Reflections of Last Year

Reflections on The Year of My Buddha Belly


Did any of you ever have those moments when you peer back in time to determine "when" and at what precise moment you conceived a child? Ok, so maybe this is a mental state of delirium that I alone contain. "Hmmm...I wonder if it was just any other regular night? What DID we do that night and where....why is it all such a distant memory...certainly it could not have been over thirty days ago. Was it on vacation?...was it (gasp) at his Mom's house?!!! Oh thank heavens not."

Unlike others' husbands, who jumped up and down uncontrollably, cried, or laughed hyserically until they cried, mine did no such thing. My sweet, and loving, but completely-doubled-over-with-shock dear husband did not cry, smile, laugh, sing joyous praises, or even hug me. He said, "Oh ok" and walked over and turned on a portion of the playoff games. This reminds me, all of you wives with football-loving partners, men are entrenched in football; it captivates their entire BEING. A earthquake measuring 9 on the Richter Scale could occur during the playoffs in football, and they would remain on the couch, with beer in hand through the entirity of the catastrophe, and as long as the tv does not move from their view, would not even notice. That is how I felt when I broke the news to DH. And then I secretly went into the bathroom and cried, tears of joy, fear, love and excitement rolled down my face.

I remember my first ultrasound. I heard the heartbeat, and I thought it was the beating of the heart of the Universe inside me; it was the strongest, most special moment ever in my life. As I reflect upon that year, here are the strongest memories that stand out in my heart and mind:

Most Memorable Song of 2004: At My Most Beautiful, R.E.M. It is always nice of R.E.M. to remind us of how beautiful and special we are, and how beautiful and special life is. My favorite line is, "At my most beautiful, I count your eyelashes secretly, and with every one whisper I love you, I let you sleep. I know you're closed eye watching me, listening...I thought I saw a smile." My husband and I began dating at one of the hardest stages of my life, and he helped me remember how beautiful I am. This song is a wonderful symbol of our relationship, and it also reminds me of how he even thought I was beautiful throughout my pregnancy with little Aidan..Buddha belly and all.

The Best Food of 2004: Subway's Seafood and Crab on Wheat sandwiches. The food of every year is normally sushi. I don't think I have ever gone for 9 long months without consuming raw fish...but this time I had to. This sandwich reminds me of the best of the tuna salad sandwich, except with a classier meat combo.

Most Embarrassing Moment of 2004: My Mother Was Thinner than Me. Oh good Lord what was the world coming to when my Mom became hotter than me? Ahh the perils of pregnancy. ...

Most Anticipated Moment of 2004: It's a what? I swore up and down to everyone and their mother that I would have a girl this time. NOT. My husband and I even bet some pretty serious money on this, which I never paid. But I have learned over the course of 3 and a half beautiful years of motherhood with my two small boys, that girls in the hands of the very tom-boyish DivineDimension, would be a tragedy. Thank God for little boys. :) I love how they eat dirt, get dirty from head to toe, and even manage to get dirt between their cute tiny little toes.
"Look again", I pleaded with the doctor. "Pam...it has a penis. It's NOT a girl."

My Mother's Most Memorable Quote of 2004: "Ummm..you ARE?!?!" And then five months later, "Well..your ASS is still tiny." (I believe her intent was to imply that nothing else of my body was tiny, so she had to find SOMETHING to compliment me about).

Most Flabbergasting Food Craving: Sardines with Mustard. Alllllrighty then!

Best Baby Name Suggestion: Allister. Oh I loveeeeeee British baby names. Adorable. Too bad I'm Irish, so I chose Aidan instead. :)

Worst Baby Name Suggestion: Frankie. Do you think I want my son wondering why he has a girl's name? Such gender confusion in today's names.

Best "Going Into Labor" Moment for Pamela: "Fuck the fucking camera and get your ass in this damned car, NOWWW Goddamit!!!!" ...which was shortly followed by my husband begging a very surprised Wal-Mart store clerk to help him find the best camera pronto. The clerk said "I'm on break", which as all of you know is a standard line at Wal-Mart when clerks refuse to do their jobs. My husband said, "Well I need this now, break or no break. My wife is in the car in labor!"

Worst Comment by a Complete Stranger "During" The Pregnancy: "Wow, when are the twins due?"

Worst Comment "After" the Pregnancy: "Sooo..when are you due?"

