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I am never more inspired than when I am in the air. I could do without all of the airport bullshit ( w hich, I know is necessary to keep us safe but is, nonetheless, a pain in the ass.) I don’t know why; is it the tidy little way I can be sure my flight attendant will be down the aisle with my drink, come hell or high water, whether it’s the fact that I can have some hours of uninterrupted sleep (which, to be honest I rarely do on a plane but, still – its nice to know that I could if I wanted to), Is it the beautiful sky I see when I look out that window? The fact that I can watch a full movie, play my candy crush, work on a blog post – you get the idea. Now that my children are older. Air time is MY time. 

I think, however , that the biggest draw for me when I travel is the fact, although I know in my heart that all of my problems will still be there at home when I get back, I have taught myself to shelve them while I am away. This may seem like a simple concept to many of you but, it’s been a long process for me. You see, for someone my type of personality; A Type, controlling, perfectionist to a fault person with more than a little touch of OCD, it hasn’t been easy.
I have been through so very much the last three (has it been three already?) months. Between the loss of my cousin, who I was so very close to and then my dad passing not even 2 days later, on top of the almost constant pain due to this nasty weather and now, my late cousins wife – who I have known for so long has become my cousin by osmosis, is gravely ill with Stage IV cancer and nothing seems to be working. She needs a miracle. I am in constant touch with her because we are so very close and because, due to the fact that I am a breast cancer survivor, I understand certain terms, action plans, side effects and a fraction of what she is feeling mentally and emotionally. 

It is an honor for me to be one of Amy’s go-to people, believe me. It also, however, gives me anxiety. Anxiety about her future, about the small but always there chance that I myself, could recur at ANY time (cancer is a tricky fucker), my family has not even really been able to properly grieve my late cousin and my dad because Amy was admitted to the hospital a few days after both of them passed away. It has just been another one of those periods where my family can’t help but have a little pity party because, damn, we seriously have not had a break from serious trauma (and I’m not over-stating, as my faithful readers know) for more than three months at a time without another piano dropping on our heads.

Despite all of this- we go on. I have certainly had my days, which I’ve been told by a therapist is normal and right. I am currently on my way to Las Vegas with two of my closest friends to meet up with more of my closest friends, to celebrate the marriage of a wonderful couple who means a lot to me and whom I love very much. 

These are the things that keep me going. Despite being sad about my recent losses, despite my physical discomfort, despite the fact that I was hesitant to leave New York because of Amy, despite the work I left on my desk – I refuse to let the bad times prevent me from celebrating the happy ones. And, as I mentioned earlier, I have always gone away to do fun and happy things with my family and friends but, many times it was out of guilt for missing an important event or for making my husband and children miss them. I would have a good time but, I was, without a doubt, only really half there. The other half of me was worrying about some scan or test (for both myself and both of my parents), trying not to be terribly sad because of a recent loss (as I said – the hits have kept coming for the last decade), worrying about some friend or even just acquaintance, who I had been helping through their diagnosis, whether it just be to explain terms, give my opinion on a certain proposed action plan, accompanying them to the wig store or just listening to them cry and scream and rail at God. It has taken me a lot of therapy as well as a lot of practice to get to the point where I am now. 

Now, I am In the present. Now, I am where I am and with who I am with. In a real emergency, I can be reached. I try to live life in the moment – which seems so simple but, is a very hard concept for certain personalities, like mine, to grasp and implement in their own lives. I will land, and my friends and loved ones will have my full attention for the duration of the trip. I will not only be there but, I will be present. They will have all of me.
And, here’s the upside to getting away for a few days without bringing your mental baggage with you- the problems and issues you come back won’t feel so insurmountable, because you have taken the time that you need to recharge and realize how much you really love yourself and how strong you really are. 

