Recovering...And Squirrel Watching

I'm not going to try and cough up a reason for my lack of updates.  Seriously, I can't even think of a good excuse.  But here's a picture my husband took of a squirrel eating a Butterfinger...  

The excuse well has runneth dry.  Obviously.

So.  Chemo.  For now, our boys are done.  Dad officially finished chemo about a month ago, and Sam finished about 2 weeks ago.  They'll both have scans in a few weeks to see exactly where they stand tumor-wise.  We're really REALLY hoping that the chemo they've had has trampled their cancer crop fields for good.  I can't tell you how awesome that would be.  Like, miracle awesome.  But until we know for sure, they're both just trying to recover from having received 6 months worth of cell killing infusions.  You'd think that once chemo was over, life would just go on.  I wish it could be that simple.  I assure you, it is not. 

First of all, you've got the side effects from all those drugs.  Side effects that have built up over time, which makes them exponentionally more hideous to deal with.  Secondly, and this might be the worst part, you've got the worry.  Worry about whether or not the cancer is really gone.  Worry about whether or not the side effects will be long term issues.  Worry about whether or not your body can take over the job of eliminating those pesky wayward cells like it's supposed to.  You don't necessarily trust it's ability to perform that seemingly simple task anymore.  Sometimes I catch myself giving Sam's and Dad's lymph nodes the "mom" look.  You know, that look of death you give your kids when they're screwing around.  The one that doesn't require any words whatsoever.  The one that could melt steel with it's laser precision.  I wonder if lymph nodes respond better to that look than kids do.  Let's hope so.

The good news is that energy levels and appetites are improving.  Slowly.  More slowly in Dad's case.  But considering the strength of the chemo he had, a slower recovery is definitely to be expected.  We went up to Park City for the 4th of July, and just in the 4 days we were there, I noticed a definite improvement.  I'm starting to realize that it's kind of a 2 steps forward, 1 step back type of thing.  One morning I caught him riding up a mountain on his bike though, so maybe he took 3 steps forward last weekend.  And the hair!  The hair is coming in so nicely.  Sam has already reached his normal state of brillo pad-ness, and Dad's head is looking like a giant grey tennis ball.  I think he's secretly hoping that his leg hair won't grow back.  Not me.  I'm so not cool with my dad having sexier legs than me.  SO not cool.

Things are getting better.  Things are getting more normal.  I mean, not that we were ever very normal, but we're getting closer to our version of normal than we've been for a very long time.  It feels good.   

Proof of our normal-ness...

Lake Powell is next on the agenda.  Perfect place to be right before the PET scan that will determine the next 6 months of your life.     

And Then I Said To My Kids, "This Too Shall Pass", Whatever That Means...

I was going to do a Father's Day tribute to Dad on my blog (Father's Day sentiment made easy).  Then I wasn't (so overdone).  Then I was (cause he's my dad, and he has the hodge).  Then I wasn't again (meh, I'll think of something more original to do).  Then today, at the store, I couldn't find a single card that didn't give me the gags.  So here I am.  Throwing together a "Happy Father's Day" blog post.  I haven't thought through this.  I don't know where it's going or where it will end up.  But I do think that instead of trying to write it from just my perspective, I'll try and write it from the perspective of all of us McMullin kids.  There is a very good chance my siblings all just had simultaneous coronaries.

Growing up in our family was, for lack of a better description, NOT boring.  Ever.  And if you know Dad, you probably know precisely what I mean.  Whether we were painting the fence for the gazillionth time, or hiking out to Blue Lake with 2-ton scuba tanks on our backs to get our scuba certifications because Dad LOOOOOOVES subjecting himself and his children to the possibility of becoming barracuda bait for reasons I will never understand, we were constantly on the go (I have a thing for run-on sentences).  I can't begin to count the number of times he coaxed us into action with the phrase, "work hard, play hard".  I got so sick of hearing it that I SWORE to never say it to my own kids.  Yeah, that lasted for like a week.  I catch myself quoting that phrase along with loads of other Dad-isms on a regular basis these days.  Such as, we don't want to get bogged down, and the best ideas haven't been thought of yet.  There was, a job worth doing is worth doing well, which as my brother pointed out, really meant, please mow 2 or 3 more times in different directions.  And my personal favorite, this too shall pass, (this one went over suuuuper well when I was 16 years old and had just broken up with my boyfriend).  Surprisingly, I now find great satisfaction in watching my children's reactions to all of the word malarkey I picked up from my father.  I would even venture to guess that someday they'll be spewing many of the same catch phrases at their own children.  Some things never change I guess.

