Thursday, June 11, 2015
Wednesday, June 10, 2015
Today is the 38th anniversary of my birth. As is my tradition on this day every year, I ask my mom:
"What were you doing xx years ago today?"
And she always says something really cute, like "I had a date with an angel" or "drinking a beer" (she really did -- to induce labor). Usually this is an email exchange, but since she's been living with me for four months getting her cancer under control I just rolled over in bed this morning and asked her.
"Giving suck" she said.
EW! I don't want to think about the fact that she used to breast feed me. EW!
Somehow my coworkers found out the significance of today because they taped this note to my window:
Tuesday, June 9, 2015
Monday, June 8, 2015
Saturday, June 6, 2015
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Wednesday, June 3, 2015
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
My mom has been undergoing chemotherapy treatments since November. At first it was one day every two weeks and then starting on February 1st they changed her drug and she had to go every week.
In the beginning, I wanted to go and be with her for every single treatment (or at least have somebody from the family with her), but pretty soon she asked us all to stop coming with, because:
- My mom likes watching TV on her tablet with earphones
- If people come, she feels like she has to talk to them
- I have a job and being gone every Tuesday isn't impossible, but also isn't ideal
- Kasey has kids and appointments
- Kelly has to work too
- Keri and Kim and Pete live too far away
This made me feel awful.
Imagine bringing your mother to the hospital and just DROPPING HER OFF FOR CHEMO AND DRIVING AWAY TO GO TO YOUR STUPID JOB. But, it's what she wanted. And she was right, there's really no need to sit there with her for hours.
Anyway, at the end of your chemo, Minnesota Oncology makes you ring a bell to signify the end of a horrible chapter and the beginning of the rest of your life. My mom asked us to come to that, because she didn't want to be there alone ringing that bell, sobbing and by herself because it's emotional and what-not.
I was like, "sure Mom. All the people in the chemo room have been feeling sorry for you for MONTHS because you have NO ONE. 'Here comes the lonely old lady', they say behind your back. And then, suddenly here comes your ENTIRE family for the ringing of the bell. Sobbing, crying and carrying on but never there for you when you REALLY needed them. Just there for the glory. The glory of the ringing of the bell."
But, that's what we did. And it was really neat. And oh, how we cried.
And a few beers afterward, to celebrate: