Author Archives: Theresa

My Wrinkles in Time

Posted in About Me, busy mom, Health by
What can I do about my tired looking skin? wrinkles and acne are no fun.

This is me today. I look tired. I look angry. But I’m not!

More confession time–I hate my skin right now, especially my wrinkles.  Which is odd because I do not hate other people’s wrinkles. As a 35-year-old female, I have many friends from as young as 20 up to 60 and I think they are all beautiful in their own way, wrinkles or lack thereof.

But I hate mine.

I think it is because my skin changed too quickly. I once had beautiful, wrinkle-free/acne-free flawless skin until I had my first child at 27. Having my first child aged me immediately by like 5 years. Then add a break up, a dramatic dating life, a new job search, a marriage, three more children, a home purchase, a husband battling with cancer, and my own aging body–distracted from taking care of my self, one day I looked in the mirror and took a step back. My skin just looks tired.  But I’m not.

I look in the mirror and do not recognize the woman in my reflection. It’s funny. You’d think I’d get used to my reflection. But every time I look in the mirror, I’m disappointed. As if somehow I was expecting to see that 25-year-old porcelain skinned young woman I once was. I suppose it’s because in many ways I still feel like her.

I used to have friends take pictures and then ask us girls to look at the photo and approve. I don’t even bother anymore. I know I won’t like the way I look. Not anymore. Gone are the days when I would look at myself in the mirror and say, “Oh yeah. Thank you Jesus.”

Nope.

I’ve always had somewhat of the joked about “Resting B!#$% Face” that formed a mild line between my brows after a long day in the sun. But now its two permanent lines that only disappear in the wee hours of the morning after I first wake up or after a long hot shower–rest and moisture are so good for the skin. Maybe I can just sleep in a mist bath the rest of my life? Sleeping beauty. A beautiful woman with no life.

I notice that when I wear bangs long enough to cover up the lines, people smile at me more. I think it’s because I look nicer. Those lines make me look mad. People ask–“are you ok?” all the time. I’m not mad. This is just my face.

Maybe it’s because I’m a thinker.

Maybe I just have over active brow muscles.

I was a shy and serious child

I was a shy and serious child

I know even as a child, I must have because I have a distinct memory of my grandmother Barbara in her thick Colombian accent press two fingers between my brows and tell me, “you are too young to be so serious my darling.”

I wish I were less serious.

To complicate the matter, somehow over the years, my face has become less and less symmetrical. Now, my right side of my face curves down from my eyebrows down to the corners of my mouth–all on my right side. I’m sure it comes down to not seeing my chiropractor as often as I should have all those years.

And then recently–I’ve started breaking out in acne. I’m 35 years old and breaking out. I actually found a pimple in my wrinkle next to my mouth yesterday.

So what do I do?

I drink lots of water and eat relatively well–so that is not really in need of improvement. But since summer has started, I’ve upped my coffee consumption which I am certain does not help. 

I was talking to someone about this a while back and she told me she went through the same thing once and then one day took a bottle of wine into the bathroom and told herself she would not come out until she accepted the way she looked. My first thought when she told me this was–don’t you know too much wine will make you look even older? 

So I’m not going to the that. I’m going to fight. I’m going to try to pull a superman and reverse time or at least slow it down and hopefully a long the way  come to a point of acceptance. I know, there is no logic in that, but that is where I’m at. I’m buying things I’ve never bought before and thinking about procedures I would have judged before.

I’ve spread raw apple cider vinegar on my face before I go to bed for the acne and I’ve actually seen some of the pimples dry up yesterday morning and literally fall of my face with the touch of a finger nail–so that’s good.

I’ve purchased and begun using oil-based cleansers, night cream, day cream for a year now.

Recently added a wrinkle-filling primer and anti-wrinkle foundation to my morning ritual. So far, don’t really see much of a difference. Maybe when its freshly on. But by the end of the day–it’s the same ol’ tired looking me begrudgingly greeting me in the bathroom mirror–“Oh, its you,” she says.

I’m now exploring the possibilities of supplements that counter-act aging skin, chemical peels, facial scrubs and masks, retin-A creams, and yes–even botoxing the bold 11 embroidered between my brows. All are on the table right now.

