Predators

There have been several moments in life since (and during) treatment where I have been asked to help "spread the word" or purchase a specific product/therapy that is said to aid in either the treatment or cure of cancer.

I've heard things like...

This product will help treat the side effects from treatment.

This product will cure your cancer without any other medical intervention.

This product will help you keep your hair in during treatment.

This product will help you so much, you'll have better "numbers" than people who aren't even going through treatment!

This camp will cure you through a combination of prayer and only organic food.

The list goes on and on.  And strangely enough, the people offering these cures were 99% of the time selling them.  What a coincidence!

To the person claiming to fix my side effects or cure my cancer via a product: You are preying on my physical condition.  You are preying on the nausea, the low energy, the bloating, the puking, and the multitude of digestion issues.  You want to tap into the part of me that believes I can beat this sickness--and do it while living like a queen, without side effects and maladies.  If you truly convinced that this product will help me, offer to buy me a bottle and we'll see what happens--but don't send me the link to your promotional page, where I can sign up for automatic monthly deliveries for the low price of….

To the person who thinks they can keep my hair from falling out during treatment: You (although sadly misinformed) are trying to prey on my womanly vanity.  Do your research.  There are studies indicating that 10-15% of people who undergo chemotherapy treatment will keep their hair.  I was one of these.  And although it thinned, it still grew fast enough I had to cut it every week or two.

To the person who claims to have a product to increase my numbers: Do you even know what numbers you're talking about?  No, but you were nice enough to send me a link to a generic video that is in turn, linked to your promotional page where I can purchase for the low price of….

To the person who believed that my lack of faith in God and lack of organic food in my diet was the cause of my illness: F*** you.  God giveth and God taketh away.  Job went through very hard times and throughout it, his faith was not shaken, yet God didn't reach down and release him from his tribulations.  And although he may have had more organic options in his meal plan than I do, I believe that God has more power to heal than any farm-grown, hand-picked avocado.  At the point in time that I heard this one, I was so fed up with life I actually wished cancer on a child of the all-organic eater who was expressing her opinions--just so she would know first-hand that eating all-organic didn't exempt anyone.

If you really want to help, ask if there is anything you can do.  Sit beside me, even if I'm sleeping (having people near me was one of the most comforting things during treatment).  Cook for me.  Talk with me.  PRAY FOR ME.

But don't try to make money off me.

*Also, a HUGE thank you to those who just endured with us.  We needed you and you were there.  Thank you!

Update!!

There has been a lot going on in our world lately!  Our little nugget is growing and growing....

It's hard to wrap my mind around the fact that there is a HUMAN inside of me, first off--and secondly, get used to the fact that I'm going to get BIGGER.

Like a lot of ladies, I've always had to watch my weight.  I try to eat healthy and work out, but even with that, sometimes my pants start to get tighter and tighter until they're no longer comfortable.  Typically at that point, I'd start being more intense at the gym until my weight was back where I considered it "acceptable."

Now, getting bigger is part of the program.  I'm not complaining, just saying it's going to take some getting used to.

Here's our little nugget!!!

On top of that, the season of giving thanks is rapidly approaching, so I wanted to take a second to ask you to partner with me in either Walking for St. Jude's and/or contributing financially.  If you've kept up with my blog for very long, you're more than likely aware of Isaac and I's journey through cancer and although I don't worry about it now, I still like to remind myself that there are other people who are just experiencing the freshness of a diagnosis, the nausea of their first chemotherapy treatment, or mourning the death of a friend or family member who passed during their treatment.

I'm planning on offering my hair cutting services for the month of November in exchange for donations toward St. Jude's.  I would love to raise $1500, but was actually going to only write $500 as my goal because I dislike "failing" so much.  However, I'd hate for someone to decide to give less because my goal was so small, so I put the true amount on there.  Now I'm nervous I won't make it, but... we'll see!

If you feel led to do so, click here to donate or sign up to Walk for St. Jude's in your state.

Pregnancy Thus Far

How is this pregnancy going?  Well, let me tell you....

It's nauseating.  Like that stench in your garbage disposal that won't go away no matter what you do.  I'm doing what I can to cope with it.  Isaac went and bought me Sea Bands that I'm scared to take off except when I shower (just in case they're working), I have a stash of corn chips at work to crunch on between meals since an empty stomach seems to trigger queasiness and there's a half-empty bottle of ginger ale in our fridge.  Sleep seems to be the best solution, simply because I don't feel anything when I sleep, which brings me to the next thing.

