33rd post. Mile 23, hitting the wall.

My kids have been amazing troopers from the beginning.  It wouldn’t be for a few months before we started to see the impact of their fears, anxiety and worry.  Remember I am writing this in December 2018…four days before Christmas…recounting life in June of this year 2018.

We constantly checked in with the kids.  How are you?  Are you okay?  How can mommy and daddy help you?  Can you talk about your fears?  Well, like most 8 and 10 year olds…they just say “I’m okay”…and you know, well, they are not.  However, they don’t have the ability, sophistication, language and intellect to articulate what is going on in those sweet heads and hearts of theirs.  It is heart breaking.

They anticipated the worst summer of their life.  We had to cancel a boating trip up to Alaska where we would fish for salmon, we would kayak amongst whales, see the grizzly bears (as in hundreds) all at once out in the wild, get up close and personal with the beautiful icebergs that are so so dense and cold they are this magnificent color of blue that is hard to describe.  Yep, that one was cancelled.  So were a handful of other trips.

However, both kids decided they did want to do a sleep away camp at Camp Orkila, the YMCA camp on Orcas Island.  Our son Will went last year for the first time in their last session which is an abbreviated overnight…four days vs a full week.  This time he was going for a week.

Tuesday, June 26th Will and his oldest friend who he considers his brother, Griffin, left for Orkila.  They did not want us to take them.  They were too cool and confident so they wanted to take the bus to the ferry and ultimately to Orkila.  GREAT!  They wanted to take the same bus/ferry back as well.  Hmmm…that Caren and I did not think was great.  We told them we were coming by seaplane to pick them up.  They were horrified by the idea.  We were horrified by the idea of not being there the second they were released to squeeze them, hug them and tell them how much we loved and missed them.  By now, I have started to lose my hair.  Not horribly, but I need to wear a hat or headband for sure.

Tuesday, July 3 – Caren and I board the seaplane with our daughters Sally and Scarlet (they too have that special “I feel like we are sisters” bond that Will and Griffin have).  We are all SO excited to see them.

I am starting to have larger clumps of my hair fall out.  It is the beginning of week four.  The difference of when he left just six days early to now is night and day, quite literally.

We land and the kids are waiting for us on the dock.  They had been told that morning by the camp that they were not taking the bus back to Seattle via ferry…that they were being picked up and needed to bring their bags to the dock.  Caren and I laughed the whole flight over wondering, “Would they be so mad when they saw us that they didn’t get to continue the adventure for a few more hours?”  or would they be relieved?  Even the girls were laughing and saying they didn’t care, they missed their brothers.  We were all so excited.

The plane pulls up to the dock and no sooner than we get out of the plane, our boys leapt into our bodies, their heads buried in our chests, clinging to us.  Will is absolutely bawling his eyes out.  Dare I say Griffin was shedding a few tears as well?  The girls welcomed them as if they had been away at war for years…they were so excited.  My little man was crying so much I wasn’t sure if it was because he had the worst time, or was just so happy.

It was neither.  It was sheer relief.  He was so relieved to see me, and in my baseball hat, I looked just as I did when he left.  I was okay.  I hadn’t changed.  I was safe and okay.  That reality allowed him to finally let out a deep exhale.  One he held on to for a week straight.

We went straight to Bainbridge to be with about a thousand of my husbands cousins…what seemed like the whole Ketcham Clan.  I love them.  They are so fun and so awesome.  And we had so many other friends there as well – the entire beautiful Auld family including baby Charlotte!, Spafford, the Muellers, Strattons, all the Kitchells, the Blacks…it was great.  It is so Americana on Bainbridge for the 4th of July weekend!  And lucky for me, it is super casual.  So jeans, a red checked button down and a blue baseball cap and no one is the wiser.  My son still has not seen what I am hiding under my hat.

Once we are back in Seattle, I start doing laundry and scrub my son head to toe…seven days at Orkila I don’t think he took one shower and then two days on Bainbridge…I suspect he did, but he needed a good once over.

He got dressed in his pajamas and I was getting out of the shower into mine.  I walked out into our bedroom with my hair wet.  The contrast of wet hair, that makes my blonde hair look dark brown, up against this quickly growing mass of white scalp, was a huge contrast.  My poor little man just looked like he had seen a ghost.  What he was most scared of, and had thankfully shared with us, had happened.  He just looked so crest fallen.  He again bowed his head into my chest and started to weep.  Not cry.  Weep…sobbing.  He was so profoundly sad.  I cried not because I was sad but because I knew this would change him forever…the dye was cast.  Would he one day grow to be an even more compassionate and empathetic child for all he experienced?  I hope so…and I believe so.  But right now, second week of July, he fear has come true.

Will is a very sensitive child and has a very unique ability as a boy, and as a ten year old, to be able to express his feelings clearly and with pretty darn good perspective.

When we asked the kids their greatest fears Will said he was most scared of mommy losing her hair, and that I would look weird, and that kids would see me and make fun of me.  And then, he added, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stick up for me, which made him ashamed, because he to, would be embarrassed because Mom looked weird.

I mean this boy….I love him so.  He has depth and character and is honest to his core.

I finally sat with him and told him that I had named my head the “hairy donut”…that the hole was my bald spot and the hair around it was the dough.  He started to giggle, then cry, then giggle and then finally just settled into the crux of my arm and stayed there.  I told him I would always be covered up and would do everything in my power to not embarrass him and that he should not be ashamed of being embarrassed that I looked weird.  I did look weird!  We just never showed anyone.  Only in my house was I without a hat or scarf or thick headband.

I also told him if it just overwhelmed him sometimes it was okay and if he didn’t want me to go to his soccer games all he had to say is “mom if you want to stay home and take a nap you don’t have to come to my game”…and I would happily take him up on it!