Of course these all cost money. So trying to plan out how much I can devote from my budget on my vanity is important. I investigated the supplements a couple of days ago, and found a supplement that seemed promising, backed by a lot research on the herbs and amino acids inside. It cost me about 40 bucks for a one month supply. I told my husband if he wanted a pretty wife, he would let me try it. He quickly agreed. Once I get it in the mail, I’ll take some before and after pics to see if its worth buying more or advocating. So stay tuned.

I’m conflicted though. There’s a part of me that is upset with myself because I feel like I need to be accepting my wrinkles and age and not allow myself to be brainwashed to believe that only young skin is beautiful. And I suppose there is a part of myself that believes that but it can’t be very strong because I see many of my seasoned female friends as beautiful.

I want my 35 year old skin to look like my skin when I was 30.

This was me in 2009 with my hubby right a couple of weeks before we were married. I was almost 30 years old here.

I just want to take care of my skin. I haven’t and I’m seeing the consequences, and I don’t like them and just trying to remedy the problem. I’m a warrior, remember? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to take care of my skin, right? It’s not like I’m lying on the floor crying or not going out and meeting people because my “woe is me” skin. If anything, I am more conscious to smile at people now. 

I think the biggest struggle is that I want my outside to reflect my inside. It used to. I used to look how I felt. I don’t anymore. My body is growing old while my spirit is still young. Wiser in many ways, knowing when to talk and when to shut up and listen. But I don’t feel old or tired and so I don’t want to look old or tired. 

I couldn’t imagine being my 85-year-old Grandma who told me she feels 40. Trapped in shell that doesn’t feel like home.

Until then– In addition to my “fluffing and buffing” as my dad used to call it, I’m washing myself in the Proverbs this summer, reminding myself that taking care of my skin is not bad, but to not forget to take care of my spirit too–which will live forever–while this shell is just temporary. So I know the steps I take now will not last forever and be okay with that.

Proverbs 31:30–Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

Discovering Why I Have Lost My Hearing–Stage 1

Posted in About Me by
A retracted ear drum is often caused by the Eustachian Tube to the throat being closed. This is often caused by an upper respiratory infection or chronic allergies. I went to the doctor last Friday to get a referral to a hearing specialist because of my current realization that I have lost some hearing and it is now affecting my life negatively (See Previous Post–What Did You Say?).

I did not expect that my primary physician would see or discover anything on his own before even giving me a referral.

After listening to my complaints, he looked into my ears. He noticed that my left one had so much wax in it, he couldn’t even see my eardrum. So initially we thought, maybe it was just that.

I was hopeful. I had this happen before. I remember about 8 years ago, needing to get that same ear, irrigated because I could not get water out of it from swimming. My doctor then noticed the same issue. After irrigating it out with warm water and hydrogen peroxide, she said it looked like my canal was shaped funny. She said she had a hard time even seeing in because of the way it was shaped, which explained why my body had a hard time getting rid of the wax.

And I remember having a similar issue about 13 or 14 years ago when I was in college. I had some ear pain though. Went to the doctor. He looked in and saw all this wax. After he removed some wax he looked at my ear drum and said, “Wow. Did you have a lot of ear infections when you were a kid? You ear drum is really scarred.”

I asked my mom.

She said yes.

When a hand is pressed on a drum, it doesn't vibrate well. Same with a retracted eardrum. So for the 3rd time in 13 years, I had my ear flushed out. But this time, the doctor saw something different. He looked in and did not notice a scarred ear drum. He didn’t see an ear drum at all. Mine was “retracted.” That’s a medical term meaning that it was sucked up into my head. He said that could explain why I was struggling with my hearing. That a retracted ear drum acts like a hand pressed on a drum. The drum cannot vibrate well.

So I asked my next question—why is my ear drum retracted? I guess there are a number of possible causes. 

1. Allergies. Which I do have. Between dust and cats and pollen, I often am sneezing. I’m not stuffed up all the time, like my husband. But I’ll go into a room and something will bother my nose and next thing I know, I’m drippy and sneezing. Then it will go away a little while later. He said that consistent allergies can lead the tube from my nose to my ear to close up, preventing my ear from distributing pressure equally on both sides of my ear drum. The pressure in my head can’t come out my nose if the tube closes up and so sucks my ear drum in. I read in an internet article that loud music can cause the tube to close up too. I’ve definitely had my fair share of that in my past.

