Journey to Japan

How'd we pick Japan for our Holla-day? I honestly have not a clue. I remember the conversation earlier this year. We were all gathered in the living room dreaming of places we'd like to go. Greece was mentioned. Italy. I'm pretty sure Ireland got tossed in there. The next thing I know, as I tried to cover Gizzie's ears about our plans to leave her, we're headed to Japan. 

It's quite the challenge for David to get me to travel more than 10 minutes away from our home to a restaurant on our Friday night dates. How he managed to drag me 6,000 miles away on vacation remains a mystery. 

David and Drue set about making plans. Drue made an awesome Wanderlog site adding places to see, food to try, itineraries for each day, etc. David booked the airline tickets and hotels. (We'll get to my ultra important pre trip task in a moment.)

Many of the flights had us going East from KC. Y'all. I can't. My days of long flights have sailed (see how I cleverly mashed together 2 forms of transportation?). I was wishing the trip was over before it even started! Halfway joking, I said, "I don't get it. Wouldn't it make more sense to fly West to Japan? So we could take a break in Hawaii or something?". Which, much to my surprise and delight, is exactly what we ended up doing. We flew to a time zone that was 5 hours earlier, to then fly to one that was 19 hours later. Basically losing an entire day on the way there, then reliving a day on the way back. Yeah, I'm expecting to be pretty mixed up for awhile. 

What really pulls the whole trip together and makes it successful is....boarding Gizzie. Yep. That's my job. Do not laugh. I responsibly got Gizzie scheduled with our vet back in March, whom she's boarded with for the entire 13 years of her life. And who also got bought out by a larger corporation a few weeks later, canceling all boarding due to no longer offering that service. 

"Welp, the whole trip is off!", I panicked for a day or two. Until I psyched myself up enough to check into other places near us, knowing our entire adventure hinged on us finding her a place to stay. Dramatic? Me? I found a place near us with good reviews, with openings and they scheduled an interview with her a few weeks before our departure date. "What happens if she doesn't pass?!" David inquired. "Bzzt!", I put my hand in the air to stop him, "This is my job. I've got it covered." 

I most certainly did not have it covered. And may have sent up a prayer or two saying, "I know you've got a lot on your plate now with various major world events, but if you could please help Gizzie be on her best behavior Friday at 9am, it would be much appreciated...". 

She passed. She wasn't even being evaluated for daycare, just boarding. She feels she is above all other animals of her species and will announce this to them loudly any chance she gets. So I wasn't about to subject all the poor well socialized daycare patrons to her shenanigans. The boarding fee did include daily personal playtime with a staff member so I was hopeful that bit of human contact would convince her she'd not been abandoned at Alcatraz. 

I waited until closer to our trip to confess to David how much more her stay would cost compared to our vet, in hopes the excitement of our impending departure would overshadow it. I needn't have worried. David has developed a whole new relationship with Gizzie with all the kids gone. He got her a dog treat advent calendar for crying out loud this past Christmas. Which, of course, conditioned her to getting an extra special treat each night, which he then had to keep going since she didn't understand advent ends with little baby Jesus' arrival. So when we checked her in and they asked if we wanted to add on a nature walk for $11 more per day, he said "Of course!". "Every day? Or every other?" they continued. "Every day!". Ok Daddy Warbucks. 

A few weeks prior to our trip I saw the cutest Bandaids at Target with Japanese prints on them. I started to get them, saw the $5 price tag, and talked myself out of them, not wanting to buy too many frivolous purchases pre trip. I saw them again days later and decided, "Oh what the heck, I'll skip Starbucks this week," and packed them away in my bag. Apparently, I was a little too excited about my purchase, because a day into the trip, Drue exclaimed, "Oh...my gosh! If I hear about these Japanese Bandaids one more time...!!". Guess who wouldn't have been offered one had she poked her hand with a chopstick? 

Japan doesn't just let you bring in your meds willy nilly. We had to submit what we were taking and why and then they had say back if they were ok or not. A few of us procrastinated and didn't get all of our info sent until the week before, so were holding our breath to get our confirmation. Which may have induced yet another panic attack on my part. "Well there's no way I'll be able to go if I can't smuggle in my anti depressant!" I would have spent the entire vacation curled up in a ball, nibbling on sushi they slipped under the door and crying into my green tea. 

We prepped David ahead of time he would have to tone down, well, everything. Bless his heart. He has a big personality. And the Japanese culture frowns upon that. He talks loud. He laughs loud. His sneezes? Don't even. In addition to prepping him, we had to continuously remind him throughout the trip as well. Checking us in to the hotel in Toyko, he belted out, "Tate!" across the lobby and was met with four collective "Shhhhh's" from the rest of us. 

We had to remind him to silence his phone. Or at least lower his shrill ringtone and notifications. Lower. Nope, l-o-w-e-r...  

I enjoyed making our family Thanksgiving vlog so much last year, I wanted to do one for our trip. But I ran out of steam. Plus Reese kept saying how her vlog was going to blow mine out of the water so I gave up. Hers did turn out super cute. I wish I had done a vlog of just Tate eating. It's pure entertainment for me to watch all that boy can consume in a day. As a middle aged Mom who gains weight just walking past the cinnamon almond stand at the mall, I am fascinated by the teen boy metabolism and ability to put away a Chipotle burrito in three bites. 

Leaving KC, the TSA agent told Reese she had "good energy" and "seemed easy going". Which she will never let us forget. After about the 10th time, of, "Well, that must be because I have good energy," I replied, "He had a 30 second encounter with you, we should have brought him along with us to see the real Reese!". 

Our hotel in Hawaii was valet parking only. Not because it was super bougie. Just because there is zero parking near Waikiki beach. It was 2am our time when David finally pulled up to it as I muttered, "Ugh, you couldn't pay me to drive down here." Next thing I know he jumped out to go check us in, leaving the car running for me to hop in the driver's seat and inch my way up to the valet. I had no idea how to put it in drive and mistakenly turned on the windshield wipers and sprayer. Recounting the tale to him afterward, I said, "I didn't know where anything was!". Reese quipped, "But at least we had a clean windshield!".

We have a great time on our family trips. Do not get me wrong. But they are certainly not all laughs and precious memory making. I don't always showcase the other side and certainly don't choose to highlight our squabbles for memories sake, but I certainly don't want to appear like we are the picture perfect midwestern family. Far. From. It. Yep, even our eldest with the good energy. 

One afternoon, we were all in the ocean cooling off and relaxing in the waves, when it became apparent I wasn't speaking. It quickly turned into a game of "who made Mom mad?". The kicker was that each and every person thought it was them and all started confessing valid reasons it could be them. I believe the culprit that time was Tate. 

Traveling with young adult children is a quirky little paradox. I don't have to have eyes on them every second in the water. I can toss them in their own room with no worries. Yet I also found myself having to talk Tate off of scaling the 8th floor balcony between our rooms to cross over into ours, "I really think I could do it Mom." Always parenting. 

As I came around the corner the next day, David and the kids were peering down a few floors at the pool and I heard him say, "I mean I feel like I could (make the jump) but I also feel like I could be short...". Always. Parenting. 

