Surviving Cancer, My Story Part 18: 'I can do hard'

 Part 18: ‘I can do hard’

“Oh Grandma Bird, are you serious?”, Dan asked in shock as he held the phone to his ear.  He was on the phone with my grandmother. Our ‘Bird Family Reunion’ was a week away.  My Dad’s side of the family was desperate to have us attend.  It was the only time growing up I was able to see my extended family.

“What is she saying?”, I pressed him to tell me. By the look on his face it was something that put him in a minor state of shock.  My grandma had adopted Dan as important a member of the family as she considered me to be. The concern my grandmother had for what we were going through was great.


 (My grandparents, Kenneth & Carma Bird with me)
Ever since my parents divorce I had felt very close to my grandmother.  As a child high emotions ran through my family for years after my young world was severed into two different lives.  

As a child of divorce you feel like you don’t belong to anybody.  

Parents remarry and make a new life with their new partner.  They are fully accepted into this new family, leaving behind their previous family exed out through divorce.  It isn’t the same for children.  They must try to find a place in two new families that they didn’t choose, but only belong to by a second marriage they have zero control over.  There is no reason for the new family to take the new child to be fully theirs to love and care for.  Assumptions that the other families have that covered are made and forgotten.

Divorce for a child is lonely.

 

(Grandma Bird and me)

My grandma lived around the corner from my dad.  She was a sanctuary for me to escape to when I was under stress or upset.  The differences my two families felt for each other were frequently discussed, heavy topics and burdens were forced upon my innocence.  The only place I didn’t feel I was a painful reminder of mistakes and regrets from a bad marriage was when I was on a visit with her.  I knew she loved me, and I loved her. She never made me feel like I was less important to her than her other grandchildren she got to see all the time.

Dan started to stumble over his words as he looked up at me indicating my turn to talk was next, “I don’t know what to say grandma...thank you, that means a lot.” 

He said his good-bye and handed me the phone with a simple smile of humility on his face.  I took the phone and listened to my grandma tell me what Dan was reacting to.  Her voice trembled as she tried not to become too emotional.

When the planning between my aunts and uncles began, my grandmother said she would prefer the ‘family reunion’ be canceled and all the money that would be spent on the week be sent from each family to ours.  She knew the heartache of disease and the expense that came with it.  My grandfather had suffered more years than most from Alzheimer’s disease.  As his condition progressed he forgot everyone he knew.  My grandmother was forced to place him into a care facility.  He had changed over time into someone he wasn’t before.  I recognized the similarities my grandmother and I might have in feelings about those changes in someone we shared our lives with. In a state of limbo herself for a lot of years before my grandfather passed away, her heart ached with what a young family should never have to experience.

(Ken and Carma Bird)
 My aunts and uncles not wanting to cancel the rare opportunities for family to see each other brainstormed for another option.  Traditionally a service project was arranged for the families to do together, as a group.  The idea was proposed that instead of the service project one day be dedicated to an auction.  Each family would spend time making or thinking of items they could collect to bring to the reunion. Those items would be up for bidding during a live auction every family member would participate in.  As my grandma recounted what she had told Dan, that the plans agreed upon were to spend an evening in financial service to my family I was overwhelmed, and speechless.  I could hardly respond in the conversation.  Family members I had felt hated me over the years because of my ties to my mother made my importance to them valid.  So many years I felt like an afterthought.  I only felt I truly belonged to someone on the day I got married.  What my grandmother had told me gave me reassurance that God knew my heart, that he felt my insecurities and provided opportunity for those feelings to be washed away by people he had entrusted me to, to be loved and cared for by.

Dan was not quite recovered from his fourth round of chemo when the reunion week came.  Luckily the location of the reunion was only 2 hours away. If Dan did too poorly on the way up or during the week we had the option to come straight home, or to the hospital.

Dan was down to a small frame of 135 pounds.  For a man 6’2” he was at a dangerous weight and looked like he would fall over if the wind blew too hard.  His doctors encouraged him to drink ‘ensure’ to keep his body fortified with something somewhat sustainable. He hated it but drank it anyway through a straw.  He resembled an old man about to be wheeled in a wheelchair to a bingo party where 'ensure' would be the drink of the hour.

He ran his fingers over his head while we drove in the car up to Logan.  “I miss my hair”, he said.  Our kids were asleep in the back.  I looked over at him and smiled, “I know”, I replied, “it’ll grow back, maybe even some before you have more chemo”.