So, if you are kind enough to still be reading my work, I think that the message in this one is pretty clear. I pray that all is well with you and your loved ones.The truth is though, that we all get a turn at batting in this here world that can seem so cruel. Some may have years without major incident and some may be called up to bat much more often than others. 
So, again, I implore you to be in the present, to learn not to sweat the small stuff, to choose your battles wisely with spouses, children and other loved ones and to generally try to live as happy a life as you can in the short time we have here. Amy is not even 45 yet- put that into perspective. You may need a self help book, a friend to chat with or even therapy.  

I assure you – it’s worth every penny.

In the words of Mr. Timberlake; “yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery.”

All we have is the here and now. Go out there and grab some!

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Cancer is truly the gift that keeps on giving. Whether you are newly diagnosed, in remission, or considered “cured”, it is something that will truly change your life forever.  It will change it in ways that you cannot even imagine if you tried and cannot understand unless you have been sat down and told that you have it.

My cancer diagnosis was way back in 2002. So, technically, I have been cancer free since I had my cancer surgeries that same summer. Unfortunately, though, your cancer journey doesn’t end when the cancer is cut out. As most of you know, for me, it caused the need for over twenty surgeries due to a failed reconstruction, to have to have poison in the form of chemotherapy coursed through my veins, to have radiation shot at my body and to be on a hormone blocking therapy in the form of a pill every day.  Yes, every day I still take a pill to prevent the cancer from returning and cutting my life short. Each and every day, when I raise that pill to my lips, I have to think of my cancer.

Now I’m faced with the problem of the medication finally starting to cause side effects in my body in the form of problems in my uterus.  The medicine I am on, Tamoxifen, can cause a slight increase in the chances of getting uterine cancer. It is just a slight increase, however, and you always have to weigh the benefits with the risks. For me, it was worth it to take the risk in order to stave off the cancer. The standard of care, however, is only ten years.

Because it is the only medication that can be taken when you are pre-menopausal, and my body refuses to go to that menopausal place, I was in a conundrum when I reached the ten year mark. It was unchartered territory. Do I stay on the med and take my chances? Do I have surgery to put me into surgical menopause? At the time (three years ago), the best option seemed to be to stay on the medicine and just monitor the uterus to ensure that no changes were taking place. So, that is what I did.  It made sense for me. Tamoxifen can cause many side effects and I was lucky that the only one that seemed to affect me was a fifteen pound weight gain. No big deal in the grand scheme of things. I know some women who refused tamoxafin because of the side effect of weight gain, and am so sorry to report that more than one of them are no longer here.

So, I continued to swallow that pill each and every day (along with a baby aspirin, to ensure no blood clots). The first two years the uterine sonogram was uneventful. This year, however, was a different story. I had a thickening of the uterine lining, along with polyps and fibroids. I’ve had two procedures to clean all of this out and, as I sit here typing, I can still feel the cramping and pain from the surgery on Monday.

I will have another surgery in January. A big one. A total hysterectomy, along with two hernia repairs from the prior reconstruction surgery. The surgery will last hours and the recovery time will be ten to twelve weeks.  The hernias are painful and don’t look nice although, I don’t think I would have had them repaired if not for the fact that they can actually damage internal organs as they get worse.  I have to have the total hysterectomy so that I can go on another medication to prevent the cancer from coming back (there are about twenty different meds that one can take if they are POST-menopausal). Technically, I don’t need to be on any medication as, being so far out from the original cancer with no recurrence, I am considered “cured” but, how would I ever look at my husband, my kids, my family, my friends if I stopped taking the medication and the cancer returned? I couldn’t live with myself. I am also interested in living as long a life as possible.

So, as much as we like to think that people who have finished their chemotherapy and their radiation, people who are ten or fifteen years out from their initial diagnosis, are “cured”, please remember that even if they are not still facing “treatment”, they are facing mental and emotional challenges for the rest of their lives.

Once you are diagnosed with cancer, you are never the same. You have stared into the abyss and have faced your mortality. Your heart breaks when you hear of someone else being diagnosed because you know that they will never be the same. It’s difficult for you to watch television shows where cancer becomes a story line (Parenthood did it to me and now Ray Donovan is doing the same, just to name a couple).