Possible Solution-– Steroidal Nose Spray. I’ve got to spray it in my nose once a day and after a few days, its supposed to open up that tube and hopefully pop my eardrum back out. He said it would take about 5 days to start working. I’m on day 4 today and haven’t noticed anything. What I did notice is that the spray did not hurt my right nostril–shot up just fine. My breathing on that nostril was perfect too. I noticed my left nostril hurt when I sprayed it. And I noticed it felt full and while I could breath out of it, definitely could not breath as well. So maybe there is something to this.

He said it could also explain why I have wax build up in the ear too. My ear may be making more wax to protect itself. I did notice that since he took out the wax, my ear actually hurts now. I now have learned that ear pain is a common side effect of a retracted ear drum. The wax somehow helped that. So now I have this full sensation. And pain.

But I suspect maybe there is something more.

Because if it is just the ear drum on my left ear, why do I struggle to also hear out of right ear? I mean, I hear better out of that ear, but I still struggled to hear my voice mail using my right ear today while in class when there was just regular background noise from two people having a conversation near by.

So unless one ear drum tube issue can cause issues in both ears, I suspect this ear drum problem is exasperating another problem I may have.

But the doctor told me to use the spray and see if it helps. If not, I’ll come in and take an auditory test. And then he will refer me to an Ear Nose and Throat doctor to take the next steps.

I’m hopeful that this spray will help. I do not want a hearing aid.

And my biggest fear is that my hearing will slowly get worse. And that one day I will be completely deaf. It makes me want to cry when I think of that. I need to stop as I’m getting teary eyed this moment even writing those words. I don’t want to stop hearing the sound of my children’s voices. Of my husband’s thoughts. Of music. Of birds or the ocean. And how would I even teach anymore? I remember last year, I had a conversation with our ASL teacher on campus. She was once an engineer. Then lost hearing after a water skiing accident. Had to change her career. Learn ASL. She can’t hear anything anymore. And her own brother won’t learn ASL so he can speak to her because it would “just” be her he would need to learn it for. On the bright side, she now has a new career as an ASL teacher. But it was a complete career change that took time and a scary road.

In the end, I have to fight the WORRIER inside of me and remind myself that I am a WARRIOR. That with God’s grace and purpose for my life, he will not let me be abandoned or alone in the silence. I can problem solve. I can pray. I can fight this. I will be ok. 

Theresa means Reaper, but I think my name should mean Warrior.Thank God he gave me a love for the written word over the spoken. If the sound goes out, I’ll still be able to see and read.

I pray it doesn’t. But if that is God’s plan for my sanctification, I need to trust that it is for my good. That in the silence, maybe he will help me hear what I couldn’t hear in all the noise before.

Until then, here’s to these nasal drops.

What Did You Say?

Posted in About Me by
It was about a year ago,  that I started to wonder if I had a hearing problem or just a listening problem.

“Why did you put the lunchbox on top of the refrigerator? I told you specifically not to put anything up there” My husband said with frustration.

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.” I said.

“Maybe you just weren’t listening. I was in the living room, just 10 feet away.”

***

I'm losing my hearing. I have to ask people to repeat themselves . Then another time…

“THERESA!!!!”

“What? What? Why are you screaming?”

“I’ve called your name three times already. Didn’t you hear me??”

“No. No I didn’t hear you.”

“There’s no way you couldn’t hear me. I was yelling from the kitchen. Our house isn’t that big.”

***

At first I thought my husband just didn’t understand how sound worked. I mean, if the sink is running and the tv is on, isn’t it normal not to hear him ask me something? 

Then one night we were at a party–There was lots of background noise with people chatting and eating and laughing around the room. I was in a circle with a few friends all within comfortable distance from one another. One person was talking and the rest in the circle were listening and nodding their heads at moments, laughing at others. I could hear that noise was coming out of her mouth. But I couldn’t piece together the sounds in order to construct the words themselves and place them in order in my head so that I understood the meaning or the message. I just stood there quietly, not participating in the conversation other than standing there.

I felt so alone. Everyone enjoying themselves. And I had no one I could talk to.

Oh my gosh, I realized, I have a hearing problem.

But it’s not really a hearing problem so bad that I need a hearing aid, right? I can hear people just fine.

  • When they are face to face with me.
  • And they don’t have a really low voice.
  • Or mumble.
  • Or talk too fast.
  • Or are whispering.
  • Or are leaving a message on my voicemail.
  • Or speaking with background noise around.

Often times, if I’m talking with them on the phone, I don’t hear all their words and so awkwardly respond with, “right.” It seems to satisfy most people.

