The last 36

Initially, I was going to title this The Last 48, but then I realized that would imply that Monday night was rough, and that just isn't (wasn't) the case.  Monday night, I had Target popcorn for dinner. Monday night was awesome. That said...

The last couple days have been rough.

It started with my port flush yesterday. Combine a (foolish) nurse (who had, clearly, never had the pleasure of dealing with yours truly) who felt the need to warn me that that the hospital changed needle providers and this stick was gonna be worse than usual with a crippling anxiety disorder that automatically turns any mention of needle-induced pain into a high speed come apart... and all sorts of ugliness ensued. 

She was right. It did hurt more than usual. Not that she was the nurse who ended up sticking me. She sent in a replacement, real quick, after I asked her "Who would say that?!", followed by, "I'm going to have to ask you to stop talking and just do your job."

(Right now, any and all of my nurse friends are lifting their eyes to heaven and hoping they never have anyone the likes of me as a patient, I know.)

Anyway, the port was the beginning. Yesterday, around 11:00, I had the first of what would turn out to be... I don't even know how many, because I've lost count, total meltdowns. (I'm talking, repetitive, rolled up in a ball, crying so hard that my eyelids are swollen, meltdowns.)

It'a been a rough 36.

Mostly, because I'm in more pain than usual, but between the pain and stress, it's a vicious cycle.

The tissue surrounding my port is always tender for a few days after it's accessed, and I had not one, but two nurses poking and prodding me yesterday. 

The pea in my back is aggravated, because I felt crappy yesterday and spent much of the afternoon lying or sitting in an unusual position, trying to alleviate the pressure near my port.

This caused some (by which I mean: a crap ton of) back pain that was exacerbated by me spending too much time hunched over a laptop. 

Throw in stessors in every single area of my life this week, and I now have pain in my neck and between my shoulder blades that's making it painful to breathe. 

Like my body itself isn't enough to drive a girl to drink, the effect that stress has on my body anymore just makes me want to rock in a corner  (or curl up in the fetal position and cry... tomato/tomahto).

And while I've been lying here in bed all day (not really all day - I got home from work at 12:20, so it's really "only" been seven hours), I've been thinking that (feeling like) something needs to change. 

I don't know what that change is (who's kidding who? let's go ahead and upgrade that to what those changes - plural - will be), I do know that something's got to give. Soon.

And while I know that sounds like I'm being crazy dramatic at the end of a couple really hard days, what I know is that I need a change in the way the wind is blowing. (You know I do love me a solid Mary Poppins reference.) 

Fingers crossed that there's more than the fall weather coming. Maybe there really is a major change on the way. 

I hope so, because the last couple days have been hard. I mean HARD.

I'm really grateful that I don't have hard days really often, because man... when I do, they're brutal. 

September 11th

Two weeks ago, I sat in an exam room in Houston, and I heard that, while my little friend had been growing... it wasn't growing fast enough to merit starting chemo right away.

A precious few thoughts went through my head:

Thank you.

I get to have my birthday month. ... Again.

I'll be able to see The Sound of Music in the theater on Tuesday.

I'll get to go to Tempe Town Lake on Sept 11th.

I've got another couple months to eat chocolate, and see if I can't get my stomach to tolerate beef and/or bacon again.

I have more time.

Thank you.

I love Tempe Town Lake. All the time, during all of the seasons. I love the lake and I love the park and I love the bridges. I love it during the light of day, and I love it at night when the bridges are alive with twinkle lights. I love it!

But I especially love it on Sept 11th. They plant a flag for every life lost on the planes and on the ground. Each flag has a name and a brief bio for the man, woman or child that flag represents.

It is a beautiful, holy, experience to go and walk among the flags.

Last year, I was still recovering from surgery and I remember walking through the flags very carefully, taking mincing steps as I made it from one end of the park to the other... grateful that I was strong enough, well enough, to be there - but frustrated that I couldn't stop and stand at each flag, reading the bios, as I had done in years past.

This year, I walked into the park and I stopped at three flags. I read three bios. And then I had to sit down. (Most of these pics were taken from a bench. Or as I walked into or out of the park.) I can't meander through the rows of flags anymore, and I can't bend down to read the names tied to the combat boots. But I was able to be there, and I hadn't been sure that would be possible this year.

I am still here, and I still get participate in the events and the lives that matter the most to me.

I'm so grateful. To be an American, for the memory of September 11, 2001 and the weeks that followed. For my life, and everything that has happened in it. That I got to spend yesterday morning in a park, looking at flags, thinking about life and remembering what matters.

A day in the life of a bald girl

I was running low on hummus and flat out of avocados here at Casa de Cancer Girl, so I made a Walmart run this afternoon. Don't worry about how I used no less than seven of those antibacterial wipes they provide to decontaminate the shopping cart before I went into the store. (Mostly because chemo has brought out the OCD in me in a way that was heretofore unimaginable, but also because when I tried to pull just one wipe, seven came out in a string.)