Every doctor visit is scary, whether it is logical or not. You are never of the mindset that “all will be ok” again. That ignorant bliss has been taken away from you. Waiting for any biopsy is an exercise in fear and angst. Your mind plays funny tricks on you. Any lump or bump on any of your family members, friends and even animals is, until you are told differently, cancerous.

There are some good points, though. When I do get those biopsy results and they are negative, I don’t take it for granted. I dance, I yell, I am happy for a week! When little things that used to really bother me happen, I don’t care as much. No big deal. When I go out with friends, I am so grateful to be there that I always have a good time. I enjoy the little things in life, like a rain shower, the soft licks of my dog on my face and my fireplace glowing . I love fiercely and with my whole heart. I treasure my friends and my family because I know that they can be gone in a heartbeat. I have learned that I have no control over most things – which is huge for me because I have always been a control freak. It is much more relaxing this way.

I am a work in progress. I no longer feel  like every cold is the beginning of the end of my life and I’m pretty confident that I will be here to see my grandchildren but, I don’t take it for granted.

I also think I am a better friend than I would ever have been had I not had cancer. I remember how much I needed people to really listen, to really hear my fears when I was sick and, I definitely listen and am there for people when they need me. I would do just about anything for the people I love, and am rewarded with family and friends that have my back, all the time, no matter what.

I asked for prayers this Sunday for my surgery on Monday and got over two hundred responses. It is truly heartwarming. It makes me feel safe. It makes me feel loved. After the surgery, it took me over four hours to return all of the phone calls, texts, messages, etc. that I received to check on me. Priceless. It was just a small procedure and yet, I was surprised with gifts sent to the house to cheer me up. I am loved.

So, please remember, for those going through cancer now or who have survived cancer in the past. It is never far away from us. We need the constant support and love of those who are around us. It makes a world of difference in our spirits and in our recovery and ability to stay well. When someone with cancer talks to you, feel honored that they trust you with their deepest fears and really listen. Remember when they have a test and make it a point to ask how they made out. Same with doctor visits. Trust me, it will mean the world to them.

We are still people but, we are changed. And, although we would never want our cancer to define us, we do need people to understand that it is a part of us now, ingrained in our DNA, for better or for worse.

Thank you, friends.

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After all of the things I’ve had to do to get through my breast cancer diagnosis in 2002, I would be lying if I said that I was not getting tired. Especially since just when I thought I was done with all of the surgeries (I had twenty since my diagnosis), I found out that I would have to have three more this year. Two are pretty simple medical procedures but, I am scheduled for a double hernia and an old-fashioned (not laparoscopic) total hysterectomy in January.

I had the first of the two smaller medical procedures yesterday and, because I’m “special”, although we didn’t expect to find anything but a thickened uterine wall that would have to be dealt with, there were three large polyps that will have to be removed in the hospital in the next few weeks. Now, luckily, I had a biopsy of the uterine wall the day the sonogram showed the thickening because my kind doctor took pity on me when I started crying, so the chances of those polyps and the rest of the tissue that was taken yesterday being malignant is small since the original biopsy of part of the wall that was removed was benign. But, it led me to have to have another procedure to remove them. In addition, it caused me to have to set up the total hysterectomy because one of the side effects of the only medication I can be on while I am pre-menopausal to prevent the cancer I had from ever coming back is an increased risk of uterine cancer.

As it is, I have already been on the drug three years over the standard of care because, despite the chemo, radiation, Lupron and the drug I’ve been on (tamoxifen), my body refuses to go into menopause. Many women lose their periods after the rigorous chemotherapy I had and, if not, they lost it after being on tamoxifen for two or three years. I believe I am the only woman my oncologist has had who has had to deal with a patient who was still getting regular periods even after ten years of Tamoxafin. After much discussion at my check up after I had been on the drug for ten years, we decided I would stay on it rather than put myself into surgical menopause at only 43 since the only side effect I had ever had was a fifteen pound weight gain. The other effects are much worse; blood clots and, as I mentioned, an increased risk of getting uterine cancer. From years one to ten, the increased risk is small but, there is no data on whether the risk increases after ten years hence, the yearly sonogram that found the uterine wall thickening.

