Tag Archives: Cancer

I’m worried you’ll hate this post

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I am a worrier. I have always been a worrier. I worry about being late. I worry when someone else is late. I worry about being wrong. I worry about things going wrong. I worry about saying the wrong thing and offending someone. I worry about conflict and confrontation.

I worry that I’m going to forget to pick up one of my kids. I worry about how I’m going to talk to my kids about where babies come from and about drinking and drugs. I worry that I’m not doing a good enough job maintaining friendships that are SO important to me. I worry about the fact that I am going to have to cook dinner for a growing family (as in “the current members are growing,” not as in “we’re going to have more members”) almost every single night for like the next 18 years. (After that, KJ is on his own.)

I worry about my kids… about their health and their happiness and about potentially losing them at a pumpkin patch (I swear, that totally did not happen this past Sunday for approximately 58 scary seconds). I worry about them getting sick and me not being able to help them. I worry that KJ will realize that I’m not nearly as fun as I used to be and leave me for someone who is (I’m sure he’s already done the realizing part). I worry about things changing when I really want them to stay the same.

At this point, I know you’re either…

a) shaking your head and thinking, “Wow, I had no idea kmac was such a nutcase”
b) nodding your head and saying, “Me too!” in which case, let’s get a latte together sometime
c) thinking, “Wow, I signed on to read funny parenting stories… I’m outta here.”

If you’re in that latter group, I SO don’t blame you. I’d check out of this Crazy Town too if I could.

The bottom line is I am always worried about that other damn shoe dropping.

I was discussing this anxiety with a friend today and she asked a great question, “Why can’t we just accept that life is good? Why are we always so sure that something shitty is going to happen?”

For me, I think it’s because life is SO good. I have so much to be grateful for … it always feels like it can’t possibly last. (These are the Sugar Days, remember?)

My friend thinks it’s a protective measure we take so that when something bad does happen, we’re prepared. We’re all, “Oh hey Shitty Thing, I’ve been waiting for you… bring it!” (Doesn’t that make perfect sense? My friend is really very smart.)

Lately, I’ve been having very vivid dreams (nightmares) about being diagnosed with cancer.

The dreams vary in plot; I get all different kinds of cancer in all different scenarios. Sometimes my kids are still young, sometimes they’re much older. Sometimes my prognosis is good, sometimes not. Sometimes I dream about how to tell my family. Sometimes I dream about whether I should discuss it on Facebook or not.

I KNOW.

CRAZY. TOWN.

I hope we can still be friends.

I don’t know why I’m having so many of these dreams lately.

Maybe because it’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month and I’ve been seeing a lot of pink?

Maybe because of the breast cancer storyline on Parenthood? (I love that damn show, but it is KILLING me. I can barely see the laundry I’m folding through my tears as I watch it.)

Or maybe it’s because the weather is colder, so we’ve had to pull out The Monster, which is an enormous, heavy blanket my Mom made for me when she was sick.

Sometimes I wonder if my dreams are all part of a weird premonition… that maybe I’m PSYCHIC and the dreams are a sign that I really am going to get cancer! If that’s the case, at least I’ll be able to say “OK kmac, you saw this coming, you can totally handle it.” (Oh hey Shitty Thing, I’ve been waiting for you… bring it!)

So this afternoon, I Googled “dreaming about cancer” and found this at dreammoods.com:

To dream that you have cancer denotes hopelessness, grief, self-pity, and unforgiveness. You feel you are wasting your life away. This dream also represents areas in your life which are bothering you, disturbing you, and hurting you in some emotional way.

Great news! My dreams don’t mean that I’m actually going to get cancer! Yea!

They just mean that I’m hopeless and unforgiving and OH, that I’m wasting my life away.

Awesome.

Now I have something else to worry about.

OK, so please tell me I’m not alone over here… anyone else living a normal, happy life but plagued by dreams of Shitty Things happening?

PS. It’s worth noting, that there are a couple of special people in my life for whom battling cancer is NOT just a nightmare. It’s their real life, right now. And I worry about them too even though they’re kicking ass.

 

This is the Monster. It is my favorite material possession and I worry that the Nibbit will somehow destroy it.

 

An Update on Soccer (and other things)

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At least four people have asked me how The Nibbit did at soccer this week. (That’s really true. I’m not just writing that as a fake way to introduce this post.) And as I started to write a Soccer Update, I thought you might like an update on some of the other things I’ve discussed this past year.

I debated waiting until December to do this as a nice end-of-the-year round-up, but I have never been one for delayed gratification. So you’re getting it now.