It's exhausting.  I want to go to bed at 9pm, sleep til 10am, and then take five naps during the day.  Ridiculous.

It's pee-filled.  Yes.  Pee.  Every.  Single.  Hour.  Oh, you said you wanted to sleep, Ashley?  Well, too bad!  Getting up at least once in the night to go to the bathroom is now routine.  It's also not unusual for me to visit "France" at Nordstrom several times a day, too.  At least I can play Candy Crush while I'm in there...

It's hot.  Literally.  I have a thyroid condition that usually makes me extremely sensitive to cold, but right now, no matter what I do, I'm hot.  Several times in the past couple of weeks, while I'm making my nightly trip to the throne, I've stopped by the thermostat and lowered the temperature because I've been boiling.  Last night Isaac was wearing sweatpants and a blanket.  What did I have on?  His boxers and a cami.

It's gassy.  That's cute!  Uh, NOT.  I've been doing laps around the floor at Nordstrom because I feel like I have to drop the bomb and keep moving so nobody knows it was me.  Thankfully they haven't been awful, but still.... awkward.  Sometimes the gas doesn't come out that end, though, and I find myself burping a lot too.  Gross and grosser.  Especially working in a high-end department store.  PS, if you're my co-worker reading this... Sorry.  I do what I can.

It's making my stomach a Nazi.  I can't eat too often, but I can't wait too long to eat either.  Waiting too long, well, that'll earn me a case of nausea.  Eat too often?  Well, take a guess.... Yep!  Nausea for that too!  No matter what I do, my stomach is not happy.  It's a little hard to find the balance while working at Nordstrom since I don't think they like me taking a break to eat every hour.  Hence, my chip stash.  Oh, and PS, I put on about 4 pounds in the last week.  So much for the weight loss competition I was going to win.

It's not getting me in "the mood."  Poor Isaac.  It's hard enough for us to connect since our schedules are at odds.  Now add that to the above list... you can see the cards are stacked against him.  I'm hopeful that will change soon.

Welcome to pregnancy.

Weddings, Babies, and Obesity.

A lot has been happening lately!  Usually when I don't blog, it's because life is redundant and I feel like I have nothing to talk about--that's not been the case lately!!

Event #1: Jessica got married!  Talk about crazy!  I was responsible for her hair and makeup, as well as decorating the reception venue, so when I was back in Iowa last week, there was quite a bit to accomplish.  The ceremony was beautiful and the bride, GORGEOUS!!!!!!

And we had a surprise the morning of her wedding, which brings me to...

Event #2: WE'RE PREGNANT!!!! :) :)  I've started experiencing "wonderful" symptoms, such as bloating, cramps, nausea, obscene gassiness, and difficulty breathing out of my nose without sounding like I'm an obese person that just walked up a flight of stairs.

Event #3: Courtney got married!  This one was a short notice and quick planning, but everything turned out beautifully and her and Tim are now in their little apartment, getting ready for Baby #2--WHICH IS A GIRL!!!!!!!

Event #4: I got a promotion!!  I'm now a beauty stylist, which means that I'm kind of the concierge of cosmetics.  My job is to find you the best products based on your personal style, skin needs, and budget.  It's awesome!

Oh... and Emily changed my hair color and cut.  I'm "growing it out" for Isaac....

You can't grow without mistakes

I can't even tell you how much feedback there has been to the last post.  Well, not quantitatively anyway, but there was a lot.  I got quite a few texts and messages asking, "is Courtney really pregnant?"  A few more along the lines of, "How are you handling this, with the miscarriage?" And the most common, "you're such a good sister."

Let me get this out there, because it's been bothering me.

I am NOT as good of a sister as you may think.  I may be a better sister today than I was even a couple of years ago, but there has been a lot of "construction" in my heart regarding interactions with people I love.

Years ago, my best friend started to spiral.  He was young.  I can only speculate as to why he started to make the decisions that he did, but things went downhill, and fast.  Drinking and street drugs became a big priority, and a couple of weeks before his eighteenth birthday, he added jailtime to his record.  Here's the thing--he's a great guy.  His heart is really tender and he loves fiercely, but for some reason he buries those beautiful qualities beneath the drugs and alcohol.