Now, although I hate the fact that I have to take this medication every day (with a baby aspirin to prevent the blood clotting risk referred to above), there was no way I was not going to do anything to be proactive in my cancer not returning. Especially since, like I said, I seem to be “special” and many times, my body does things that go against the “norm”. I wasn’t thrilled about the weight gain, either, which happened just as they said it would (think of it as being permanently in a state of “period bloat”) but, fifteen pounds, to me, was certainly worth my life. There are many women who don’t take the tamoxifen solely due to the weight gain and, I’m sorry to say that I personally know one of those women who is no longer with us. After ten years, you are technically considered “cured” and many people then go about their lives without any treatment but, I’m not taking any chances. I’m so blessed to have so many people in my life who love me and I would never want to be taken from their lives, on top of the fact that I have way too much living, and laughing, to do. Trust me, though, every morning, when I put those little pills in my mouth, it is a reminder that I had cancer. How nice it would be if I could just put it all behind me. Sigh.

So, I am having the surgery to remove the polyps soon and then, will have the total hysterectomy in January. On top of that, due to the cancer reconstruction surgeries I had, I have developed two hernias that need to be removed before they are able to do damage to other organs. I’ve already had to have one hernia surgery for the same reason, back in 2005 and, although it was not one of my longest (12 hours took that record) or even one of the hardest (one time I came home with 8 drains and had I don’t even know how many stitches – how many hundreds), it was the surgery with the hardest recovery. You see, where the hernias are happen to be the very center of my gravity so, I cannot shower, drive, lift, laugh hard, sit up without pain, etcetera for ten to twelve weeks. If you know me, you know that I am fiercely independent and having to have someone drive me anywhere I have to go, having to have my sisters help me wash my hair, having to sit at the edge of the bathtub and wash myself (which takes an excruciating amount of time) and having to have people help me with my work just sucks. However, it is something, for my health, that I will do.

So, I am getting tired, for sure. I’m tired in my heart, I’m tired in my mind and I’m tired in my body.  I’m sick of being afraid of anesthesia (how long will my luck hold out) and I’m sick of feeling fat and unattractive. I’m sick of being scared of test results (because I’m “special” – remember?) Just last summer, I had some symptoms that caused me to have a colonoscopy. Everyone said that at my age, I would be fine. They wouldn’t find anything. Well, they did. Six polyps, all different in size, that is very unusual for a woman in their forties. Now, I’m so glad I had it (and will have to have one once a year for a while) because I will probably not die of colon cancer. They will find the polyps early and remove them before they become cancerous. But, still – really?? On top of it, because of the fact that I have a recurrent staph infection because of one of the surgeries (that one caused me to have a blood transfusion and sepsis), I am unable to do any type of strenuous exercise. It causes my immune system to dip and the staph infection to rear its ugly head. Because of this, I also feel weak.

I was feeling sorry for myself yesterday when I woke up from the procedure and was told that because the polyps were big and “broad based”, I would have to have another procedure in the hospital, and soon. It couldn’t have just been a thickening of the wall that could be cleaned up. No. Because it’s me. And, I know that the doctor told me that she is not worried about malignancy because of the prior biopsy she did but, come on, it’s always there, in the back of your mind, once you have a cancer diagnosis. And, I know I’m beating a dead horse here but, things that doctors don’t expect from other patients seem to happen with me.

I came home and was crampy and exhausted. I texted the people who had been texting me, or who knew I was having the procedure and then, collapsed into bed. I slept pretty much twenty-four hours between the procedure and now. Unfortunately, I had to take a shower and now, doubt I will be able to sleep at all tonight. The cramping has gotten better, though so, that’s good. Paulie Walnuts is with me and we will just stay up cuddling and probably watching “The Sopranos”.

I know that this blog has been pretty technical up to this point and, it was necessary. It was necessary because of what I’m about to say next.