My cousins, their babies, my aunts and uncles were all scattered in the main lodge when we arrived.  As the news spread we were there, most people dropped what they were doing to come greet us, and help us into our lodging.  Only 3 individual cabins were rented and available for the entire reunion group, consisting of over 75 members. One was assigned to us, for our privacy, and for Dan’s comfort. I felt happy to be around my family, but still somewhat uncomfortable.  My insecurities were catching up with me.  I wished to be  telling fortunes of the new house we just bought, or the sweet moments we were having as a young family together. I hated being there with cancer, on display, hating the feeling the misfortune I’d been struck with to be the central thing going on in my life.

(My cousins whom I spent summers with, Heather, Brandi, Misty, and me)

Dan had thrown up several times on the drive up and he was tired.  I wanted to stay up at the main lodge to catch up with my cousins I hadn't seen in years.  I missed our childhood memories and silly laughter. I knew Dan needed me and prefer that I be there to help him as he got settled into the cabin.  It had been a week since Dan had been home from the hospital.  Although he was doing well considering, he looked scarier to my family that they expected him to look.  I had watched him change on a daily basis over time, while the last time any of my family saw Dan he was the vision of a tall, healthy, and vibrant man.  His hunched over death look gave some family members reason to be upset over what they couldn’t imagine I was going through.

 

(My dad, Marlon Bird, and me)

My dad was there. I hadn’t seen him since my baby was born.  He hugged me.  I wanted to cry, but I didn’t.  I had adopted a policy of being tough around him.  I knew he expected that of me. 

The theme for the reunion was centered on this theory as well.  Any trials the ‘Bird Family’ had gone through was remedied with the mantra “I can do hard”.  I had heard this phrase a lot growing up. It was encouraging, perfect for what we were going through.  I wasn’t sure I could do it, but I did know that it was hard.  This theme made me believe that although surviving cancer was something I would have to do, no matter how hard it was, I had loved ones behind me, cheering me on, telling me I could do it. Everyone received a shirt with this phrase printed on it for reminder.

 

(Cole and cousin Kate playing in the stream wearing reunion shirts)

The week consisted of many family activities.  My dad helped Cole make a boat for the ‘river race’ out of plastic cups and pipe cleaner.  Vessels made from every thought up idea were launched into the river and cheered on by their creators in hopes of a first place win.  I watched my little boy and his grandfather he didn’t really know send a pile of cups they constructed together down stream.  He screamed with excitement. I saw my father with a mini version of myself.  Lost opportunities of father/daughter bonding over the years grazed my mind for a moment.  When my dad had remarried my relationship with him had been replaced.  Although not personal, nor intentional, my stepmother was less sensitive to what was important in my father’s life before she entered it.

 

(Me, my dad and siblings, Ryan and Melissa Bird)

The next night we had a talent show.  Dan had finished a bag of fluids being pumped into his body and retired to our cabin early. I sat with Cole and our baby watching my cousins participate in musical numbers and rehearsed skits with each other.  It was beautiful, yet devastatingly painful for me to watch.  Tears escaped my eye every now and then.  I wiped my cheek before the tears had a chance to be noticed.  I was embarrassed at my jealousy.  My siblings and I were the only ones within the entire extended family who knew what it was like to not have a complete family.  I wished it had been differently for me growing up.  Feeling like a stranger to your father, and in your own home is the worst feeling.  It was never our home anyway, it belonged to the woman my dad married.  I had learned early on to make this woman my friend, or there was a chance she would make me her enemy.  I loved my stepmother, but wasn't fond of how my siblings and I were treated on most of our visits.  It was hard to tell if she really loved us or just tolerated us because she had to under the circumstances. She and I both knew she ruled my dad’s roost.  My siblings and I were underdogs to her control over how our extended family viewed our relationship with her since our exposure was minuscule compared to hers.  It was a lost battle from the beginning.  I had learned early to ‘go along to get along’.

 

(My step-mom, Marian, and me)

I watched my father perform with my younger half brother, stepbrother, and his step grandchildren as I sat on the sidelines with Cole.  I pushed my petty hurt out reminding myself how ridiculous it was for an adult to feel so jealous.  I sincerely loved my stepbrothers and I loved their children.  They were also victims of a hard upbringing and needed to feel that they belonged to my family as much as I wished I did.