I made my way through the aisles:

Ensure (because it qualifies as a legitimate snack/meal in my current world, and the dark chocolate kind is NOT disgusting). Check.

More fake eyelashes (because now that my real lashes are gone, I am all over gluing fake ones on - every day). Check.

Toilet paper and Kleenex with lotion (because one can NEVER have too much of either of these things). Check.

White wheat flour, in case I ever want to make baked goods again. Check.

And then I moseyed on over to the produce aisle, where I swear I bought three of everything. (Except lettuce. Because, I swear to you, if I ever eat salad again, it will be too soon.)

As I was standing over the avocados, I had a clear view of the people walking into the store. So, I watched them. It has been interesting to me to gauge the reactions of people when I'm out in public without anything covering my head. Children generally stare and then smile or start giggling. (I love how honest kids' reactions are to the baldness!) Adults' reactions can usually be split into three different camps: the look away and then look back and then stare off into the distance (rinse and repeat... ad nauseum), the quick glance and then hard stare at anything that's not affixed to the top of my shoulders, and those who look straight into my eyes and smile. (I like the smilers the best, in case you were wondering.)

Watching the incoming traffic for a few moments, I clocked a few looky-loos, a handful of hardcore avoiders, and couple smilers. Grinning from ear to ear (human behavior fascinates me, and one of my favorite things about being bald has been the social experiment of seeing how people react to it), I went back to picking avocados out of the bin. As my head went down, I saw one of the smilers walk past me and into produce section to the right of me. He made it about 15 feet past me, and then, out of the corner of my eye I saw him stop walking. He stopped, turned, and came back towards me, asking, "Ma'am, can I give you a hug?"

Of course I said yes, but I'll be honest and say that I went into that hug wondering if and/or why he'd felt impressed to approach me, a perfect stranger with one hell of a space bubble, and ask for a hug in the middle of the produce section. But as soon as he touched me, I knew it wasn't about me. His arms went around me, and his face went into my neck. Both his shoulders and his voice shook as he held me close and told me about his mom.

Lung cancer. Stage four. She's been gone almost a year, and he misses her every day.

We stood like that for maybe five minutes while he talked about his mom. Then the grown man who had let himself fall apart in public put himself back together again and pulled away. He thanked me, wished me well and told me to keep fighting. I thanked him back, told him I was so sorry for his loss, and assured him that I have every intention of keeping up my end of this fight. And then he walked away.

I don't know his name. He didn't ask mine. Names didn't matter. Heartache and a shared experience of having cancer rip our lives apart bound us together in a way that introductions and small talk never could have.

As much as I miss my hair, I am grateful for the time that I have had without it. I have both seen and been seen differently as a bald girl. Today, I am grateful that I was in the right place, at the right time, with an obvious tell to the battle I am fighting. I never would have imagined that my bald head would be the impetus for making such an unusual, yet strong, connection with someone I had never met, and am unlikely to ever see again.

Cancer sucks, but people don't. And I love that both the universe and the people of the world keep reminding me that people are awesome, and that we have - and share - experiences in mortality for a reason.

Eight days later

And (finally) my geography has changed. This is my current view. (Don't mind the clutter on my table, okay?)

For the first time since Thursday of last week, I was out of bed and in the living room first thing this morning. (Keep in mind that I sleep until around 9:00, so "first thing" isn't something that happens as the sun comes up.)

Today, I am grateful that I can sit in my recliner. (I flipping love this chair.) And I'm super grateful for the friends that I have, for the friends that I have always had, in my life.

Jo popped in around 10:00 this morning and stayed until she had to go get her girls from school. Shortly after she left, I received a fb email from one of my friends from ye olden days in Provo. (Ben Matthews, for those BYU 3rd warders who would recognize the name.) A few minutes ago, I was scrolling through fb and read a quote that my seminary teacher, Evan Bingham, had written in response to some comments mutual friends had made on a post he did today.

"Truly Elder Maxwell hit it right when he said, 'Recall the new star that announced the birth at Bethlehem? It was in its precise orbit long before it so shone. We are likewise placed in human orbits to illuminate. Divine correlation functions not only in the cosmos, but on this planet, too.' Elder Neal A. Maxwell, October 2002"

My mind immediately flew back in time twenty years to a conversation I had with my friend Olettie Colettie (aka: Noodlehead, aka: Colette Bird, nee Bright), in which she shared a thought from a BYU devotional she'd attended that week (paraphrased, because I don't know the source), that those people who have eternal influence on our lives are the same people who always have and who always will have eternal influence on our spirits.

I'm so grateful for all of the amazing people I've known in my life. I have more good and happy memories than, I am sure, is my fair share. The Lord has been very, very good to me, in that He has placed wonderful, supportive, funny, artistic, thoughtful, brave and kind people in my path. I wouldn't be who I am without all the friends I've had - so many of whom I still have - in my life.

I am, pretty much, the luckiest girl in the world.

The Wizard of Oz was on to something, I think...