I didn't know what to do.  Watching him drown himself was the hardest thing that I've ever had to do.  And I wanted to stop it.  Stop him from hurting himself.  Stop him from hurting me and the other people who care about him.  Have you ever done that?  It's so painful to watch that sometimes you want to scream at them and shake them.  So I did.  I yelled.  I screamed.  I cried.  I swore.  I hit.  I prayed.  I confronted.  I kept silent.  I begged and pleaded with him.  We fought.  Nothing worked.

Absolutely.  Nothing.

I tried everything that I could think of to get him to change, to go back to the goofy, carefree boy I knew before.  But lost innocence has a face now instead of just being a foreign, poetic idiom.  We can't rewind and re-live.  This happened at a time in my life when I was just starting to understand that you can't change someone.  I had already absorbed it application to myself, and I'd learned it in reference to boyfriends, but friends?  Aren't they supposed to be different?

But they're still just people.  They're their own selves.  They're someone else's boyfriend or girlfriend.

So I guess not.

Don't be fooled--it wasn't clear so quickly.  But I'm starting to understand and time allows for clearer vision.  Now I know that instead of fostering change, my reaction had spawned frustration, disgust, and irritation.  It's a source of contention.  We were talking recently about my sister's situation, and I realized how deep I'd hurt him.

"You're right.  I did come down on you harder... ...and I would guess that you feel like [my sister] is getting a pass because she's having a baby.  And partially, that's true.  For me, I don't want her baby to have to carry the consequence of HER decision.  That doesn't mean I'm not disappointed.  Her and I have had some blunt and unpleasant conversations about different outcomes for her situations...

...I hope you can keep in mind that I'm growing too.  When you started down the path that you're on, that was my first time seeing someone I loved fall apart.  I was scared.  I wanted to scream at you until you understood that it was going to make life more complicated.  Harder.  And it didn't need to be.  I even remember being so upset that you were headed that way that I wanted to beat you.  I was so angry.

I know for sure that handling it the way I did wasn't the best way.  At the time, though, that was all I knew to do."

So MAYBE I'm handling this situation better.  MAYBE it's closer to the way it should have been with my best friend.  But I can tell you for sure, he's a large part of the reason WHY my reaction to Courtney's situation is the way it is. So when I see comments saying I'm a good sister, I get uncomfortable.  I feel squeamish inside.  I'm ashamed because I don't feel like that's true.  Otherwise, how did I alienate him?

That's NOT a kitty-cat...

So I've been trying to figure out how to share this part of the story.  I haven't really come up with any solid ways of doing it, so I guess I'll just get it out there.

Let's hop back in time a few weeks...

A couple of weeks after we learned we were pregnant, my sister called me.  We were chatting more than usual, since she'd found out we were going to have a baby.  She LOVES LOVES LOVES little kids and was thrilled to hear our news.  I was cooking in the kitchen and I could tell something was different.  We were talking, but she wasn't really following the conversation.  Her questions, although normal questions, were coming out different than usual and I got the feeling that she had something she wanted to share with me, but for some reason, wasn't saying it.

I needed both of my hands in the kitchen, and since she was being a bit weird, I told her that she could feel free to call me back when she decided to say whatever it was that she wasn't saying.  The normal goodbyes were exchanged and before she hung up she said that she was going to send me a picture and she wanted to know what I thought.

Usually the pictures I get from her are of her cats, like this one:

The picture I got this time was different:

This isn't the exact picture, because my phone got replaced between now and then.  But you get the idea

So I called her right back.

Is that yours?
Yes.
You know you're going to have to tell mom, right?
Yeah.
Oh boy.

Needless to say, this was unexpected.  And did I mention that my little sister is 18 years old and that this was 3 weeks before she graduated high school?  And... And... And....???  All I could get out after that point was, "Well, you need to start taking pre-natals if you haven't already and you need to schedule an appointment with an OB-Gyn."

Woah baby.  Or, babies, I guess.  We would have been due at the same time.

So there will be a Brekke family baby--but not coming from the person people were expecting.

My feelings are conflicted.  I could list the reasons why I think this is not a great idea, but that won't benefit anything.  What will be, will be.  Apparently God thinks that this is a great way to connect with Courtney, otherwise it wouldn't have happened.  My job is to love unconditionally, and to be the best aunt I can be.

