Book Report - The Fault in Our Stars

Title: The Fault in Our Stars
Authour: John Green
Length: 318 pages
How long it took me to read: 2 days
Grade: A

What it's about: Despite the tumor-shrinking medical miracle that has bought her a few years, Hazel has never been anything but terminal, her final chapter inscribed upon diagnosis. But when a gorgeous plot twist named Augustus Waters suddenly appears at Cancer Kid Support Group, Hazel's story is about to be completely rewritten.

The ending is the most important part: The ending is sad, and the ending has hope. The ending is good.

Last word: I was afraid to read this book because I am the mother of a cancer survivor, and I was worried it would be emotional, but it is so well written, the characters so loveable and true, the dialogue so excellent, that I absolutely loved it.

Spoilers after the jump

Book Report - Drums, Girls, and Dangerous Pie

Title: Drums, Girls, and Dangerous Pie
Authour: Jordan Sonnenblick
Length: 273 pages
How long it took me to read: 2 days

What it's about:
Thirteen-year-old Steven has a totally normal life: he plays drums in the All-Star Jazz band, has a crush on the hottest girl in the school, and is constantly annoyed by his five-year-old brother, Jeffrey. But when Jeffrey is diagnosed with leukemia, Steven's world is turned upside down. He is forced to deal with his brother's illness and his parents' attempts to keep the family in one piece. Salted with humor and peppered with devastating realities, DRUMS, GIRLS, AND DANGEROUS PIE is a heartwarming journey through a year in the life of a family in crisis.

The ending is the most important part: Everything is wrapped up very neatly. I ended this book with a smile

Last word: I'm really glad that I read this after Dewey got the "all clear" at his five year cancer treatment check-up, otherwise this book would have upset me. It was funny, and sweet, and true. I really enjoyed it.

Spoilers after the jump:

All the feelings that I'm feeling

Words can do a lot, and I'm pretty good with being able to get down on paper what I'm feeling, but I'm not quite sure I did it justice this time.

I have posted over here the results of Dewey's 5 year cancer check-up. Warning, I use real names and stuff, so if you don't want to know me that closely, don't go there. Just know that we are all good, I can breathe again even though I thought I was breathing just fine, and now we can finally move on with our lives even though I thought that we were already moving on with our lives.

I am so grateful.

Writing is saving my life

What I look like when I'm writing - obviously an older photo

So I'm really thankful for this blog.

Back when I started a year and a half ago, I mentioned how my therapist told me that I needed to write to help me with my depression. I halfway said it as a joke, because I don't technically have 'a therapist', but the times that I have consulted with a licensed therapist, they have advised me to write.

"An artist who does not create is a menace to society." This was a point made in Where'd you go, Bernadette by Maria Semple. The truth of this statement hit my heart like an arrow. I am a creative person. I need to create. Words are my life. I love to hear them, look at them, read them, say them, and make them up.

When Dewey was going through treatment, everything about me was put on hold while I focused all my energy on keeping my family together; buoying DH up as he was depressed and without hope, cheering Dewey on because he didn't want to die so he needed to fight this, desperately trying to do what I could to ensure that Huey didn't get passed over and that he knew that he was loved and cared about just as much even though he didn't have cancer. I put all of my desires aside except for one; the happiness of my family.

I have discovered that in the aftermath, when I wasn't desperately trying to hold my family together any more, that I was lost. I went into a major depression after Dewey's treatment was complete that went on for much longer than I thought was necessary, but nonetheless, it was there. I was so lost and so dark and felt so hopeless. I wanted to cease to exist.

And then I started this blog. I started it because I wanted to rant and rave and whine and moan, because I needed an outlet, and because I wanted to document my 'weight-loss'. (I haven't lost any weight). It took me a long time to find my rhythm, my voice, my whatever. I'm not perfect or fabulous or anything, I'm not that full of myself, but I have written some things that I'm sort of proud of, and I have found a groove that makes it easy for me to write. I've gotten over the fact that no one reads this blog; this fact has given me the freedom to write what I want, how I want, and to figure out how to write. I use this blog as a writing excercise and creative outlet and it has helped me mentally immensely.

It's hard to write when I'm feeling uninspired, or when life gets in the way, but I have found that I am making time for it now because I need it. I have given myself permission to not have to write otherwise my blog will not be popular. Screw popular. I don't need to be a famous blogger, but I DO need to write.