Why don’t I say, “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you”? I’m afraid to be rude I guess. I think I’ve done it in the past and only made the person frustrated.

“I’m sorry can you say that again?”

“I’m sorry I still didn’t hear you, can you say it one more time?” And then I hear a tone in their voice that suggest irritation and I still can’t figure out what they are saying. So I stop asking.

People can’t quite get that I don’t mean just say it again exactly the way you said it before—I mean to say it more articulately, more slowly, at a higher pitch. Let me see your facial expressions. Let me see your body language. So I can figure it out. Or guess what you are saying. I’ll hear a word hear and a phrase there. So I often make inferences on what is in between. Sometimes I’m right. Sometimes I’m wrong. I can usually tell when I’m wrong when I respond to what I think they said, and they respond with tones of perplexity.

No wonder I text way more often than call people and I rarely answer my phone. Just text, I’ve been saying for so long without really knowing why. No wonder the last couple of months–I’ve been struggling to hear my voice mail. I kept thinking it was my phone. I can’t hear anyone if there’s any background noise. I can hear that someone is talking, but I can’t make out the words.

***

I don’t want a hearing aid.

I’m angry at myself for going to those loud parties, raves, and concerts when I was younger. But then I wonder if it was all those ear infections I had as a kid. What is the cause?

I’ve been putting off seeing a doctor.

I ‘ve assumed that my husband can just put up with it. I can just stick my head out from the kitchen when I hear his voice but can’t put the words together and say, “What did you say?” Or if I ask him a yes or no questions and he responds with “yeah.”

“What?”

I said, “yeah.”

“Yes?”

“Yes!”

“Oh honey, please don’t say, “yeah” when you mean “yes” because I can’t tell the difference between your “yeah’s” and “no’s.” I’m waiting to hear the “s” sound so I know your answer.

But last weekend, I realized–this was going to affect more than just my husband and my social life at parties. 

I was writing at the kitchen table during nap time, and my husband was near by on the living room couch. The dishwasher was running and the washing machine in the garage was rumbling too.

“you know the baby is crying, right?”

“no I didn’t hear her.”

“You need to go to the hearing doctor. We don’t need our children to die in the backroom choking on something so you don’t to feel silly wearing a hearing aid.”

Reality check.

Some may say it was harsh. But my husband knows me. If he’s too nice when I’m stubborn, I won’t change. I haven’t. This has been a problem for a while. And there was truth in what he said. Why wasn’t I going to get this solved? It’s because I don’t want a hearing aid. I don’t want that to be part of my description. That wasn’t what I had seen in my plan for my life.

Hearing aids are ugly. They are on deaf people and old people. I am neither, I thought.

“I dated a girl with a hearing aid once,” my husband said last night with a smile after I told him I couldn’t hear a woman in class who was speaking to me during break because there was too much background noise.

I think that is what I needed to hear. I think deep down, I was wondering–Will you still love me with a hearing aid? Will you still think I’m pretty with a hearing aid?  I think he was telling me the answer to my unasked question– yes.

So I called the Doctor and had my first appointment on Friday. More on those details in my next blog.