The thing is though (and truly, it pains me to admit this), my dad was right on.  His catch phrases, while annoying, were instrumental in teaching us about the things that were really important in life.  But he didn't only guide us with words.  More often than not, he followed his own advice.  And I can't think of a single time that he failed to apologize when he broke one of his own cardinal rules, which was an example in and of itself.  Because, you know, "actions speak louder than words" and all.  That one usually gets the most dramatic of eye rolls from my children.  It's so glorious.

I could tell you story after story about things Dad has done that have taught me and my siblings important lessons.  Or I could just show you.  Yes, let's do that instead.  I told you earlier, I have no idea where this is going.  Which is true.  But I did ask my siblings to send me some of their favorite pictures.  Oh, this is going to be so much fun..    

Play outdoors.  

He's never really had to say it.

He just does it, and always has.

We've all followed suit.

Except for that one scuba diving incident where most of us got sea sick and hurled (3rd picture down - don't be deceived by our smiling faces).

Take turns holding each other like babies.

Okay, I might have made this one up.

But I had to use these pictures.

HAD to.

Celebrate life and the joy of getting older.

Or just refuse to grow up.

That's cool too.

The importance of perfecting a good smooch.

Rock out whenever the mood strikes.

Literally.

And then pray the pictures don't end up on the Internet (that part didn't work out very well).

Love your family...

And serve your fellow man.

Remember the power of prayer...

and what it means to really have faith in the face adversity.

The past 5 months have been hard.  I bet they've been harder than I could possibly know.  My siblings and I have watched our father go through things that have ripped away a piece of our innocence.  That might sound naive coming from a grown woman, but it's the truth.  And yet, if I had to guess, I'd say we don't know the half of what it's actually been like for him.  There have most likely been lots sleepless nights and lonely pain filled days.  That's pretty much how cancer works.  It sneaks up on you, and then becomes the main event in every minute of every day.  It's awful.  And hard.  And relentless.  But I've never heard him ask, "why me".  I've never seen him forget to smile when someone drops by for a visit, no matter how horrible he feels.  I've noticed a new kind of tenderness and sincerity in his voice when he asks me if I'm happy with my life.  He hugs his grand kids a little bit tighter than he used to.  He gets to know everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) he comes into contact with.  And we're talking first name basis here.  Amid the uncertainty and anxiety regarding his situation, there's a calmness to his demeanor that is almost palpable.  My dad has taught me more over the past few months than he has in the 33 years prior.  As difficult as it's been to witness his struggles, I'm thankful I've had the opportunity to watch, and learn, and once again, be reminded of the things in life that matter most.  There's a saying that goes, "A real father is his son's first hero, and his daughter's first love".  I think my siblings would all agree that in our case, nothing has ever been quite as true.

My Aunt Linny

Last Sunday, as I was putting the finishing touches on the post I was about to publish, Dad called.  It was about 12:40 pm.  He told me that my aunt Linny (his little sister), who was in a rehabilitation center due to her failing health, had fallen the day before and was now unresponsive.  He said that it didn't look good and that she might only have days, or maybe just hours to live.  He told me that it would probably be a good idea to go over and see her sometime that day.  I made the decision that we would go see her right after church was over, at 3:00.  My husband Ryan strongly suggested we go right then.  I resisted at first because I was supposed to say the closing prayer in sacrament meeting.  When I came to my senses and realized that not only would I get out of saying the closing prayer (and yes, you'd better believe I thanked her for that one), but would also increase my chances of seeing my aunt alive one more time.  I agreed to go.  And I'm so glad that I did.  It was awesome to be able to see her, and talk to her, and hold her hand one last time.  As far as I know, I was the last one to have that privilege.  She died about an hour after I left.

The memories I have of my aunt Linny are mostly of laughing so hard I would pee my pants, which if you know me, isn't all that surprising.  When I was a little kid, she would pretend to make a loaf of bread out of me.  She would lay me on the floor while she "kneaded" me like dough.  She would then go through all the various steps of bread making until I was ready for the oven.  Then she and Dad would carry me over to the oven and convince me that they were actually going to put me in.  I can't remember if I peed at that point out of laughter or fear, but either way, the bread game made a lasting impression.  

