This Side of Up

I'm not even sure what that title means. Just sounded fitting. I've been informed once again, several times in fact, that I am not keeping this blog up to date. I am blogging twice weekly on my author's blog (if you aren't following there what's up with that?) Granted I don't usually blog about personal stuff over there. Just my book and young adult fiction in general. But I'd still love to have you. Numbers become important when you're going all commercial with your blog. (www.suzereese.com) (Just in case I haven't pounded it in enough times.)

Okay, enough business. I know you all want the personal stuff. I've reached the point in this cancer gig that my typical interaction with friends goes like this:

"So how are you?"
"Fine."
Then they usually touch me, or put an arm around me, or look me in the eyes, and say, "How are you really?"
The next answer depends on my mood. Usually I firmly answer that I'm fine. Sometimes I look away when I say I'm fine so they don't see the stubborn tear that I can't seem to stop from forming. Occasionally I'll actually tell them about the frustration with my surgeries or even the goiter on my thyroid.

So there it is out there - my multiple surgeries have not been working and there's a goiter on my thyroid. I've been passed from doc to doc about the goiter. They have ruled out thyroid cancer, but they can't rule out metastasized cancer without removing the entire thyroid. So far the docs aren't recommending that, since it is a VERY LOW risk, and they believe the dangers of not having a thyroid while fighting cancer are higher than the risk of it being cancerous. I get another opinion tomorrow. And just to be safe I'm scheduled for yet another opinion next month.

The upside is that I qualify for a hyperbaric chamber treatment which will help my radiated tissues heal. The downside is that the treatment involves 2 hour sessions at the hospital, five days a week for 8 weeks. Just like radiation except its making tissue grow instead of killing it. I'm a little daunted by the schedule, but excited by the prospect of having things heal.

On the surgeries. Reconstruction is not working because of that ultra-stubborn radiated tissue. After two surgeries I'm not willing to do any more until we get that worked out. Hopefully the hyperbaric treatment will do the trick.

I do have a story about the other surgery. As you may recall I had a fancy-schmancy surgery done to help drain lymphatic fluid from my arm so it doesn't swell up like a balloon all the time. Well, it was a pain. I had to literally hold my arm in the air for about two weeks afterwards. But it worked. The swelling went down and it felt awesome. Then three weeks out I fell. Caught myself with my hands. Yeah, stupid, I know.

The really crazy part is that I was in a Pep Boys at the time. I haven't wanted to hire an attorney, but the arm swelled right back up and won't go down. When I called my medical insurance company to figure out which bills will be paid by them and which they'll expect Pep Boy's insurance to pay, they suggested I hire an attorney since it's a little on the complicated side.

So I called the one they recommended. I went through the details of what happened. The attorney asked what kind of medical bills I had. I told him that most of what I've had to do has been self care. I still have to wear a compression sleeve 24/7 and do manual lymphatic drainage every day. Plus I still have a crazy swollen arm that was once fixed. But in terms of expenses I went to the ER immediately afterwards, then I've been seeing my lymphedema therapist and I've seen my surgeon. Finally I commented that the surgeon wants me to try some other therapies, like massage, before we talk about another surgery.

Then he got excited.

Attorney: "You might need another surgery? How much did the other one cost?"
Me: "I don't know. A lot. The surgeon is very specialized."
Attorney: (enthusiastically) "This case would really be worthwhile if you could have that surgery."
Me: Yeah. That would be pretty awesome.
Attorney: (obliviously) The case probably wouldn't be worth my time without that surgery, but if you'd like to come into my office we could talk about it.
Me: You betcha. I'll be right there.

Ah, dreamers. Gotta love em.

So that's where I am. Still fiddling with the awkward hair, still dealing with the balloon arm, still fighting side-effects of medications and a sickly thyroid, still worried about the future, but mostly happy to be hanging out on this planet with all the other crazy whack-os.

And now you know.

Beyond Ridiculous

This post will be brief. Just want to report that Christmas was fabulous in that I was alive to enjoy it. And my children and grandchildren are the most beautiful beings on the planet. And I got a wonderful surprise that I'm told I am not at liberty to divulge quite yet. (Don't you hate when people do that?)