Things That Annoy Me

1. Members Only Jackets: It's OVER people. Move on.
2. Dog bigots: You can't have a dog over twenty-five pounds in any hotel, apartment complex, airline...ANYWHERE. Friggin non-animal loving bigots. Can't stand it!
3. Anally- retentive landlords: "Don't walk too roughly on this soft wood on the deck. It's pine and it is easily damaged."
"Careful when you have company...they may spill some food on the deck or something."
"Make sure you keep the mats down on the deck. It protects the soft wood."
"Oh you are bringing in a dog? That's breaking the lease."
"Oh no, we would not want you to bring in another cat...that's cutting into your deposit money right there."
"Oh the dishwasher is not working. Well....you do need to rinse the dishes off before you put them in the dishwasher, otherwise that will happen."
And so on and so on. People rent houses and apartments so they can LIVE IN THEM, not tiptoe around. Get a life, people!
4. Teething Babies: Stop biting my finger, my wrist, my elbow, and OMG did you just try to bite your own TOE?!?! Gross!
5. People who try to pick me up online: Don't you have enough balls to pick up REAL women and in person? Get out of the house and into the real world, losers!
6. Online Internet Affairs: I will use a conversation between myself and a client of mine, who will remain anonymous for the sake of client confidentiality.
Client: "I know I have only been speaking with him for three months..but we love each other. He is talking about marriage, kids, and what type of home we will build together. He just treats me so well."
Me: "I am so happy for you. What's he like?"
Client: "He is sooo sweet and loving. He treats me like a princess. But I am not sure what he looks like, yet. I have only seen pictures."
Me: "Excuse me? You have not SEEN him?"
Client: "Yes, I know...I know this sounds absurd since this relationship is only online, but I know he will be the same in person..I just know it."
Me: "OK, so when will you meet and make this happen?"
Client: "Oh, well...umm..we were supposed to meet last week, but he had a meeting at work. And then we rescheduled to this week, but his wife had something planned. So now we are waiting till next month."
Me: "What what whaaaaat??? He has a wife???"
Client: "Yes, but they are not happy. And he LOVES me. He is going to get a divorce soon."
Me: "When is he divorcing?"
Client: "Oh...ya know..when he is more ready...soon though."
You get my drift. Please, people. It's one thing if you are meeting, and due to long distance reasons, can't see each other often, but it's quite another thing if you have never even met. Please make relationships real by keepin it real and meeting IN PERSON before exchanging "I Love You's" and other things that should only be based in reality.
7. Mothers who are obsessed with their first baby's first EVERYTHING from talking to poop: I know I know..I do it, too, and I annoy MYSELF with it. No one wants to hear about how your baby poops lima beans whole. Please get some form of a life. Otherwise, your baby will grow up, but you will still be singing songs from Sesame Street and Elmo's World in your head, over and over, until you slowly lose all portions of reality, and your mind.
8. Jehovah's Witnesses: I don't have time. You guys are sweet and loving, and I am sure Jesus appreciates it. But I just don't have the time. Please go away.
9. Mormons: Refer to number 8 above. But not only that, but please note that I will never convert. Not now, not ever, not over my cold cadaver, at which point I will be in hell and you won't have to worry about me perverting your world with my evil blogs and Non-Mormon ways.
10. Stay At Home Moms: Ohh I can see that I will get a lot of bad comments on my blog with this one. But allow me to explain my point. I have the deepest of respect for you..I really do. However, I am not in your same boat, and many of you tend to THINK I am. I am a "Work At Home" Mom, which is totally different. I do all that you do AND I have to work, from my home. I spend my days avoiding salesmen, Mormons, my family, and all of you Stay At Home Moms, who thinks I have nothing better to do than "chat." I love this quote I heard from an ex-boss not long ago. "Oh call Pamela to help you. She is at home with the babies and probably doesn't have anything else to do." Thanks a lot, but no thanks. I clean baby poo and ease teething pain all day, along with being the main income provider AND trying to raise very easily bored children, keep up with the laundry, bills, grocery shopping, and pediatrician visits...all while WORKING. So please don't lump me into your, "I'm sooo bored so let me focus on my baby's poo" category.
11. Politically Focused Blogs: It's great you have an opinion. I do want to hear it. However, when you make this the main or only focus of your blog, you deprive me of all the other potentially brilliant ideas going on in your head. If I want an all-political day, I will have reruns of CNN taped and played over and over until I become the drone that you have become.

All-You-Can-Eat Sushi

My husband and I consider ourselves sushi connisseours, and very selective about the quality, taste and freshness of our favorite food. Therefore, prior to going out for sushi on our last outing, I sat down and really THOUGHT about where I wanted to consume my food. There are several "All-You-Can-Eat" sushi joints in Vegas, but there are few that have reasonable prices, good service and fresh fish. "Fresh fish"....that's almost an oxymoron in this town. Who has fresh fish in the middle of the desert, one might ask? Well...let me tell you! Here are our top three choices in our dining experiences so far:

*Sushi Boy Desu*: The absolute freshest fish around, but the absolute slowest service. This is a family owned joint, and we are always greeted with respect and promptly seated. However, they are slower than a snail stuck in molasses when it comes to service. Our standard experience with them is as follows: we run in frantically with big eyes and growling bellies. We sit down and order more sushi than necessary to squelch the appetite of a sumo-wrestler, and then we wait..and we wait. We do get our first round of green tea right away and are immediately served dime-sized pieces of very fresh sushi, which we fight over like starved wolves determining who eats first and which one is alpha. "Mine!" "No, mine!!" It can get quite nasty. In less than two minutes, the sushi is gone and we are once again waiting....for approximately fifteen to twenty minutes for the next course. The course finally arrives, but there are only another five pieces and a center piece of the tiniest, most microscopic pile of ginger one has ever seen, sliced into air-thin pieces. AHHH! Yes, it make me scream everytime. I firmly believe that this waiting thing they do is done purposefully to make the customers take the time to get full, and perhaps won't be able to eat all they have ordered, and this way their very scarce qauntities of desert fish will not be wasted by overly-satiated patrons with eyes bigger than their stomachs.

We were too hungry to go there tonight. On to the next choice.....