As her sister, I've done what I can to protect her from the realities that this world can offer.  We've talked, yelled, hugged, cried, etc... together over the years.  Like me, though, she is stubborn.  Learning the hard way is her way.  We all make choices, good and bad, and some of them have more obvious consequences--this would be one of them.  I want to put this out there now though.

For those of you who are friends with me, who know my sister, who know my family, and some of you who ARE my family... think before you react.  Courtney does not claim to be a Christian, so according to her beliefs (or non-beliefs, depending how you look at it) so you cannot hold her to that standard.  Obviously nobody who truly loves her would choose this for her, but a child is a blessing, and needs to be viewed as such.  This is just part of her journey.  Hopefully part that shatters her misconceptions of God's love and that brings her to a place where she can see it for herself, raw and real.  True.  Untainted.

Because in that form, and ONLY in that form, it is beautiful.

And The Day After That...

Today has been the first day that I've actually started to process that I'm no longer pregnant.  I find it a little shocking that I'm grasping it this quickly, because normally I'm extremely slow to digest things. I didn't even realize I lived in Michigan until about a year afterward--it just felt like a bad dream until then.

I've had to wear adult diapers (not really, but pads the size of my calves) for the last couple of days while things started to drain out.  I took a shower this morning and watched as big (we're talking quarter-sized) blood clots dropped out of me and splashed on the bathtub floor.  I've had them in periods before, but nothing like this.  Four or five came out while I was in the shower and another dozen or so have passed since then.

The first one was surprising.  I didn't know what to do, or if I should do anything, so I stood in shock as it drifted toward the drain.  When the second one came out, I trapped it and called for Isaac come in and check it out.  They were just so big!  He said as long as I wasn't losing too much blood and my uterus was starting to "heal" itself, I should be fine.  When the next one came out I watched it.  I trapped it again and squished it, seeing it break into blood.  Then I started to cry.  I broke it.  What if there had been pieces of our baby in there?  Isaac heard me and came to the bathroom to ask what was wrong.  I didn't really know though.  I'm just sad.

I trust that God has a place and time for everything.

When we first found out we were pregnant, I was a little excited, but mostly nervous.  What about finances?  Is it time?  What about insurance?  Will this work?  Then, when we sat down and looked at everything, it was going to be alright.  Actually, it was going to be awesome.  That was when I started thinking that this was more God's plan than ours.  It was also when I think I started to believe that it was going to happen.  That we'd have a baby in February.

Then once I finally seemed to get with the program, it ended abruptly.

Now I'm in the timeframe where I know this has happened for a reason, but I have to work on translating that into my life.  Into what I do.  I'd really love to bury myself in a hole again.  Mom was texting me today and reminded me that I need to be careful not to allow my grief to carry me into a depression again.  And she's right.  I can already feel little fingers of it at certain times.  I don't want to go there.

Tomorrow will be a normal day, because it needs to be.  I'll get up, give a friend a haircut, go to work for 8-9 hours, and then head to Jen and Joey's house to hang out for a bit and enjoy some barbeque.  Then Isaac and I will probably come home and hang out for a bit.  Maybe start a movie and then get caught up in conversation, or I'll fall asleep on his lap.  Whatever the case, I need to get back to life and not dwell on the sadness because that invites me to a bad place.

5:30 a.m. The Day After

It's 5:30 in the morning here.  The sun has just started to creep up over the height of the apartment complex and things are only halfway visible.  I woke up to start getting ready for work.  We have a big event today at Nordstrom.  After we left the hospital yesterday, I texted my Assistant Manager and let her know that I planned on still making it in today.  I'm supposed to be speaking in a show that we're holding this morning, as well as giving a few facials and teaching some customers about the benefits of using the Clarins products on their skin.  However, I'm still bleeding at a decent rate and I'm not allowed to use tampons to soak it up--probably because those aren't designed to hold clots, I'm guessing.  So I'm not going in.

I feel guilty for not being able to go in during an event.  I sent about 20 texts to my Assistant Manager this morning giving her information about a few things that I was planning on doing this morning and I know she's already got enough on her plate.  And add to that, the segment of time they were planning on me taking up during the show.... well, I don't know what they're going to do with it.  I guess this is just the most un-ideal time for this to happen.  Next weekend would have been much more convenient.  There's nothing going on.

So now I'm wide awake, blogging about working because I can't actually be at work.  I must have a disorder of some kind, because everyone else says my body should be a priority and in my head, my responsibilities at work are battling for that position.