  • The Nibbit had a MUCH better experience at soccer this week. Amanda brought him (at his request), armed with a post-soccer snack and lots of encouragement. He still didn’t love all the drills – he’s particularly unfond (is that a word? it should be) of the jumping in and out of the rope ladder thingy. But we’ve got progress! He played in the mini-game and scored two goals. I think all the positive feedback he received for that should carry him through next week as well. Feed the ego… that’s my strategy.
  • Ben Folds was great. I did NOT receive 30 comments on that post, so there will be no scrunchie photos for you but TRUST ME, I rocked it.
  • Bic has NOT contacted me about becoming the next National Spokesperson for their “Pens for Her” line. WTF? Not even one Goddamn free sample?
  • Squeaky and Pip are doing well THRIVING and The Loud One still loves them. They are still terrified of us. (Wait, maybe they’re not thriving. Well, they’re growing really fast.) Anybody have any idea when they’ll warm up and leap into her arms? I’m afraid she’ll lose interest in them if they don’t start really liking her back soon.
    • We had to bring them to the vet to get their nails trimmed this week because my attempt to do it myself was, um, shall we say UNSUCCESSFUL. Two pet pedicures (yes! they are really called that!) and $40 later, we can hold Squeaky and Pip without looking like we got into a catfight with a drunk girl.
    • Here’s what I’ve learned about guinea pigs: they POOP A LOT. That is all.
  • Despite what you may be thinking, I have not been fired from the EW.com gig (I don’t think). I’ve written a bunch of columns, but they just haven’t been posted yet. I’m not sure that’s a good sign, but I’ll let you know if/when I get the “this just isn’t working out the way we hoped it would” speech.
  • I’m thrilled to say that I’ve noticed less “Just waits… ” happening around me. I don’t dare think my blog has any kind of influence, so I’m going to call it a happy coincidence and just be glad. If you are someone who has decreased your own usage of “Just waits,” WELL DONE!
  • My bag is still a disaster. A quick list of what’s in there right now: Peppermint hand sanitizer; two pairs of dirty kids’ socks from God knows when; an Epi-pen (I’ve finally decided to be more responsible about my kids’ allergies); one Matchbox car; three packs of gum; three gum wrappers; one straw; one used tissue (I’m pretty sure that used tissue makes me an OFFICIAL member of the Mom’s Club, right? That and the gum and the Matchbox car?); one packet of Teddy Grahams; one chip clip (in case we don’t finish the snack-size packet of Teddy Grahams?); a billion receipts from outlet shopping earlier in the week; one old grocery list; one Back to School Night program; all the same lollipops; markers and animal figures that were there last time and a tube of Tylenol. Oh and one giant Tupperware on top.
  • The Loud One isn’t writing as many books as she used to. I am REALLY, REALLY SAD about this. But she is reading a lot more so that’s a fair exchange. And guess what else she still loves? PRETENDING SHE’S A PUPPY. Seems that might never get old. Awesome.
  • I have not gotten a publishing offer for my book about pregnancy yet. I’m not sure why. I feel like women need to know the truth even if it is extraordinarily depressing. Am I wrong?

And I still really, really HATE cancer.

 

You have to carry this around in case your awesome friend offers to make you soup. Duh.

 

An Open Letter to Cancer

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Dear Cancer,

I hate you. I hate you more than anything else in the world. I hate you more than cilantro and the stomach flu. More than waking up at 5:30 am everyday and wearing high heels. I hate you even more than when I forget it’s my turn to wake up with the kids the next morning and drink three too many Margaritas. (And THAT really sucks.)

I don’t throw the word “hate” around lightly, but you? You’ve earned it.

It happens every year… May rolls around and Mother’s Day approaches and I’m reminded once again of what you’ve taken from me. What you’ve taken from my family. You’re an asshole.

You swoop in on people when they least expect it – good people. People’s moms. People’s uncles. People’s fathers-in-law. People’s cousins. People’s friends. You knock the wind out of them – and us – and then you try to beat them down. Sometimes you win. And that’s why I hate you. You steal what’s rightfully ours. Painfully. Yes, sometimes you win.

BUT.

Sometimes you lose. More and more often, you lose. HA! I love it when you lose!!!!

When you lose? Best. Feeling. Ever. (Even better than when your husband says, “Go back to sleep. I’ll get the kids.”) When you lose, we rejoice. We gloat. We high-five. We ugly-cry. We hug. We celebrate your miserable failures.

Because cancer, you’re a bully. A mean, vicious, non-discriminating bully. But you know what happens to bullies? Eventually, they fall.

You should know, your days are numbered. You’re weakening. And we’re getting stronger. The doctors. The patients. The survivors. The fighters. The mothers, uncles, cousins and friends… we’re ALL getting stronger.

You’re going down.

I hope I get to see it. I want my Mother’s Day back.

Stand Up to Cancer.

 

 

 

 

 

PS. Sorry for all the profanity. Sometimes name-calling helps.