My Calico Dreams.

Right now, I am resting.....if by resting, you mean typing.  

I was resting earlier....if by resting, you mean washing a wall.

I think I have a resting problem.

My mom is a good mom and she is well aware of this.  

"Have you napped today?" she will query if she is visiting me.  She will lean in close with narrowed eyes and examine me, "You look tired.  You should nap.  Go nap.  For at least an hour!"

Mothers.  They never stop mothering, do they?  They know their children and mine certainly knows me.

So does my sister, Crystal.

She's a sneaky one though and she innocently questions my children.

"So, Liam.  Does your mom nap after radiation?"

"Yeah, sometimes."

"Does she nap for a LONG time?"

"Uh, I dunno.  I think so."

It's not that I am trying to be difficult or a hero or anything like that....I just like doing things rather than resting.  And there are so many things to do!!

But, let me assure you, (mom and Crystal), I do nap.  There have been days when the radiation and healing has just left me T.I.R.E.D.  And then, I drop, flop and roll onto my belly and sleep!

"Kids, do you wanna go watch tv or something?" I will slur sleepily in their general direction.

"YEAH!" they will screech and run toward the brain-sucking-box.  Once it is on, they are slack-jawed and mesmerized.  Silence settles in with a sigh and I run to my bed.  I swan dive onto it.

Seconds pass and I am feeling a good doze come on when my friendly companion jumps onto the bed to join me.

"Meow?" she always politely asks as she pads soundlessly towards me.

She is a pretty, little, calico cat named Kit-Kat.  She hangs out in our bedroom, scared to death of our dog and his crazy, high energy and slobbery affections.  When I receive physio in my room, she likes to help out and her version of helping out often involves licking my exposed armpit.  

** ASIDE:  if you have NEVER had your armpit licked by a cat before, you just HAVE NOT lived!!!**  

When I am napping though, there are no armpits to lick so Kit-Kat keeps her tongue to herself.  She walks up my back and settles in.  If you have a cat, you know that settling in means she will begin kneading the area where she wants to sleep.  Yes, kneading!  Cats knead or push in and out with their front paws; left paw then right paw....to prepare their sleeping spot.  Once this is done, she will curl her tail around her body and begin to doze.  She is purring and warm.  It's like having a pre-sleep massage and then a heated, vibrating blanket put on me and it feels wonderful.  

There are days when I wonder if she is working in cahoots with my mom and sister.

Maybe they have pulled her aside and offered her kitty-treats-on-the-sly.

I can just picture them cornering my calico cat and whispering in her fluffy ears:

"Psst....Kit-Kat...get that girl to sleep and there will be plenty of rewards coming your way!"

Whether she is being paid off or not, Kit-Kat is most certainly doing her part to help out around here. I am so thankful for the people and the animals in my life who look out for me!

And, today, I hope that you are surrounded by others, be they human or beast, who give you loads of love when you need it!

:) 

Brigette

(here is Kit-Kat sleeping on my back!)

Radiant Rays of Radiation

Today was a gloriously sunshiny day over here in our world.   It was a lovely day too.  I spent a little time sipping coffee in the sun with my beloved Paul, spinning my children around in the backyard and chasing the dog because he gobbled up a tiny, white violet that I had JUST planted.

"Drop it!" I commanded sternly, pointing at the ground in case the dog wasn't sure which way he should drop the plant.
His big brown eyes that always look like they are heavily outlined with black eye-liner, looked mournfully up at me.  He chewed a little on the plant.

"Drop it!" I commanded again and made a slight movement towards him.