I went to church today, for the first time in ten weeks.

It's funny, how not being able to do something makes you really want to do it. (Insert ironic eye roll here, because going to church has never been something that I want to do on a weekly basis. ...  I mean, I don't hate it. But I also don't wake up on Sundays thinking "Hooray! Today, I get to go to church!" ... Except, today I did.)

It was so good to be back in my familiar seat. (Second row from the back, left side of the chapel, aisle seat, purse blocking the seat next to me to ensure my solitude.) It was great to sing songs that are part of who I am, and it was awesome to see people I love, and who I know love me. 

I was stopped by a couple sweet sisters on my way out of the building this afternoon, women who wanted to tell me they love me and pray for me every day, and I was reminded of one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite movies.

It's so easy to get caught up in the day to day struggles of my life, most of which I have to face myself, due to the very nature of the battle that I am fighting. I always know that I am loved. I never feel like I am in this alone. Whether it's in the forefront or at the back of my mind, I always know that I have the most incredible support system and cheering squad in, like, the world.

But today... Today I got to feel love in a way that I don't always feel it.

And that was truly a gift.

From the familiar nods and smiles at church, to the way my sweet friend Beth just grabbed me and hugged me and then apologized, saying she didn't know if that was "allowed" (it typically isn't, but I'll make all kinds of exceptions for that girl), to an unplanned field trip to the Mesa temple visitors' center where, again, a sweet little Chilean sister missionary grabbed me by the waist (I mean that quite literally, she didn't even come up to my armpit) and hugged me, telling me that she was glad I had come to the temple, to my niece and nephews running to the door to hug me hello when I got to my brother's house for dinner tonight...

Today, I have felt love.

I mean, love has had an overwhelming presence in my life today. 

I am always aware that I have been blessed to know some of the very best people. I'll be the first to tell anyone that I have more love in my life than I can begin to understand. But today, I have felt such an incredible amount of love flowing in and out of me... all day long that it's just been... well... amazing. 

Part of me wishes all the days could be like today, but most of me knows that I couldn't handle it if they were. (Let's be real, there aren't enough tissues in the world to soak up all the happy tears. It would be exhausting... and messy.) But that doesn't mean that I'm not grateful for a day like this, totally awash in warm and fuzzies that go to my core. Because I am. So (so!) grateful.

Up on the housetop reindeer pause

This is probably my earliest specific-to-Christmas memory...

We were in Provo for Christmas, visiting my mom's parents. I was upstairs (a rare occurrence, let me tell you!) with Grammy. We were in the front room. She was in her chair (the dark blue swivel rocker, for those of you who'd remember such things) and I was standing in front of her and we were singing Christmas songs.

She asked if I knew Up on the Housetop. I didn't. So, she offered to teach it to me.

She sang it through once so I could hear it before she started to teach me the words.



Two things I remember: she snapped her fingers with the "click, click, click", and I giggled at the thought of reindeer having paws.

When she finished the song, I told her the song was silly, because reindeer have hooves, not paws. She smiled her beautiful, happy, smile and told me that "pause" was a different word than "paws", and that it meant to stand still or wait for a minute.

I think of her every time I hear this song. I see her smile, and I hear her fingers snapping with the clicks, and I am grateful for a memory of singing with my grammy who was smart enough to slow down and take a minute to explain the difference in two words that sounded exactly alike to her precocious (that's the nicest word I can think of to describe myself) granddaughter.

Pictured below, Me. December 25, 1978.

(Don't worry that I had just turned four, two months before this picture was taken, and I'm as tall as the organ I'm standing in front of. ... I did stop growing. Eventually.)

The Christmas I learned that pause and paws are two different words.

White Christmas

Tonight, I got to see White Christmas on the big screen.

Again.

Last year, I went with some single friends, and it was a good time.

This year, I took Cili with me. And it was... well... perfect.

I so love that kid!

C's such a funny, sassy, musical-loving kid. When I saw that White Christmas was the classic movie for this week, I knew she's who I should see it with this year. And I'm so glad that I did.

She was suitably impressed that I know the movie well enough to talk along with the dialogue...

"When what's left of you gets around to what's left to be gotten, what's left to be gotten won't be worth getting whatever it is you've got left."

And the ever popular,

"Well, I like that. Without so much as a 'kiss my foot!' or 'have an apple!'".

Also, 

"In some ways, you're far superior to my cocker spaniel."

But I digress.

Towards the end of the movie, as I was basking in the glory that is White Christmas (it was the final scene when they do the dinner and everyone's in uniform), I had a memory rush in of the year that Santa brought the VHS tape and a giant bag of Cheetos. (I think I was 15.) After everyone else went back to bed, my mom and I sat down on the brown couch in the family room, with the bag of Cheetos between us, and cried and sang and laughed and cried our way through the movie. (Those dang general scenes make me cry. Both in the beginning and at the end. Every time. For over 25 years.)