Before the talent show was over I left the lodge and made my way to the cabin.  I wanted to be with Dan.  My emotions were spent and I needed to feel the comfort from the only person I had chose in life to call my family. He wasn’t asleep yet. His body was still in pain, making it hard for anyone to sleep near him.  I folded out the small futon into a bed and put both boys in it next to me.  Cole was struggling with his addiction to chocolate milk and began crying for his brown drug like a junkie in detox. “Chalk it milk…..chalk it milk”, he moaned.  Dan and I laughed.  We joked how our true reason for bringing our son to the family reunion was to cure him of his obsession. We started referring to the reunion as ‘C.M. Camp - kids with drinking problems’.  Our marriage always had a healthy sense of humor.  Laughter could remedy any issues we were going through.

The day of the auction came.  Blankets covered the ground and fold out camp chairs were set out in rows.  Items started being brought out from tents and the lodge.  Many hand made items were lovingly placed up for bid.  Several people in my family were crafty and could appreciate things handmade.  I had learned to sew handbags as a way to earn extra money during Dan’s cancer.  All my free time had been dedicated to sewing and selling hand-sewn bags made from designer fabrics.  The women in my family loved my designs and often asked me to make one for them or a daughter about to have a baby in need of a stylish diaper bag.  I was paid generously for my sewn creations by my family. It was a known source of supplemental income.

My step-mom had asked me to bring several bags to the auction so she could buy one for her daughter in law who had a baby shortly before Ethan was born.  I laid out three bags of individual design onto the blankets. 

(My sewn handbags, 'beansprout designs')
My uncle, whom I’d been intimidated by as a child, stood in front and welcomed the family.  He introduced the reason for the auction and the importance it was to be generous for a worthy cause.  I felt emotional before things even got started.  People who had known me my whole life were there, wanting to support me, show me in substantial ways that they loved me.  I could care less about the money.

I finally felt like I belonged to my family.

New items were brought forth, bid on, and claimed by the winners.  If an item weren’t bid to a dollar amount my uncle expected it to be bid at he would assign a dollar amount and bidder to the item making sure the auction raised a healthy amount of money.  Envelopes with surprise contents were auctioned for hundreds of dollars and gave the family something to banter playfully over during the event.  My grandmother had been waiting for my bags to be up for bid as she verbally announced she was going to win one at any cost.  It was her excuse to shower me with a large bid and boost my confidence in my talent of sewing.  She had a way of making her grandchildren feel that their talents and gifts were unique and something to be proud of.

“$100.00!”, she called out as she sat up in her chair and promptly raised her hand.

“$110.00”, my stepmother meekly said.  The bag they were bidding on was the one my stepmother had her heart set on for her daughter-in-law.  She had privately pulled me aside when she saw me pulling three bags from my car to add to the auction.  Quietly, so others wouldn’t hear, she told me she wanted me to not put the bag she wanted in the auction.  She told me she wanted to not have to spend too much money on the bag and that she would buy it from me later at my regular rate of $50.00 a bag.  My grandmother had overheard part of the conversation about the bag not being placed in the auction and had scolded my step-mom in a joking manner, that the bag had to be in the auction and she would have to try and outbid her for it.  Her effort was to get a spirit of spending and giving going, as she made her announcement loud enough for others to hear.

 As soon as my grandmother had continued walking past us to the auction my stepmother shot me a disapproving look letting me know she was upset about spending more that she wished to on the bag.  I knew she wanted the portion of money coming from my father’s pocket to be little as she made a big deal about allowing him to gift my siblings and I money all throughout my childhood.  My father made a healthy living my entire life.  He started his own businesses while still married to my mother. Soon after he remarried money became a bitter source of conflict when concerning my siblings and me.  It was something we resolved to walk away from.  Our father’s money was not worth the abuse we would have to tolerate from those who would have more control over it that we ever would.

(Ryan,  Melissa, and I while visiting our dad)
The bidding on my bag went back and forth between my grandmother and my stepmother.  At $200.00 my grandmother could see the tension from my stepmother wanting the win without having to pay the price.  I knew I would pay for entering the bag later. I went to my grandmother and whispered that if she let my stepmother win I would make an exact replica of the bag she wanted and send it in the mail. My stepmother won the bag and immediately got up out of her chair and took a break from the auction.

 I knew my step-mom wanted to love me, and did to a large extent.  I desperately wanted her to like me, and at times we were good friends. It was hard for me to completely blame her for not loving a child that wasn’t hers as much as she loved her own, and probably reminded her of a woman that once came in my dads life before she did.  Her own divorce undoubtedly affected her in ways I couldn’t comprehend and resolved to not judge.  She had children in my same circumstance and wouldn’t purposefully cause me stress.  I forgave her shortcomings growing up, and hoped she would do the same for me.
 