After a few days of sun, sand, and saltwater, we were ready to hop another flight and continue our journey to Japan! Our first taste of their refreshing respectfulness was when our departure was delayed an hour and a half. They apologized profusely and credited us $100. David was awestruck, "I just can't believe it. Southwest would never have done that. They would have just kicked us off the flight then tried to fight us."

Customs was a breeze. We kept feeling like we must have missed a screening checkpoint somewhere because before we knew it, we had all our luggage and were headed to find the train to take us near our hotel. An hour and half train ride later is where things got hairy. We agreed never to talk of it again amongst ourselves but of course, I'll include it here. For some reason, whenever we arrive at our destination, we have to move at warp speed. Like we are neck and neck to win the Amazing Race. I'll never understand it. And, quite frankly, I'm not sure how many more vacations I will be able to endure it. 

Most of our suitcases were just under the allotted weight of 50lbs. And Tokyo may as well mean "city of unlimited stairs". We went sprinting through the train station, up and down flights of stairs hither and yon. I was making it. At one point however, I must not have been making it quick enough. Because David sprinted back up the stairs they'd just descended, grabbed my bag, and dashed back down with it. As we neared the exit of the station, we found a tiny elevator that went down to the level we needed. The kids all shoved in with their bags and David yelled, "Go! Go! Go!", to me to shove myself in with my suitcase while he ran down the stairs next to it. 

I believe that was the shutting down point for me. Nobody else was waiting for this elevator. The worst case possible scenario would have been that I would have just gotten on the next one to go down one level. 

Finally emerging onto street level, it hit me. Just how many people Tokyo has. And for some reason they had all gathered in the few blocks' radius between us and our hotel. I must have missed the day in Geography when it was taught that Tokyo was the most populated city in the world. Good thing. Because I may have opted out altogether. For Giz's sake of course. 

And we were off. Again. Jogging through the unfamiliar streets and sidewalks as Drue led us onward. Their sidewalks have an amazing braille system I didn't realize until after our initial 5K through their city. So I kept rolling my suitcase over the raised tracks and getting stuck as I watched my family getting farther and farther away. Thankfully, a red light slowed them down just enough for me to catch back up. None of us were speaking to each other. A nighttime street performer was blaring loud base accompanied by unfamiliar lyrics. And I thought, "Where. On. Earth. have they brought me?". 

I get the best sleep on vacations. Not because I am chill and relaxed. But because I'm worn out and walked out until I finally pass out on the bed each night. The next day we began again. Bright and early of course because of our newly warped internal clock. 

David and Tate walked around a bit and went to the popular 7-11 around the corner early the next morning while we were still getting ready. "The sweetest old ladies kept fawning over Tate, asking how old he was, if he went to University, it was cute," David said when they returned. Turns out, they were ladies of the night. Well, not them, specifically, but they were the ones who would seek out eligible young men for other younger ladies of the night. "Yeah, Mom," Tate went on to explain to me, "You can like rent a boyfriend or girlfriend here." Oh my. 

Our time there was fast paced, 20K+ steps a day, taking in the sights and appreciating our experience getting a very small taste of their culture firsthand. So respectful. So organized. So clean. There are very few public trashcans, yet not one piece of litter on the ground. Even amongst a bazillion people, I never got bumped into once. They don't try to cut in front of you. Systematic lines are formed and adhered to. Everyone stands to one side of the escalator. People aren't yapping loudly on their cell phones. Small bows or nods of thanks when you hold the door or let someone go first. Which we didn't often get the chance to do because they were doing it for us. 

Drue navigated their public transportation system like she'd lived there her entire life. Somehow, though, we never exited the same place twice when we got to the stop nearest our hotel. We were always popping up somewhere new. We only got super turned around and couldn't get out once. And I thought, "Welp, this is our home now." The girls and I also got lost once in a multi level store. We could recognize the exit signs, but for some reason couldn't quite make it back to the floor we had entered on. Once again, I decided, "I guess we live in this establishment now." 

We took a bullet train to Kyoto one day. Key word being "one". Upon researching various itineraries for Kyoto, most people spend multiple nights and days exploring the beautiful city. Not the Hollaways. We sprinted from shrine to temple to gardens to street vendors, then collapsed on the bullet train back to Tokyo with a bagful of, you guessed it, 7-11 snacks to replenish our energy. 

How was the food there? Wonderful. At least my family says so. I get overwhelmed in new and unfamiliar circumstances and ended up panic ordering dumplings as my go to. They were delicious though. And I did try bites of everyone else's picks. 

We had to experience Shibuya one day. As in Shibuya Crossing. As in an intersection that up to ONE MILLION people cross in ONE DAY. I'm sorry. Whaaaatttt?! 

Reese found a micro pig cafe for us girls to visit and it was the cutest. They just crawl up in your lap and snuggle. I must own some one day. The worker kept coming over and asking if he could take one from me to let others have a chance, saying, "You are so popular with the piggies. I don't know why." 

For all you Iron Chef fans, our family's most favorite meal of all time was at Morimoto's restaurant in Hawaii a few years back. So we decided to also splurge on his restaurant in Japan. No, I did not have dumplings. David made the reservation on our 27th wedding anniversary. I'm not quite sure how's he going to top that one in years to come. Multiple amazing courses cooked right in front of us. At the end of the meal, our server asked if we needed a taxi back to our hotel. Having arrived in two separate ones, we graciously accepted her offer to find us one to take us back. Our "taxi" surprisingly ended up being a white limousine courtesy of their restaurant! Drue hopped right in while Reese looked around to see who in the world this fancy ride was for. 

Our last full day in Japan, David decided he should probably take some pictures of his own. Why he hadn't been taking some all along like the rest of us, we're not quite sure. He isn't very good at it, for one thing. Exhibit A: This lovely gem of a random duo who just happened to look like they were posing just for him.

Unfortunately, we never got the chance to make it back to this little business we spied on our train ride in for a photo op. Probably just as well. 

As our time there drew to an end, we realized we somehow had to make it back to the express train that would take us to the airport. I had tried to block out that first night getting to our hotel, having neither emotionally nor physically recovered. David suggested we do a dry run. It somehow fell to me to get us there. But after a little online research and mapping it "without stairs" I figured it out. Off he and I went to see if it could be done. And it could. The real test would be could we do it with all five of us, with bags, and be on speaking terms when we got there. 

So off we set the next day, with all our luggage plus one we had to buy for souvenirs, ready to traverse the streets of Tokyo for the last time. It bid us farewell with a rain shower flattening our hair and dripping into our eyes as we sloshed through the city to the station. But I was determined. I'd trained for this. And after all of our planning and practicing, we made it with plenty of time to spare before the initial train we'd planned to catch boarded. In its place, however, was an earlier train getting ready to depart. In true Hollaway fashion, we decided to take it instead as David rushed to enter our info into the kiosk and barked, "You guys get on and start getting the luggage situated!" as he waited for his card to go through and ticket confirmation. So off we ran, yet again, me grabbing all the luggage near me as we raced toward the first car where our seats were going to be, threw ourselves on board, and started securing the larger bags in the back of the car. 