My dog's eyes lit up.  "Chase??!!" he thought giddily, "I LOVE chase!  I'll go this way while you lurch that way!!!"  (And yes, I can read my dog's thoughts. )
I lurched and commanded, cajoled and even brought out treats to try and convince the dog to drop the now half-masticated plant.
"HELP ME!!!!!"  the White Violet beseeched, its tiny white face peering up at me from the salivating jaws of my dog.  I am certain he even raised a tiny leaf imploringly towards me.
But alas, I could not get there fast enough and the White Violet is no longer with us.  Yukon ate the first flower I could plant this spring.
Sigh.
This does not bode well for the flower-beds I had hoped to plant in several weeks.
It may, however, bode well for a series on "Plants versus Doggie" written by Moi when I have run out of cancer material for writing.
We will have to wait and see.
And waiting and seeing niggles my memories into remembering that I have left you all hanging with what happens at radiation appointments.   Bad Brigette!
I apologize.

Let's recap.
I am in the last active part of my breast cancer treatments.
Chemo is done like dinner.
Surgery is a thing of the near past.
Medications that I am to be on for five years have begun.
And now, radiation.
I have been receiving radiation for four weeks and I have one more week to go.  Well, technically, one more week plus one day since I began the day after Easter Monday.   But the END is IN SIGHT!
At least the end for now.
And this is exciting!
Well, I am excited.
Paul, Liam, Donovan, Gwen and Lochlan are excited!
My beautiful family and gorgeous friends are excited!
Hurray!  Hurray!  Hurray!
I mean, it has been a slice, but I am ready to BE DONE with poking and prodding and having weird, gross chemicals sloshing around in my body!
I am ready to MOVE ON to whatever new chapter God has in store for my family (please let it be a dull one for a while....?)

And this logically brings us all back to a fascinating grammar question; bah, who am I kidding....ALL grammar is fascinating!  Don't you agree?  When I teach my kids about prepositions and subjective pronouns, I feel surges of extreme excitement welling up inside of me like some kind of crazy excitement-volcano.  I'm sure my kids feel the same way because their body language just screams out "WOOT WOOT WOOT"; I can tell by their slumped shoulders and glazed eyes!!!!

Back to the fascinating grammar question:  if I have been receiving radiation does that mean I have been "radiating" and am I now "radiant"?
Let's get all ponderific on that for a moment.
And now I am wondering if that is even a grammar issue at all or just a vocabulary one.  Hmmm. Confusion has set in.

Let's just collectively agree to get back to radiation.
I am smack-dab in the middle-ish of radiation treatments.  (snore, RADIATING sounds so much coolerer.  )

If you recall, I am often RUNNING to radiation because I have a punctuality issue.
Let's not get distracted by the need to remind me that punctuality is a wonderful thing, because I am aware of that and strive to be better.
This is why all the clocks in my house are 15 minutes ahead.
And my wrist watch is 17 minutes ahead, but that was a bit of a mistake since my wrist watch and I had a little misunderstanding when I went to change the time on it.  Snippy watch!  So it remains just a little ahead of all the other clocks in my residence.
This clock-aheaded-ness keeps me a little more on time.
A.  Little.  More.
But there is still the need - daily - for a jaunty jog to Juravinski.  But so be it, exercise is good for me, right?

I run, I arrive, I change into a hospital gown, I wait.
Veni, vidi, vichi, right?

The wait time is very short.  This is a new thing at the Juravinski Centre since almost everything else takes SO LONG!  I have hardly anytime at all to read about David Beckham or Prince's passing before I am called back to the Salle du Radiation also known as the Radiation Room.  There is a familiar team of radiologists that meet with me each day.  Cara, Melanie, Jeremy and a few others whose names I have forgotten.

We exchange pleasantries as we walk along the corridor that curves around from the waiting room and spills into the large radiation room.  Maple leaves are etched in a mosaic pattern along the floor of the corridor and more maple leaves decorate the drop ceiling.  

Nature mimicked to relax patients?

The walls are painted the warm colour of a double-cream coffee.
Two giant computer screens flank the room; my name is boldly printed at the top of each screen along with a screen-full of numbers and information that I don't understand.

There is a curvy mirror on the ceiling - you know, those ones that allow you to see around corners?