(Marian and me)
 The auction came to a close, with a thought on gratitude from my uncle who had headed up the event.  He became emotional.  It was touching and reverence for what was being said was given. Dan stood from his chair and asked if he could say a few words.

I stood with him as he spoke.  He expressed deep gratitude for what was done for our family.  He talked about his cancer, how it was hard, that it was an unexpected trial.  He raised his affected hand for everyone to see.  “In a few weeks I will loose my finger, part of my hand”, he explained, “but I know it will be okay, because I won’t loose my life, and I have a great family”. He continued his impromptu speech, “the important things are not what happens in our lives, but how we deal with them.  Tatum and I could not get through this trial as well as we have so far without the family support you have given us.”

It was the most talking Dan did the whole week we were up at the reunion.  Everyone was silent as he spoke. He bore testament as to what life was truly about.

‘Life was truly about the loved ones in it’.

 A family prayer ended the evening.  Lessons had been taught in my heart that night.

  I could overcome anything with loved ones in my life.

 I could get through Dan’s cancer. 

I could do hard.

 

(early photo's of my dad and me)

SwiM LeSsOn

a new friend reading my cancer story

asked me how Dan could

not appreciate all i did

for him.

my immediate response, 

without thought was,

'a lot of times people don't

appreciate sacrifice and service...

think about the savior. not 

many appreciated what he did 

for them back then either.'

i do not think i am like the savior.

but it made me wonder if

i appreciate all he did for me now. 

Life has a way of throwing us into circumstantial riptides

on a regular basis, and we often find ourselves

in a life-and-death struggle.

The Savior is always 

available to save us from the

perils of this world.

TrIcK oR tReAT, sMelL mY fEeT...

trick or treat,

smell my feet,

give me something 

good to eat...

 my 'skeleton' and 

little 'mummy'

doorbell rants...

halloween chants..

Surviving Cancer, My Story Part 17: 'She is my wife'

Part 17: 'She is my wife'

Dan purchased a bike shirt, biking shoes and a can of coke with his gift cards he got for his birthday.  I watched him sit on the couch in his orange bike shirt that looked ridiculously large, while he looked over his new shimano shoes and clips.  He loved to mountain bike; it was his true passion in life. I knew he wished he were out on a trail rather than sitting in our house day after day.  Truthfully, I wish he were out doing that as well.  It was strange to be together all the time, not really doing our usual married roles of divide and conquer.

 Dan also got an updated MRI and CAT scan worked into the day of his shopping trip. Monday was only two days before we were scheduled to be back up to the hospital for round 4 of chemo, our last round before the amputation.  The tests were reviewed as usual, in addition to discussion about Dan’s poor health and his extreme low weight, which was now becoming a problem.  Dr. Chen and Dr. Randall both agreed that at full strength Dan would not survive the next round of chemotherapy.  They decided to lessen the amount of chemo for Wednesday by 20%.  He would be at the hospital the same amount of days and have the same amount of time for the medicine drip but it would be pumped into his veins a lot slower, hopefully to ease some of his symptoms.  They didn’t want to see him back at the hospital between rounds anymore.  The treatment was becoming too dangerous and almost more life threatening than his cancer.

Dan was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday. I was eager to get him checked in so I could go home to rest.  A nasty chest cold, and infection had settled into my lungs; taking my voice to a low raspy whisper.  I could barely speak and I felt miserable. No one was taking care of me, and with Dan coming home a few days later I needed to be in a position to be his ‘beckon call girl’ rather than his ‘death bed buddy’.

As the nurse checked us in she stood next to Dan’s bed reviewing his chart, checking off a list of questions she needed to ask.  I answered some of the questions while Dan’s mouth was getting looked at. My voice was so horrible, I sounded like I ought to be the patient checking into the hospital. In the least I could be categorized as a former chain smoker whose voice was permanently damaged by it’s effects.  I let him answer the rest of the questions while I stare at Ethan sitting in his car seat, wishing I had a throat lozenge. She proceeded to get his vitals. As she was waiting for the machines to give her readings she started some small talk with Dan. I was hardly paying attention to what she was saying.  My throat was so sore, it was all I could focus on. My brain was in a fog and the conversations around me muffled.  A few minutes later I pulled out of my daze and heard the nurse still talking to Dan, “That’s nice your mother came with you today", she said.

