Transitions and Distractions

Well, things have settled down over here. I still can’t believe that when I get out of work I can’t call my mother, but it’s starting to become a part of my routine, so I guess that’s good. I’m grateful that AWP is this week because AWP is always the best distraction. Husband’s work gets crazy this time a year, and he’s gone a lot. AWP is a nice transition/distraction to the craziness. 

I’ve been submitting my work these past two months and have already submitted for March. I have an essay I’m working on for the end of March, so hopefully I’ll have a few new publications soon. I was hoping February would be as successful as January. The first place I sent something to repsonded almost immediately (like four days) and so I January was a great way to kick of the year. Tenure track resume by October. That is goal.

I’m looking forward to Boston. I’ve never been and am an American literature nut so it’s fun to think I’ll be in a city that discuss so often when I teach. 

I love AWP; it’s always such a rejuvenating experience. It’s so easy to get bogged down in the bullshit of teaching high school and forget that I’m actually writer. It’s been my mission this year to reclaim my inner artist. I told my students today that I was writer first (which was dumb because they are sixteen and don’t get it and one kid said, “you can’t be a writer, you’re not published.” It felt good to inform said student that I was, in fact, published. I wanted to add, “you little s*&!, but I do need the job to pay my bills. That shut the kid up.) I don’t want to be a bad, or even mediocre teacher, but my end goal is not high school. It’s college-level and not community college, but four-year university. 

Husband is always reminding me to not settle in my career. I’m glad I have his support. He understands that putting forth tons of effort into a job like teaching is not beneficial. It’s all about the writing.

I’ll try to post from Boston this week. I wonder how many of you readers will be there. Maybe you’ll start up a random conversation with me (I’m very much a talker) and not even realize it’s me.

See you in Boston. 

Update on Frankenmommy

So my mom got back from the doctor on Monday. The surgery was canceled because they found legions on both parts of her liver and a growth inside her chest. The doctors can’t perform the surgery to remove the tumors behind her stomach because it would require cutting too much of the liver. Also, because she had been doing chemotherapy for a long time her body became resistant to it, resulting in new growths. The doctor is now suggesting that she try a new type of chemotherapy, but we will know for sure what the actual plan of action is after her appointment tomorrow.

This, of course, isn’t what we wanted to hear. It isn’t terrible news, but it isn’t great news either. Last year after her first year doing chemotherapy, the doctor gave us great news: the tumors were shrinking, and were possibly inactive (dead). This gave the family all this hope. While, hope is not lost, it is deeply disappointing that the cancer is winning this battle. The war, however, wages on.

When I spoke to my mother on the phone she was very calm and wasn’t openly upset. She is a force. My Black Sheep sister called me shortly afterwards and was not so strong. She even claimed that my father was in hysterics crying. My dad is not a cryer.

I panicked. My mother has been known to hide family dramas from me. While I was in grad school our family experienced quite a few traumatic events, and I didn’t find out about them until it was too late to offer my help, or support. I also only found out about them from my sister. This happened recently when some drama went down with Black Sheep sister. Since I now live far away from my family and have been stressed out about my own problems, my sister (the white sheep?) has informed me that my mother didn’t want to burden me with the stress of the family.

Needless to say, that is bull$?@#, but  whatever. This is the kind of person my mother is. She is way too kind, and holds everything in, hence a disease like a cancer.

So, I called my father. He immediately started crying and said, “It’s not good news. It’s very bad.” After asking what the doctor said, he repeatedly replied, “The doctor said, we need a miracle. What does that mean? We need a miracle. It means it’s not good.”

I then chided him for freaking out in front of my mother. Seriously. She should haven’t to show us that she is strong, she should be looking to us for strength, and if she needs to cry.

I called my mother back. The following is our conversation:

Me: Ma, can you tell me why everyone is freaking out?

Ma: I don’t know. Whose freaking out?

Me: Daddy and Black Sheep.

Ma: I see.

Me: They really don’t need to be freaking out. Everything is going to be fine.

Ma: I know. It’s ridiculous. It’s going to be okay.

Me: Exactly.

Ma: Ridiculous.

Me: You should know that you are obligated to come to the wedding.

Ma: I know.

Me: I’m also holding you to your commitment to meet your future grandchildren.

Ma: I see.

Me: So if you have other plans, you’re going to have to cancel them.

Ma: (laughing) Yeah, I’ll put them on hold.

Me: Exactly, because everything is going to fine.

 

So, that’s it. I’ll know more about future treatments and actions tomorrow.

Black Sheep has been looking into some more natural remedies. Apparently there are diets, and herbs, and all kinds of “home” treatments that people swear by. I think at this point there is no harm in trying them.

If you know of any treatments for Sarcoma, please feel free to link to them in the comments, on twitter (@onemeanmfa), or email them to me (onemeanmfa@gmail.com).

It’s going to be fine.