*Sushi Mon*: A tiny little join wayyy on the other side of town. I was very hungry and wasn't sure that I wouldn't drop like a fly right on the sidewalk if I did not consume sushi, and SOON, but this was not the main reason I did not choose Sushi Mon on that particularly hungry day. Here is an account of our last experience with Sushi Mon; grab onto your seats, for you are about to have a very enlightening and slightly disheartening experience about All-You-Can-Eat Sushi. We walked into Sushi Mon and encountered a long wait, which is typical since it is such a teeny-tiny and packed little joint, waited for a few minutes, and then we were seated at the bar. Ok..fine. I am hungry enough to be shoved in like sardines and elbow to elbow with these full strangers without smiles on their faces. (There is a reason for the shortage of smiles, believe me). Not only are these patrons not smiling, but they are being particulary careful with their food, passing their little sushi plates around and then asking, "Did I order this or did you?" "No NOOOO don't touch that one..that's MINE!" I hear in the background. This explanation was NOT stated due to hunger, which is the frightening thing. The waitress promptly greets us and asks for a drink order. She returns with a broad smile and sweetly cooes, "Are you ready to order?" "Absolutely!" I replied in anticipation and with a smile to match hers. Ever so sweetly, as to not offend, she whispers with another smile, "Have you eaten here before?" "Yes, of course", I responded with pride. "Great! Then you are familiar with 'The Rules' as listed on your menus on the table...perhaps you could kindly look over them one more time just to refresh your memory". "Oh, you mean the Nazi-speak on your menus...gotcha...we already know them by heart", my husband sarcastically replied with a coy smile broader than the parting of The Red Sea. "Richard, be nice!" I exclaimed in exasperation, but then I peered in awe at the menu and remembered the source of his cynicism. The following is a list of "The Rules" of Sushi Mon, as written by the owners (and in very broken English):

1. Rice is a part of the sushi. Eat it all! Don't make us charge you A La Carte prices for All- You-Can eat meal when we see rice leftover on your plate;

2. NO SHARING! No sharing unless it's with your other All-You-Can- Eat patrons. The only thing that can be shared is rice! (Wow what's with this rice pre-occupation of theirs? Wait, they just said that rice is a part of the sushi..I wonder if I can bend this rule and share my fish? I am thinking of ways I can get past this rule without being kicked out);

3. NO LEFTOVERS! Take your time when ordering. Sushi is to be enjoyed, piece by piece, and not to be wasted. (Does this apply when I order something new and did not enjoy it, I wonder..I could perhaps bend this one, too, if I pretend I don't enjoy it. Oh but I dooooo enjoy it...oh well.)

4. No SHARING of food with children of all ages, except the sharing of rice. (Drop the rice fettish already! Besides, didn't they just mention the importance of the damned rice in two other rules?!).

I could go on and on, but the list is quite daunting and if one does not follow 'The Rules', ones gets booted out, never to return. Yikes!

So, we decided on that one particular night, to eat at my absolute favorite, Todai. The following was my last experience with the Todai All-You-Can-Eat restaurant:

We are seated promptly, with no wait. They are accomodating towards our huge baby stroller and the normally-screaming baby that resides inside of it, except that they ask us if we would take a table off to the side a bit further away from the bar. Hey, I can handle that. There are no "rules" listed on the menu, and no mention of rice at all. There are a couple of drawbacks we normally face here though. We ya go:

They hide the green bottles of low sodium soy sauce. Why? We all prefer the low sodium stuff nowdays, so I can probably safely assume that they are thinking that if most of us don't see the sauce on the table, we won't go through the trouble of asking for it. NOT! Stop bogarting the sauce, Todai! And when one needs those tiny little dishes one uses to put the soy and wasabi sauce into, they cannot be found. WHY? We like our sushi in sauce! Sheesh! The only other drawback I have is that Todai tries to make things that pass for sushi, but are virtually unidentifiable. For example, during this most recent dining experience, they had JELLYFISH wrapped up in seaweed and rice. WTF? Yeah you heard me. Stringy slimy tentacles that somehow manage to taste crunchy. The taste is disguised by the sweet sauce they marinate the stuff in, and by sesame seeds. Ok...I'll pass. Next on the unidentifiable list (I had to ASK someone what it was), was clams. Yeah I know you are thinking, "clams come in tiny little shells and are very identifiable). Nope...not raw clams at Todai. They put these tiny raw clams (three of them) all together on top of rice in a small plastic cup, and that is supposed to pass for sushi. Well, for me, it passed for Abby Normal's brain, sitting in a jar on the shelf in Frankenstein. You know the types of jars I mention...the kind sitting on counters in Southern Mom N' Pop conveniences stores in Georgia, Kentucky and Alabama. The "Pickled Jar". You Southerners know precisely what I mean, too! The "Pickled Jar" looks like someone's eight grade science experiment waiting to be dissected. It containst anything from Pickled Pigs Feet to Pickled Chicken Claws, or even Pickled Eggs...none of which sound appetizing.

So overall, if you ask for soy sauce, steal a tiny soy sauce plate, and avoid the unidentifiables, Todai is a nice place to consume All-You-Can-Eat sushi.