A ginormous grey machine dominates the room.  I'm going to go with that being the Radiation Machine and not the coffee maker. It is huge and has a giant swooping neck that curves around and attaches to a round grey head with a screen-like face peering down at the bed below it.
The bed is a hard, grey surface that is cleverly disguised as a bed by a clean, white sheet that is draped over it before I arrive.
My team and I approach the bed and I lie down on my back.

My blue-patterned hospital gown is nudged to the side so my beautiful scar is exposed.  
Left hand is raised up and positioned in this arm-holding-thingamajig.  Skin stretched tight over bone.
And then the team gathers around my prone self to position me in the exact same pose each day.

"Just lie there.  Don't help us move you." They instruct and this part is kind of fun.
I just hang out all dead-weight and they grunt while they try to roll, shove, and position me properly.

"Okay, good!  Perfect." they will say when all is positioned well.  Then a block is placed on my diaphragm just for fun.  Just kidding!  That would be weird!!!
A block is placed on my diaphragm and that block sends a computer signal to a screen that is moved so that it is inches from my face.

The screen shows a thick blue line in the middle of it and a thin yellow line near the bottom.  The yellow line moves up and down slowly matching the rhythm of my breathing.

"Hey cool!" I thought the first time I connected the block purpose to the breathing line.  When I breath in, the yellow line moves up.
Exhale, yellow line moves down.
Inhale.....yellow line up.
Exhale.......yellow line down.

You get the point.

The purpose of this screen is to help me see how much I need to inhale so that I can lift my chest cavity up and away from Mr. Heart because we don't want him to get radiated!  No way, sirree!
When I am told to, I inhale deeply enough so that I see the thin yellow line make its way up to the thick blue line.
The visual helps a lot.

So, I am positioned and have my cool block on and then the radiologists turn out most of the lights and scurry out of the room.
This always makes me feel a tad uneasy.
Why are they scurrying away?
Are these radiation rays THAT dangerous?
Because they are being zapped at my body.
Daily.
For five weeks.
(whimper....)
The radiologists are gone but a camera faces me.  I would finger wave or pull a face but I am not allowed to move.  Only breathe in and out.
Then a disembodied voice speaks from a speaker on the ceiling.

"Okay, Brigette, when you are ready, take a big breath in." someone says.

I inhale and watch the thin yellow line on my little computer screen move up up up and make its way into the big, blue-line zone.  I hold my breath and the yellow line stays there.

BRRRRRRZZZZZZZZTTTTT, go the radiation rays, BRRRRZZZZZTTTT.

"You can breath normally now," the voice gently instructs after several seconds have passed by and the rays are no longer radiating.

zzzzzzzzrrrrrrmmmm  whir whir whir click click click whir goes the ginormous grey machine as it slowly swings its big, grey face around to another vantage point.

I am told to hold my breath again.  Lift that chest cavity.  Hold.
zap zap zap
This happens four separate times.  I am radiated from the front, back and both sides.  I have nice reddish skin to show for it.  It almost looks like a tan.  Almost.

I am still.
My eyes often gaze into the curved mirror on the ceiling because it is right there in front of me.  What I see no longer bothers me much but it did at first.  There is a girl in that mirror.  She looks so fragile in that hospital gown.  Her body is scarred and disfigured.  Her arm is held back at an awkward and painful-looking angle.  The first time I saw her, tears slid down my face but I could not wipe them away because I was not allowed to move.  
Helpless.
The sight of her doesn't make me cry any more.
She's my new norm.
I am still.

"Okay, Brigette, we are all done.  You can relax your arm," the voice instructs and soon my team has rejoined me.
We exchange some more pleasantries.  I find out one of the radiologists has a dog and teenaged children.  Another grew up in Elora and went to Central Wellington District High School.
"Hey, I went there too after I graduated from Emmanuel Christian!" I say, astounded once again at how small our world can seem.
"What?  Cool!"  she says and puts my diaphragm-block away.  My bed is lowered.  I swing my legs around and sit up.

