Well, February has been interesting.

Mom is still going strong, despite being reminded frequently that she’s not supposed to be.

We’re still pushing hard to keep her motivated and believing in herself.

The phone calls from people who want to see her “one last time” are still pouring in. (P.S. People. Come on. It’s not helpful. How is she supposed to be hopeful when you aren’t? Doctors are wrong ALL THE TIME. Every day. Knock it off.)

This month’s motto, thus far? WE ARE NOT IN MOURNING. Stop it. For reals. She can be healthy. She can be well. She can have hope. This does not make us idiots, it means we are making educated opinions about our own situations, because we have a complete picture of all of the circumstances.

Also, though, that doesn’t mean it’s not the hardest thing any of us could’ve imagined. Seriously. This is like a marathon that never ends. We don’t need the weight of other people’s pessimism weighing us down right now. If all you’re going to do is make somebody cry, stay away. We don’t have time for that. Bring her flowers and encourage her on her journey. Don’t bring her your guilt about staying away when she needed you. That’s lame.

She’s been everyone’s supporter and cheerleader her whole life. Now it’s time to return the favor.

Ugh. Some people, though.

Feeling better today. Less pissy.

Yesterday was the family meeting with hospice to set up care for my Mom. And the phone was ringing off the hook and it was just too much. And it made me mad.

Today, though, we will move on and not let their narrow set of options affect us. As much. We will keep hoping, even though they aren’t encouraging.

And we will hit the eye cream, big time, because the bag situation is getting crazy.

Here’s a tip: Either be there, or don’t. Don’t act like you’re somebody’s best friend when you’ve let them down for the last couple of years. Don’t ignore them for two years of chemo, recovery, sickness, hospitalizations, more chemo, and more hours of bed rest than anyone should ever have to endure, and then pick up the phone when you hear through the grapevine that their doctor has given up on treating them.

It’s crap.

My mom has gradually lost touch with many friends over the last couple of years. She has a few wonderful people who call regularly and make an effort to come and cheer her up. It’s been hard for her to make plans because she gets sick sometimes at the last minute, and has to cancel, so I get that many of her friends just stopped trying after a little while. Other people have their own stuff. I get it.

But since the day of the horrible news, her phone has been ringing non-stop, and it’s mostly people who haven’t bothered to check in since we started this terrible journey in January 2016.

Don’t. It’s crap.

Don’t leave messages saying things like, “Hi, honey! Just checking in. I’ve been thinking about you!”

No, you haven’t. You heard that she got bad news and you want to hear it from the source. Or you feel guilty because you forgot her. But where have you been in the in-between? Did you ever once call and check on her when she was in the hospital with the weird fever and swollen legs and stuck in bed but feeling antsy and bored? Did you remember her that first birthday when she was on chemo and feeling horrible? Did you check in during the year we were watching and waiting to see what the chemo and the emobilizations would do, while we had that horrible cancer weighing our hearts down and making us all feel this horrible dread every single day with no relief?

No.

So don’t call now. She doesn’t have time for friends who only bothered with her when she was her pre-cancer, do anything for anyone who needs it, happy, sunshiny, self. Now, every day is a struggle to stay present and not be overwhelmed with the fear and the unknown. Every day is a big question mark while we wait to see how long her body can continue to fight off this terrible disease, while trying to minimize the damage her spirit has sustained.

She has so many people who love her and have stayed by her side through this time. She has put so much love out into the world, and the people who love her have made sure that she gets some of that back. She is safe. She is appreciated.

So, don’t. Just don’t.

Wow, it must be a record! I’ve blogged twice now this week.

Go, me.

It’s amazing how different I feel from ten days ago. It was already hard, but it’s gotten so much harder. (Go ahead, give me a, “That’s what she said.” I deserve it.)

I think we’re so conditioned to just accept what doctors say as gospel truth, and when they give up on us, we tend to give up on ourselves. So it’s hard to keep believing that something good could still happen.

I know good things have happened, by the way. We’ve been blessed with a wonderful family who like each other and get along really well most of the time, and we all have beautiful, safe homes and pets to make them happier and plenty of food and newish cars and all of that good stuff.

We have enough money to go to the doctor when we need to, and we have jobs with good co-workers and we live in towns that are pretty darn safe and friendly.