Even though we moved through each city at a brisk pace, we were still able to enjoy and take in the beauty of their country, their architecture, the religious meaning behind their holy places, and the history of their civilization. 

We stopped in Hawaii for one night also on our way home. We envisioned lying on the beach sipping a fruit smoothie, recovering from our adventures overseas. But instead, landed blurry eyed from our red eye, stored our luggage at the hotel until our room was ready, and passed out on the sand at 9am, desperate for some shut eye. When our rooms were finally ready, we showered and passed out again, waking up for an hour or so to eat before falling back asleep. 

Our flight wasn't until 8pm the next day so we just randomly drove around the island looking at the sites. I kept falling asleep in the van and they just propped me up for pictures at various gorgeous island lookouts. 

We finally returned to Olathe and Giz was beside herself. I was gifted with some upper respiratory nonsense the kids were convinced was a new mutation of covid that would shut down the entire planet again. It is not. I tested just to shush them up. But I fear this cough that comes from the depths of my toes may last until the micro pigs come home. 

So how'd we pick Japan for our Summer '25 vacation destination? Oh, I still don't know. But I'm so glad we did. What an absolutely amazing adventure I 100% recommend! Might I suggest the dumplings if you go...

Cancer Chronicles: An Update & Anniversary

If you're here for a cancer update...my pathology report (that went to Quest thank the good Lord above) showed "no evidence of a residual melanocytic proliferation" meaning they got it all this go round and my cells were not melanomadic after all, just a wee bit mela-dramatic, giving us a fright and overreacting quite a bit. Who knew the wordplay with melanoma could be so entertaining? 

If you're lost, and missed my original post about being diagnosed with melanoma last month, how dare you be so busy living your own life to check in daily to see what I was up to?! 

And if you're here completely by accident after googling how to rid dandelions from my garden, you may as well stay and read some rather quirky tales of a Midwest family just livin' life sarcastically and faithfully. 

We left off with me having an appointment to get my two biopsied areas excised. Which, I discovered, is altogether different from exorcised, though they sound similar. 

I toodled off to my new plastic surgeon, the nurse got me a gown, and said, "And it's on your shoulder correct?" confirming the placement, proceeding to talk about the process, etc, but only ever mentioning my shoulder. "He's also removing my other spot right?" I verified. "Oh!" she said surprisingly, "I just saw the one on the paperwork...". 

Here. We. Go. She ducked out to double check, leaving me standing there completely having forgotten if my gown was to open in the front or back. Which is what I started becoming anxious about, not the procedure itself or potentially growing cancer in my body. Rather looking dumb with my gown on backwards. 

She returned with the surgeon stating, yes, two spots were being removed, she had overlooked the other one. Then we all three just stood there awkwardly until I finally said, "Do you want me on my back or my stomach?".

"Whichever you prefer," he replied. 

"Oh. Ok. Are you doing my shoulder first or my other one?". 

"You choose." 

He clearly does not know me and my lack of decision making skills, even in small things like which restaurant to go to. 

"Umm...I mean...I guess...let's get my shoulder one over with?" as I knew that would be the bigger ordeal of the two. 

He marked me up, I got as comfy as one can on a metal table in a stark procedure room and it commenced. 

When I found out it would be done under local anesthesia, not general, I was thrilled. General meant David would have to take me, and while he does provide some degree of entertainment, he also tends to cause some undue exasperation I prefer not to deal with in addition to everything else. Bless his heart. He was planning to take me anyway and I put the kibosh on that right quick. 

But now, having been through a procedure under local anesthesia...umm...no thank you! Of course all I felt was the numbing shot, but my brain still thought I should be in pain during the slicing and sewing up, so it was all just a little surreal. And when he sewed me up, it felt like he was lacing and tightening up a shoe...which was my skin! I had to go to my happy place again, which as many of you know is picturing people falling. 

After he finished my shoulder, he gave me a mirror to make sure he marked the correct place along my mastectomy scar. After I confirmed, he said, "I biopsied the wrong thing one time...you don't make that mistake again."

And you also don't tell your patient that mid procedure! I screamed in my head as I smiled and gave him back the mirror. 

David texted later that afternoon to see how I was feeling. I replied, "Fine right now. Still numbed up." Then anticipating what he was going to ask next I quickly texted, "No I'm not meeting you at the gym!".

And then...

the wait...

began...

...for the results. I bided my time googling worst case scenarios, trying not to scratch out each and every last stitch, and showing off my gnarly new wound to my family. 

Tate thought it was "sick" and wants one down his face. Dang it, I was almost cool. 

My stitches came out 2 weeks later and my surgeon presented me a copy of my pathology report to hang on my fridge. A fun little side effect is the zapping feeling I get as my nerves begin to reattach, kinda like in the game Operation. Bzzz.

My dermatologist will keep a close eye on me every 3 months for a while.

I find it rather apropos I am writing about being cancer free on the 7th anniversary of my initial diagnosis of cancer. Obviously, not a journey I ever expected to be on, but one that's taught me so many things. 

And now, my admonishment. Get. Your. Skin. Checked. If you are "blessed" with many spots like me (I put that in quotations, because I have always hated them and thought I was "cursed" as a kid), look for the ugly ducklings, the ones that don't look like any of your others. That's what made me go to the dermatologist in the first place. This little guy was just darker than all the rest. That's it. And the other one she biopsied, I wouldn't have even looked twice at. 

Of course, now I'll have to tweak the tattoo I'm getting (yep, it's on my bingo board) and sprinkle in some black cancer ribbons as well.

Here's hoping I can go back to blogging about non cancer related things, goodness knows my family keeps me supplied with sufficient material. 

Resolution Ramblings and a Reroute

I have made the same New Year's Resolution for multiple decades. I'm not even going to divulge what it is. Let's just say, if I've been making it for that long, I haven't quite mastered it yet. 

I saw a few trends online where instead of making resolutions, people made Bingo Boards, Vision Boards, and Prayer Boards for the upcoming year. So in my ridiculously zealous overestimation of myself, I decided to do all three.

I spent a good part of 2024 feeling...meh. I tend to usher in each new year feeling that way. Even more so in 2024. I had never lived in a year my Mom hadn't. And it felt off. But I meandered along. Tate graduated high school. Reese graduated college. David changed positions at work. Drue added a Business minor. Reese got her first townhouse she pays her own rent on. The babies got their first apartment they don't pay their own rent on, but it was still exciting to see them make it a home away from home. And I...well, I added quite a few more pounds, began to navigate the empty nest, and greeted each new month wondering where the previous one had gone. 

I wanted 2025 to be different. To live it more. Accomplish something. The term Vision Board sounded hokey. Nevermind David kept referring to it as my Vision Quest. I remind him I am not a mythical nor supernatural figure, but by golly, those tangible reminders of things I want to accomplish this year, are quite motivating. 

May I present blog post #1 toward my goal of 5 this year. When I dusted off my laptop and opened it, I realized I hadn't done one post last year. Not. One. I had a few in the works, but never finished them. The one about our trip to Kauai last Spring break and the fear wrenching moment I thought David had been carried out to sea. My brain went on overload of how I was going to tell the kids, get them back to the mainland, and how much I'd actually miss his singing in the morning, when I saw him ambling toward me down the beach. I burst into tears, hugged him tight, then chewed him out for scaring me like that. 