"Well, see you all tomorrow!" I cheerily say.
I reach around to grip my gown shut and breeze on outta there.

Ciao,
Brigette

"Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him.  He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken.......Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge."  Psalm 62: 5, 6, 8

All the Life We Can Live

About a year ago, I was asked to join a book club.
This club consists of a number of ladies from my church.  One of us picks a book, we all read it and then meet together to discuss it.  This is great fun!  I am challenged to read books that I have not heard of or to explore a genre that I have ventured into before.  I love this!   On our Book Club Nights, there is always food and sometimes wine.  It is a deliciously wonderful time.  Now you all want to join too, don't you?

The book we just finished reading and discussing between slurps of wine and the munching of food is called "All the Light We Cannot See" by Anthony Doerr.  This was a great read and it takes place during World War II.  I don't want to give too much away but I really want to share a conversation that takes place between some of the main characters in the story:

Here it is:

"He says, 'You are very brave.'
She lowers the bucket.  'What is your name?'
He tells her.  She says, 'When I lost my sight, people said I was brave.  When my father left, people said I was brave.  But it is not bravery; I have no choice.  I wake up and live my life.  Don't you do the same?'"

This conversation has haunted me for days.  And days.  But I could not look this part of the story up again because I had returned my borrowed copy to Mindy.  My physiotherapist.  And friend.  And fellow Book-Club-Goer.

I kept thinking, I have to borrow that book again.  I want to reread this conversation and mull it over.

Today, as I bolted to my radiation appointment......Radiation Rush #16.....I noticed a familiar book lying at the VERY TOP OF THE PILE OF DONATED BOOKS.  You know, those donated books that I was just talking about yesterday....the ones that always distract me as I rush past to my appointments.
Right there.
On the top of the pile.
"All the Light We Cannot See" by Anthony Doerr.

"I was just thinking about you," I murmured to the book as I picked it up and sniffed it.  (My name is Brigette and I sniff books.  Doesn't everyone??)
I began paging through it and quickly found that haunting conversation.

Go on.....reread it....

"He says, 'You are very brave.'
She lowers the bucket.  'What is your name?'
He tells her.  She says, 'When I lost my sight, people said I was brave.  When my father left, people said I was brave.  But it is not bravery; I have no choice.  I wake up and live my life.  Don't you do the same?'"

Beautiful isn't it?
Here's why it has haunted me.
Since I was diagnosed with cancer, I have had SO MANY people tell me that I am brave or amazing or strong.

"I could NOT do what you are doing, Brigette!" one friend proclaimed to me one day and I didn't really know what to say.

I did not feel brave.
Or amazing.
Or strong at all.
Only when I prayed did I feel fortified and my prayers were often of the tear-streaming-down-my-face variety.
So here is my (very late) response...

"When I was diagnosed with cancer, people said I was brave/ strong/ amazing.  But it is not bravery/ strength/ amazingness; I have no choice.  I wake up and live my life.  Don't you do the same?"

I think ending there would be quite powerful and literary, but my fingers are still typing...

"Halt, fingers!" say I, but they will not listen.  I may have to bite them or snatch them away from the keyboard.  This may get messy...

Here is why my fingers insist on typing beyond that rephrased quote.  I have two things I would like to add:

1.  Last August, I was not given a choice.
God certainly did not say to me, "Brigette.  Would you like to face cancer for the next year or a Caribbean Cruise?"
Because I can most confidently ASSURE you that I would have gone for the Cruise.
Not cancer.
Ever!
Yet, I have learned so much in the past year.
And I have LOVED writing to you.
Take that pain and turn it into your passion, someone said to me.
Take that rage.  Put it on the page.  Take the page to the stage and blow the roof off the place, the-band-Script sings out.