We'd been watching White Christmas for years, but only when it was on TV. We didn't own a copy of the movie until that year, and being able to sit down and watch it from beginning to end without commercials, just the two of us, with an unlimited supply of crunchy Cheetos... I remember that Christmas morning better than I remember most of them, because of the trifecta of awesomeness.

That Christmas morning was perfect.

Tonight, I took a 10 year old to see a movie with me. We had a giant tub of buttered popcorn to share (my one true love... even Cheetos have to take a backseat to buttered theater popcorn), more candy than any two girls should ever have access to at one time and two 32 oz Cokes. I quoted the movie, and sang my little heart out (and did a little chair dancing, as I am sometimes wont to do). C sat there next to me, sometimes laughing, sometimes staring straight ahead (I'm pretty sure my wild arm gestures to "Choreography" took her aback), and sometimes singing along (she knew every word to "The Best Things Happen While You're Dancing" - most impressive).

Just before Bing headed to NY to be on the Ed Harrison show, C leaned over and said she was going to fall asleep. (It was after 8:00 and she is a girl after my own heart, with her early bedtimes.) For maybe 5 minutes, she was drowsy... but then I whispered/sang my own special version of "Love", and she perked up.

By the beginning of that final scene, she was wide awake and happily singing along to the "Gee, I Wish I Was Back in The Army" song. We laughed and we sang, and I chair danced a little. And then, while Bing and Rosemary and Danny and Vera Ellen and Cili sang "White Christmas" and they threw the barn door open so everyone could see the snow, I just... sat there. Watching the movie, listening to my little ten year old friend sing along, and I realized... I was having a totally perfect moment.

Watching White Christmas.

Again.

But, this time, I was on the other end of that generational gap. Tonight, I was the grown up who was sharing a movie and some snacks with a kid that meant the world to her.

I love my life.

I do.

I love it.

I may not have children of my own to brainwash, but I do have children in my life. Cili's not my 10 year old, but tonight, I got to have a generational bonding experience with her.

I've always been grateful that Dean and Jo live so close, that I have so much access to them, to their family. 

But tonight, I'm grateful on an entirely different level.

At this point in my life, the reality is that I know that I will never have my own biological children. ... Mind you, I'm not giving up hope that someday I'll marry a fabulous man who'll buy me some babies from an orphanage in a foreign country where they'll never think to check my health history before they release some kids to my care. I am not giving up on the dream of being a mom and raising kids. But the reality is that I live in a body that grows cancer, not babies. That ship has sailed... around the world, actually. Twice. ... But tonight, I had a flash of focus where I could actually see that I had passed on something I love to another generation.

I'm so grateful for that gift, for this sudden awareness that I have given Cili some of the same things that Judy gave me. 

I'm so grateful that the Woods can see beyond all the potential damage I could do to their children, and they let me have an active role in their children's lives.

Tonight, I am grateful; for a movie I love, for the woman who taught me to love it, and for my friend who shares her children with me.

This may not be the circle of life that I expected, but it is the circle that I have... and I am infinitely grateful for what (and whom) I do have.

I'm grateful: For the perfect moments in my life, for movie musicals, and for the people I get to share both of those things with.

When it rains, it pours.

The Neon may well have met its watery grave today...

Only time (and the body shop's estimated cost of repairs) will tell.

We had a record-breaking rain here in Maricopa county last night.

For real.

That was the I-10 this morning.

To clarify, the pic of the Neon is in my own parking lot. Not only did I not hit the freeway in my little car... I couldn't get IN it, my own self, to move it from where I'd parked last night. This pic was taken this afternoon, when I got home from work. The water was about 1/3 up the doors this morning, and had flooded the inside of the car up to the top of the seats. (My one regret about this day is that I didn't get a good pic of the inside of my car this morning, while there was still a river running through it.)

I've called my insurance company. Filed an "Act of God" claim. Got transferred to the Catastrophe Team (seriously, that's a DEPARTMENT at State Farm!). I picked up a rental tonight on my way home from work. (God bless Joshua and his truck for... once again... coming to my rescue. He dropped me off at the bank on his way to work, and helped me get to Hertz on his way home. I seriously don't know what I would have done without him!) Tomorrow morning, my car will be towed to the shop and they will determine whether it'll cost more to fix my car than it's worth. (Honestly, my thoughts are that it would probably cost more to clean my car than it's worth. The water that dude's been sitting in all day is pretty grody. Oh, and I think he's probably worth about $300.)

I'm not sure how to feel.

On the one hand, that car's been sooooo good to me. For the last 13 years. So, I hate to see it go.

On the other, I've been driving that car FOR THE LAST 13 YEARS. (And it's been literally a pain to get into and out of since my first tumor. It's so low to the ground that I practically have to fall into it. ... And getting out is, I am not kidding you, a seven-point maneuver that usually ends in a grimace and/or an expletive.) So, I'd love to replace it with something that's higher from the ground. My sad little body's had it with the 4-door sedan.

My emotions have run the gamut today.