And the blog about my first colonoscopy. Where it took 6...count 'em SIX tries for them to unsuccessfully place my i.v. And when they finally called in the anesthesiologist himself, he apologized for having to place it in my foot. "I don't care if you have to stab me in the heart," I exclaimed, "As long as this procedure can get done today and I don't have to prep again for 5 years, you're golden!".

Writing down my goal of 5 blog posts this year, I thought, "What on Earth am I going to blog about??". Mine and David's nightly rotation of Skipbo, Rummikub, and Phase 10 matches? Or how I decided we needed to rewatch the Lord of the Rings trilogy because I just can't follow it. And I feel like I'm halfway intelligent. David made us start with all the Hobbits. But I can only concentrate on them for an hour a night. So at this rate we will hopefully finish before the year is up. 

But 2025 said, "I got you girl..." and gave me another subject matter to blog about. A melanoma diagnosis. Not exactly what I had in mind. But I can work with it. For those of you who followed along on my breast cancer journey 7 years ago, buckle up. Actually, I'm hoping this ride won't require a buckle. And will be more easygoing, like those stationary benches on carousels. 

When I read my most recent pathology report in my online chart, my first thought was not, "Cancer? Again??" but instead, "How am I going to break the news to David they sent my tissue to the wrong lab?!". 

All of our lab tests are covered by our insurance if they go to David's lab. Which I requested at my appointment. Twice. Hell hath no fury like David seeing a bill in the mail from a competitor lab. Last time it happened, it tooks months to get it resolved. "It's only $20 dear..." I said meekly, "Everyone makes mistakes. I say we just pay it." 

Ohhhh no. We had to make multiple calls to that lab. Multiple calls to my doctor's office. A conference call with all of us. I was half tempted to sneak over to the other lab and slip them some cash under the table so David couldn't trace a check or debit card charge. 

Tate recently had to get some bloodwork done and pulled out a sheet of paper when he was home a few weekends ago from his doctor with all the locations for one of the competitor labs. I did my best grinch smile impersonation and told him to go show that paper to David. As soon as David saw the logo he said, "Oh no you don't! Not there you're not!" and I welcomed Tate into the fold. 

Since the kids were all home that same weekend to celebrate David's birthday, I told myself I would wait to share the news of my diagnosis until after the weekend was over. But Tate's little lab stunt had set me up so well, plus I felt weird being the only knowing this information, so I blurted it out at dinner. "So, you're going to be mad...but then you're not going to be mad," I started as David paused mid bite to try and figure out if I had wrecked the car, plowed into his Trager, or some other calamity had occurred at my hands. 

"My dermatologist sent my biopsy to the wrong lab...". "Whaaaatttt?", he started before I cut him off. "But I saw my results a little bit ago...and...I have melanoma." Then to make the conversation light again, said, "Who's ready for dessert??". 

It's on my left shoulder. And there is also a sketchy spot (not the official medical terminology) right along my mastectomy scar. As some of you know, my left arm is already plagued with chronic lymphedema. And I will forevermore be under strict instructions to not get a cut, scrape, sunburn, or let a needle or blood pressure cuff anywhere near that arm. Hmmm...but a large football shaped incision sutured together is ok?? 

My current plastic surgeon doesn't do this type of procedure, so they sent me to a new one on the bougie side of town. The tech took me back to the room for my consult, shut the door and said, "So, how are your fills coming along?". I quickly scanned the counter and noticed two large syringes, gloves, and vials. Putting two and two together, I realized they thought I was there to get my implants filled with saline. "Ummm...I'm here for melanoma?" I said as a question. Because I'm awkward. And I was embarrassed for her. 

She swiftly exited the room and returned a few moments later, apologizing profusely that I had been mixed up with another patient. The surgeon came in and we discussed the preliminaries as he clackety clacked on his keyboard. Since my incisions will be on the side where I had radiation, my sutures will stay in longer because the healing process takes longer. A little bonus prize for me. I'm 87% sure radiation is what caused that sketchy area along my scar in the first place, which I will be bringing up to my oncologist. He likes it when I share my extensive medical knowledge courtesy of Google with him. 

I'll say one thing for sure, melanoma sure does throw your healthcare providers into a tizzy. And things move along rather quickly. Met with surgeon this past week. Procedure scheduled for Monday afternoon. 

Oddly enough, Monday morning I have a follow up appt with my original plastic surgeon about surgical options available for my aforementioned lymphedema arm. After which, I will treat myself to Starbucks and perhaps a stroll through Home Goods with an hour to kill before my appt with my new plastic surgeon. Whose life is this? How do I have two separate plastic surgery appointments in one day and not resemble anything close to a Kardashian?! 

After my procedure Monday, I'll either be (hopefully) cancer free or have an augmentation based on the mixup at my first appointment. Or I guess a third option would be my cells were actually melanomadic (again, not an official medical term, but really clever I thought) and decided to roam to another area of my body. Which will present another problem. And, hey, another blog post, or several. 

I'm off to check the mail to see if my lab bill is in there so I can hide it before David gets home. 

Happy Birthday, Mom

Today my Mom would have been 82. We would have taken her lunch, most likely KFC, a cake she would have said wasn't necessary, yet would have eaten every bit of the piece we gave her, then would have said in Southern disbelief, "82?! Lawww me!". 

We would have bemoaned how close Auburn came to winning the Iron Bowl yesterday, then bid our farewells as the girls would need to get back on the road to school. I would have kissed the top of her head, told her we loved her, and she would have said, "I love you too. Thank ya'll so much for comin'". 

And while I am so comforted knowing where she is spending this birthday, I sure do miss her. 

Something in every single day makes me think of her. And I'm surprised by how often it hits me again that she's no longer here. 

Seeing a roll of Necco's at the grocery store and starting to put them in my cart to hide around her room for her to find. 

Seeing a warm little velour sweatsuit and automatically checking to see if they have an XS for her. 

Dragging out my Christmas decorations this week and thinking, "I need to swing by her room and switch out her Fall decorations for Christmas...".

Don't even get me started on Christmas. Last year I cried so many times from anticipatory grief, decorating her little tree in her room, thinking it might be the last year. 

This year I'm even more of a mess. Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, I'll Be Home for Christmas, The First Noel, O Holy Night, Silent Night, It Came Upon a Midnight Clear...just (quite) a few of the songs that bring instant tears. Whether the lyrics get me, the memory of her singing them next to me in church, or just the familiar tunes reminding me of Christmases gone by that she made so special for us... cue the waterworks. 

I know she'd say, "Girl, don't cry for me. I'm happy. I'm free of ailments. My mind is new and whole. I'm walking tall and upright. I'm with Mama and Daddy. I got to meet my 2 grandchildren we never got to hold. And, most of all, I'm with my Savior, whom I served my whole life, and longed to see face to face. And while I'm looking forward to seeing you again, your time hasn't come yet. You have a lot to do. Kids to finish raising, grandchildren of your own to meet, a husband to take care of. Soon, we'll be spending eternity together, but until then, quit makin' David do all the cookin'. He's a marvel." 