I pulled my head up from staring at Ethan in his car seat and looked directly at the back of her head. Was she talking about me?  She wasn’t looking at me, but if she had glanced back she would have gotten the death stare I was beaming into her poofy blonde curls.  Dan must have saw the shock on my face as my mouth hung open because he started laughing and said, “no, no, no!...she isn’t my mother, she is my wife.”

The middle-aged nurse stopped what she was doing and flipped her body around to see my horrified look.  Embarrassment flashed across her face and she began apologizing profusely. Excusing her mistake by how young Dan looked it was clear she didn’t see his birth date on his chart, nor did she imagine that the baby I had toted into his room could be his.  It was hard to blame her after she had listened to my harsh, deep, manly voice.  I’m sure the dark circles and bags under my eyes added to her conclusion. My body still hadn’t had a chance to fully recover from having a baby five months prior leaving my look anything but resembling the wife of a young cancer patient.  It was the most insulted I’d felt in a long time.
Cancer made my husband look young, while it made me look like I was old.
It was confirmation that I was in need of some serious rest.

Alone time at home gave me a chance to get caught up with everyday chores I couldn’t do while I was taking care of Dan.  Laundry had piled up and dishes needed to bed done. I spent a good part of the day doing chores.  The doorbell rang and Cole ran to see who it was.  He loved visitors.  One of my neighbors stood there with a box full of groceries, including diapers and luxury household items our church welfare system didn’t supply.  Cereal, baby wipes, nice laundry soap, and dryer sheets caught my eye instantly.  I hadn’t been expecting this.  She came into my house with smiles and a hug, explaining that she had way overbought at Costco on accident, even though we both knew that wasn’t the case.  I had been assigned to visit this neighbor from our church roster once a month the year prior.  Although very nice when I would visit and check up on her I sometimes wondered if she liked me very much. It was hard to read how she perceived our visits. I attributed my insecure feelings to social awkward moments at the time.  I liked this neighbor but didn’t know her very well at all.  My heart felt humbled as she came into my son’s room and sat with me on his bed while I folded his clothes.  I had never seen her be so outgoing as she reached out to me in kindness.  Her attention to my fragile emotions and situation where exactly what I needed.

She was God’s angel on an errand and she didn’t even know it. 

I had never cared for the assigned visits at church before but at that moment realized their potential in finding unexpected friendships and was grateful I’d been assigned to visit her in the past.  She was a working mother who didn’t have a lot extra.  I knew her efforts to help me provide for my family came straight from the goodness of her heart. 

I wasn’t fully aware at the time but people were watching what was happening to Dan and I. Several times when we came home from the hospital and opened the front door there would be plates of home made cookies and a note, or a card attached to fancy lotion wrapped in cellophane.  A boy from our youth program wanted to have a car wash for an activity to raise some money for our family.  I was hardly aware of the behind the scenes efforts. I usually first learned about it only when the act of service was complete. When answering the door and seeing a boy with a humble smile on his face and his hands outstretched to mine holding $400 cash in small bills, I felt a warm shudder of humility travel through my body as he told me what he wanted to do and how he wanted to give.  I knew it was the spirit, confirming that God hadn’t forgotten me in my trials.  He was sending me love and help through others.

I was the beggar who wasn't forced to beg.

Dan was kept at the hospital several days longer before he came home from this round.  The doctors found it imperative to get his nausea under control before they’d release him this time.  My voice was still gone when I brought him home.  Dan was managing his symptoms with medication and home IV potassium fluids, trying to not throw up. Neither of us had any desire or ability to talk.  We sat in the living room together and watch Cole ‘mother’ Ethan. He had recently developed a number of unrecognizable words and began talking the baby’s ear off.  It was cute to watch him play and talk to his brother, oblivious to the elements surrounding him as being something other than normal.

Round 4 was over.  It was the beginning of time away from the chemo. Dan's body needed to heal.  He would need to be in good enough health to have the amputation, the surgery that would save his life and dismember parts from his body.  It felt like we had crossed a hurdle, even though the race was far from over. 
With a small break from chemo, Dan put himself on detail to mend while I was forced to focus on the secondary aspects of our situation….the bills.  The ones from the hospital had been coming every day, never one under $1000 for our portion to be paid.  I had been stacking them in a pile on my microwave, sometimes unopened.  I only paid the bills to keep us living in our small home and able to get by every month.  I rarely wanted to talk about bills to anyone; my first option in conversation was always how Dan’s cancer was doing.