I've been cracking up laughing, all day long, about the river that was running through my car this morning. I actually think it's SO funny that so much damage could get done overnight, in a parking lot, by rain. IN THE DESERT.

As much as I'd love to have a reason to buy a new car... it also makes me want to throw up to think about adding another expense to my life when... frankly, it's already pretty expensive.

I've decided to pray that the Neon will make it. If only because I'm pretty sure my medical expenses are going to take another nose dive in the next couple months... and I'd really rather NOT be out another $200-$300 a month for a car payment in the foreseeable future.

As much as I'd really like one of those cute little baby-sized SUV's, I'd really rather keep my crazy old car that's been paid for for almost a decade...

Wish me luck!

The #1 Mom

Today, I am grateful for the woman who invented me.

Biologically, she gave me:

My curly hairs

My big eyes

My strong nails

My crazy laugh

My crooked teeth

By example, she taught me:

To accept myself as I am

To choose happiness

To love people as they are
To play with children

That's it's okay to laugh OUT LOUD

I see my mom in the way that I hold a newborn baby, and in how I wash dishes and then set them on the stove to dry. I hear her laugh when I laugh, and every once in a while, I'm lucky enough to hear her when I'm singing.

As grateful as I am that Judy is my mom, I'm even more grateful that she's my friend. Every day, I am grateful.

Thanks, Mom. For everything. I love you.

How can I find comfort when someone I care about dies?

Sometimes, life throws you a curve ball.

Last Sunday, I was asked to flip lessons and teach this Sunday (today), instead of next. I agreed to teach said lesson without asking what the assigned topic was.

Uh... hello. See the title of this post. THAT was the assigned topic.

Interesting, as I've been in a bizarre form of denial about Mark. (Some of it mourning, as in sadness, some of it is anger, and... I am sorry to say that I've just put a finger on this in the past week... some of it survivor's guilt. Which, really, I'm thinking is probably the root of some of the anger.)

Anyhoo, this lesson hit me like a freight train. And I had some SERIOUS grumpiness directed at The Powers That Be (aka: God) that THIS is the lesson that fell into my lap. So much so that I put off reading all the recommended conference talks until this morning, and that's when it hit me. ("It" being the freight train.)

Would you read this quote? Oh my goodness gracious, it's like Elder Nelson was speaking DIRECTLY TO ME, in a talk he gave over twenty years ago:

Irrespective of age, we mourn for those loved and lost. Mourning is one of the deepest expressions of pure love. It is a natural response in complete accord with divine commandment: “Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die.” (D&C 42:45.)

Moreover, we can’t fully appreciate joyful reunions later without tearful separations now. The only way to take sorrow out of death is to take love out of life.

Russell M. Nelson, “Doors of Death,” Ensign, May 1992, 72–74

Again, "the only way to take sorrow out of death is to take love out of life."

Insert my softening heart right here.

It's worth it. The grief and the sorrow when we lose someone we love? ... It's TOTALLY worth it. Because if we didn't love those people so much, they wouldn't leave a hole. But we do love them, so they do leave a hole. ... And since the cost of not missing them would be not loving them, the pain is worth it.

Am I still sad (and sometimes mad)? Yeah. Do I have a measure of guilt (that I know is irrational, because it's not like this is a choice I made, or a circumstance I created), because I am still here and Mark is gone? Also, yeah. ... But I have a heck of a lot more peace than I did even 24 hours ago, and for that, I am grateful.

You've got to know that I still cried through my entire lesson (I'm a weepy little thing), but I'm so grateful for the "opportunity" (I put that in quotes, because I fought this lesson good and hard) to teach this exact lesson - right now, when I  needed it.

It's amazing to me, how the Lord creates circumstances to meet our needs. Simply amazing. Poetic, even. I love Him.

Happy Thanksgiving, ya'll!

On this day, I am (once again) overwhelmed with how very many blessings, how very much LOVE, I have in my life. Thank you. Thank you, all. For everything.

I actually wrote a talk!

Sort of. (Not really.)

I can't remember if I talked about this on ye olde blog. ... I know I did on the facebook, but I can't remember if I ever mentioned it here. (Don't ever get old. Or, if you do, don't lose your memory like I have. It's not fun.) ... Anyway, I was asked to speak at the Single Adult 3rd Sunday fireside this month. (We all know that I am a public speaking junkie. We also know that I will NEVER pass up an opportunity to speak to a group of single adults, because I am what we in the industry like to call a "shameless self promoter". I will get the attention of a tall man just about any way I can, and if that means I need to get up and talk about my history with the cancer, then... so be it.) I had been asked to share some of my experience with the cancer, and speak with an overall theme of gratitude.

Check and check. Those are, pretty much, my favorite things to talk about. E-ver.

And I did something totally out of character and I wrote a talk. (Not really. More like, I made a list. Or, rather, a series of lists. We all know that I love to make lists!) First I gave some details with the initial diagnosis and the history of the surgeries... and then, in the last 15 minutes or so, I shared the following:

What I've lost:

- A kidney, my spleen, a foot of my colon and 5 cm of my diaphragm.