There'll be more posts to come about my Mom. Some that make me laugh. And some that make me cry. Because I don't want to forget a single memory I have of her. 

And in all my sadness of missing her here, I am so thankful she'll be home for Christmas. 

Happy Birthday, Mom. I'll have David whip us up something tasty to celebrate. 

Gulf Getaway

Every trip we go on, I take notes throughout, in preparation for writing a recap blog to remember it by. Inevitably, after we return home, I slip into not just the post vacation blues, but the real life is meaningless, I miss the beach, my family actually drives me bonkers much of the time, I should quit my job and live off the grid depths of despair. 

Which, unfortunately, can take me awhile to climb out of. And by that time I've lost the desire to write about our adventures, lest it send me tumbling back into the depths. My notes from Paris/London are still on my phone. Perhaps one day they'll make it on to my computer for your reading enjoyment. 

I have just awoken from a delightful afternoon nap, snuggled up with Gizzie, who was most excited to get picked up from the kennel today. I try to explain to her each time, that we went away on a long trip and couldn't bring her us. We didn't just drop her off at prison and party at home without her, which is what I always fear she believes happens. George is her protector at the kennel. They sleep together, eat together, and when they let them outside, Gizzie runs ahead but continues looking back to make sure he's right there with her. 

At home, he can't even look her direction without her snapping at him and letting him know she's the boss here. Her little 8 lb yorkie poo self putting his 80 lb pit bull self in place. 

Now where were we? Ah, yes, refreshed from the nap I convinced David I needed after an exhausting day of travel (2+ hour flight from Tampa). And so far, I'm still in good spirits (no doubt he had the flight attendant slip a little something into my cranberry juice). 

"Why do you get cranberry juice on every flight?" Reese asked. 

The answer is. I really don't know. I think I started doing it back when I first started flying. Before I was an adult and could buy my own juice. And it's just a habit that's stuck with me. I realize stores carry gallons of cranberry juice that rarely makes its way to our fridge. But by golly, that little 6oz cold plastic cup of cranberry juice from Southwest Airlines is a treat. 

You know that ice breaker question, "If you could have someone do one chore for you for free for the rest of your life, what would it be?". And normal people pick cooking, or cleaning? Mine would be...packing! Ok, yes, my view of this question is a bit skewed because I do have someone who does the cooking and his name is David. But I absolutely abhor packing. I only have to do it two or three times a year...but I. Hate. It. It stresses me out. It overwhelms me. I procrastinate until the literal last minute, usually finishing up as we're heading out the door. Tossing in random things like a gun is pointed at my head and this is the last time I will ever be in my house. What do I need to grab??

Meanwhile, David saunters upstairs the night before, grabs a few undergarments and socks from his neatly organized drawers, a few pressed shirts off his symmetrically hung hangers, then lastly, retrieves a few swim trunks from their special little designated area, and voila! He's done. As I'm doing one more load of laundry to get my last few pairs of comfy undies clean, digging around the bottom of my closet for shorts that still fit and that will semi match my shirts I already had to dig to find. Where the heck my swimsuits are, your guess is as good as mine. 

So I was already in a tizzy the day we left, cursing David under my breath for scheduling a morning flight the day after I had worked a 10 hour shift. If he had only scheduled it for later in the afternoon, I would have been better prepared. That is a lie. I would not have been better prepared no matter what time that flight would have been. I would still have procrastinated to the point of frenzied panic. 

The evening prior, I spent tidying the house, in case our plane went down and all five of us perished. Except I ran out of steam. I thought about leaving a note explaining we weren't ransacked and taken hostage. We left of our own free will on a family vacation to Florida. I just didn't have time to organize my side of the closet by color like David's. 

Oh, and David was out of town before our trip so I had to harvest cucumbers from his little backyard garden like Laura Ingalls Wilder at 7 o'clock at night because I promised him I'd watch over it while he was gone. 

I assumed my hot flashes and tendency to overheat was due to my body still trying to regulate itself from my chemo induced menopause, medication side effects, and my grand finale last summer...my hysterectomy. But no. I think it's just who I am now. David turned the air up...down...whichever way it goes to save money while we're gone and by the time I plopped down in the car to head to the airport, after my hectic morning getting ready, I looked like I had just emerged from the depths of hades, sweat dripping from my face, hair plastered to my head. 

"Everybody ready?" David singsonged cheerily. I grunted affirmation. 

We've never had a travel disaster, thank goodness, when flying that I can remember. Like a cancelled flight, lost luggage, etc. Just some minor hiccups. David bought all of our tickets weeks ago, then remembered after the fact he has companion status, so I fly for $5 anywhere he goes. So he called the airline the night before and explained the situation. They credited him the amount he paid for my tickets, but I had to recheck myself in. Of course, I was now in the C boarding group. So I watched my little family line up in the A group, laughing and having the best of times together. I quickly texted them in the group chat to cut it out and quit making fun little inside joke memories without me. 

I finally made it on. After family boarders, B group, anyone wearing the color blue, anyone named Martha May, and all those wearing checkered pants. David will only sit on the aisle. Tate and his 10 foot long legs has discovered he also prefers the aisle. Which means I was stuck smack dab in the middle of the girls. I made it seem like a fun, desirable arrangement. But I really just use them to get me onto David's free Southwest wifi that I can never figure out. We all got boarded, some maintenance men were tweaking a few things, then the announcement came that we all had to de board because the toilets wouldn't flush. But never fear, another plane for us was near. 

Off we shuffled to the new gate. Where we waited another hour for the "plane that was near".  

"Tate, were you kind to your seatmate on the plane?" I asked. 

"Yep. I told them my name, where I lived, what school I go to, and my social security number," he replied. 

A simple "no" would have sufficed. 

Our plane finally arrived and we bid our goodbyes once again as I waited my turn with the C groupers,  whom I was beginning to become rather chummy with. I looked up and saw David pointing at me and talking with the gate agent who also turned to look my direction. What on Earth. They stood there visiting for a few minutes, looking at the computer, each kid telling their name to him, then more pointing at me. Dear Lord, we're not making it on that plane. 

Turns out, the system showed Reese had already boarded somehow when she was clearly standing right there. They got it figured out, deemed her a non threat, and boarding continued. I bid a fond farewell to my C listers who would more than likely be scattered about the plane in random middle seats as I settled in betwixt the girls and began to recalculate at precisely what time I would be squishing soft white sand between my toes with our late departure. 

Most Hollaway Getaways are sun up to sun down, cram in all the sights, open and close down the parks, do all the things, eat at all the places, c-r-a-s-h. Repeat. Don't get me wrong. They're awesome. And a lot of fun. But they absolutely wear us out. This vacation, Drue was adamant be relaxing, play it by ear, not a lot of planned activities, just enjoy the moment. Which is now my new favorite way to vacation. And is what I'm guessing vacationing is all about. 

6 years ago, we splurged on a beach photographer, whose photos still adorn our living room walls to this day. We decided to splurge again this trip. Seeing as Tate barely reached my shoulder in the last family photos and now I barely reach his. The only slot she had available was the night after we arrived, which was perfect, before the three pale faced people in our party got charred by the Southern sun. The magic hour is 7:40pm-8:40pm apparently, so I prepared our posse that we wouldn't be eating dinner until after pictures. 