This is preventing me from spiralling down into my rabbit hole so far that it takes a long time and a nervous breakdown for me to find my way out. Don't get me wrong. I have my spirals, and they are not pretty, but they are prettier than they used to be, and I can pull myself out without thinking that I'm going to have to commit myself.

Words, I love you.

One of the Best Moments of my Life

One of the longest days of my life was April 17, 2008, the day of Dewey’s surgery to remove his primary tumour. We were very fortunate to have the best surgery team who gave us updates from the surgery room, and that his 4-6 hour surgery lasted less than three hours. You can read more about this here.

After Dewey was out of surgery and in the PICU, we were able to see him. Dewey has really long, beautiful, dark eyelashes. Due to the chemotherapy, all of his eyelashes fell out. He was down to one prior to surgery. They put this goop on their eyes so they don’t dry out. When we entered the PICU to see Dewey post-surgery, he was hooked up to all these tubes and his eyes were still closed. The first thing I noticed was his final eyelash on his shoulder. I was so sad.

The wonderful thing, other than he was still alive and we were still kicking cancer’s butt was this; every once and awhile, his eyes would flutter open. Whenever this would happen I would get in his face and smile my brightest smile to let him know that I was there. Every time, once his eyes focused and he knew I was there, he would relax and close his eyes again.

I knew he needed me, and the minute he knew I was there, he was reassured and would return to healing himself. I felt connected to him on so many levels that day. It felt like he was coming back to me every time his eyes focused on mine.

He did in fact need my presence. Hospital rules in the PICU are that the parents are not allowed to sleep in the room. (I really hated the PICU) They have these “sleeping rooms” that are pitch black that they sent me to, but had to come and get me every couple of hours or so, because every time Dewey would wake up and he couldn’t see me, he would freak out and not calm down until he saw me. The minute he could see me he would chill right out and go back to sleep. It was a rough night, but I knew how much he needed me, so I was okay with it.

He told me later that he had a dream that he was in a white tunnel, but he could see my face and hear my voice and that’s what kept bringing him back to me.

I love that kid so much and I would die of a broken heart if he wasn’t in my life. I am so thankful to be blessed enough to have him still with me. I am certain I nor my family would have survived if he was taken from us.

Five Years

Five years. That’s what they tell you when you have cancer. Five years before they’ll even consider you in remission – they won’t even say the word remission until it’s been five years since end of treatment.

Five years has been on my mind for the last five years. Not consciously –it’s just been in the back of my brain. Just sitting there minding its’ own business and hanging out taking up valuable space in my head. When I vacuum, it politely lifts its’ feet while doing the New York Times crossword puzzle. It’s been like a cloud hovering over my head. I’ve accepted its’ existence as a part of my life and mostly ignored it. Occasionally it rears its’ ugly head and reminds me that it exists, but normally it just minds its’ own business which I have appreciated.

The more time that passes, the less I think about it. The less I think about the possibility of it returning and the more grateful I am for the time that has passed.

With cancer, time can be your enemy or your friend. Your enemy if you let too much time pass before you do something to detect the cancer and try to kill it. Time is your friend after treatment. The more time passes after treatment, the more chance you have of surviving it and not having it come back.

With childhood cancers, early detection is moot. There would be screenings for childhood cancers if early detection was a key. Usually once the symptoms have reared their ugly head, the cancer is advanced to stage three or four and the cancer is either treatable or not.

That’s what happened to us. Five years ago my beautiful, happy, darling Dewey started limping around, complaining of pain, refusing to eat, and had a low grade fever. After multiple trips to the doctor and emergency room, he was diagnosed with Stage IV Neuroblastoma. He had just turned three years old.

Five years ago, at Thanksgiving, Dewey refused to eat or drink. The only comfort he had was sitting on my lap, or lying motionless on the couch. He was so thin he looked like a famine victim. He was in so much pain, he was miserable, and I couldn’t make the hurts go away. It was the worst time of my life.

He was lying in his bed and I was snuggling with him trying to give him comfort, not knowing what was wrong or what I could do to make the pain go away. He whispered to me, “I don’t want to die.” I told him, “Then don’t!” So he didn’t.

This time of year is always hard for me because I remember that trying time so vividly. Watching your child waste away and standing by powerless is one of the most heartbreaking things that can ever happen to you.

We don’t talk about it a lot, because I don’t want this to define him.

I just thought I would put this out there because “five years” has been on my mind a lot this past month. Also, for any of you who are suffering, I want you to know that I’ve suffered too. If I could, I would come over and hold your hand and rub your back and let you cry into my shoulder and listen and nod my head. Because I’ve been there.