Yes, I’m tired but, I’m still here and going strong. I had a Fourth of July party with sixty of my closest family and friends there and we had such a great time. We laughed so much that my belly hurt the next day. I will go to Florida in October with old friends for our annual Halloween Horror Nights get together. Again, we will laugh and laugh and take so much joy in being together. I am taking a second trip to Aruba with my very best friend in December. We will just lay on floats in the water all day, watch the sunset, and then, go party in the small town. We will laugh, and dance, and talk about old times. We have forty-three years of memories so, we never run out of things to talk about.  We fall into bed, very late, tan, rested, slightly inebriated and completely happy. Then, in April, two of my favorite people in the world are getting married in Vegas and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. A Disney/Universal Family vacation will take place soon after. I can’t wait to see the looks on my nephew’s faces when I see them meet Mickey and Minnie and the Minions. I can’t wait to be on the corniest ride in the world “It’s a Small World” and I can’t wait to go on the roller coasters with my sons and brother in-laws. I always put my head back on those rides, and let the wind whip my hair around and breathe in the air and think “I am living.”

You see, there are lots of scary and hard things in my life but, I try to fill the other space, when those scary things are not happening, with as much love, laughter and joy as I possibly can. I think it’s very important to always have things to look forward to. That’s why I have so many parties; game nights, Rangers parties, holiday parties, BBQs. Sure, my core group is BIG and it’s a lot of work but, I wouldn’t change it for the world. People tell me I’m crazy but, they just don’t understand. These are the moments that keep me going. These are the things that turn the exhaustion into happiness and, most importantly, hope.

Unfortunately, I have a couple of friends who were recently diagnosed with cancer and they have long roads ahead of them but, I’m hoping they read this. Cry when you have to, it’s normal to be scared, it’s perfectly okay to feel like it’s not fair that this is happening to you but, be sure to remember that the reason you are going through all the treatment to make you well so that you can LIVE and not just exist. If you can survive this – and you can – I feel that it is not only a good thing to be happy for your soul but, that it is your responsibility to be happy. God kept you around for a reason. For me, I feel that one of those reasons is to try to inspire others who are going through really tough times to be grateful when you get through those times. To show others that although life is hard, there is so much joy to be had.

My mom used to say , when someone famous would die suddenly, that she never thought she’d outlive them since she had been dealing with cancer since she was in her twenties. But, my mom was sure to live her life to the fullest. She was happy. Sure, she was scared and tired, too but, all in all, she lived in such a way that she didn’t waste a moment of the good times. Anyone who knew her knows this is true. I guess that’s where I get it. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, after all.

So, when I’m surrounded by my friends and family and we are all eating, dancing,  drinking, laughing and having a good time, I’m often laughing the most. That’s when I’ve had people tell me “your always so happy”. That always makes me feel so wonderful. For me, it feels like Victory!

I know it is easy to feel despair and sadness in this life, especially with all of the horrible things going on in the world but, take it from me, you can feel empathy and sadness for the people who are affected but, then, try to get away from the news and the T.V. and go and do something that makes you happy. You won’t ever regret it.

xoxo

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For the past few weeks I’ve been having a very hard time grieving over my mother. I know why. I wasn’t feeling great for about three weeks. Not the ordinary pain from the scar tissue or charlie horses from the “phantom limb” like syndrome I have under my left breast, which was operated on over 15 times. Bad as in I felt like I could not get out of bed, I would get exhausted very easily and couldn’t focus. At first I chalked it up to coming off the holidays and just being tired from all of the work that entails. I had just been to the oncologist so, I wasn’t really worried about the cancer (although to say it didn’t cross my mind once or twice would be lying). Finally, I woke up on a Saturday morning with a terrible sore throat. Okay, now I knew, I was just fighting off getting sick and now I was so, it would just run its course (I’m thinking a week or two of just taking it easy and I would be feeling better).