"After!?" exclaimed my man child with two hollow legs. "Why after?!". 

"Because I have to fit in my dress," I explained. "And if I eat dinner before,  the photographer will say, 'Oh? I didn't realize this was a maternity shoot'!".

I mentioned how I cry at the drop of a hat these days. Especially when memories of my Mom hit me. When Reese arrived home to go with us on our trip, there was a package waiting for her. It was a beautiful heart necklace with dried flowers from my Mom's casket inside. Tears immediately streamed down my face and she hadn't even been home 3 minutes. As I was getting ready for our pictures, Reese must have came out in her outfit and David remarked on her necklace and how Grandma Judy would be in our pictures. I quickly heard her shush him and say, "Don't say that to Mom! She's already got her makeup on!".

I want to be cool. I really do. And witty to talk to. But I'm just not. I'm socially awkward and my family thinks it is absolutely hilarious. Since I was the one who booked our session, I walked up to our photographer and introduced myself and the family. Things were off to a good start. Then she asked how our vacation was going so far and my awkwardness engulfed me. I said something dumb about the lizards there and she said, "Oh, is this your first time to Florida?". 

I began stammering around about how we had been before, but not this far South, blah, blah, blah and heard instant snickers behind me. Later that night back in our condo, David couldn't hold it in any longer. "We've been coming to Florida almost every October for the past, what, 9 years? To Orlando! You made it seem like it was our first time here!". And he and the kids proceeded to have a good 15 minute chuckle about it. 

David was a tad disappointed at the caliber of our condo, no beach chairs/cabanas to reserve, etc. But the kids and I never care where we stay. Tate was just happy to have a bed. He's slept on the couch many a vacation. As an added bonus, we got a daily dose of marijuana from the stairwell. I am still so naive and always say, "Ewww, I think a skunk sprayed nearby,". To which the kids just roll their eyes, "Really, Mom?". And then I say, "Wait! How do you guys know what that smells like?". It's a whole thing. 

Our first full day was a success. Other than Reese getting sunscreen in her eyes and having to take an extended break back at the condo rinsing them out with my contact solution. David and I headed to the store to grab a few things we'd forgotten and the babies (Drue and Tate) bonded at the beach together, discovering that an 18 year old girl and 17 year old boy actually do have things in common and can enjoy each other's company without insults and name calling exclusively. I really don't know how we could have forgotten anything. The night before we had all gone to Publix for the week. I don't know what it is about vacation but we suddenly needed all the food. Things we've never eaten before in our lives made it into our cart, including my newly discovered favorite snack, Sprite flavored tic tacs. I made fun of Tate for getting them, then gobbled down the whole entire container myself over the next couple of days. 

In keeping with our relaxed vibe of the trip, we decided to go explore a place each morning, then finish our days at the beach. David is obsessed with botanical gardens and has decided we will visit one on all vacations. So off we went the morning after our photo shoot. Tate is no longer the little boy who runs off. He is now the big boy who likes to go off the path and climb over railings. I looked up and there he was. Precariously perched above the pond of lily pads, and I'm guessing, crocodiles. 

"We're going to be the first family to get kicked out of a free botanical garden," David mused. Every trip, Tate comes up with some random pose for pictures. I present this year's odd pose:

Is he praying? Meditating? Giving thanks to the universe at large? Who knows. But these are the precious memories we'll have of him. 

I wouldn't be doing my duty as a Mother if I didn't constantly worry about dangers lurking around us. Weeks prior to our trip, I kept reading about the riptides in the Gulf. So I helpfully sent an article about them in the family group chat. As well as a picture of what to watch out for. Thankfully, we didn't encounter any during our stay. In fact, we surprisingly found a lovely sand bar out in the ocean filled with sand dollars we took turns collecting. When my turn came to take our stash in to shore, I headed in, then remembered that to get to the sand bar we had to cross a part of the ocean where we couldn't touch. There I was, not the best swimmer, but a darn good doggy paddler, fighting against the current, swimming one armed and clutching these sand dollar treasures with my bad arm, and I thought, "This is it.". This is how I am going to exit this world. 

Mother of 3 Drowns Swimming to Shore with Armful of Sand Dollars would be the headline I suspected. Hey, I couldn't think of anything more creative in my final moments. And just when I turned to get one last look of my precious family at the sandbar in waist deep water, I felt the bottom of the sea beneath my toes, and realized I'd made it back to where I could touch. Stop the presses. I would live another day. 

After we showered and settled in for the night, a red bump on the front of my neck caught my eye. Are there mosquitos at the beach? I googled. Not likely so. Had it been a mosquito, I would have been covered in bites and there was just the one. I decided I must have been stung by an invisible sea creature and left it at that. I was just thankful it'd happened after pictures. 

David has always known he can't carry on a pleasant conversation with me past 9pm, and the kids now realize that as well. The beach drains me. I was exhausted every night. The first night, Tate randomly asked something about OJ Simpson. "Oh wow, that all happened when we were in college," I reminisced.

"What happened?" he asked. 

"The infamous car chase after he murdered his ex-wife," I said. 

"What was her name?" David asked aloud. 

"I don't remember," I replied. 

David continued to try and come up with it then said, "Well that's terrible."

"What is?" I asked. 

"That we don't remember her name."

And my irrational, tired self reared her ugly head. "Why is that terrible? She was nobody to me. I didn't know her. She certainly didn't care what my name was!" I said grouchily. 

Four pairs of eyes just stared back at me with laughter behind them. 

"I'm sorry, dear," David apologized mockingly, "I didn't realize you felt so passionately about this."

Then the name Nicole came to me along with three word name and I blurted out, "Anna Nicole Smith" which resulted in more laughter and Tate googling it and correcting it to Nicole Brown Simpson. 

"I do not care!" I said and promptly went to bed. 

We couldn't go to the Gulf and not feast on a good old fashioned seafood boil. And feast, we did. Drue chose to stay home that night so just the four of us ate shrimp, crab legs, and corn until we were stuffed to the brim. Then topped it off by sharing a one pound piece of chocolate cake called "Big A$$ Chocolate Cake" on the menu that the kids took turns saying because, "Mom, that's what it's called!". 

As we rolled ourselves back to the car, Tate was already planning what he would eat in an hour or for his second dinner. 

We discovered evening ocean swims this trip. I think before I had been too scared we'd lose one of them in the twilight or that sharks would mistake them for an evening snack. Evening swims are lovely. We don't have to worry about getting burnt. Hardly anyone is in the ocean. Very relaxing. And very beautiful as we watched the sun set each night and the clouds turn pink. As we floated peacefully, Tate asked, "When does this close?". 

"The ocean? It doesn't," I said. 

I checked on my neck bite when we got in and it hadn't changed whatsoever. David decided I could be carrying little seahorse babies in it and kept watching for one to crawl out. "Moms don't carry the babies, the Dads do," the kids set him straight. 