 Opening my financial life to others was painful. When you need help everyone wants the details and every financial transaction becomes public for scrutinizing. It reminded me of needing help with my remedial math homework in grade school. I hated asking for the help and sometimes felt like I was failing in the subject of our financial life, as most people who get cancer do.

The truth was simple.  Ignoring the bills weren’t making them go away.  I shifted my thoughts and prayers from Dan to the bills. 

dR. LoTioN & mAsSagE mAsTer

dinner date and 

movie night just we three,

 

 gave sprouts ideas to 

spoil me.

"momma lay down, 

put up your feet,

your turn, relax,

this time we treat."

 my young massage master 

and dr. lotion 

rolled up their sleeves

and worked a potion.

new soft skin

and smile on face,

gave these sprouts

team points of first place.

LoSt BuM-sNuGgLeS

e was sick today.

usual mornings he crawls in my bed 

 and wakes me up 

with a 'bum-snuggle'.

last 3 days my 'bum-snuggles'

have turned into nose wipes and 

ouchie tummies.

 

reminders of my sweet boy

 on 'bum-snuggle' days.

i LoVe tO sEe ThE teMpLe

i miss home.

this is where i was married.

it is beautiful.

i want to take the sprouts there.

they love the angels on the tops

of the temples.

Spokane Washington Temple

Surviving Cancer, My Story Part 16: Walking Dead

Part 16: walking dead

After being in the hospital for more than a week Dan was finally released to come home.  It was July 3^rd. I had been running all over town getting things ready for the next couple of days. I scrounged up some money to buy mini fireworks and sparklers for the fourth.  Dan’s birthday was the following day. I needed to order a cake and wrap presents. Cancer needed to be out of the picture, even for only a few days.

Although he was well enough to come home Dan was still very sick.  He felt weak and looked frail.  Pneumonia had crept into his lungs while he was at the hospital. His throat was sore, and a nasty cough kept him throwing up several times a day.

(Fourth of July 2007)
We attempted to attend a get together with friends for fireworks. They had three young boys close to our own son’s age.  They hadn’t seen Dan since we started treatment.  Everyone tried to act natural, but were obviously shocked at his pale thin body.  He had dropped so much weight; 60 pounds at this point from his tall and lengthy build from before.

Nobody said anything as we got ready to start the festivities.  Dan sat on the couch and zoned to his half zombie-like state. He called my name a few minutes later and as I sat down next to him on the couch I already knew what he wanted.  “Take me home, I’m not going to make it”.

I didn’t know how to feel; worried, panicked, fear, anxiety, sympathy, sadness, annoyance, bitterness and loneliness. Did I feel these things for my husband, or just the cancer? I knew he was legitimately sick.  I also knew I was living in two different worlds. I was young wife and mommy to two beautiful boys moving forward with the ‘American Dream’.  But I was also old, worn, broken-down, nursemaid to a man I didn’t recognize but had been married to my entire adult life.  It was hard to separate the two.

 Dan climbed back into the car, and I took him down the street to our home.  I helped him into bed and told him I wouldn’t stay long at our friends.  Cole was left behind to not miss out on any fun and I intended to go back for 30 minutes before bringing the rest of our family home.  The sadness I felt not having a complete family trumped my desire to do anything without my husband.  He had been the center of my world for 6 years, and the boy of my childhood dreams that I would spend my ‘happily ever after’ with.

My children were tired from the lack of routine, naps, and all the chaos that surrounded our lives because of what we were going through.  Dan convinced himself to participate in a family sparkler party on the front lawn for 15 minutes.  It was just the four of us, not quite dark yet.  Three parachute guys were shot up in the air for Cole to run and catch.  He was fascinated by them and the colors of their chutes.  After retrieving them from their landing spots he ran into the house to hide them away for playtime later. My three year old was undoubtedly suffering from the same symptoms I was suffering from. He grasped at anything that meant security and happiness, even if it was temporary. Dan lit some mini tanks and a fire engine, less entertaining than the pricey packages had promised.

After a few sparklers the day was over. It had gone by too fast.  I was happy to have Dan home from the hospital.  My heart ached inside telling me a different story.  I forced those feelings to stay deep inside, keeping them from forming into words or emotions.  Dan had become a physical zombie by this point, but I had become an emotional one. How could I act so normal when everything around me was anything but normal?  I couldn’t handle a realization that I was a mere 30 year old doing what I was doing everyday.  