By Wednesday, when I still felt like crap, my husband took me to the doctor. Turns out I had pneumonia. I was prescribed antibiotics, steroids and a cough medicine with codeine in it. By this time, my sore throat had moved into my nose and was dripping down into my chest, although I wasn’t really coughing that much. However, I was still extremely tired. My orders were, because of my health issues, rest, rest and more rest. Luckily, I had caught the pneumonia early.

And rest I did. I worked more after each of my twenty surgeries. I couldn’t work because all I could do was sleep and, when I couldn’t sleep at night (because of those damn steroids), I was loopy on the cough medicine. When I didn’t feel better a week later, I went back to the doctor. Another x-ray was taken and the pneumonia was getting better. I was a bit wheezy, though, so was told to use the cough medicine as needed and use am inhaler and continue to rest. When you have pneumonia (and I never had), it can take a long time to get better, apparently. So, I rested Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I was feeling better by Sunday so decided to go to my nieces birthday party at a roller rink and then to Jack’s basketball game.

When I was a teenager, I could literally roller skate like Dorothy Hamill could ice skate. I could do double sow cows, I could skate forward, backwards, with a partner, with my right leg all the way up and straight, well – you get the idea. I was excited to get on the floor and do my thing. Well, let me all give you a heads up. If you were like me (and, if you are in my age group, you probably were – we spent almost every weekend at the Commack Roller Rink), unless you have kept up with it, or have learned to roller blade in between, roller skating is NOT like riding a bike! I was okay on the carpet. The second my skate hit the wood, I went down like a lead balloon on my right side. Thank God, since I was the first one out there from my family, no one I knew saw me but, about two hundred other people did. They were probably taping it on their cell phones (I’m surprised I haven’t seen it pop up on You Tube or Face Book). With the wind knocked out of me, I lay there for a moment, told myself “I can do this”, got up and, again, went down like a ton of bricks. Now, I couldn’t even get up if I tried. Finally, some guy said “hey, do you need help?” At that point, being so embarrassed and pissed that no one tried to help me up the first time I answered, “No, I’ll just wait for the guy with the striped shirt.” Picture me on the floor with kids and adults skating around me – having to move out of the way to not skate on top of me and no one asks if I need help? Nice.

When the guy with the striped shirt came around (I forget what we used to call them), he asks me, “Do you need help?” By now I am pissed. “Um. Yeah. Clearly I can’t get up. Do you think you can help me up and bring me to the wall?” Geez. Rocket Scientist.

When I got to the wall, I was able to easily get back to the chairs and take off my skates (it’s a lot easier to skate on carpet, believe me). I was so devastated. Convinced that the reason I couldn’t do it was because I haven’t been active in these past fifteen years and so, didn’t have the strength or the balance to stay up. How much more can this cancer take from me?

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So, getting back to the point, that I have been really missing my mommy. I miss her most when I am not feeling well. I would have called her, and she I, at least two or three times a day while I was sick. She always had a way of making me feel better – of putting things into perspective. She would have said things like, “Okay, so it’s pneumonia. You beat cancer – you’ll be fine.” Or, when I was stressing about missing work, “Okay, so you have to miss a couple of weeks – the work will be there when you get back, believe me.” She just knew me like no one else and knew exactly what I needed to hear when I needed to hear it. She didn’t get pissed if I snapped at her because of any of the things she said. She just chalked it up to me being stressed and sick.

I also miss her the most when I can’t call her ( I probably would have been crying outside on my cell phone) and tell her about things that happened like what I went through at the roller rink. I really was devastated that not only wasn’t I like Dorothy Hamill anymore but, I couldn’t even take one step on the wood floor. She would have made me laugh when I told her that people were skating around me and NO ONE stopped to help. She would have laughed when I sent her pictures of the grapefruit sized bruise on my ass and the apple sized bruise on my thigh. (For the record, I also scraped my left elbow, had pain in my left arm and couldn’t turn my neck for about three days).