9 Things About My Name

Posted in About Me by
  1. Theresa like St.Therese of the FlowersMy name is Theresa. Not the latin, Teresa, but the European Theresa with an H. I was named after Saint Therese, “The Little Flower”  who was my mother’s favorite Saint. According to LittleFlower.Org She was known for her love and died at a young age.  I was not named after Mother Theresa as many people assume.
  2. There was a singer in the 1990’s named Joan Osborne who sang a song called St. Teresa, which I think is about St. Teresa of Avila, which is not the same Saint my mother loved.
  3. Theresa is a popular name around the world and has multiple pronunciations. As recorded on NameBerry.Com, Theresa was “A Top 100 name until the 1960s, reaching Number 32 in 1956, Theresa fell off the list completely in 2011, while the sleeker Teresa still holds at Number 608; it was as high as Number 18 from 1961 to 1963.”
  4. My mom taught me to pronounce my name as T-HER-EE-SA or TUR-EE-SA although some other pronunciations would be TAIR-EE-SA or TUR-AI-SA. Then of course there is the more Spanish Pronunciation of T/d-E-RR-E-SA, with the vibrating R and the T sounding like you have a swollen tongue.
  5. Don’t ever ever call me Terry. But I don’t mind the Spanish “Terre.”
  6. I used to dislike my name. I used to want to change the spelling. I tried Treesa for the a short time my freshman year in college when I wanted to redefine myself. Shed my skin.
  7. Now I love it. I love it because it is not strange or unique, but few people actually have that name, so I feel special because of it.
  8. In my 20’s people called me T or CrookyT, which was fitting because I was wild then with a crooked toe and a crooked tongue. Now most call me Theresa or Treese, but every once in a while an old friend will text or call and call me T. Not Tea like iced tea, but just the letter T. It makes me feel happy and young.
  9. I heard once that when you go to heaven you get a different name. One that represents who you are at your core. I don’t identify with the actual Greek meaning of Theresa—harvester or reaper. I think of a gardener and I kill plants, I don’t harvest anything but the consequences and blessings of my actions. Reaper is worse–I think of the grim reaper or Tiresias, the blind prophet whom Odysseus meets in Hades. I don’t identify with death.  I think I’m more of a life lover. More of a flower lover like St. Therese. Sometimes I think my name should mean Worrier because I worry so much about everything. What if this and what if that. God has been working on me. Teaching me to worry less and trust him more. To put on his armor. And yet the initial worries I naturally have, make me pull out a bow with a quiver-full of weapons–an arrow that prays, and others that plan, punch, and problem solve. So in the end, everything often comes out fine. Which then makes me think my name should mean instead, Warrior. That’s what I hope God tells me when I meet him face to face–“Good job my faithful servant. You are Warrior.”

Theresa means Reaper, but I think my name should mean Warrior.

Night

Posted in my thoughts, The Hemsath Life by

nightI love the night. While the sky darkens and the sun hides its head under the horizon, reality and what really matters become clearer in my home.

As a working mom, my day is filled with chaos— most days are a spit up cleaning, diaper changing, The Regular Show watching, grocery shopping, worker beeing, traffic sitting, copy machines breaking, coffee spilling, kids screaming, lesson planning, internet researching, phone texting, Facebook scrolling, dinner scrambling, dirty boy washing, loud music playing kind of day. It’s hard to see and hear and be under it all.

But at night…

We cuddle with our children as we settle for bed. We read stories or tell stories and above all else, we pray together. Owen and I listen to their prayers first as we close our eyes and then model other ways to pray. But sometimes their prayers are our model—pure and unadulterated, open to see what we as adults don’t see in the hubbub of the loud and distracting day.

Thank you for the funny people in our town

Thank you for my toes

Thank you for our pictures

At night as Owen and I lay in bed, I’ll wake up in the stillness to feel him reach out his arm over to mine …and I know he is saying, “I’m not mad at you for that spat we had yesterday afternoon right before dinner. I love you.” And then I scoot over closer to him and make sure that at least one part of my body is touching his thereafter–a foot, a hand, a leg.

The humble truth comes out at night. None of the chaos matters. You matter. We matter. God matters.

At night-time, we talk about our day, we ask for advise, share our fears, our laughter, our conquests and need for growth.

We have time to be still at night. To breathe in deeply and know we are here and we have a purpose and we are blessed. That God is here with us. That we are each others’ biggest fans.

Night brings us back to center like a Sunday sermon, giving us the strength to make it through the next day.

Beginnings

Posted in #LifeWins, The Hemsath Life by

Beginnings (1)Sitting in a Writing Workshop at Cal State San Marcos, my teacher gives us a word of the day to write on for 6 minutes. We wait eagerly with pens in hands.

“Beginnings,” she says.

Normally I like beginnings–it reminds me fresh starts–clean sheets, swept floors, fresh air, new home, new babies with little pink noses and corn kernel toes, 1st day of school, excitement and goals, new year’s resolutions. They remind me of fresh green plants. Cool blue water.

But not today.

Today the first thing I think of is that this week my husband begins chemotherapy. This beginning is one I’d rather fast-forward to the end.

This is not clean or blue or fresh. This beginning is vile.

It will fill my husband’s throat with bile and stain our bed sheets with sweat that smells like poison so strong,

I will throw them out when we are done in 5 months.

This marks the beginning of foggy thinking

and of needles in the arm that are inserted by cold, rubbery gloved hands

meant to protect the nurses from the toxic liquid

they will drip into my husband’s veins for one hour, two hours, four hours, eight.

This is the beginning of a summer with neither beaches or swim parties, nor hikes in the hills on sunny days

…can’t have his skin burn.