 Where were my 'Norman Rockwell' moments?

Dan went to bed right away. I wrapped up presents for his party the next day.  Phone calls had been made to my family members weeks prior, reminding them of Dan’s birthday.  I asked them to send something to make it special for him.  Our funds were non-existent, and my time to hunt for meaningful gifts were short.  Although he was becoming a man I didn’t fully know anymore my convictions for him were deep and my loyalty strong.  If love could cure a disease, he would have been healed instantly.  I finished getting everything ready for his party the next day and crawled into bed next to him.  My body curled up next to his 'Ethiopian' frame. The bones in his body stuck out everywhere. I was snuggling a skeleton, yet grateful my bed wasn’t empty. The nights he spent at the hospital were the times I got up half way through the night, crept into my son’s room, slipped under his covers, and held him close just to not feel alone.  

 I was a child that needed comforting.

(My parents, Cordell & Starla Briggs)
My parents drove an hour up to our house for Dan’s birthday.  Our son, who was enamored by ‘Thomas the Tank Engine’ obsessed over the birthday series we watched on a regular basis.  Balloons and silly hats were the theme for a successful party according to Thomas.  My mom brought balloons and I furnished the silly hats to personalize it for Cole.

“Happy Birthday Dan”, I whispered to help him wake up.  If he only stayed awake for a couple hours I wanted him to remember that he had a happy birthday and that he belonged to a family who cared about him.  My brother, had driven up the night before from Vegas to visit with us.  Ryan, who developed a unique form of epilepsy when we were in grade school, could sympathize with what we were going through.  He had been through horrible things that were life changing for him and our family. As newly weds we visited him in the hospital for his own scary surgery on his brain. The connection we had through disease and it's impact gave us an unspoken closeness. Dan fit into my family well. He was youngest in his own family, well behind his siblings in years. They hardly seemed close. My siblings and I were a close year apart from one another and they adopted Dan as their own. Both sets of my parents took more interest in his life than his own parents who rarely called or visit did.

 (My brother, Ryan Bird)

I wrapped Dan in his 'bio-hazard' safety plastic so he could take a shower before I whisked myself off to the kitchen. I helped my mom make a late lunch.  My dad and brother played with the boys while they waited.  Dan emerged from the bedroom and came down the hallway.  He sat himself down at the decorated table and tried to smile as he said hello to everyone.  The mood was somber as we sat down to eat.  Dan piled his plate full of food, but never took one bite.  He picked at it while he chatted with everyone at the table.  It was painful to watch.  I desperately wanted him to eat something.  He obviously wanted that too.  Everyone must have noticed because lunch ended rather quickly and we lit the candles on the cake. We began to sing.  After he blew out the few candles we could find for his cake he just sat and stared at the frosting.

“How old does today make you?”, my dad asked trying to carry the conversation.

“Twenty-Seven”, Dan replied.  He paused, and then said it again, “twenty-seven years old”.

(27 years old)
He grazed his finger across the side of the cake, brought his finger to his mouth, and licked a small dollop of frosting for a taste.  Presents were next.  Cole sat next to him eagerly waiting for his dad to hand him the present. Dan would quit half way through because he couldn’t open it. From his speech to his thoughts and movements he was slow.  My family had come through for me and sent him gift cards and a few things to open.  It meant a lot to me.  I missed the birthday’s we spent with each other before the cancer, as a couple, on a private date.  I wasn’t certain if there would be more of those in the future or if they were a thing of the past.

Dan’s eyes were tired and distant as always.  The short party was over, he needed to go back to bed.  I was sad to see my parents leave.  I secretly wanted them to stay, to rescue their little girl from the hell she was in.  My breakdown never happened and my mom kissed me good-bye.  I was left to be 'the mommy', the one in charge, brave and rescuing everyone else from the hell they were in.

The house fell quiet after Dan and the boys were all down for naps.  I cleaned up the kitchen, put away the presents, and gathered up the balloons.  I walked in the kitchen, picked up a fork and plunked it into the cake.  I took bite after bite without taking much breathe in-between.  I had to force the lump in my throat down.  I was loosing the battle I was trying to fight.  Soon the tears fell fast down my cheeks. The fork fell to the counter and I wrapped my arms around both sides of my body and leaned over while I sobbed.  My mind was blank.  No thoughts or words could get me through all the emotions pent up inside. They would have to come out, even if only through rare moments of sudden breakdowns and uncontrollable tears.