My family has grown closer too.  You know my one son who had outgrown kisses?  Tonight I threatened him:  "I'm gonna kiss and lick you, Dons!" I said and lurched towards him, tongue lolling.
"Just kisses!" he smirked back and leaned his cheek toward me.
I was so stunned and gave him as many smooches as I could land on that sweet little cheek before he could recoil and wipe off my mommy-slime!

But it's been hard.  Stinkin' hard!  There have even been messy moments filled with arguing and fighting.  But we have been praying so hard and clinging to God so much and He is just AMAZING!

Wanna chat with someone?  He's always up.

Need to cry or whine or complain?  He will hear you out.

Feel powerless?  He is all powerful and He is there to tell you and me that He will make us strong when we lean on Him.

So....did I get a choice?  Nopers.  
Knowing what I now know, would I choose cancer?
Nope again!
But I am certainly glad that God is making these decisions and then coming along for the wild ride to assure and comfort, console and give hope.  
I have learned so much from Him.


2.  "I wake up and live my life."  I love that line.

I don't just want to survive, I want to LIVE.

To hike and read and slurp wine.
To heatedly argue with Paul and then smooch and make up afterwards.
To chase my kids around the yard or up the stairs :  "HERE COMES THE PINCH-MONSTER!"
To go out for dinner with my sister and friends.
To spend time with my mom and dad and mother-in-law.
To run and cartwheel; kayak and coach soccer.
So, I plan to do that.
LIVE.
Rest assured, I am FULLY aware that Cancer may come back some day and claim my other breast, my bones, my body, my breath.  It can take that all away but it will NEVER ERASE me!
God made me and laid out my days.  He is with me everyday.
I will wake up and live my life!

Please tell me you will too.
I know, sometimes you may need to be on autopilot because you are so tired-will-the-babies-ever-sleep-again?  Or you are so sick from chemo treatments or radiation.  Or so sad because you miss your beloved husband.  Or son.
You weren't give a choice, either, were you?
Know that God is there with you.  That He has your life in His hands.
That He sees your fatigue, nausea, and tears.
In the midst of it all.....look for Him....
Then wake up and live.

You are so brave.


Love you,
Brigette

Long ago God said to his people: "I have loved you with an everlasting love, with unfailing love I have drawn you to myself."  Jeremiah 31: 3 (NLT)

Rushing to Radiation!

Every day for five weeks.
I thought this would be a crazy part of my treatment but somehow it has settled in to being a norm.
For the past three weeks and for the next two.
Every day, I make my way to the Juravinski Centre - to the imposing red-brick building that looms over the other Concession Street buildings here in Hamilton - for the last active part of my cancer treatment.
Radiation.

We have settled into a schedule.
And I LOVE schedules.
And lists.
And organizing things.
Because there is such control when that happens and I fancy a little control in this outta-control world I inhabit.
How about you?
In the midst of this whirlwind of a world, do you sit in the eye of the storm with a checklist in hand?
Mmmmm....so nice isn't it?

Want a glimpse into the new everyday over here?

Of course you do or you wouldn't have clicked on this link, silly reader!
Unless, of course, you clicked by accident and now cannot stop reading even though you want to.  Maybe you have one of those rare conditions where you cannot stop reading something once you have started.  I have that and always feel super annoyed when my brain decodes and puts together the words on those advertising park benches that smugly state something about "See!  Advertising Works!" just because they fooled you into reading what was written on that stinkin' bench.  That is so annoying!
I apologize if you have that sort of condition....the reading one.
Here, I will leave a little blank for your eyes to rest at and you can stop reading.  Now.


But for those of you who wish to read on, please do so.

So, our mornings remain relatively normalish.  At least, normal for over here.  We have our homeschool.  We read, write, do math, go over grammar, map out history stuff and then read some more.  I am so thankful for these small slices of normalcy over here.