Isaac and I talked about the baby off and on all day yesterday.  We deal with things very differently.  My coping mechanisms are sleeping, writing, and eating.  He can't stomach anything, can't sleep, and keeps himself occupied.  But at least we talk about it.  Counseling has been immensely helpful in us learning to communicate better in situations that I find stressful.  We've been going to see Jessica Couch pretty regularly since I ended chemotherapy last year and we love her.

He wanted to call it Dion if it was a boy.  I loved Sevita for a girl.  We probably going to be due in February and I was planning on taking maternity leave until the middle of April, which was perfectly convenient because Isaac would be ending rotations at that time and could stay home with the baby until we had to move for residency.  It was unplanned, but was going to work out absolutely wonderfully, time-wise.

I didn't realize until I miscarried that I had started to want a baby.

For several months before I quit using birth control, I had been gung-ho against having kids until we were back in my beloved Iowa because my emotional life has been emotionally unpredictable since moving for med school.  I was depressed for a long time and struggled with some suicidal issues because I felt like I had no support here.  I'm extremely slow to make friends, and even slower to trust.  Blame it on past relationships or whatever you want, but the fact of the matter is that I'm broken in that area.  And then heap cancer, chemotherapy, radiation, medical bills, and being newlyweds on top of that... yikes!  I wasn't an anchor for Isaac during that time--I was a deadweight, pulling him down, down, down.

I don't want to do that to a child.  He didn't deserve it when it happened and they wouldn't either.  So how to prevent it?  Well my answer was just don't have kids.  Not until you are home in your safety zone surrounded by my Iowa family, friends, and other familiar faces because there you can break down and you know people will help.  They've helped before when I was diagnosed and pulled together over $10,000 to help with medical bills and expenses that we couldn't pay for because I couldn't work during treatment.  I know I'm safe with them.  I trust them.

But then at some point, I started to realize I can't let my fear rule that area of my life, because we may never have children if I do.  There's no guarantee that I'll ever live near my Iowa family again, and even less of one during residency.  You just take what you get.  Even though thinking about it is enough to get me worked into tears again, I think that's just something I have to get used to.  It's just extremely hard and very much heartbreaking to me, but it's life.  Sometimes life sucks.  There are other people whose families aren't even alive anymore, so I just need to think about the fact that mine are living and healthy--even if I can't be with them.

Writing the last couple paragraphs was really hard... exhausting, actually, so I've cried again for a while now and I'm going to go back to sleep.  I'll have to finish my thoughts later.

Surprises in May

The original purpose of this blog was to stay connected to friends and family back in Iowa when Isaac and I moved to Michigan for his medical schooling.  When I got diagnosed with cancer a few weeks after moving, it took on a new purpose--being open with people about our struggles while navigating through them.

This year, we celebrated our anniversary on May 8th.  It was awesome.  I had to close at Nordstrom and Isaac worked in the morning, so we didn't get to do anything the day of.  However, the morning after, I had my routine PET/CT scan and then was off for the day.

Since we were no longer preventing pregnancy, the hospital had to do a blood test for pregnancy before I could get my scan.  Had I realized how long they had to wait for the labs to get back, I might have stopped by the morning before so I didn't have to sit around for an hour, but lesson learned.  While I was waiting to get injected with the radioactive glucose, the tech and I were chatting about life.  When you get tests like this done regularly, you start to get to know the people at the hospital pretty well.  This guy was new to me--I'd only had him once before--so we were talking about family and how long he'd been working as a tech.

At some point in the conversation, he started talking about the statistics of how many people have actually been pregnant when they come in for their PET/CT scan.

Zero.

In his 12+ years of working as a radiology tech, he said he'd never had a result come back positive.  That's not exactly comforting.  I wasn't exactly sure what it meant, but it indicated to me there's a pretty strong correlation between people who get PET/CTs and not being pregnant.  Maybe it's because a majority of the people he sees are older, maybe it's because there's an unknown side effect of getting them regularly, or who knows what.... but I was kind of bummed when he told me that.

When the lab finally called, he went into the other room to hear the results and I was straining my ears to see if there was any surprise in his voice that might indicate I was pregnant.  Nope.  None at all.  By the time he hung up the phone I was settled in and ready to get injected, even though I was bummed.  He came back in the room and surprise, surprise: "Well ma'am, you're not going to be able to get your scan done today because we don't want to bake the baby!"