Aunt Linny was my aunt, but she was also my friend.  We've had some awesome conversations about various subjects throughout my adult life.  You hear people say sometimes that someone "lit up the room" when they walked in.  I've always thought that phrase was cliche and just non-specific enough that it could pass as a thoughtful compliment, kinda sorta.  But honestly, I can't think of a better way to describe my aunt.  She was the person I'd wait by the door for at all the family parties.  I bet my cousins know exactly what I'm talking about.  There was nobody who could bring excitement and entertainment like Aunt Linny.  The life of the party.  Every.  Single.  Time.

This picture of she and my cousin Jesse says it all

Another Update, and More Excuses As To Why It's Taken Me So Long - a very exciting post indeed

One of these days I'll pull my crap together and get back to my regular blogging schedule.  What is it with the month of May?  It's like my kid's school teachers think I have nothing better to do with my time than help my children with their end of the year projects.  Last week's project?  Building a model of the Colosseum out of sugar cubes (no kidding).  It only took us seventy two tries.  Next up on the agenda is (and I quote), the "county road trip report".  I have to take my kid on a road trip to a different county.  And then help him write a report about it.  Can't.  Wait.  Throw dance recitals and soccer games into the mix, and May becomes December on roids.  Oh the joys of parenting.  Anyway, I do believe my paragraph on excuses for neglecting this blog is now complete.

Things regarding cancer are good.  Good as in, not getting worse.  Sam and Dad both had their chemotherapy treatments about 10 days ago.  Sam is up for #10 this week and Dad will have his last scheduled treatment next week.  Then he (he being Dad) will wait for about 3 weeks before going in for another scan.  We're hoping for him to be cancer-free at that point, in which case we'll party like is 1999.  If not, he'll be advised to get a few more chemo treatments and/or move on to radiation.  That's a tough hypothetical pill to swallow, but I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.  If there's one thing we've learned so far, it's that this cancer thing is pretty freaking unpredictable.  You really just have to take it one day at a time.  Everyone is getting better at accepting that.  Especially our lymphoma boys.

So, I have an exciting little nugget of information for you.  Mom and Dad just celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary.  They managed to escape for a few days to their favorite hideaway in Carmel, California.  Once again, I was granted the honor of babysitting the dog.  And once again, she went home a total fatty.  I don't get it.  I was vigilant this time.  She must have gotten chubby on dust bunnies and cracker crumbs because I fed her nothing but dog food.  I refuse to be held responsible for a yorkie's weight problems.  Luckily they had a great time on their vacation and chemo was scheduled for the morning after they got back, so nobody really had time to be concerned about the dog situation.  Mom?  Dad?  Happy 40th anniversary.  Hugely inadequate, I know, but if I get into the nuts and bolts of what an inspiration you've been to so many people, I might not recover tonight.  Besides, that topic deserves it's own blog post.  But for now, just know that your marriage has influenced my life in a way that's impossible to describe.  Thank you for being crazy about each other over the past 40 years.  And I forgive you for ALWAYS making out in front of my friends when I was in high school.  Wait...no,  I'm not over that one yet.  Maybe by next year.  But don't hold your breath.  

Here's the other cool thing that happened.  Mom's friends threw her a 1/2 way done with chemo party.  They gave her 1/2 of a cake, 1/2 a balloon bouquet, 1/2 a bra, 1/2 a book, 1/2 a carton of eggs, and a bunch of other useless 1/2's.  When she told me what they did for her, first, I laughed my butt off.  Then, I was overcome with gratitude for her amazing, thoughtful friends.  It was so very very cool of them.  Thanks to those awesome ladies. 

Thanks to all of you for checkin in on the boys.  I know I've said it a million times, but we feel your love and your prayers every day.  That's what makes this all bearable.  I promise more frequent updates in the weeks to come.  I just need to survive the next 5 days or so.

Boring = Awesome

There I go again, not updating for an entire week.  I'd apologize except that my lack of blogging actually means things are good.  Well, not good.  More like...boring.  And in the cancer world, boring is good.  