Then it is the afternoon and a variety of people make their way over here.
My mom.  My mother-in-law.  My sister or sister-in-law or brother.  My friends.
I am so blessed to have these people around.  And so thankful.
My support system is made up of an ocean of people and their prayers and love!
They come and take care of my beautiful children while I get going to that gigantic cancer hospital.

I am almost always late.
This is something that I have tried to improve upon for pretty much my whole life; yet I am quite certain that the only thing I was on time for EVER was my birth.
And for that, I was two weeks early.
Because I am also furiously impatient and I wanted to be BORN already!
But for pretty much all else in life, I am less-than-punctual.
Don't tell anyone!
So, I zip carefully just at speed limit along our nice Hamilton roads that have LOTS of stop signs and street lights!
As I zip along, I berate myself for forgetting to get in touch with the two lovely families who live VERY close to the Juravinski Centre and who have offered the use of their close-by driveways.
Tomorrow I will remember, I vow to myself.
Then I instantly forget, because my brain is fun that way!  Whee!

I locate a free parking spot along one of the side streets and align the free parking time-slot with the type of appointment I have.  If I only have radiation, I can park in the 1 hour parking spots and those are nice and close to the hospital.
Then I clamber from my vehicle, slam and lock the door and bolt down the sidewalk.
I am like the speed of light from this point all the way to the hospital.
Slow light.
That huffs, puffs and wheezes.
My purse beats a steady rhythm against my legs while I run, keys in hand, super short hair waving weakly in the wind.
"Look at us," they seem to say (the hairs, of course) "we are waving in the wind.  We are blowing in the breeze."

I arrive and pass through the double, automated doors and dash down the hallway to the stairwell.  No elevators, please!

Rumble, rumble, stomp, stomp, stomp down two flights of stairs and turn left past the Hummingbird Cafe where I have shared many a coffee date with Paul.
At the base of the stairs, there is a large table filled with donated novels.
This is a dangerous part for me because if I don't avert my eyes, I will immediately be distracted.
BOOKS!  my brain screams at me, STOP!  YOU! MUST! READ!
Before I know it, I will often have a book in hand and will be reading the summary on the back or be well into the first chapter before my brain reminds me,
"Uh, weren't you late?"
Oh yeah, shoot!  I dash off, book in hand.  I will add it to the leaning tower of books on my bedside table.  To-Be-Reads they be.

While I run I unzip my purse and begin rummaging.  This is never a good idea!  Sometimes dog treats fly forth along with sunglasses, gum, children's socks and a dice.  My purse is a scary place to rummage in.  Especially whilst running.  I find my sign-in sheet and sign myself in.
Yes.  I am queued.  That means I am now officially in line for radiation, baby!

I make my way past another large pile of donated novels.
NOVELS......my brain drools....but I will shut one eye or cover both eyes while I go past or just shout, "I can't see you.  Nah nah nah nah nah!" Which is awkward to do in public but, whatever, I can just blame it on my treatments, right?  Or pretend someone else was yelling nonsensical things and just look askance at some poor random other person.

I dash into a change room and change into a lovely, clean blue patterned gown.
I have mastered the wearing of these gowns.  Open to the back!
I am ready and I sprint to a waiting room chair and rip open a magazine.
I slow my breathing and almost anyone would think I had been sitting there calmly for hours just waiting my turn.

....to be continued...

The Cheering Squad

Today was a great day over here in My World because today was largely spent inside an arena.
I love arenas, don't you?
I love the arena smell that's a convoluted mixture of ice, sweat and deep-fried food.  Mmmmm...someone should package that smell and sell it as a scented candle......or a fancy eau du parfum or a room spritzer thingy .....they could call it DEEP FRIED PERSPIRATION or ESSENCE OF HOCKEY...

It certainly is a smell that brings back a lot of memories for me.
I'm pretty certain I lived half my life in an arena:

Learning how to skate.