- My immune system.

- A ton of weight. (Most of which I've gained back, but whatever. I lost it at one point, so I'm counting it here.)

- The ability to digest bell peppers, onions, garlic and spaghetti sauce.

- The will to hold a grudge, and/or the desire throw a fit when things don't go the way I wanted them to.

What I've learned:

- Where the retroperitoneum is AND how to spell it.

- That having your spleen removed is a splenectomy, but having a kidney removed is a nephrectomy. (I'm not sure why this is. Neither Merriam-Webster nor Dictionary.com can give me a satisfactory answer as to the etymology of the word "nephrectomy". Apparently, it started showing up in medical journals between 1875-1880, with no notes as to the actual origin of the word. ... Argh.)

- All manner of information on stool softeners and laxatives: which brands work best, and how often to take them (and in what combinations) to offset the effects of narcotics.

- How to walk again. Three times.

- That more people remember me, love me, and are genuinely interested in my life than I ever could have imagined.

What I know:

- The Lord has a plan, for all of us. He has a great, wide, plan for all of His children, sure. But He also knows us as individuals, and has a specific plan that was custom-made for each one of us, to get us where He wants us to be.

- Me getting cancer, three times, was part of the plan. I know this, because with each successive diagnosis, I was changed. There were things I learned the first time around that blew my freaking mind: not the least of which is I learned what my body could go through, and still come out okay. (Not awesome, but okay.) With my second tumor, I gained a whole new appreciation for the blessings of the priesthood my life. That second round clarified how important the gospel is to me, how important family relationships and friendship really are, and it helped me learn not to take my life - or anyone in it - for granted.  And the third time around... well, there aren't words (and there isn't time) to go into everything I learned that time, so I'll narrow it down to my three biggest lessons learned in the calendar year of 2012: Love is the most powerful force on earth, prayer is real, and miracles happen.

- I know the Lord loves me. I know that He is aware of what happens in my life. I know that, even when (especially when) things are really hard, He takes care of me. I know that He has placed people in my sphere who bless and enrich my life in ways that I cannot begin to number.

- Again, I know the Lord has a plan. For each of us, He has a plan. And the cancer was part of His plan for my life. I know that. I know it as sure as I know that 1/3 of the hairs on my head are grey because of said cancer. Why I had to get sick, I may never know, but what I do know is that I would never give it back. The sleepless nights, the fear, the anxiety, the pain that I cannot begin to describe, the nerve damage and the scar tissue and the knowledge that I'll have scans for the rest of my life... I wouldn't give any of that back, because while cancer was really (REALLY) hard, it was also incredibly awesome, because it taught me about faith and life and love.

- And the most incredible thing about knowing that the Lord knows me, loves me, and has a plan for me is knowing that He also knows, loves, and has a plan for every other single person on the planet.

I testify that there is a plan, even a plan of happiness. Men are that they might have joy. Even in the midst of our trials - in the middle of the deep, dark night - the Lord knows who we are and He knows what we need. It is my belief that He wants us to be happy, to find the joy in the every day, and to celebrate every good thing in our lives.

* Yup, I talked about poop. From the pulpit. I even said the word "poop". Because it's Whitney's birthday - and because I could. (How often does an opportunity to say the phrase "poop from the pulpit" come up? I mean... I had to snatch that one right up.)

* I had no less than three people (a biology teacher, a doctor AND some sweet soul with an iPad) inform me that the word nephrectomy comes from nephrons. Apparently, that's what kidneys are made of. ... Or something like that. (I stop listening as soon as medical talk gets too graphic. Don't judge. It's a coping mechanism.)

* I had several people come up and tell me that they hadn't planned on coming, but felt like they needed to... and they were so glad they did, because that talk was for them: a cancer patient (breast cancer) and a man who's getting ready to undergo his fourth abdominal surgery in less than a year among them. That is literally what I prayed for, people - that I would say would people would need to hear. (Oh, and that I'd be funny and they would laugh. Because I so didn't want to be a boring fireside speaker. ... It happens. Sort of a lot.)

Man alive, I enjoy public speaking. But beyond the act of standing in front of a room full of people and knowing that I can make them laugh and/or cry, I love the personal connection that comes of knowing that people really heard what you had to say. I love people. I love them SO much! I'm so-so-so grateful for my life, for all of the blessings and all of the awesomeness that I enjoy on a daily basis. And tonight, I'm grateful that I had an opportunity to talk about so many of the things I am grateful for. ... If I could find a way to do this for a living, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I really would. But for now, I'll just go to bed happy that I was able to speak tonight, because I really do love it - so much.

Happy Father's Day!

My dad is....

Kind, generous, loving, giving, hard-working, funny (and punny), compassionate, strong, devoted, silly, awesome.

My dad loves...

