Sideline Report #5

I went to a Math Forum yesterday.  As a former English teacher, and total inept math person, this wasn't something I was exactly looking forward to.  Needless to say, I'd packed my work bag with plenty of things to occupy myself-counselor forms for career center applications, schedule change forms awaiting approval, course lists to balance...paperwork that needed catching up on.  I didn't count on knowing a soul at this thing, and planned on a seat in the corner of the room.  Then I pushed the door open and there stood Rose!  I have not seen her in months, as our schedules keep conflicting, paralleling, and sadly not crossing.  I let out a total teenaged girl squeal and hugged the breath right out of her lungs.  Of course, I was given the same in return.  I know I've said it before, but she gives the best hugs.  Ever.  I am certain I had sunbeams shining out of my hair, finger tips and toes, so happy I was to see her!


Guys and gals...she looks so good.  I am happy to report, that our dearest friend Rose looks amazing.  She has 14 treatments to go before radiation is finished (I hope I have that number right!!) and looks so stinking beautiful.  If ever there was a woman built to kick cancer's ass, it is her.  And she looks so damn good doing it!  If you've read the first four installments of this report, and have been sending your best thoughts her way, keep it up!  If you haven't, you can check out #1 #2 #3 and #4 to get in the loop.  


That's all I have for now.  Keep sending strong, powerful, prayerful, happy, awesome, kick-ass thoughts Rose's way.  She needs them-even though yesterday she looked every bit as beautiful as ever.  The battle isn't over yet.  But there is light at the end of the tunnel.  

Sideline Report #4

Radiation begins Monday for one of the dearest people on the planet. She goes for six and a half weeks, five days each week. Lawd, that seems overwhelming to me. All of us who love Rosie so much wish we could each step in for a day and bear some of the treatment for her. But that wouldn't really help. Stupid, dumbass cancer. I loathe you. Why don't you make sense?

I know, I'm talking to a disease that is not only stupid and awful (and the scourge of the earth) but also CANNOT TALK BACK. Dear readers, whoever you are, trust me when I tell you that I'm only partially crazy.

Do me, no do Rosie, a solid favor will you please? Will you say some prayers, send good wishes, love, positive energy, or whatever healing and loving force you believe in this way? Then pass this along to anyone with a good heart who will do the same. Rosie is one of those rare souls that you meet and know we need to keep around. As long as we can. I know with all of our good energy and her strength, we will. So put on your favorite cheerleading skirt, grab your pom-poms, and join me at the sideline this Monday. I'll be that slightly crazy lady down there yelling at the top of my lungs. "Rah Rah Rhee, Kick Cancer in the Knee! Rah Rah Rass, Kick Cancer in the Other Knee!!" and other stupid cheers to make dumbass cancer get gone!! Wheeee!!

Sideline Report #2

This will have to be quick, as I am trying to get caught up on work after a whirlwind weekend of my stepdaughter's lovely wedding!  But I do have an update to share...


Rose had her surgery last week...a lumpectomy.  The mass was removed and they found nothing had spread to lymph nodes.  I have never been more relieved to get medical news than I was for this  She has a long road ahead of her still.  Her follow-up, then five days of radiation each week for six weeks.  But she is a strong and amazing woman.  I know she can do this.  I know she will kick cancer's ass.  It is just a matter of when cancer will realize it isn't welcome, and get the hell out.


I still feel as though there isn't much we cheerleaders can do but sit here, yell at the top of our lungs for our dearest friend, and wait/hope for the happiest day to come as fast as possible.  It isn't easy, this cancer battle, no matter which side you're on.  But talking to a survivor here at work gave me more hope today.  She asked specific questions about Rose's surgery, her treatment plan, etc. and then glowingly reported back to me that with her course of treatment, the prognosis looked good.  Right now, I will hang my hat on any good news I can take. 

Happy Valentine's Day to you all.  Say a little prayer, or send a happy and loving thought Rose's way.  She needs all of our strength and love right now as she enters into this fight.  We all love her so very much, and are giving her the very best rah, rah we can!

Sideline Report #1

Two Fridays ago, one of the dearest women in the world left me a message on my phone.  She was informed by her doctor that she has breast cancer.  We had already made plans prior to that day for her to come to my home and spend the day together, and she wanted to let me know before her arrival.  This gave me some time to process before Saturday, before there would be the big giant elephant in the room.  Upon leaving work I flipped my radio to the familiar strains of NPR's afternoon classics and watched the countryside pass me by.  I couldn't quite put my jumbled thoughts into a collected and ordered piece.  In situations like this, I try to be pragmatic.  When I handle crisis situations at school, I am the one who likes to coordinate everything, make sure the details are looked to.  I am very good at that.  But this, somehow, knocked the wind from my sails and I was at a total loss.  I was unprepared for Saturday entirely.


Which was silly.  Rose (as I'm going to call her for the purposes of this blog) blew into the house with her infectious laugh and one of her hugs that squeezes your lungs dry and makes everything in the world right. She dropped her giant sewing machine case on the floor and squeezed me the same way she has for the past 8 odd years.  I felt every nerve in my body release.  It was going to be okay.  She was her normal self, running around the house, sniffing the chili I had bubbling away on the stove (proclaiming it smelled delicious), praising my husband's work in the basement, and setting up her workspace facing mine in the living room so we could get to work.  Within no time at all both of our sewing machines were humming away and the words were flowing as fast as the stitches on our fabric.  


Of course, I did have questions.  I had tons.  But Rose was at the stage where she had few answers.  She had as many questions as I did.  I joked that she needed a voice recorder with her at all times so she could record her questions as she drove/worked for her doctor.  By the time lunch rolled around, we had made progress on our project, and were ready to settle down to eat with the boys.  


Later that evening, when were done sewing for the day and my husband was done working in the basement, we sat and chatted some before she headed home.  We talked more about the big "C" word.  About second opinions, procedures, surgeries, recovery, etc.  We laughed, we were serious, but were mostly honest and real.  When Rose finally left for home (with leftover chili and a promise to return for more sewing in two weeks) I felt as thought I had a better idea about what she was facing.  And in many ways, what we, her fans, are facing.


Except that I don't.  You see, about 8 years ago, just before Rose came into my life, I lost my beloved grandmother to colon cancer.  When grandma was diagnosed she told no one and sought no treatment, wanting to die on her own terms.  As the end neared, she let in those she wanted to on her condition.  By the time I was told, she had only one week to live.  Of course, my grandma was wise and knew that if I'd been told earlier I would have canceled my Europe trip earlier in the summer and not moved across the state as planned-all to nurse her.  But her loss crushed me.  I felt like I was screaming underwater for help and no one was there to save me.  


I wasn't there to hold my grandma's hand as she battled that awful cancer.  But I am here with Rose.  I have a very similar relationship with Rose that I did with my grandma.  My grandma and I were the best of friends, sisters, grandma/granddaughter, mother/daughter...peanut butter and jelly.  I could tell her anything.  That afternoon of sewing with Rose, I understood this.  I understood that in many ways, when I was drowning in my grief, she was one of the people who pulled me through it.  


Now she is in the game of cancer.  What is so difficult is that all of us who love and adore her-her children, her grandchildren, her friends-we are not in the game.  We can't be.  I would trade places with her in an instant (not that she'd let me though).  All I can do is sit here on the sidelines, cheering at the top of my lungs.  Willing her to win this game.  To kick cancer's ass.  I know she will.  She's tough.  So I'll be bringing you sideline reports periodically here, to keep me feeling like there is something I can do, besides praying as hard as I can.  I hope everyone else out there is cheering too.