I'm sure I had a really big smile on my face but the only thing that absorbed at that point was that I wasn't going to be able to get my PET/CT.  Still, I walked out of the hospital grinning like a goon.  And I still smile now remembering the feeling.  I started to process it on the way home and screamed and cried a couple of times in the car on my way home.  Isaac was supposed to be at the hospital that morning, so when I pulled into our apartment complex and saw his car there, I was even more excited that I'd be able to tell him right away.

Now, my husband is a man of one face.  His expression rarely changes, regardless of the circumstance. I have no idea how that works, because everything I feel shows on my face.  I decided I'd try and play the "one-face" game when I told him to see if I could get a reaction out of him.  The conversation went something like this-

Isaac: "How did your scan go?"

Me: "I don't know."

Isaac: "Well, how do you think it went?" (You normally have to wait a few days to get results)

Me: "I don't know.  I didn't have one."

Isaac: "Why?"

Me: "We're pregnant."

Isaac: "What?"

AND HIS FACIAL EXPRESSION NEVER CHANGED!!!!!!  I tried, ladies and gentlemen.  I tried.  At first he thought I was joking, because I was doing a good job at hiding my own excitement.  Once he finally understood that I wasn't pranking him, he did crack a smile and laugh a bit.

Over the last couple of weeks, we've started doing things that I'm sure other parents-to-be do: talking about the baby, discussing names, figuring out insurance, finances, etc...  We've gotten a little attached to it and were envisioning a future with a child.

I say "were" because this morning I miscarried.

This week has been crazy, stress-wise.  My closest friend in Michigan, Pearl, has packed up and is moving to Texas today.  The cosmetic line that I manage started a gift with purchase on Wednesday (which I worked a 12-hour shift for).  And today we started a department-wide event that will run through today and tomorrow and will draw in hundreds of women and lots of chaos.

When I arrived at work this morning, I started to bleed a little bit.  I only noticed because I'm out of my "good" undergarments and I felt like I was getting an underwear line that was showing.  I went to adjust it, and while using the facilities, saw blood.  Bright red blood.  Pregnant women shouldn't bleed.

I called my husband because he always knows what to do, and after giving me an over-the-phone exam, he came and picked me up.  Off to the ER we went.  During our 3-hour stay there, I bled and bled and bled.  Chunks of blood.  I was given a foley catheter (a pinch uncomfortable getting it in, by the way) and they took me to ultrasound to take images of my uterus and ovaries.  After that, a few blood labs, and a pelvic exam, the doctor told Isaac and I that my pregnancy hormone had dropped significantly, indicating I was most likely no longer carrying.

So we were pregnant.

And now we're not.

I'm exhausted.  There's the unwritten rule that you don't share that you're pregnant until you're past the 12-week mark.  I was too excited, so I told quite a few people... probably half of the ladies I work with, some friends, and my three closest girlfriends.  After we left the hospital I sent out a mass text letting everyone know.

The rest of today has been filled with talking to my husband and my mom, naps, cramps, and getting lots of hugs and kisses from my husband.  He even took a nap with me, even though he wasn't tired--which is a HUGE thing.  I've gotten a ton of supportive texts and a couple of extremely sweet voicemails.

Thank you, to those of you who have given me encouragement.  It's still painful, but less.

We're going to keep "not preventing," but we'll see what happens.  The silver lining is that we know we CAN get pregnant.  Now to see if they'll ever stick...

Do People Announce These Things?

Fact #1.  We want kids.
Fact #2.  I'm a scaredy-cat.
Fact #3.  I'm a control freak.

Which brings me to today's blog... we're no longer preventing pregnancy.  We're not TRYING, (because there's apparently procedures, etc. for that) but we're not making effort to stop it anymore.

Isaac let me know several months ago, he would be thrilled if a little wiggle worm dropped out anytime now.  I, on the other hand, have been much more hesitant.  For several reasons--some of them legitimate, others not so much.

What if I'm a horrible mother?  What if Isaac's residency ends up being in Michigan and I go through a severe round of depression again?  What if I end up feeling alone because he's gone at the hospital all the time?  What if I become suicidal?  What if I don't love them good enough?  What if the chemo did something crazy to my body and I have mentally challenged kids?  Will I have enough patience for that?  Will I even have enough patience for a normal child?  What if my cancer comes back while I'm pregnant?  What if I get really huge--like, monstrously huge?  What if my acne acts up while I'm pregnant and I get pizza face again?