Cancer, You’ve Been Warned

An Open Letter to the Cancer Inside My Mother,

How dare you? Seriously. She’s a good person. She wasn’t promiscuous, put up with my father’s bull. She was healthy; wasn’t overweight, or smoked, didn’t do drugs. Her one vice: coffee. Who can blame her, living in this never-sleep-gotta-push society.

She is a wonderful mother. She taught my sisters and I to be ladies. To be good. She taught us about kindness. To not be catty.  My mother taught us about the wonderful relationships women can share with each other. She showed us how women should look at each other as competition but as sisters. She taught us this as girl raised only with brothers. She taught us about sisterhood, and now she teaches this to girls who are troubled. She has taught us what it meant to be a woman, how being a woman is important.

She watched as her mother, too, was ravaged by a brain tumor. Her mother was a guinea pig for the doctors twenty-seven years go. Twenty-eight years in December. My mother used to tell me about how they had cut out so many parts of my grandmother’s brain that she could not express emotion anymore. How she was blind, when I was born (her first grandchild), and would put her hands on my face to figure out what I looked like.

Maybe this is our curse. Our heavy cross to bear. Thankfully, Cancer you’ve decided to spare her brain. I do feel grateful for that. I don’t know if I am strong enough to witness that kind of pain. I’m selfish that way.

My mother is not.

While she’s been fighting you, some battles she’s won (she kicks your ass when it comes to chemo), some you’ve won–nice work taking her lungs you piece of s*#t–she’s also helped my father come back from a quadruple bypass (there’s another health issue that makes no sense on a man as healthy and fit as my dad), she’s taken my Black Sheep Sister into the house having faith that Black Sheep Sister will overcome her drug addictions, relationship with our father, and other issues. She’s been standing by me as I prepare to enter the sacrament of matrimony. My mother has helped my father grieve the deaths of both his parents, and has watched her father slip into the deep depths of Alzheimer’s. Meanwhile, she’s been to prayer groups, prays the Rosary everyday, and still works.

If you were looking for a good person who doesn’t deserve to suffer, you found her.

Throughout life, we hear phrases like, “life isn’t fair.” Really? You’re kidding? My mother is walking proof of that. What I don’t understand, is why her. What did she do to deserve this?

Maybe that’s just it. Cancer isn’t something you earn. Cancer is evil. It’s calculating and cold.

Cancer doesn’t pick its victims the way society wishes it would. How often have you heard, “Poor thing, she doesn’t deserve this.” Who does? No one deserves to suffer this way. No matter what wrongs have been committed.

I think what makes Cancer so evil is not that it randomly selects its victims. Not even that grows so quickly, taking over like a horrible weed. Showing up as spots inside someone’s lungs, eventually running through their veins, in and out of one’s arteries and veins. It’s how it inflitrates and infects families.

I’ve watched as my father cried worried about his wife not being able to sleep in her own bedroom because of renovations. I’ve watched as my sisters worry that they too will be infected by Cancer. I’ve seen the horrible pity in the eyes of my friends when telling them about my mother.  For a while, I felt horrible that you might make me miss moments like picking my wedding dress or anouncing my engagment to her. Cancer, I worried you’d take that from me. Luckily for me, she is fighting bravely.

I pray my sisters will be so lucky.

The thing that bothers me most is that while I worry and pray that my mother will defeat you (don’t worry, you prick, she will), I also worry that you are stealing moments from her. Moments she deserves. Watching my sisters graduate, seeing all three of us marry, meeting her grandchildren, and knowing her great-grand children.

I’m not writing to beg you. I’m writing to warn you. She’s been fighting for five years and if there is one thing I get from my mother it’s that when I want something, I go after it. And you bet your ass, I won’t stop until I have it.

And Cancer, I want my mother around for a long time. I strongly suggest you pack your things and leave. We’ve all had enough of you.

I’m not kidding asshole.

You’ve been warned,

One Mean MFA

The Stomach, and Pancreas, and Liver, Too

As you know, my mother is battling Sarcoma, a cancer of the soft muscle tissue. She was scheduled for surgery this week and she called to tell me that her doctor had canceled the surgery. Of course, no one explained to her why that is. She mentioned something about how the doctor wanted to perform a few more scans. She told me he was supposed to call her today to explain and schedule an appointment, but never did. My mother seemed very calm on the phone.

She joked about how the operation was going to include her spleen being removed, parts of her stomach, pancreas, and liver too. She laughed about it. Saying, “Oh, Doctors suck.”

That’s all she said. She wasn’t crying. She was laughing.

She also laughed at my grandfather’s funeral, because sad things make her laugh.

It’s quite late as I write this. I have a spinning class at 6 AM and my alarm is set to go off in about 5 hours, but I can’t sleep. All I keep thinking about the scenarios that would result in my mother’s surgery being canceled.

Possible scenarios (I’ll start with the worst and work my way to being positive).