The Laundry-Room Delimma

I was so thrilled to be able to sign a new six month lease in an apartment downtown, five minutes away from my oncologist, hematologist, internist, testing sites, and all my favorite grocery stores. It was so nice knowing that by paying less than a grand a month, I could get out of debt, save some money to buy a house, the landlords were not anally rententive or cat bigots....the list could go on and on with the things I loved about living here. On that list, however, is NOT the laundry room. So today I sauntered my lazy ass over to the battle ground (i.e. laundry room). I could see out of the corner of my eye the other people with two baskets, one in each hand, walking as fast as they could to the left and to the right of me, attempting to beat me to the machines. You know the types....they HOG the entire laundry room and every single washer in it. How dare I come in and take up only TWO washers!?! Anyway I could see their evil looks...I could feel their eyes upon me as we all struggled to get there the fastest. Have laundry will travel. I won! YAY! I began loading my quarters, added detergent, all of this being a one handed feat, since I had to guard the washer to the right of me from being taken by the evil selfish ones waiting like hyenas behind me. I loaded my next cycle, noted the time on the machines, and slowly walked back to my apartment. Halfway out the door Ms. Hyena (who barely speaks English) yells , "Miss...your washing macheeeeenn eees NOT stahhhting!" Greattttttttttt. Sighing with impatience, I mosied my way back in there, glanced at the display on the second machine and noticed the problem. I don't believe this. It ATE my quarters. "Insert seventy-five cents" states the machine. I stared at it in awe. Pounding it with my fist in anger, I looked at the display once more. "Insert seventy-give cents". The hyenas are circling around me, wondering if I am going to become angry enough to give up the machine. "It doesn't work", I looked back at them and replied. Raising their eyebrows at me, they just turned away, as if they did not care much, and went back to their business of waiting to jump on the next available machine. I still did not trust them. They surely must know some secret to the qaurter-eating monster that I did not. Placing my laundry basket on top of the machine, I quickly jogged back to my apartment, grabbed more quarters, and jogged back. I began to add the new, shiny quarters. To my dismay, the laundry machine merely spat them back out at me. "Damn!" I tried again....to no avail. I looked over at the rest of the laundry room. One machine was stopping. I glanced at one of the hyenas behind me, over my shoulder of course, not directly (I did not want to provoke a laundry room cat fight). She looked at me with a very firm and direct glance, as if to say, "Don't even THINK about it woman". I sighed, took my clothes out of the machine, and walked home. One load won't get done tonight, I imagine. THIS is the part of apartment living about which I am NOT entirely thrilled.

Health Update

I apologize for not updating this blog daily as I should. The symptoms of the chemo are rather bothersome lately, and have kept me offline. Here is an update on the progress.

I started a new round of bug juice this past Tuesday and am now on my fourth day of it. This combination seems to be a good bit more fierce than the last.
I have had a number of unpleasant and almost unbearable circumstances, such as the following: extreme nausea, vomiting, achy knees and leg bones, some moderate hair loss, headaches, dizziness, fatigue, mouth sores, and bruising.

The doctors were concerned about some new things, such as central nervous system involvement and organ damage. There were some wonderful tests results that came out this week, showing that there is no central nervous system involvement, and no heart, lung or liver damage. The bad news is that there was a substantial amount of kidney damage. I have felt it, too. It feels like my kidneys are on fire. :(

The cancer cells have not diminished any since the last round, but they have not grown any further either. The red count is considerably low, and I have to live off of transfusions and shots of Procreat, a red blood cell boosting enzyme. The platelets are just "ok". The amount of working white blood cells have diminished a bit, which could be because some child at Cole's preschool has given me some sort of virus.

I am normally too nauseous to be in front of the computer, and I must admit that this round has literally kicked my a$$. I will be posting again once my living circumstances are bearable again.

Thanks for all of your prayers. This is the hardest part of the fight.

Blessings and much love,
Pamela Aaralyn

A Snowball's Chance on Mount Charleston

Snoring soundly in my bed in my most comfy sweats, I was awakened to the sound of an exasperated husband. "Get up and get dressed. We have to get this damned car to the foot of the mountain and park it. It won't make it in the driveway. You need to follow me in your Jeep and we will go park this thing at the foot of the mountain and ride back up together in the Jeep."