We all believe in God, in our own ways, and we all respect the differences in our beliefs and never fight about religion or politics (which in some families might be a minus, but we are big non-confrontationalists in our house so that’s all good for us).

So we have all of this good stuff, but the words that came out of that doctor’s mouth last week are ruining everything with their poopy pessimistic finality.

Or, I’m letting them ruin everything. Because I do believe in miracles. It’s just kind of tiring when they don’t happen when and how I want them to. I know it doesn’t mean that it won’t, and I know it doesn’t mean we won’t ever have happy times again. It just feels like we’ve been slogging through the darkness forever, and my heart hurts.

Ugh.

So I’m brightening everyone else’s day with my little ray of sunshine, hahahahahahaha. Also, every time you put, “That’s what she said.” on the internet anywhere, another unicorn is born, so there’s that.

Two. Two unicorns. My work here is done.

I’m trying to grow up and be a good person and be very adult like about things such as life, death, taxes, you know. That old chestnut.

It’s kind of rough.

So we’re making a plan. A plan that involves refusing to buy into any supposed expiration dates for people.  Most specifically, my mom. After her last test, they just sent us all home and said it would be a couple of months more and then that would be it.

However, we think that’s a load of crap and we don’t like it, so we are trying something different.

Cancer sucks, though. I need to get that in there. It really, really sucks. And for those of you who think that our advanced civilization has the cancer problem beat, I am here to tell you that it most certainly does not. There’s so much talk about the advances we’ve made in breast and prostate cancer, but there are so many other kinds of cancer that don’t have the same kind of funding for research, and even then, people are still dealing with those cancers, too, and all that funding doesn’t seem to make a dent in the number of people who get the cancer in the first place. If we don’t figure out why there are so many people whose bodies are attacking them with these rapidly multiplying cells, we are all going to have to deal with this at some point. 

So what do you do when your doctor sends you home and gives up?

Well, you buy a book. The book we’ve started with is called Anticancer, and it’s all about changing how you think and what you put into your body, and exercise, and all that good stuff. And then, after you read that, you find other books, like Radical Remission, and you realize that people do live through terminal diagnoses. It happens, and it happens more than we hear about.

So you make a plan, and you decide to go with positivity, meditation, massage, healthy eating and exercise. Rather than just sinking into the pit of despair. 

And that’s that. That’s where we’re at. We WILL be hopeful. We WILL beat this.  My mother IS NOT a statistic. There is no lying back and accepting this. 

We are going to eat all the vegetables.

I ate mushrooms yesterday and asparagus on Saturday, ON PURPOSE.

I know. That’s crazy. But not any less so than the last two years have been. Let’s go.

Just wrote my first blog post in weeks (Google locked me out for some reason, but today I got it to work), and I realized it was seriously depressing.

A whole page of sick people, more sick people, blah blah blah blah blah.

Anyway, I deleted it all and decided to just post this pretty picture. My husband has always hated my Subaru (issues with the transmission and this weird noise from the back end), so he surprised me yesterday while I was home sick with a gross chest cold. Yep, drove up with a surprise new car, just for me.

Because he’s sweet and it’s just been so crappy for so long, he thought I needed a boost.

Meet Vanilla Thunder...

Eeeeeeeeeeeee! So cute. And much less soccer carpoolish. Not that that’s a bad thing, just not my thing, ha ha. Life is still ever so lifey, but gee whiz, my husband is the best.

Hey! It’s 2018!

Yeah, we woke up this morning to a busted heater in our bedroom and the start of a diet, so that’s pretty awesome. Otherwise, I’ve decided that I will make this the year of not worrying about it.

Ha ha ha ha ha.

No, but really, I’m trying not to be actively pessimistic. I was trying for optimism earlier in 2017, but I think that’s just not a good fit for me. Plus, it never works out and then I just feel like crap. So, this year, I am going for a non-optimistic, non-pessimistic, middle ground. That way, I’m more in the moment. My meditation regime worked, so maybe this’ll work, too.

Or not. But, either way, maybe it’ll be less stressful.

Dieting, though. Ugh. I am not a fan. I’ve been on a diet my whole life, and it hasn’t worked yet. Oh, well. I’ll keep going.

Not optimistically, that’s for damn sure. But not pessimistically, either. I guess.

So...onto 2018 and all that. Have a (fill in your own personal choice of an adjective) New Year. Woohoo.