1. There is no point in doing the surgery.

2. They need to check to see if the cancer is spreading and this will result in an even more invasive surgery.

3. The tumors are too big.

4. The tumors are all over the place.

5. The chemo was working really well, so maybe they want to go back to just doing chemo.

6. They want to scan her tumors once more to guarantee that they are not active.

It could be anything. Maybe it’s something silly like the doctor was called off to some emergency surgery and can’t squeeze my mother’s procedure in.

I do think it’s not cool that they didn’t tell her why she didn’t have to finish her pre-op stuff. I don’t know how she stays so calm. I’ve been hysterical for an hour.

After a few texts back and forth with FH, I decided to just stop worrying and write about my feelings.

I told FH that I was worried and then I wrote, “I just love her so much and don’t want her leave. I am so worried.”

It then dawned on me that I was being selfish. I need to chill the eff out and pray for my mother instead of think about how I need her.

Shame on me.

Today at mass, I spent most of my time praying that God and the Virgin protect my mother and help her heal. I even asked the priest to pray for her. Then about an hour later my mother called. God works fast and mysteriously. Apparently.

I’ll keep you all posted on the situation.

Family + Holidays =Explosives

So like most people, I have a crazy family. I love them to death, but there are times when I want to die of embarrassment. Times when I question my biology. Tonight at dinner was one of those nights.

Some background::

I have two sisters. One of my sisters is nine years younger than me and is the funniest person on the planet. She is still in high school and on occasion her boyfriend joins us for dinner. Tonight was one of those nights.

My other sister is 21 months younger than me and we hate each other. She is the blacksheep in our family, and often all of us wonder how she ended up in our family. Her life is a chaotic mess and she is often times immature and blames other for her life and current living situation. She refuses to take responsiblity for her actions and this annoys me to no end. If you don’t like your life situation, stop bitching and DO something about.  When I’m around her for too long I feel like she has a toxic hold over me.  Her negative energy is able to suck the life  and light out of any space.

Tonight at dinner she started rambling about something completely inappropriate and even started telling racist jokes. She proceeded to tell my mother suffering from cancer that she wanted to make her pot brownies because it would help cure the cancer (I warned you, she is crazy). My mother, who is super conservative and opposed to the over use of Tylenol, opposed the idea of any kind of marijuana consumption.

My sister than went on some rant about inappropriate behavior of a doctor that she encountered. All the while my other sister’s boyfriend sat at the dinner table staring at his food. When (let’s call her blacksheep) Blacksheep started to tell racist jokes I removed myself from table.

I don’t think my sister is a racist; I believe she just wanted to repeat some joke she heard. Her disclaimer was that it wasn’t that funny. We were all unsure why she wanted to repeat it. I asked her repeatedly not to even say the joke, begging someone to help me change the subject. She said the joke, which was not funny. 

I sat there as she continued to defend herself and her friend who she heard the joke from. I then got up from the table, having heard enough. 

I went outside for brisk walk in the cold weather. It made me wonder why I drove twelve hours to come home for the holidays. I could have had a peaceful week of getting work done and relaxing. Instead, I enter this pit of chaos.

A week ago I was freaking out about moving so far away from my family, but after this evening, after the yelling, the not being able to sleep in a bed, and my sister’s erratic behavior, I’m relieved that on December 26th I get to leave.

I can’t stay here. 

What makes me sad is that my mother, who is ill, has to stay here. She deserves better. She deserves a clean comfortable house where she can rest and relax instead of constantly wonder what crazy ass thing Blacksheep is going to do or say.

It will be a Christmas miracle if I don’t tell Blacksheep off before the holiday weekend comes to an end.

Christmas miracles? They do happen, right?

Skip. Skip. Skip to my lou…

As I headed out for my run it happened. I hadn’t done it in years but something compelled me to skip. Who skips anymore? I felt like a little girl with pigtails who had nowhere to be and nothing to do. I will admit it was lovely and the more I skipped it the more I wanted to, plus I think serotonin was being released into my brain.

It made wonder if there is a correlation between happiness and skipping. I remember being encouraged by my mother to skip. We’d be outdoors and she would hold my hand and my sister’s and we’d skip around the cul-du-sac. It was great, but when did my love of skipping end?

I don’t know if it was the music on my ipod that encouraged such childlike behavior but suddenly I was skipping and smiling and not caring that I might be seen. I wasn’t seen so maybe that is a bit of a relief and knowing my image obsessed self, I probably would have stopped had a car been approaching, but I guess what would it have mattered if I was spotted skipping?

I’m pretty sure skipping is not only for little girls in pigtails.

I am wondering if I should continue skipping, and I should skip everyday? Would my people think I was crazy? Am I crazy for even considering skipping?

I told my other half how I skipped today and the response was, “okay?”  Maybe he was wondering if I was some crazy chick, I just couldn’t help it. I had to tell him.

I guess, I’m wondering if I’m alone in my skipping.

If you haven’t skipped lately, whether old or young, girl or boy, I think you should do it. If you’re having a bad day look up at the sky and skip for like ten seconds, I bet you’ll feel better. Thoughts?