Well........ when one is awaked at 1am, one does not put on one's thinking cap and make clear or practical realizations that lead to sound decision making. I didn't stop to think, "Hey, if the Ford won't make it into the driveway, what on earth makes me think I should be drinking it back down the mountain?" I merely woke up like a drunk recovering from the night before's bar bashing, with a hurting head and achy body, and stumbled out the door. Richard's Ford would not make it up the hill to the right so we had to turn around and go left, down a very large incline road called "Alpine Road". Think about the name...it speaks for itself. My Jeep was teetering at the very top of it. Richard was following behind me in the Ford. I felt like I was on a rollercoaster. You know when you are on a rollercoaster, once you get to the top, there is that matter of a few seconds where it just teeters over the edge and people are peering over in awe and fear. Well, this morning, that was me....peering over the edge of a cliff in fear, on a huge sheet of ice. The car slid a few feet. I tapped the brakes, knowing that if I slammed on them I would be in a world of trouble. I gasped a little and let out a whimper. Trying again, I prayed to God while inching forward in the Jeep...oops here we go...it slid again, another two feet. Whimpering in fear, I put it in park, applied the parking brake, and got out of the car. I crawled on all fours to the side of the road and sat my pajama clad rear in the frozen snow, arms crossed. Richard gets out of the car, perplexed. "What's wrong?!?!" "If you want this car down this mountain, you are going to get in there and drive it yourself", I yelled through tears, still with my frozen caboose parked firmly in the snow. "Drive it down to the next intersection and turn right. Then I will try to drive it the rest of the way. Meet me at the bottom of the mountain where both of these roads intersect. Don't drive off. Wait on me!" Famous last words. Well he slid the car into the next intersection, managing not to plough it into any of the huge seven feet tall snow embankments on each side of the road. I got in it, and slowly inched down the next hill. The Jeep's wheels lost traction and slid about 7 feet foward. Ok, at least I made it down that one without a wreck. I slowly and carefully drove until I met the next hill, inching down it through tears and whimpering, sliding every few feet. I made it to the bottom. No Richard..no Ford Explorer. All of the worst possible scenarious flooded my frightened and traumatized brain. I imagined my poor husband, under the wheel of the huge Ford Explorer, crying in pain with no one around to help. (The town had evacuated for the most part. We were the only remaining idiots on the mountain). I imagined an avalance coming down with rocks and hard, frozen snow and ice, plummeting his car and covering it with him inside, freezing slowly. Ok, I had to be strong. Maybe he just simply did not follow my instructions and went ahead to the foot of the mountain without waiting on me. So I drove further down to the parking lot at the bottom...no husband was there. Fear began to set it deeper. I drove halfway up Alpine road, in hopes that even if he was wrecked, I could find him and save him from certain death. The Jeep would not make it up. I stopped about a third of the way up, got out, and walked about halfway up the incline. No husband..no Ford Explorer. I inched slowly down the hill back to my Jeep. Losing my footing, I fell directly on my back and slid about 5 feet down the hill. Oh look there's the Jeep, I noticed while sliding by out of control. Reaching out with one hand while sliding by the Jeep at 10 mph on my ass, I managed to reach out and grab a hold of the tire. Go me! I crawled back into the Jeep, and inched back down the hill, sliding half of the way on the frozen sheet of ice. I waited ten more minutes. No husband..no Ford Explorer. Damn it! If he IS alive, I will kill him by the time I find him, I proclaimed in my angered state of mind. I managed to make it back up the mountain to my driveway, inching into it slowly, attempting to avoid the 7 feet high snow banks on each side. "Bam!" Ok, so they were unavoidable. My Jeep slid right into one of them, tail end hanging out into the road. Putting the car in reverse, I attempted to back away from it.....to no avail.. It slid even deeper into the side of the drive. I am stuck...in my own driveway. I turned the engine off, crawled on all fours across the driveway, and made it back into the safety of my home. Mom is waiting inside. "What the hell happened to you?" "Where is Richard?" It was too long of an ordeal for me to repeat. I reached for a cup of coffee, turned on the gas fireplace, and parked my frozen and bruised caboose into the rocking chair. Half an hour passed. Fear set in. Another half an hour passed...no husband, no Ford Explorer. Picking up the phone, I dialed Metro at 311 and gulped down my tears while going over the escapade with the dispatcher. "I don't get it. Why did you split up? That was not smart", the dispatched chastized. "Well I was not thinking about it at that time, mam, I was just trying to get to the bottom in one piece. Please just send an officer out to find him. We have bad weather conditions, and he could be hurt or freezing to death." "Ok will do that mam", dispatched coldly replies, "but you really should not have gone out in these conditions". Her chastizing was the last thing I needed to hear. "Oh my gosh, Carol lives on Alpine!" Eureka! Picking up the phone, I hastily dialed in Carol's number, begging and pleading for her to answer. To my amazement, she was awake. "Eric has left me alone in this while he works. I can't sleep because I am too afraid of the avalanches." I felt her pain. "Carol could you walk outside right now and see if you see my husband, or his Ford Explorer, anywhere on your road? "Sure...let me get my shoes on." "Sorry Pam, but no one is out there." Bursting into tears, I poured out my heart and soul to Carol, who consoled me, as good friends do, and talked me back into some logical thinking. "I bet he is walking home, Pam. Go to your door, turn on the porch light, and call for him." Hmm...she was onto something. Hanging up, I ran to the sliding glass door, pried it open in nervous anxiety, and for some reason, I knew he was ok. I felt he was near. Like a mountain lion smelling the air, in hopes of sensing out some prey, I sat with the door open, listening. I thought I heard something in the distance. "Richard?", I said tentatively. "Is that you, hon?" The sound came closer. It sounded like someone walking in the snow. I could hear the snow and ice crashing beneath the weight of feet. Then I could hear heavy breathing....I recognized his shuffle, and the breathing. Trying as hard as I could to keep from running out into the snowy front yard in my bare feet, I waited. In less than five minutes, my husband came sloshing into the yard. "Are you ok?", he said in exhaustion. "I looked everywhere for you!" "I was searching ditches, even. I thought you had wrecked when I could not find out." We stopped, held each other in our soaking wet snowy clothes, and just kept on holding each other. "I was angry for a brief moment," he said. "But then I realized, "Hey the person I love is out there, and I can't find her. I could lose her." "And then the agitation went away and I was more afraid than I had ever been. Sorry I took so long. Had to look for you." Falling into our bed with exhaustion and love, we held each other tighter than we ever have before and fell into a deep relaxing sleep. Don't take love for granted. ..ever. Love is a gift.

And the Worst Mother of The Year Award Goes to......

ME. You heard it. I hereby name myself the "Worst Mother of The Year". I am going to have to do the dreaded, the thing I swore I would never do: send my kids away for someone else to take care of.

I woke up FOUR times last night to feed and change little A. Still, at 5 and a half months old, he refuses to sleep through the night. Mr. T, the oldest, refuses to potty train and woke up from his nap today with poo-poo all over himself, his clothes, his bed, his pillow..even his hair. He won't tell us when he has to go potty, so he sits in it, which has caused him to have a rash that is AWFUL. Despite my mother's wonderful attempts, the house is always a wreck, full of empty bottles and wrapped up, soiled diapers from where I have to wake up several times a night to feed Little A. Mr. T cannot eat without feeding the dog or the cat, which leaves his lunch all over himself, the cat/dog, the floor, the table, the chair...EVERYWHERE. I find myself on my knees scrubbing vegetable soup off the floor almost everyday.

Little A likes to vomit everywhere after meals. The vomit is constantly being cleaned off the carpet, his pajamas, his face, his hands, his hair. I think I reached my limit when he did his thang yesterday and the dog came and licked it up. Ahhhhhhhhhhh! Every mother, even good ones, reaches her limit.

But especially because I have Acute Leukemia, and I am now about to start my fifth round of chemotherapy AND the oldest one recently passed his bronchitis along to me. So when my sister-in-law sent me a very sweet and carefully written email, asking me to consider flying the kids out to stay with her ten states away, my mind wandered. And as guilty as I feel for saying this, I am thinking about it.

Please pray for us.

The Fletcher Household Morning Experience

I am awakened from a deep sleep by the teething baby of the year, Little A. (On some days that 'A' stands for 'Angel', and on other days, well, you can use your imagination). My mother, who is visiting and helping us out while I undergo chemotherapy, has managed to prepare some bottles and has left one out on the counter just for this occasion. I stumble up the spiral staircase and reach for the bottle, pointing it in Little A's direction, plopping my pajama clad rear into the rocking chair in the dark. We rock, he eats, I doze off every five minutes or so, the bottle falls out of his mouth, he screams to high heaven, I awaken and return it to his mouth, and we start the cycle again.

I hear a faint "zzzzzzzzzz zzzzzzzzzzzz" in the background. Peering over in the direction of the noise and squinting in the dark, I see my husband crashed out on the couch, still in his suit from work. The groceries he stopped and picked up for me at the store are sprawled out at his feet on the floor. Poor thing was too tired to put them up, and was obviously too tired to even make it to the bed to sleep.

I shuffle over to the kitchen and turn on the coffee. I take my bug juice pills (chemo), along with some medicine for nausea and several other meds, then I patiently await the coffee, taking in it's glorious gourmet aroma as it permeates the kitchen at 6am. Mom stumbles into the living room, asking why I am awake this early. I mumble something about a baby, and plop my exhausted forehead on the counter in frustration. DH snores away in the background, oblivious to the world.

I decide that I could hold down the anti-nausea meds if I had some food in my stomach, so I decide to cook the only thing my stomach can handle lately, EGGS. Ask anyone who has ever gone through chemo. The best types of foods that won't come back up are eggs, pizza and double quarter pounders with cheese. Mr. Trouble Maker (the three year old in the house), wakes up wining about his diaper (he still refuses to potty train). I go into his room to check the damage. The diaper is as full as a hot air balloon, and Mr. Trouble Maker now needs a bath. I strip him down and give him a quick bath.

I make it back to the kitchen to enjoy my coffee while Mr. Trouble Maker quickly devours my eggs. So much for breakfast. "More eggs Muma". 6 eggs and four pieces of toast later, Mr. Trouble Maker is full. Little A is now complaining in baby language due to boredom, so we decide that a round of Baby Einstein shows on the tube will do the trick.

In the meantime, DH is rousing slowly, sighing pititfully in between turning over to one side and then the other on the couch. Mr. Trouble Maker spots him and screams, "Dadaaaaaaaaaaaaa" in his highest coloratura soprano voice, pouncing on poor DH, who has now had less than three hours of sleep and is too tired to fight it. All I hear is a low, rumbling sound followed by a "Coleeeeeeee come onnnnnn" and then more snoring. One diaper needs changed again, then another...each baby needs their meds from the bronchitis that has been passed around the family for over a week now. Little A's meds are pink, and they dribble down the side of his mouth each time they are administered, staining his clothes and mine. Mr T takes his meds like a champ, considering it a grown up priviledge to have them, opening his mouth wide like a bird and grinning as he ingests each of them, and then saying thank you, which sounds like, "sank too muma".

We have now progressed from Baby Einstein to the mid-morning "Blues Clues". I am aware that some of you reading this may think I am depriving my son of outdoor time, but we are caught in a snowstorm with close to seven feet of snow in our yard, and the danger of even walking in our yard is high, therefore we are stuck indoors right now. Mr. T insists upon having something on the tube, even though he is doing anything except watching it. Instead he persists in chasing the dog and attempting to ride her like a horsie. It is Little A's naptime. By the time I get him down in his bassinet, which I keep in our bedroom, DH has proceeded to wake up and is in the bedroom struggling to find his fav. pair of undies (which have been right in front of his face for two weeks straight). "Hon have you seen my new undies?" Without answering, I walk patiently down the stairs and into the bedroom, reaching into the bottom drawer and pulling out a brand new pair of gray undies in less than five seconds. "Ohh. Thanks". Little A is not happy that we woke him on the count of lost drawers, and is wailing to be picked up. I stuff his pacifier back in his mouth, pull the blanket over him and make the "Shhhh" sound on my lips, directed towards my husband, who is now pulling his closet apart looking for a clean work shirt. "Try under the bed", I mumble.