Sam is up for round 8 tomorrow.  He can't wait.  Oh, I almost forgot to mention that he had surgery last Thursday (maybe things haven't been quite as boring as I thought).  His port was all wonky so they ripped that sucker out and installed a shiny new one.  It's even a new kind!  It was kind of like trading in a crappy old Fiat for a Mercedes Benz, only not nearly as thrilling as that.  But look what I got to do...

My life is now complete.  Seriously, I enjoyed that WAY too much.  I'm in very real danger of becoming a heroin addict purely to indulge my injection fetish.  Hopefully they'll keep me on the straight and narrow by letting me assist them with their meds for the next 6 months. 

Dad had chemo #4 on Thursday.  So far, I would say it's been pretty smooth, but that's also taking into consideration that the Prednisone crash probably started today.  That part never goes very well.  I'll be able to tell the extent of the damage from the sound of his voice when I call tomorrow.  I'll report back to you.  But until then, keep praying for boring.  We love boring.  Boring rocks our world.

The Good, The Bad, and The Globby

So the weird just keeps on coming.  Remember how I told you that Sam would be having his mid-treatment CT scan?  Yeah, he had it.  Good news, no visible cancer.  Bad news, gigantic blood clot in his heart.  Like, size of a cherry gigantic.  Additional bad news, he is now responsible for giving himself an injection twice a day for the next 6 months.  So far, Mom has been the only one who can tolerate administering the shots.  I'm hoping to get my turn.  But that's not the weird part.  The weird part starts here.  Dad moved up his mid-treatment CT scan.  He had it last Friday instead of tomorrow when it was originally supposed to happen.  The results are in.  Good news, cancer has reduced by 1/2, which sounds less exciting than Sam's results on the surface, but remember, Sam was on his third treatment by the time Dad started his 1st.  Bad news, not one, but TWO blood clots (he's kind of an over-achiever) were found on his scan.  One in his lung and one up by his port.  Additional bad news, he has to give himself injections twice a day for........wait for it............the next six months.  Mom is out shopping for her nurse get up as we speak.  That last sentence sounds mildly inappropriate, but I think I'll leave it.  I rather enjoy making people squirm just a bit.

Let's further examine this blood clot thing.  See that white arrow pointing to the dark glob inside the white glob?  That's what they have going on.  You don't want to have dark globs inside white globs.  It usually means there will be lots of needles in your future, as we have discovered.  But if you do happen to discover dark globs on your CT scan, you'll want to be sure you have a family member who also plans to have dark globs.  It's like getting cancer together, only funner.

Really, the good news outweighs the bad on this one.  As long as these blood thinning injections do their job, the blood clots probably wont become a huge issue.  That's the hope at least.  Cancer is getting it's butt kicked, and that's the most important thing.  Dad goes in for treatment #4 on Thursday.  Here's to taking out the enemy.  

Boo-yah!  

Counting Down

Our boys have been a little run down this week.  I usually find one or both of them looking something like this...

The next few days should be at least a little bit better.  

I think we've reached that point in the game where Dad and Sam are sick of being sick.  They both seem pretty worn out from the whole thing.  The tiredness, the throwing up, the pain, the lack of appetite, the brain fog, the worry, it's all taking it's toll.  It's hard to know how to help, or even what to say sometimes.  "Hang in there, you're totally going to beat this", only works so many times, you know.  They have battle fatigue and it's hard to think of things to combat that.  But the good news is that we've reached the point where we can start counting down instead of up.  Like when your running a marathon.  Okay, I have no experience to base this off of whatsoever, but I'm guessing that for the first half, you probably count up (mile 1, mile 2, mile 3, etc.).  But eventually, it probably becomes too mentally strenuous to count up.  So you start counting down (only 8 miles to go, now 7, now 6, etc.).  Folks, we're counting down.  And for some reason it feels huge to be able to do that.

I can't tell you how instrumental you've all been in helping us...them get to this point.  I've never seen a support team quite like the one my family has had.  I've been especially touched by the people who've gone through this before.  Cancer has an interesting bonding agent, if you will.  There's something about having gone through an experience with cancer either themselves or with a loved one, that teaches them exactly what another cancer patient might need at any given time.  There are conversations that they are uniquely qualified to have.  They can relate in a way that most people can not.  They know what to say and do when the rest of us feel helpless.  I would never have thought that the cancer community  could have inspired me in such a profound way.  It's love on a completely different level.  Talk about making lemonade...