Watching my dad play hockey...."GO DAD GO" we would scream from the stands and watch with awe and a swelling pride as he would swoop up the ice, shoot and SCORE!

Taking figure skating lessons with my sister.  We rocked.

Watching my little brothers play hockey and cheering from the stands:  "WE GOT THE G, WE GOT THE O, WE GOT THE GO GO GO..."

Chasing my cousins round and around the arena in some eternal game of tag.

Laying flat out on the ground looking for fallen coins around the candy machines so that we could buy some candy, gum, fries, chips, chocolate or JUST ANYTHING from the glorious, wondrous Concession Stand! (insert angelic choral singing here)

Playing pick up games of hockey with large groups of friends.  Dressing up in borrowed hockey equipment and then pirouetting out on the ice in my figure skates.


And then growing up and meeting my husband to be.....at an arena.  I remember him sauntering out of his dressing room when we first met.....he emerged with still-wet hair, flushed face and his hockey bag slung casually over his shoulder.   He was a goalie, so he must have had his goalie pads and stick nestled somewhere in there too.  He swung his equipment to the ground and his eyes scanned the room.  I'm sure they met my gaze at some point because I was gawking (elegantly gawking I'm sure because if you know me, you know I'm all grace, elegance and poise).
I may have wolf-whistled or maybe that just happened in my head.
I certainly began to wildly drool all over the place.
There's nothing like a little salivation to cement a relationship so we began dating and the landscape of our dawning love included a zamboni.
Sigh!


Fast forward almost twenty years and my beloved and I are back.  Inside the arena, that is.
We are a hockey mom and dad.
Paul has coached the past few years and our two older boys play.
I love coming to the games and heading up the cheering squad for our boys.
And I'm not shy.
I offer suggestions:  "SKATE!  C'MON SKATE!  PASS!  SHOOT!"
I offer consolations:  "DON'T WORRY, KIDS!  YER DOIN' GREAT!"
I offer unbridled joy:  "WHOOP WHOOP WHOOP!  WAY TO GO!"
Sometimes I just yell out multisyllabic noises because that is fun too:  "SHLEPTOLIPHINOGINS!"
I sit.  I stand.  Sometimes I do some squats so that I can add in a short work-out routine.
It's great and wonderful fun.

Packing is an important part of preparing to watch a game and I have gotten good at this over the years.  Packing must be especially thought-out to take into consideration my mini cheering squad.  See, when I come to the games, I come with my two younger children.  They are not currently playing hockey.  They also do not have a large amount of interest in watching their brothers play hockey.  And they don't like the cold arena.  Thereby I must pack and prepare very carefully.

So, this morning I rented a moving van to tow over all the supplies I would need.
1.  One large, warm blanket.  This would be used to drape over the hard, plastic bench that we sit on to provide some cushioning and a whole lotta warmth.  Plastic, I have found, does not warm up well and we have spent many a Saturday with frozen butt-cheeks as a result!

2.  A backpack filled with granola bars, crackers, candy, chips, apples and juiceboxes.  This is to stave off the starvation that my poor children immediately feel once they enter the arena.  I blame the eight-hundred-gagillion candy vending machines for this!

3.  Hats, scarves, mittens, warm jackets.  Because the arenas operate at sub-zero temperatures and we need to maintain our body temperatures.

4.  Thermos filled with hot coffee.  To stave off my knee-jerk reaction when I pass the Concession Stand (insert angelic choral singing here!).   I do not need to buy JUST ANYTHING because I have a coffee already!

5.  Cell phone so that I can text Paul when I arrive.  "I'm here!" I will text although those two words will most likely take me 14 minutes to text since my fingers and my touchscreen have a love-hate relationship.....

6.  And the most essential:  another backpack filled with stuffies, colouring books, cars and more stuffies.  Today we brought 30 or so.  This is to provide entertainment beyond shaking the vending machines to see if any candy will fall out.