Monday was Busch Gardens day, just to throw some thrill rides into the mix. But the tropical storms put a damper on the day and we only got a handful of rides in before the rain shut everything down. We headed back early and as David followed the GPS, there was a split in the road on one of his exits. He went to the left when he actually should have gone right. No harm no fowl. I advised him kindly of this and our GPS rerouted us immediately. A few moments later he said, "Hey, I recognize that. This is the way we came this morning." 

"Yep," I replied offhandedly.

"So we're good," he went on. 

"Yeah, the GPS rerouted us," I explained. 

A few minutes later, "But this is how we came this morning. So it all worked out," he said again. 

What is happening here? I wondered in my head. Does this man not know how a GPS works? 

"Right, because it got us back on track," I said, a little more invested into the conversation at that point. 

For some reason, he wouldn't let it go and was trying to prove a point, but was sounding more and more ridiculous. He doesn't get irritated very easily but his next phrase came out like I was the one who didn't know what was going on. 

"This is the same way we came this morning," he said slower and a little aggravated, "So it all turned out ok, is all I'm saying."

And I was too tired. Too tired for a rebuttal. So I tried something new for me. I kept quiet and closed my eyes. Dissolving our marriage over this wasn't going to be worth it. And we still had one full day of vacation left together. 

As we all floated in the waves, our new happy place, that evening, the subject of the GPS resurfaced. "Yeah, Dad, what was that about? You weren't making any sense!" Drue said. "And, Mom, I looked at you and you didn't even say anything!".

"Me too!" Reese said. "When Mom just quit talking, I thought 'what the heck' and just went to sleep."

I still don't know if David's brain glitched or what. In hindsight, I think maybe he didn't realize the GPS rerouted us and he thought his wrong turn was actually the right turn when we started passing familiar places. Either way, I was just proud of myself after 25 years of marriage for letting it go in the moment and staying quiet. We all had a good laugh about it and I said, "I was literally seething in my seat!".

"You were?" David asked, as he doubled over in the ocean. 

"Yes! I thought 'we're finna get divorced over this dang GPS!'". 

As relaxing as our time in the ocean was we, in fact, look like the redneckiest redneck family around when we're out there. Tate on his Pabst Blue Ribbon inner tube (don't ask), Drue and I on rafts, David standing out in the sea as our "anchor", holding on to a rope that is tied to Tate's inner tube and that Drue and I also hold onto so we don't float away. Reese usually has the goggles on diving for things. But she's scared to go too far from us so she usually kicks one of us in the face or splashes us all as she resurfaces, and we all yell at her in unison. Prime entertainment for other beach goers, no doubt. 

When no sea horses escaped from my neck, I diagnosed myself with a leishmania parasite. "Can cause high fever, weight loss...oh nice, I kinda hope it's that," I announced. 

One of the nights (after the O.J. Simpson fiasco) Reese asked, "What was your favorite beach day we've had?". Yep, it was after 9pm. I started reflecting on the days then snapped, "I don't know! I can't pick a favorite! I've enjoyed them all. That stresses me out. Why do we have to pick just one?". 

Again, all the laughs. And reminders not to ask Mom anything at night. Ever. 

One of my favorite parts of our condo vacations are the nighttimes. We're all clean, fed, and cozied up in the living room watching movies together. "Mom, is this your dream come true?", Tate asked. "Yes, yes it is," I replied contentedly. The night before we visited the Clearwater Aquarium we watched Dolphin Tale which was filmed there. I don't see any notes from that day so there must not have been any marriage ending arguments or kids falling into the turtle tank. It was neat to see though. And made me want to move there and be a marine biologist who rehabs animals. First, I'll need to update my resume and add "expert in Leishmania parasites". 

I love, love, love our family vacations. David likes to burst my bubble of happiness each time by saying, "You know, this could be our last one with the five of us." Tell me that after 9pm buster, and you might get a right hook to your jaw. This one was the perfect amount of days. Not too long, not too short. I always start out, "Everything is wonderful and I love spending time with all of you" then end up "MUST YOU YAWN SO LOUDLY?!" near the end. That's when we know it's time. Time to get back to our regular lives and schedules, going out in 5 different directions most days. Catching glimpses of each other leaving for, or coming home from work. 

I think I covered all the noteworthy happenings. Now I'm off to read Nicole Brown Simpson's biography, because I still feel guilty for saying she didn't mean anything to me when I was tired. Then after that, I'll come up with another diagnosis for this unsightly red bump on my neck. 

Plunging into the post vacation depths of despair will just have to wait for tomorrow. 

A Little Less "Organ"ized...Get It??

Greetings from my bed, snuggled betwixt our yorkie poo and pittie. Who, I would say, make excellent caregivers, except for the fact that Gizzie's way of checking to see if I'm alive is by standing on my stomach. And George is just living his best life because he normally doesn't get free reign in our bed until nighttime.

Surgery went well. It was a little trickier than my doctor had expected, because there was a lifetime's supply of endometriosis hiding behind my uterus that surprised even her. I like to keep my healthcare team on their toes apparently. 

My 4:15am alarm was in no way welcomed. But we were on our way by 4:45ish. David was most excited about the perfect parking spot he found, right near the entrance to the hospital. "You gotta get up pretty early to find a better spot than me," he said proudly. 

Got all checked in and headed back to pre op. He got to come with me this time, and of course, provided much comedic relief for all those within earshot. When the nurse stepped out he asked, "Did they say they could get me a warm blanket?"

"What? No!" I hissed, hoping they hadn't heard him. 

"I think you have to request it and then slip it to me..." he suggested. "Also, I have a mosquito bite that's been bothering me. Do you think they could take a look at it?". 

Oh here we go. It was at this moment I began to rethink him being back there. 

The nurse returned and went through all the routine questions. Name, date of birth, do I know what surgery I'm having, etc. I answered "hysterectomy and oophorectomy". David looked puzzled and asked, "And where exactly are her oofas?". 

Out the nurse went again to check on her other patients. David was starting to get restless by then and began inspecting my gurney. "I wonder what this button does?" 

"Leave it!" I warned. 

"Do you want me to start your IV?" he asked as he picked up my arm and began tapping it to wake up my veins. "Or turn on your oxygen?".

"I don't want you to touch a single solitary thing," I admonished. 

He sat back down in his chair and while he was repositioning his mask, one of the strings broke. Honestly. He's like my 4th child. He began scanning the room like MacGyver, looking for something he could use to put it back together. "I need a suture kit," he decided. 

Off I went to the OR. And in seemingly the next 30 seconds, I was being wheeled to my room for the night. I took about 10 catnaps that afternoon, being unable to stay awake for more than 5 minutes at a time. David got a kick out of the "goals" written on my board. "Dangle pain control?" he questioned my nurse. "That seems kinda mean. You don't just give it to them when they need it?!"

I surpassed my "dangle" goal for the day. And instead of just sitting up on the side of my bed, I managed to slowly walk around the unit with my IV pole and nurse aide. Such an overachiever I am. Although, at the pace I went, a snail would have given me a run for my money. 

The anesthesia made me sick as a dog who just ate stale mac n cheetos (yes, that is a mac & cheese stuffed cheeto puff). An oddly specific comparison, I know.  But Gizzie found a half eaten one in one of the kids' rooms years ago and we thought she was done for. She was so sick for an entire day. Didn't even move once. So of course I rushed her to the vet first thing in the morning and thankfully she's lived happily ever after ever since. But it's now our standard family measurement for how sick someone is. 