Mornings are always such an experience around here.....

Two Light Sleepers in the Same Sleeping Vicinity

It doesn't work...just doesn't cut it. Two light sleepers in the same sleeping vicinity never works out to be productive towards a good night's rest. He turns to the right, I to the left. He snores, which alarms me and I jump. He snatches the covers, I snatch them back. I am not talking about my husband mind you, but my 5 month old infant! I have had less than twenty minutes of R.E.M. sleep per night since this little insomniac arrived into the world. Right now I am content to watch him peering at Baby Beethoven on the tube, while he kicks his little legs. (He has this annoying but adorable little habit of rubbing his legs together like a cricket when he is beginning to tire). So on goes my little cricket, chirping away in his baby swing, learning new things, cooing at his older brother, and STILL keeping me awake at night. I want to be able to glady wake up, rock him back to sleep, singing gently to him with patience until his eyelids are heavy with sleep, tip-toe into his room and gently place him into his bassinet, ever careful not to awaken him. But alas, instead I wake up nauseous from chemo, barely able to pick him up, managing to point a bottle somewhere in the general vicinity of his mouth, hoping not to put it in his nose instead, holding back tears and nausea while he finishes his meal and then racing him back to bed so I can attempt to grab a hold of just a couple more hours of shut-eye before his alarm clock cooing begins again. I am hoping some of you new mothers out there can answer something for me. Why doesn't my baby just wake up squealing in one short burst? At least that way I know I have to get up. Aidan manages to coo a little, go back to sleep, and like a baby snooze button, sounds off again at the end of ten minutes. Then the cycle starts. I hear him cooing, but since he is not wailing or screaming I think, "Oh ok well maybe he will just drift back off to sleep". "Oh listen to that...quiet. Maybe he is asleep again and I can get one more hour". But alas, he awakens again in ten minutes! If anyone has the answer to the baby snooze button delimma, please help me out. Signed, a desperate new mother.

Nothing like a good ole ER visit to waste a day away...

I woke up yesterday morning with an awful cough, high fever, and runny nose. I knew I would not make it past the Tuesday morning "well-check" that I undergo weekly. (My doctors have to make sure I am well enough for them to poision me). So instead of driving down to the oncologist's office, I called the nurse and told her I was sure I would not make it past her well check. She told me to call the internist to have him check me out, but I had missed the internist's "walk-in" hours and did not have an appointment, so he told me to go "straight to the emergency room". Well, I arrived at the emergecy room at 10:30am and checked in promptly. I thought nothing of it when lunch time rolled around and I still had not been seen, so I strolled over to the cafeteria for a leisurely bite of chicken-leftover-soup stuff. Once I was partially satiated and very nautious, I returned to the ER Unit and waited. 2pm ticked by slowly, so I patiently walked up to the ER check-in counter to ask the nurse why I had not been seen. Prior to even speaking with me, she said, "Miss, you need to step back from the counter. We are very busy." I began my plea of, "I was sent here by my doctor who said I was to be seen immediately and have been here for over three hours...." I was cut off in mid-sentence and told to take a seat. Oh well. I sat down once more, waited another hour, and still was not called back to see the doctor. To make a long story short, I was finally seen at approximately 5 and a half hours later, to be told I had bronchitis. I was medicated, given a transfusion of red blood cells, and sent home to rest.

I am on break from chemotherapy for a week until my health resumes a more stable pattern. Yay! A whole week's break. I am stoked!!! Ok, well I am off to rest.

Life is Precious

I have spent the last four weeks in chemotherapy, two weeks on, one weekend off. It has been relentless, painful, emotional and a downright energy drain. The standard "Ara-C" for two weeks in order to "induce remission" in leukemia patients, didn't scathe this nasty cancer beast.
It left me feeling like a failure, having to come home and tell my sweet husband that it didn't work. Each day he awaited the results patiently, only to find that nothing has worked as of yet. I could hear the tears in his voice and the pain in his heart each time I had to explain for four weeks straight, that nothing was indeed working.

So...home I came, each week, drained, defeated, feeble in mind and spirit, exhausted, nausious, with pain in every bone in my bone of my body and tears in my eyes. Defeat was beginning to take it's toll on me. I mean, there I was, on top of one of the most beautiful mountain ranges in the world, in close to four feet of perfect powdery white snow, in a beautiful cabin. But all I could think about was how I was letting my family down. I am the main income provider. Me not working has cost us so much: we are about to trade in one of our vehicles, we have this beautiful cabin that we cannot afford and we're behind on rent. The electricity bill is on it's second notice. Quite frankly, I am scared out of my mind, and so is everyone else around me.
And then to make matters worse, my toddler brought home bronchitis from preschool, and has given it to me. If I don't beat it VERY soon, I am sure I will be hospitalized to prevent it from causing a more drastic dip in my blood cell counts (when one has cancer, any small illness can escalate and take over one's entire immune system).

So, as you can tell, I was at the point today where I had just about "had it". Have you ever reached that point? Where any single thing, even a trivial thing, could occur at any moment and automatically become the "last straw" that causes one to either scream at the top of ones lungs, or just burst into tears and fall into one's pillow, crying for hours? Well, today I was there. And you know what? I didn't do either of the above.