Ugh.

Obviously, some of these aren't as important as others.  Isaac says my mom genes will kick in and it will all be okay, regardless of the circumstances.  And he's probably right.

Through my cancer experience I learned I better handle things when I don't know what to expect.  Whoever first said that ignorance is bliss was my dispositional twin; I can roll with the punches as long as I can't tell where I'll get hit next.

So I'm lowering my guard and leave myself open for a beating that will probably rip me apart physically and exhaust me mentally.

I heard the payoff is definitely worth it.

Battleships

I know I haven't written in a while, but there's not been much to write about.  My days are repetitive and blend together into weeks, then months.  However, I feel I can say that I have friends in Michigan now. :)  That much has improved!

I was browsing my Facebook this morning, examining yet ANOTHER new, forced format for my profile when I realized that they post my "Notes" on my wall now.  Interesting.  I couldn't even remember what I'd written in the past.

Then I stumbled on this.  It's a note I wrote to a couple of people I love intensely almost exactly a year ago and it still holds a lot of meaning.  And the dream still plays perfectly in my mind:

I always used to think that people who grew up in a loving home, where the parents did they best they could to teach the love of God to their children, would eventually see the errors of their ways and turn to Christ.  Even if it were only that last moment before death--surely it would happen.

But I had a dream last night.

In my dream we were all together.  We were on a ship, like a cruise ship, except this one was flying.  We were enjoying life, hanging out, when all of the sudden someone came over the PA system and announced that America was in a new stage of terrorism alert.  Stage black.  Newscasters and prominent voices across the world were saying that in this stage, there was a 98% chance of a terroriest attack.

Not too much later, it was announced.  America was under seige.

He and I had been in a seperate room, talking.  This room wasn't crowded, as it was an unfinished room on the ship.  The walls and floors only had insulation on them and the wooden beams were bare.  No drywall or anything had been hung and there were no windows.  As soon as it was announced, he became so scared.  The look on his face... I can't even describe it.  I hurt so bad because I was sure he was thinking about "all the time" he'd always imaged that he would have in his life that could potentially be gone in moments.  People all around us were panicing, running to find family and friends, not wanting to be alone in their fear.  Some of them sat down in corners together, crying, talking.  Swaying as they held each other.

I turned my head for a moment, and in that moment, He hid.  He was terrified, I knew, and in his fear, dug his way under the insulation in the floor in a back room we'd been sitting near.  I felt in that moment he was believed if he could just hide his head... just close his eyes... just pretend... it would go away.  This was a dream.  My heart ached.

My friend.  Scared.  Feeling alone.  Hiding from his fears behind closed eyes.

I went into the room upstairs to see how everyone else was doing.

They were sitting by a window, watching the skies.  She looked nervous and scared, but the average person on the street wouldn't be able to tell.  Even now, the invisible audience was a priority.  But her eyes told all.  I sat down by her and we looked out the window together.  Just watching.  Hovering, trying to see if it was true.  Wondering if we would be a part of this war.

And then we saw them.

The enemy, flying through the air, big as battleships.  They were painted red and blue and were speweing fire every time they released a missle.  My arms went around her as we both watched as one was released toward us and she started to scream and cry, "This isn't fair!  I'm too young!  I am supposed to have more life to live!"

We blinked as it hit the ship somewhere beneath us and the power went out.  The second after, we were together, but alone in the darkness.

I jumped up and ran downstairs to get him, not wanting him to be alone during this, only to find his fear had taken over and he'd passed out.  I dragged him out of his insulated cocoon and threw him on my back.  Pushing my way through the clamor, I stumbled up the stairs in the darkness and made my way back to the rest of them.

Just as I saw them... Just as I got close enough to call out their names...  

I felt like I'd been hit by a wall of air.

My vision went white and I felt as high as I'd ever been.

It was over.

I woke up shaking.  Terrified.  I've never had a dream where I could so vividly taste the fear.  All around me were people.  And each of them knew that at any moment, all their dreams, plans, and any type of future they might have had could be gone.  What broke my heart the most, though, was that in those last moments.  Those moments right before death.  The moments that I've always been "sure" would affect those two...

They didn't.

And I have no idea where they went.