Most of all, I missed my mommy these past few weeks because I knew my dad was going in for a big surgery and, so as not to worry my sisters, there are things I don’t say to them that I was personally worried about, having been through what I have in my own life, I shouldered most of the worry alone. Also, the fact that the last time my dad had surgery, they were not able to remove the tube and he couldn’t breathe on his own. It was done at a surgery center and he had to be transferred to a hospital. They really couldn’t give us answers there except we would have to take a wait and see approach. I’ll never forget Al, Chrissy, Lori and I leaving the hospital that night, all heads down, thinking, “could this really be happening again?” It had not even been a year since we had lost our mother. Luckily, they were able to get the tube out the next day. But, I would have been on the phone with my mom all night, and we would have said things to each other to make each other feel better.

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I just miss her, damn it, and the last few weeks have been a downward spiral into a place I was in the grieving process about a year ago. I was told, though, that grieving is not linear. You will move forward two feet and then, wake up and feel like you stepped back four. This is always the advice that I give my family and friends when they lose loved ones because for me, it really helped. I didn’t question, “why am I feeling so shitty today when I had a good day yesterday?” Because that’s just the way it goes.

As for the perspective part of the piece. Daddy had his surgery yesterday. It was supposed to be Monday but, that’s a long and shitty story that I’ve told at least ten times today and don’t want to get into. It was over six hours long and, originally was scheduled to be done laparoscopically. Unfortunately, that wasn’t able to happen so, that’s why it took longer than anticipated. They actually had to collapse his lung, on purpose, to get where they needed to get to make sure that they got all of the cancer that was left. Now, the surgery went well. They got it all out. But, they had to leave the tube in so that he wouldn’t wake up and be in pain trying to breathe through one lung. This is what made me nervous. I wanted to make sure that that tube would come out with no problem. That was my main worry about this surgery. But, it was staying in for the night. I was told that they would take it out tomorrow.

On so on to the 11:11 part of the story. Since my mother had basically battled cancer three times while I was a kid (the first time when I was an infant), ANY time there was something to wish on; a dandelion before I blew on it, a blow out the birthday candle wish, an eyebrow that had fallen out and needed to be blown wish, and most importantly every time I saw 11:11 on a clock (which happened every once in a while), my wish was always the same “Please make my mommy be okay”. Well, after she passed, I think the day after was the first time I saw 11:11 on a clock and actually, out loud, cursed it. Fuck you, 11:11, you and the rest of those superstitions I grew up with don’t work worth a shit, or something to that effect. After that, my sisters and I started to  see 11:11 constantly. I know I see it at least 10 times a week. It’s not “normal”. Everyone who knows me knows I am a skeptic about those kinds of things but, I am sure, that every time I see it, it’s my mommy letting me know it’s okay, she’s okay, or whatever I’m going through will be fine and work out.

So, after I got off the phone with my sisters (my brother in law, Chris, took him for the surgery.) I said a prayer to God, my grandparents and, of course, my Mommy. I went into the kitchen to get myself something to drink and got cozy on the couch, praying that the night would go quickly so that that freaking tube could come out. I got a text from someone and, when I picked up my phone – you guessed it – 11:11. Needless to say, I felt like a weight was lifted off of my shoulders. I just knew that when they went to take the tube out, it would be fine.

I waited up for Michael and then when up to sleep at around 1AM. I slept well, even though I am dad’s healthcare proxy and if I hadn’t seen the 11:11 I would have had a restless sleep, if I slept at all, waiting for that damn phone to ring. When I woke up, my sisters were already at the hospital (I have to wait to get the okay to go, having just gotten over pneumonia). They told me that the tube was out and he was groggy from the medications but, other than that, talking to them, making jokes with the nurse, etc. He was doing really well.

So, I miss mommy but, not like I have in the last few weeks. I am on a high because my daddy is okay. And, isn’t that the way of it? Perspective. Today, I could have been mourning both of my parents. Even my ass, which has killed to sit on the last week, is not as painful. And, the deadlines I have been worrying about at work seem doable now.

And 11:11. Say what you will but, I am a believer. It’s how my mommy communicates with me and, although I’d obviously much rather have her here with me on earth, it comforts me to know that she is still looking out for me and letting me know that not only is she there, she’s watching out for all of us.

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