As my husband and I drove home together in the snow, and I was so tired of everything. I quickly meditated upon a small prayer asking God to help me be more grateful and give me something to help me understand life more. Two seconds after my humble prayer, a HUGE pick-up truck came careening down the mountaining out of control, sliding in the snow sideways towards our small Jeep, taking up the entire road. There was no way to avoid him. My husband slowed down and pulled over, but there was no way to avoid the truck. He glanced at me like he knew what was coming, reached over and held my hand tightly and just waited. The truck continued to slide all the way down the hill towards us, still out of control. Approximately two feet in front of us, it finally came to a halt as my husband and I glanced at each other in amazement that we were ok, and that the truck had not hit us. We continued up the mountain in silence for awhile, and then he said, "You know, we should get out and enjoy this beautiful weather. Let's go home and play in it." So, just like my Las Vegas vacationing neighbors, there I went, careening down the hill in the snow in childlike oblivion on a huge, rubber innertube. I breathed in the cold, refreshing air, screaming like a child as I enjoyed sledding, then pushed my toddler down the hill, too, and enjoyed watching him as he ran back up the hill again and again for more. A tear came to my eye (and probably almost froze there in the 30 degree weather) as I watched Carly, my Mom's dog, prance around in the snow like a gazell and then run up the hill to play and tackle me in it. We walked hand in hand, still just as in love as we always have been, and even though I was physically challenged with it all, emotionally I was in my glory and I felt more whole and more healed than I have in a very long time. Life is precious.

Las Vegas Drivers and Snow

If you are a native of Vegas, you know exactly what I am about to say here. Las Vegans are not equipped to handle rain, snow, hail, or heck, even a slight drizzle. When rain hits Vegas, one will see signs placed in grocery stores, "Warning: There is rain outside: watch your footing in store. There may be water on the floor!" Come on! One never will see a sign like that in say, Louisiana, where torrential downpours occur weekly and people don their raincoats and rubber boots as a part of their regular daily attire.

But, here in Vegas, natives view rain as the onslaught of Armagaedon. Suddenly, the most frantic lead-foot road ragers are turned into tentative granny-drivers who ride their brakes twenty-five feet prior to stop signs. The same gas-gusling sports car with the licsence plate that reads, "Kingofroad" that left me in the dust last week, now taps his breaks all the way down the mountain this week, leaving me in a frustrated state of fury, to the point of attempting to pass him on a double line! Like-wise, when these same downtowners notice the forecast is anywhere upwards of 10 inches of snow here in Mount Charleston (the nearest mountain range forty-five minutes outside of downtown Vegas) they rush up here in their mustangs to play. I see them racing up here in their sportcars with sleds attached to the top via bungy cords, passing me to get to the powdery stuff, only to pass them up again a few miles later, red sportscar turned upside down and wheels ablaze, sled in pieces in the highway. Now, I don't understand why they persist in their tourist play when as anyone can obviously tell, one cannot drive ten feet without seeing 1) Signs every three miles warning people that they must have snow tires or chains to continue driving, 2) Officers every five miles checking for same and 3) Cars wrecked or stuck in the snow, ohhhh about every two miles. One would think that would make one turn their tiny red BMWs around and head the hell out of dodge. But alas! These tourists proceed to not only resume their frollicing on the main roads, they also continue upward in the dangerous parts of the mountain, where only we citizens of Mount Charleston drive. Granted, the snow becomes deeper the higher in altitude one drives. But it never fails that I see one of these not-so-bright Vegans stuck in one of the subdivisions on the higher roads. Not only was it a subdivision of locals, today, but it was MY OWN subdivision where the following absurdity occured. On my way home, I carefully drove my four wheel drive Jeep down Tyrol Way, the road where we reside. Out of the blue comes a kid I'd guess to be about ten years old, perched on a snow sleigh, zooming out of control down a hill towards my car. DAMN it! Where is his Mom, one might ask? So.....I miss little Evil Kneivel by a few inches, only to find out that his parents have parked their land jot Ford Explorer right in the middle of the friggin road! Ok....taking a deep breath and counting to ten while praying I don't hit the car, I inch by it, coming within centimeters of a collision. Onward I go to the next obstacle: Evil Kneivel's mother, standing right in the middle of the road on the incline. Now, we natives of snow-producing Alpine towns all know that when driving in more than 10 inches of snow, one needs to drive very quickly up inclines, and never EVER stop on the incline, otherwise, one may be put in danger of not making it up the incline and therefore having to reverse a car down a mountain. Patience is a virtue. Keeping in mind that this obvious tourist and probably Vegas native does not know the rules of Alpine roads, I stop the car, on the damned incline. Next, I calmly tapped my horn. Originating from New Jersey, I have a tough time "calmly tapping" my horn, brakes, or anything for that matter. Ms. Knievel continued to stand in the road, staring at me, like cattle caught in headlights. Once again, I calmly tap my horn, this time uttering a few not-so-nice words in New Jersey slang under my breath, and also gesturing boldly with my left hand for her to kindly move. She continues to stand there. My mind was racing with obscenities, thinking of all the ways my temper could escalade into an ongoing war, leaving the poor downtowner with permanent tire marks on her person. I inch the car up, beeping LOUDLY four times, watching her jump out of the way, as if "I" was the madman who did not know the rules of the road. She gestured with her hands as if to say, "What? What is wrong with you?". I shook my head and spun snow out onto her nice, matching touristy cashmere sweater and hat as I tore off upward in the snow.