By now, my head is finally started to hurt, superficially.  My friend Lee, who has been radiated many times sadly due to lung cancer, was sort of relieved that I was finally feeling that burning sensation and not feeling too well.  Only a true friend could say “I am so happy you are finally feeling like shit!  This is good!  I was so worried when you were doing so well!”.

Sunday, July 8 was painful.  I was dreading Monday, July 9, Tuesday, July 10, Wednesday, July 11….except for one little miracle happened.

A week earlier my friend Bridget, who I have known since we were little girls, sent me a text.  I believe this is a direct quote :”  okay F you Wardo, I am not scared of you.  We all know if it was reversed you would be in Chicago with a casserole and flowers.  I am sick of it.  I am coming whether you like it or not.  So now that you have read this I am going to call you and you better pick up the phone F’er”.

I answer the call about five seconds after I read it.  She just says “it’s a done deal, we are coming next Sunday.  We are not staying with you, we are staying at Sylvia’s.  It is already taken care of.  We will see you Monday morning when we pick you up for radiation…Syl and you can plan from there.  We will leave Wednesday, so it is not too much.  We need to see you. We have been friends with you, for 35,40 and almost 45 years…it’s our turn to be there with you and take care of you. If anyone is already signed up tell them to F off…we get you now”.

I know it probably sounds rude or aggressive…but it wasn’t.  It was hilarious and so endearing and so very Bridget.  I have never in my life seen someone give the middle finger to someone the way she does.  It makes you laugh out loud.  She is all talk, a complete push over,  pile of mush.  She would do anything for anyone.  She is sensitive beyond words…and NO ONE swears as much as Bridget.  I love her.  Oh and I almost ruined her wedding , and she and her husband Scott, love me despite this truth!

I have hit the wall.  I am at my “mile 23” as marathon runners say.  I could not go back to the Proton Center…my head was starting to bubble, was totally raw and red/purple.  The thought of radiating a burn and then radiating that burn again, again, again and finally again that week was too much.  But I did it.  The Chicago Gals took over.  They carried me across the finish line of Week 5.

My Seattle friends would be 100% willing and able to do this for me as would my fabulous Amelia friends….but it seemed poetic that my friends who have known me for most of my life – since I am six years old…got the three hardest days.  And I could be myself.  They know me better than anyone…and were there.

Sylvia and I had hatched a great plan and Clif was in on it.  We went to the Proton Center on Monday for my normal 9:15am appointment.  We left the appointment and headed straight to the float plane and flew to Bainbridge.  Okay, now THAT is indulgent.  It is only a 20 minute ferry ride, but Sylvia and I thought it would be great to splurge a little for our best buds from home.

We landed, and rolled our bags down the fairway (can you call it that?) on Bainbridge to Syl’s house.  A lovely lady saw us dragging bags and she stopped.  We threw the bags in the back of her truck and four of us hitched a ride while the others walked to the house.

Within 15 minutes of being there Sylvia has the music going, margaritas flowing…she made cannelloni for lunch and we had ribs for dinner…we didn’t leave the house.  We played pickle ball and laughed our butts off.  We stayed up way too late drinking and reliving stories from grammar school, high school and college and beyond.  It was truly wonderful.

I had asked Clif a favor that on Tuesday, instead of being the first adult brain patient, could I be a little later.  That way we could enjoy Bainbridge in the morning and not worry about getting back to Seattle for a 9:15am appt.  So he did.  I got a 1;30 appt and we had an awesome morning, went for a long walk, drank coffee and went out for breakfast.  And then we took the float plane back to Seattle.  It took all of 15 minutes.

Tuesday evening was one of those nights I have dreamed of for years.  And I am not exaggerating.  I fantasize all of the time that my friends from each part of my life would come together and meet each other.  I know my Chicago friends would feel so much better knowing my Seattle friends.  And vice versa.  My Amelia friends would like to know the friends taking care of me as well.

Well, Tuesday night, Sylvia planned the most beautiful dinner in her spectacular backyard.  4 visiting Chicago friends, 4 of my Seattle friends.  At dinner someone said “how should we be seated” and I responded ” Chicago, Seattle, Chicago, Seattle…”

Someone asked “well how do you and Syl identify yourselves?” seeing that we were both born and raised in Chicago and now live in Seattle!

We decided we would each sit at the heads of the table…we are both!  Bi-City Girls!!!

Now many Seattle friends were out of town as does happen in July…but four of my most favorite who are so funny, sweet, kind, naughty and totally game, were thankfully in town.  The Chicago girls were hilarious. The Seattle girls are hilarious.  However, the Chicago girls took over that night.  You can tell they’ve all known each other decades…it is as if they complete each others sentences the way an old married couple can.

Molly is my favorite story teller of all time.  When she tells a story she starts laughing so hard you can not understand a word she is saying, and she just laughs harder and harder.  So hard that you start laughing so hard you start to shake and then tears start streaming down your face and everyone is belly laughing like you have never seen.  And NO ONE knows what the hell she is saying!  I mean…only four of my sweet Seattle friends can attest to this.  It was so damn funny.

My true need/fantasy to somehow someway getting all these women I love so much in the same place at the same time finally came true.  On a small scale…just four of each.  My dream is 40 of each…so if my husband is reading this, THAT is what I want to celebrate when my treatment ends!!! 🙂

Oh by the way, when I say my girlfriends…I mean my guy friends as well! They are completely awesome too.

The Chicago gals leave Wednesday after my treatment…and I have only eight more days of treatment.  Two remaining that week, the entire next week, and then the following Monday.

We are T 8 and counting…