My mom, his kids/grandkids, round pieces of pie, Blue Bell (and all other manner of ice cream, but esp BB), Jurassic Park, high-tech gadgets, children of all ages, fishing, almond M&M's.

My dad taught me...

How to read, to pick my hair up off the floor so it doesn't jam the vacuum, that it's alright to get weepy over sentimental, patriotic and/or spiritual things, how to make ice cream, carmel popcorn and hot fudge sauce, how a man should treat a woman, to never settle for anything that is beneath me, that it's okay to do/say/be what I want to.

I love my dad. I am grateful, all the time. that he is one of the two awesome people who raised me. He's taught me so much, on so many levels, in so many ways.

Happy Father's Day, Daddio. You're the very best dad I've ever known, and I'm glad you're mine. I love you!

The #1 Mom

It's Mother's Day.

Which means that phone lines, inboxes and social media sites everywhere have been flooded with people saying that their mom is the best. While I don't think those people are lying, per se, I do think that they just don't know...

MY mom is the #1 Mom.

It's true. She tells me so all the time.

I can't tell you how many voicemails she's left me, "This is your mom. Call me back. You know my number. It's #1."

She's the best. I love her!

This is one of my favorite pictures of us:

Do you see the way we're smiling at each other? ... Some things never change. We still do that.

I'm grateful for the things that I got from my mom:

my hair
my eyes
my nose
my fingernails
my laugh

I think of her every day, and I'll love her forever.

Thanks, Mom - for giving me life, and for teaching me how to live it. I love you!

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Anniversary!

Kids, it's official.

Razzzberries and I have been together for five years.

True story. Here's a link to my first post ever.

And what a glorious five years it has been!

I wasn't kidding when I said that this blog would be an outlet. (The Prophet Laur strikes again!)

I've told silly stories. I've talked about serious stuff (the cancer, anyone?). I've regaled you all with tales of me driving away with gas nozzles and peeing my pants in theaters. I've written about my family, my friends, my beliefs and all manner of other things near and dear to my heart.

This little blog has been a blessing in my life; as have you been, dear readers.

Thank you for giving me so much of your time and attention over the past five years. ... I sure hope my talking about my poop so often post-surgery didn't ruin your lives.

Here's to another five years of online craziness!

(I'd go buy me and Razzzberries an anniversary present, but Wikipedia told me that the five year anniversary is marked with gifts of wood and/or silverware. #Lame.)

Christmas traditions

My mom called this morning to tell me that she was going to be giving the lesson in Young Women's today, and she was SO EXCITED, because the lesson was on traditions. Mom and I get pretty excited about traditions, because we think they're great memory makers. We talked for about half an hour before I had to go out the door to my own church meetings, and I've been thinking ever since about our Christmas traditions - what they are and what they mean to me.

I'll share just a few:

sugar cookies - baking them, frosting them AND eating them
Harry Connick Jr's Christmas album - I cannot get enough of the big brass sound
fudge - at least 3 different kinds
dipping pretzels (for hours) as we talk around the table
cold cereal in snack-sized boxes
microwave popcorn as a meal
watching movies all day Christmas day
the garland around the living room ceiling
Mom's wall of Christmas photos
watching (and quoting) White Christmas all month long
going caroling with Mom
having a friend come over to play the piano while Mom, Kate and I sing
Christmas tree pizzas
the unofficial seating arrangement in the living room Christmas morning
waking up SUPER early because it's Christmas, even though we're all grown up
Queen Anne chocolate covered maraschino cherries
the Milk Dud cartons on top of the freezer

The 25 Days of Christmas book

I tell you, I could go on and on. I know that most of the stuff I typed up there won't sound familiar (or even make sense) to most of you, and that's okay. These are my family's Christmas traditions. You have your own, as you should. There are things that we do that my mom's family did, there are things that we do that my dad's family did, there are things that no other family (including the Griswolds) would have ever done, but we do it and we love it. (Insert a visual of Tyler's bacon-wrapped Christmas tree pizza from last year.)

Traditions. They are memory makers. They make the holiday, the magic, the relationships we have with our loved ones real. I am grateful for them, for the sameness of things from year to year. Going home to my parents house and opening the living room door to see the wall of stockings that have been hung in the same place all of my life? That's when I know that I am home, on so very many levels.

My word, I love Christmas! And so much of why I love it is wrapped up in the way my parents taught me how to celebrate it. I'm grateful for music and candy and laughter. Out of all the things we do, having fun together - I think, anyway - is the most important. Thanks for the memories, thanks for the silly (and meaningful) traditions that we have, Mom and Dad. So much of why I love Christmas is because the two of you did. Thanks for raising me right.

These are a few of my favorite things...

Yup, the title of this post totally made me burst into song. (You know me so well.)

Here are some fun pics that bring me joy. The kind of joy that only comes from seeing things that remind me of my grandparents, of my childhood, of "cousin bonding" in the back room at Grammy's, of the smell of Dial soap and the taste of Tin Roof Sundae ice cream.