I made it through that first night. One minute feeling on the verge of making that journey toward the eternal light, the next a nurse coming in saying she had my discharge orders to go home. I called David to come fetch me (he lost rock, paper, scissors apparently), "She said you can just pull up to the main entrance and she'll wheel me out," I explained. 

"Got it. So, like, do I just honk or what?". 

"Don't you dare." 

My nurse took out my IV and went to grab my discharge papers. As I repositioned myself in bed, it was like old faithful erupting from my hand. Blood spattering all over the floor, on me, on my bedding. Think prom scene from Carrie. The poor housekeeper who got assigned to my room probably couldn't decide whether to clean and sanitize or report a crime. 

David got me home where I promptly crawled into bed and drifted in and out of consciousness for the next day and a half. Small stretches of walking, increasing each day, were recommended for a smoother recovery. Since opening the front door these days feels like opening the gates to hades, I opted to shuffle around in circles on our air conditioned main floor. 

I picked the worst time to pass down my car to Tate and upgrade myself to a larger SUV. I haven't yet learned how to casually get in and out of it. I just kind of awkwardly slither out and breathe a sigh of relief when my foot finally touches solid ground. So if everyone could just avert their eyes for the next 4-6 weeks if I happen to pull up beside you and attempt to exit my vehicle semi successfully, that would be helpful. 

In the meantime, it has been handy having my pick of chauffeurs this time around. I learned rather quickly not to say, "Who wants to drive their dear old Mom to Target??". And just began assigning each offspring the task randomly. A neat thing about our city is they somehow managed to deliberately map out each and every route I take to anywhere and begin road construction. As Tate ineffectively dodged some bumps in the road, I remarked, "Umm...ow. I feel like some more of my organs are going to fall out." 

"Wait, those were organs you had removed? You should have sold them on the black market!". His chauffeur duties have been suspended for the time being. 

My surgical team sent me home with some parting gifts. They left 3 or 4 of my ECG electrode patches stuck to me. Each time I shower, I discover another one. Like a little scavenger hunt. 

All in all, I'm doing well. And feeling good. I'm up to one to two outings per day. And down to one nap a day where I wake up in a fuzzy stupor not knowing what year it is. 

As always, I'm so grateful for your prayers and well wishes. I feel like I have more than exceeded my allotment of them these past 4 years. But I know God has placed each and every one of you in my life for a reason. And it's not just so my list of potential chauffeurs can get longer...

Fallopian Farewell

Some people have Summer homes. Or tranquil getaways to a favorite vacation spot each year. 

I have the OR. Not Oregon, although that would be lovely. Operating Rooms. I find myself visiting different ones around the metro each Summer. And instead of collecting little souvenir shot glasses, I collect those plastic hospital cups with lids and straws that measure my water intake. I'm accumulating quite the menagerie. 

Cancer is that rather unique gift that keeps on giving. If that gift is a subscription to something you never asked for, absolutely detest, and isn't eligible for returns or exchanges. 

I'm off to get my 8th surgery in the a.m. 

No, my cancer isn't back. But the medicine I take to help prevent breast cancer reoccurrence, Tamoxifen, can cause uterine cancer. So every year I get a sonogram to check things out. And EVERY YEAR it shows suspiciousness lurking amongst my lining. Which means I either have to get a biopsy done, or in last Summer's case, a hysteroscopy and d&c. 

People. I am slated to be on Tamoxifen for SEVEN MORE YEARS. So after my last suspicious sonogram this Spring, my doctor said, "That's it! Everything's coming out!". Kind of like when your kids are all causing a ruckus in the very room you're trying to find some peace and quiet in for 5 minutes so you finally yell, "EVERYBODY OUT!".

I'll be adding a few more "ectomies" to my health history. A hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo oophorectomy. Boy, spellcheck didn't like that latter one. At. All. 

Tate is disappointed he won't be getting that little brother he's always longed for. I didn't have the heart to tell him that ship had sailed years ago. Not only sailed, mind you, but had gotten lost forever in the Bermuda triangle. He's now trying to convince us to trade one, or both, of his sisters for a brother.  Or a bull terrier. Either will suffice. 

At least he's actually able to talk about the surgery now. When I was first explaining what it was, he said, "Mom! That's a bad word!". To which Drue and I both said in unison, "Uterus??". To mess with him more, I said I was planning on keeping all my newly evicted reproductive organs in a jar on the mantel. 

This immediately cleared both kids from the vicinity with Drue saying, "Mom...ewww. Good-bye." Teens are too easy sometimes. 

I assigned David the most important job of all. Of course he's my ride, but after surgery, I told him to make sure I put my earrings back in right away. I got my second hole pierced recently, and although it's past time that I can change them out, they still need an earring in so they don't close up. He's already set a reminder in his phone. While he was setting that, he asked what time we needed to be at the hospital. 

"5:15am," I replied. 

"Of course we do," he said good naturedly. Poor guy can't catch a break with my first surgery of the day luck of the draws. 

When he found out I'd be staying the night he asked if he needed to take the following day off work as well. "Heavens no," I said. "Just come pick me up between conference calls or something. Or heck, send one of the other THREE drivers in our household. But not Tate. He only knows how to get to Taco Bell and back home." 

I find it kind of poetic, fitting, ironic...I'm not sure which word works best...that I'm having this surgery done at the same hospital where I had all my babies. I've come full circle. 

Oh, and I'll be able to come off of Tamoxifen afterwards and switch to an aromatase inhibitor instead. "But I thought you came off Tamoxifen last year?" you say. Or you would say if you remember reading that in my March 2021 update. And you would be correct. 

Chemo threw me into early menopause. The one and only side effect I really didn't mind. Last year, my lab work showed that, yes indeed, I was post menopausal. So my oncologist took me off Tamoxifen and started me on Letrozole. Lo and behold, I went back to being pre menopausal within a month or so. Which caused my oncologist to scratch his head, order more lab work, and put me back on Tamoxifen. So if you're keeping track, I went in to menopause, came back out, then went. back. in. How David has not walked right out the front door, never to return, I have no idea. I have been a hot mess. Literally. 

And I wasn't the most emotionally/hormonally stable person pre cancer treatments as it was. But I can't take any hormone replacement anythings because that's what fueled my breast cancer to begin with. Oy. 

Never in a billion trillion years did I dream I'd be matter of factly blogging about menopause, ovaries, my uterus, or my bosom. But ridiculously modest me couldn't have gotten ear lobe cancer. Or pinky toe cancer. Neither of which causes me any kind of embarrassment to talk about whatsoever. Nope. This Mom of three who was too shy to even say "breastfeeding" and only felt comfortable referring to it as "nursing" got breast cancer. And her coping mechanism is writing. So there you have it. I am now the epitome of TMI. 

I'm off to pack my little bag. And do a few weird nesting things around the house that I always do before surgeries. Like scrub the kitchen trash can lids and refold my winter sweaters on the shelf in the way back of my bedroom closet. You know, important stuff like that.