the show for today.  At 4:45, I was to call in as host and our team would work our tails off for the next two hours to ensure that everything would go as smoothly as possible, that the sound checks were performed, and that our preparations to make technological history were perfected.

At 4:41, my house phone rings.  It’s the doc’s office.  The nurse says “We’ve received your test results back from the CA-125 lab.  The results are extremely elevated.  This does not mean you have Ovarian Cancer.  This can also be caused from endometriosis. You’re seeing your doctor on the 25^th, and she’ll have more information for you then.”

I now have exactly 3 minutes to ask every question I can, and get on the show with 27 of the most important religious leaders in the country.

“So, I’ve already been tested for endometriosis.” I said.  She replied simply with, “Oh.”
“Ok. Well, are we going to get these suckers out of me on September 3^rd?”  She said, “I’m not sure. The doctor will need to talk to you more about this, and what it means for you.  I am not a doctor, but I don’t think they can just take it out.”

I hung up, and for the next two hours, I bulldozed through the test show with the religious leaders, and tried to get my head screwed back on.

After the test show was finished, I walked outside, grasping the horror of this truth.  I knew all along it was an ovary problem.  This all started, and I became aware of it through the ovarian issue. A hemorrhaging cyst in my left ovary, that’s been there since at least April.

I left and went first to Biggby coffee, where I ordered a caramel-mocha frappucino with chocolate chips. Super size.  Then, I went to Schuler Books, and I bought The Time-Traveler’s Wife, Jenny McCarthy’s book, Life Laughs, and I re-bought The Lovely Bones (for the 3^rd time…because people keep borrowing it and not returning it – you know who you are, bitches   ) so that my husband can read it before the December release of the movie.

Next I sat in my car, drinking my frappucino, staring out across a crowded mall parking lot, thinking how just when I thought my life couldn’t really get anymore screwed up, it did.  A three minute phone conversation once again forever altered my path.

I came home, and sat with my husband, who up until yesterday refused to look at this whole situation with my cervical cancer as anything but a minor bump in the road.  He said, “You know, it just occurred to me today that I can’t live without you.  I need you. The kids need you. We haven’t done everything that I thought we would do in our lifetime together.”

I don’t have a diagnosis of ovarian cancer. But, I do know that diagnosis is coming. All I know at this point is that on September 3^rd, 2009, I am going to have a hip-to-hip surgery, to remove my cervix, uterus, fallopian tubes, lymph nodes and now possibly both ovaries.  If she can take the ovaries at that time, I will be surprised.  My bet is that she’s now going to biopsy those ovaries, and when they come back, we’ll get to do all of this all over again.  2 surgeries. Possible Chemo and Radiation.  Months of pain, months of torture, months of trying to get better enough to go through some more, and then months of recovery after that.

I’m still reeling from the latest round of information.  Still recoiling from the bitter truth.  I don’t really know what to think, or say, or do.

Today, at 5pm, I will be on a call with the President of the United States of America with the company that I helped build through an extremely satisfying career, love, hard work and with a team that could take on a nuclear fallout and come out on top. We have all worked so hard to get to this point.  The pride I have for our company today is epic.  Movies could be made for such things.  This should be one of the happiest days of my adult, professional life.  And yet, all I can think of is – what if this is it?

What if THIS is my biggest career accomplishment? What if I’m not here to see the amazing things that this company is capable of or to do? What if I never get the chance to take my kids to Disney World, and what if I can’t see them graduate, go on to college, start their own careers and have their own babies?  What if this is it?

I’m a fighter, and I won’t take this laying down. But, the overwhelming thought, that drowns out all the others, is…I don’t have any control whatsoever over this.  I can’t bully my way out of 2 brands of cancer. I can’t manipulate it or negotiate it to leave me alone.  My faith and health and life is in a doctor’s hands.  One that I have to trust, and that my insurance company will pay for, and one who keeps losing trust points at every turn.

I am humbled, horrified, scared, pissed, and ultimately hopeful.  That’s the honest to God’s truth.