Once we arrived at the arena this morning, we unpacked, staked out our space and settled in.
My mom met me.  My parents have graduated to being Hockey Grandparents and they often join us for these early games.

Today was the last day of hockey and the boys had two games to play.
Our one son plays forward and the other is the team's goalie.
They played great.
And, yes, I am biased.
One skated, one shot, one SCORED!  And how we cheered!
The other glove-saved, he butterflied, he covered the puck.  We cheered some more!
Those were some jaw-clenching, fist-gripping, multisyllabic-screeching games, I tell you!
My heart swelled with love and pride and love-pride.
The minis were happy too and they raced around with granola bars, dripping juice-boxes and stuffies.
And their Nana even gave them each a quarter to buy giant, gaudy-coloured gum-balls from a vending machine, so they were extra happy!

It was cold inside that arena today.
But I felt a warmth inside that comes with being all happy and stuff.
It was a good day today.
I hope yours was too.

Pass it on...

Cancer.  It's everywhere.  It's like....well, a cancer.  Spreading, growing, taking over with disease what was beautiful and functioning before.

This past week, I have heard of two people I know being diagnosed with cancer.  You may know them or you may not.  That is their story to tell.
But I remember those days of discovery so well.  The fear and uncertainty.  The anxiety.  The inner dialogue whereupon the words "THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING TO ME!" keep pulsating through your mind.  The rearranging of life to fit in appointments, mammograms, ultrasounds, bone scans, blood work, blood work and more blood work........

I remember Paul and I attending one of my first doctor's appointments together.  This was the appointment where we would find out if I had breast cancer or not.  We were pretty sure that cancer was what we were facing....I mean, we had been called out to the Juravinski Cancer Centre and they don't usually call you over to make balloon animals and eat cake.

It was Wednesday, August 26, 2015.  (I'm not going to jolly well forget that date!)  Paul and I perched on hard, waiting-room chairs with hammering hearts and churning bellies.  I was so sweaty, jumpy and nervous and kept thinking that this was all some crazy, weird mix-up.

I didn't belong with all these bald people.
This was not a setting for any part of my life.
I was scared.
No!  I was terrified about what this would all mean.

Strange.

At the dawn of spring....only a little over seven months later, I feel that I do belong with bald people (although I have some hair again!).
A cancer hospital has become a very common setting for my life.   I know where all the bathrooms are located and where the stairwell is so that I can insert a short cardio routine into my visit!
I am not as scared anymore.
I am familiar with my new routine and landscape.

So, I would like to pass these assurances on and I will.

I may have been shocked out of my mind.  Had my world rocked!  Carpet pulled from right under my feel.  (insert your mind-blown/ world-rocked cliche here)
Yet a short time later, it is all so normal.  Weird normal, mind you, but I am pretty sure my normal was always sorta weird.

If your world has been rocked today, know this:  God's world has NEVER been rocked.
He designed it, planned it, intricately put it together.
With His word.
And He cares for it and He cares for you and me.

Before I entered this world and began arranging and scheduling it, God had my life laid out.   He knows my days and he knows yours.  How many there are and what they are filled up with. Uncertainty?  Fear?  Worry?  Sorrow upon sorrow?
He knows.
He has always known.
And He is there now.

Cancer.
Seems like it's everywhere; oozing like some great, black monster onto everything that is wonderful and beautiful.
But it is not.
Maybe it's blotting out some serious happiness in your life right now but don't let it steal your joy.
I know it's terrifying to hear your name attached to that word but God is directing the course of your life still now!
God's got you.
He always has.
He is before you, behind you and with you.
He sees those tears - gut-wrenching, aren't they?
He knows your fears - roiling and menacing.
Your life is taking a terrifying turn right now, but trust in His plan for you.
He loves you so much.

"O LORD, you have searched me and you know me.  You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar.  You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.  Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O LORD.  You hem me in  - behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me."

  Psalm 139: 1-5