The downside was that my main wardrobe piece included (and still includes) two very hard quadruple D domes, accessorized with rubber tubing and automotive parts and a very large sweatshirt. It is ridiculous beyond belief. But also amazing.

In case you're still curious, the domes are growing new skin which will be filled with droplets of belly fat on Thursday. This is the second go-around, and probably not the last. And as much as I go about complaining, I gotta say that literally growing body parts is the stuff of science fiction. And truly a miracle.

Christmas Wishes from the Brandster and Me

Brandon has kept us on a crazy-tight schedule this holiday with some like a couple hundred Christmas performances. Or maybe a couple dozen. But it was a ton anyway, especially while trying to complete big semester-end school projects and catch a few minutes of sleep every night. So I thought I'd post a couple of the most fun here as a Christmas wish to you.

The first is the anti-Brandon, Mr. Crabby. We watched it over and over and over and I still laughed every time. Make sure you watch at least until you see his smile pop.



This second made me cry and get all sentimental and grateful that I have such an amazing reason to be here. (Oh btw, Rob did the flimsy camera work. He has some lame excuse. Good thing I love him.)

Yes, I am a Believer

I have seen mention in the news lately of “Santa Wars”, with the question of whether Santa is taking over Christmas. And with our youngest now twelve, I’ve also been asked what it’s like to have a house full of non-believers. Non-believers? Santa has no place in Christmas? Hum Bug.

Many, many years ago, my oldest daughter came of the age that she began to question the logistics of Santa’s Christmas Eve journey. When she came to me with those questions, I gave her an answer that crushed her little spirit—as if I’d touched my finger to the Christmas spark in her eye.

The image of that disappointed little child caused me to ponder the appropriate place of Santa Claus in our Christmas celebration. And to reevaluate my response to my subsequent children. I doubt if any of those children recall a conversation like I had with my oldest—which by the way was fairly approximate to the one I’d had with my mother a generation earlier—because that conversation never took place again.

And here is why:

First, it’s important to remember that Christ taught in parables. He told stories that sounded simple to the simple minded. Fishermen, shepherds, farmers and widows were among his cast of characters. There was always a second and deeper meaning to his stories, understood by his faithful followers who were ready to hear and understand.

To the very young, Santa is just a really amazing guy who sneaks into their house and brings gifts on Christmas Eve. As those youngsters grow in wisdom, some of the deeper meanings begin to (or can begin to) form in their minds.
Some are fairly obvious: Santa dresses in red to symbolize the blood Christ shed in our behalf. Santa has a snowy white beard, to represent Christ’s purity.
But the correlations don’t stop there. Santa is full of cheer, symbolic of the Christ’s mission to bring joy to all mankind. Santa gives gifts, symbolic of the ultimate gift of life Christ gave to us. Both Santa and Christ dedicate their entire being to serving mankind.

It requires extreme faith on the part of a young child to believe that a fat guy they have never seen is going to fly to their rooftop with a sleigh pulled by reindeer, slide down their chimney and leave presents just for them. But it makes them feel awfully special.

It also takes faith to believe that a lowly carpenter born in a manger was actually a king who was able to atone for each of our sins and give us the gift of eternal life. This faith also makes us understand how special we are in the eyes of God.
Yes it is true that faith in Christ is ever so much more important than faith in Santa. But for those who understand the nature of parables, the difference is obvious.

At some point in time we all reach an age where we begin to see outside of ourselves to the world around us. We come to realize that Santa couldn’t possibly complete his mission on his own. He needs helpers across the globe to ensure that no child is forgotten.

Christ, too, needs helpers. While he is mindful of our needs, he can’t physically make a phone call to the lonely and harried young mother. Or visit the sick. Or prepare food and provide clothing to the homeless. Or tell a young child that he or she is loved.

Since Christ cannot do all these things himself, he needs angels. He needs us.
Just as Santa needs us to be his elves.

Santa is not just for children. He is a reminder to us all that when in the service of our fellowman, we are actually in the service of our God.
And that is why in my house we will always believe.