Dan was oblivious to my pain. Cancer was never about me. 

I lived in the shadow of his disease.

Later that evening we spent more time with just the four of us.  I carefully planned out small tasks for us to do, understanding the importance of keeping us all bonded together somehow.  Dan forced himself to participate as much as he could. He was void of human ties and emotions most of the time; just existing and enduring what he had to, in order to get him to the point of remission and a body that functioned as if he were alive inside it. Until then I couldn’t expect much more from him than a walking corpse in my house.

The air in the night brought an eerie chill to my bones.  I was able to sleep, but felt dark and cold.  Before Dan had fallen asleep he had been dry heaving for several hours.  He hadn’t eaten anything solid for so long. There wasn’t anything that could come up except stomach bile.  The only thing I could do was sit next to him, hear and feel his body involuntarily shake, and pray that it would stop while hoping the knots in my stomach would go away. I was relieved when the drugs kicked in and he passed out. 

The next morning he was icy cold. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling when I awoke and looked over at him. “How are you feeling?”, I asked.  “Okay... I guess”, he responded slowly.  The doctor told him a couple days after he came home from the hospital the medicine prescribed for the pneumonia would fully kick in and he would finally start to feel better.  He opened his mouth to say something, but paused before he said it.

“I thought I was going to die last night…I didn’t think I would wake up.”

My eyes glossed over for a minute or two before I grasped what he had said.

“What do you mean? Why didn’t you tell me?”….what and why questions were pouring out of my mouth expressing my horror.

“I didn’t want to scare you”, he explained, “I could feel my organs shutting down”.

For a moment I felt like my husband had come back to me.  He held me close and we comforted each other without words.

What the doctor had told him was true.  After the scary brush with death that night Dan started to feel better.  Mr. Jekyll had slipped away while ‘Hyde’ slowly came back.  He ate a little food and kept it down.  After most of the day, he felt well enough to get up and move around.  He had several gift cards in his possession and expressed his desire for some alone time to do some birthday shopping.  I was nervous about him driving a car considering he could barely walk his skeleton body to the bathroom from our bed, but agreed to let him try it.  Being a prisoner in your bed or your body was one of the worst things I could imagine.

While he was gone I called my mom to unleash the secret I forced myself to downplay all day long. I was panicked as I told her what Dan had said about dying in the night.  There was no shock on the other end of the phone, only explanation of a similar fear.

“On the way home from your house Dad said he didn’t think Dan looked like he was well enough to make it through another night.”

Although conversation on the drive home from our house eluded to seriousness of Dan’s condition I think they dismissed the feelings and talk as paranoia.

I was horrified at her admission, and immediately thankful that I didn’t wake up to a dead husband.  I couldn't stand to think of what would happen if he died.  What would I do if that had happened?  No matter how hard what I was going through was, as long as he didn’t die I knew I could get through it. 

What I hadn’t considered at that point was 'death in increments'.  Dan was dying, in small doses. He was changing and different every time I brought him home from the hospital. The possibility I failed to consider was that the body might survive the cancer although the soul it harnessed might not.

GhoSt Of E

sLeEpLeSs sTilL ...

why can't i sleep like this?

 

past few weeks have been very

difficult to sleep.

my eyes are heavy and i know 

i'm tired...my mind is wrestless

and full.

shut off mind!

i need beauty rest!!

posting part 16 tomorrow or monday,

needed to rest from thinking 

of time that is gone.

the sprouts have been full of questions 

and supposed solutions...

"mom...do we have a babysitter this weekend?"

"no"

"if you don't get a babysitter how will

you ever get a date?" :/

"mom...when i go to daddy's house i'm going to find his

'marry card' (temple recommend) and bring it home to give to you".

"that isn't how it works" :/

"mom...when i grow up i will look for valerie

(ko's gf, she moved far away with no forwarding information) 

and if i can't find her i won't

get another girlfriend and never 

get married."

"really? you won't want to try and like 

other girls?" :/

"no one will ever be as pretty as valerie".

"like...momma, i like u a lil bit...."

(eef's new way of being funny

as he's giving me the look of 

'is she buying this?')

:/

"like...i have to sleep in ur room 

cuz the spikeyman (woolverine which 

he has not seen) (?) is in

my room"

:/

"like...how many more

minutes til howoween"

minutes? :/