Does anyone know who made these? They're in Kathy's bathroom, but in the back of my head, I'm thinking Cindy made them at a Homemaking meeting. Any of my favorite aunts want to take a stab at where this came from?



Ahhh... the label maker. It's a thing of legend in the Ball family.



More label-made magic. (I love Grandad!)



Whom among us doesn't love the tissue paper flowers? They're one of my earliest memories, and I was super happy to see them again.



I so spun in the chairs. Bwuah-ha-ha...

I love the memories that all of these things bring back to me. I love my grandparents, and I love my cousins and I'm so grateful for all the funny and quirky things that we have in common because our grandfather was a label maker and our grammy didn't want us to spin in chairs or touch the pole.

I love my silly dad!

This picture is a few months old. My mom had been staying with me for a few weeks last Spring, when my dad and sister decided to hop on down for a weekend visit. While they were here, my brother Kirk and his family stopped in. This is my dad, with Mardi Gras beads draped across his glasses frames, making dinosaur hands and talking to Hazel in a squeaky ("scary") voice. (She didn't think it was too scary. Probably the necklaces he was wearing over his glasses tipped her off.) Notice how every single kid in the picture is enamored of him, hanging on every word of the story he is telling, the game he is playing with them.

This is the story of my life.

This is my dad. Just one of many snapshots of him taking time to play with children, to get down on their level and just be with them. My childhood is full of memories of playing monster (chase), talking to Donald Duck (and sometimes Mickey Mouse) on the phone, wrestling on the living room floor, driving down to the school at warp factor 3. ... And I could go on and on. My childhood was fun, my whole life has been fun, because I had parents who found joy in simple things, then got down on the floor and shared those simple things with us.

I think of my dad when:

I eat really good ice cream
I eat Hershey's chocolate
I smell/see stir-fry
I make homemade hot fudge sauce
I eat carmel popcorn
I see a bowl of guacamole, just begging to be dipped into
I watch a good super hero movie (As for me and my house, we love the X-Men!)
I eat fish - any kind of fish
I see hair dyed blue
I hear the little fishy song
I go to a patriotic program, or sing the national anthem

There are so many things that remind me of my dad. So, very many wonderful things. I'm so grateful for the example he has always shown of how to find joy in adversity. I'm grateful for his life-long love of learning, and how that contributed, not only to my childhood and adolescence, but to my life. I'm grateful for his compassion, for his desire and willingness to help others in their time of need. I'm grateful that he's been completely on board with having my mom here to take care of me, for a large part of the last year.

I am, in large part, who I am because of the home I was raised in - because of the parents whom I was privileged to have. I'm so grateful for the excellent head start they gave me in my life, and for their continuing support and friendship at this stage of my life.

Happy Father's Day, Dad! I love you!

Two Dozen. Long-stemmed. Pink. ... On the fat side.

These lovely pink roses go out to my lovely mama. My computer came down with a virus on Mother's Day, so I was unable to post anything Mom-specific on that special day. Of course, I still called her, as I am wont to do on an almost-daily basis, anyway. (I'm not even kidding. Jude and I are pretty tight. I love her, in case you hadn't noticed.)

Today, I was thinking about my mom. Specifically, I was thinking about what a great example she has been for me, for so many people, on so many levels: selfless service (a quality I did not inherit - it seems that neither nature nor nurture could turn me into a "really, really nice Mormon lady" a la Ude), a happy disposition (which I do my best to emulate every day of my life), a cheerful attitude (again, I try, but my mother, I am not), and a ready laugh (this I can claim as well). My mom never complains. It's a little inhuman sometimes, how cheerful and pleasant she can be. But a Stepford Wife, she is not. She is truly good and patient and loving. She is long-suffering and kind. She is everything good in the world, and every bit of me that is even a little good or kind or fun is there because she is who raised me.

Thanks, Mom, for setting the bar so high. Thanks for loving me, for loving everyone, so completely. I'm super glad your heart rate never slowed to zero, that you've been here for my whole life. I love you! (Enough to send you two dozen, long-stemmed pink roses... on the fat side. Virtually, if not literally. But really, that's only because we all know that you'd probably have to pay for them, living as I am on a part-time salary right now. You, you, you. (And your pocketbook.) That's all I ever think about.)

Late night shopping trips...

Tonight, I went to the store (at 8:50 PM) for provisions. Why? Because Julie's flight was delayed, which bought me a few extra minutes to run to the store and pick up some Pringles. And mint chip ice cream. (Because we've been eating ice cream and potato chips like they are manna from Heaven since we were 5 and 6.) And would you LOOK I at what I found?!



Square (okay, rectangle) ice cream. You KNOW I had to buy it! Why? Because my Cousin-with-a-capital-C is coming.

Ball cousins, you know why I couldn't pass up buying ice-cream-in-a-box. We'll eat a square (or two, or three) and wish you were here. Too bad there wasn't any Tin Roof Sundae. (You know I looked for it. It is, after all, the flavor Grammy would have chosen.)