This is the beginning of hair loss, and no sex for 24-48 hours after chemo

because the chemicals will leach out of everything

as it, “kills everything, everything” his oncologist repeated in his office last week, hands waving through the air to emphasize his point.

Everything except Owen. My love, Owen.

Who wants that?

I hate this post.

I don’t want to publish this post.

I’m supposed to be optimistic: a positive role model. A vision of courage. A cheerleader. I’m supposed to inspire people with my faith, and avoid awkward moments where my audience doesn’t know what to say so they respond with canned comments that only make me want to scream like–“It’s all for the best” or “Just think about the good this will do in the end, right?”

And they are right. But it doesn’t make it easy. And I do have faith. I am a cheerleader. I am courageous.

I am.

Just not today.

Can I get one day? Just one day to be depressed and voice it on a public page and share with everyone that I’m NOT looking forward to this beginning?

Vacation (1)The only thing I look forward to is the end.

That bright, clean, blue end where we can plan our new years resolutions for 2016.
Where we can throw away the prescriptions and the Peptobismol and the SPF 100.

Where we can go on vigorous hikes on hot days, finding rest in the shade to sip the cool water in our canteens and talk nothing more about the pain or the nausea or fatigue, but instead about that sunny summer cruise along the Pacific ocean beaches we just took. 

Where we can move from sickness and on to health in our marriage.

Where we can submerge ourselves in its new waters and wash this year all away and reemerge revived and reborn.

Where we can both grow our hair out long and wild…and stay up until late together eating pizza and laughing about nothing…and make love anytime we want on clean smelling sheets.

I want to skip this beginning and get to the end. The end of cancer and the beginning of our resurected life where nothing more will be taken for granted. 

Circles

Posted in Benjamin, The Hemsath Life by

Chocolate eyesLast night I saw my 2-year-old son draw a circle on his magnetized drawing board.

“Mommy, wanna see me dwah a circle?” he asked eagerly.

“Yes!” I exclaimed, “I would LOVE to see you draw a circle.”

And I meant it. In my current world of cancer and bills, errands and cleaning, there would have been nothing else in the world I would want to see more in that very moment than watch my son draw a circle.

And he did. Oblong but connected and certainly circular, he drew one—chubby fingers clenching his plastic magnet pen, attached to the string of the board.

Then he said he’d turn it into Daddy. He drew two more circles for eyes and a third circle for a mouth.

“Where’s his hair?” I asked.

And he quickly scribbled a patch of hair on the top of his circle Daddy head.

It was his first drawing of something that took a real shape. No longer the scribbles where I’d have to ask what it was. Oh how I wanted to keep that drawing forever–to tuck that precious circle away in my scrapbook box until the day I could frame it in construction paper and etch it with lace on a background covered in photographs of his dark brown, orb-shaped eyes that look like chocolate when he cries or smiles or laughs.

But I couldn’t–he erased it before I could even take out my phone and snap an Instagram worthy shot.

So instead I frame his picture on a page in my notebook, etched with words too minuscule and insufficient to capture its impression on my heart and my mind.

Coming to Terms with Cancer

Posted in #LifeWins, personal stuff, The Hemsath Life by
In this together!!

In this together!!

Today Owen came home from the hospital. He had a strumectomy done to remove the 12 cm sized tumor growing in his chest–a malignant thymoma. When the CT scan was performed a month ago, the oncologist said it looked like it was in stage 2 and it was the size of like a tangerine. But this one was the size of a grapefruit, the largest the thoracic surgeon had ever seen in his career (and he has been a surgeon for like 40 years!) and it had grown into stage 3 cancer–invading his heart.

So they couldn’t remove all of it. Had to leave the part of the tumor on the heart alone. It has left an exclamation mark scar on his chest. I knew that meant either radiation or chemo or both. Deep down, I was holding out for just radiation. But sure enough, on Wednesday, the oncologist came in and explained to us the treatment plan in his thick Hebrew accent. We held hands hearing about all the chemical combinations and the side effects–  hair loss, fatigue, nausea, weight gain. He used words like “aggressive” and “kill everything” to explain the process but encouraged us with words like “you are strong, you will be able to handle it.” Supposedly the research suggests that with the chemo combination  often called PAC, performed every 21 days for 4-6 sessions and included with it a month of daily radiation at UCSD, Owen will have a 80-90% chance of being cured.

I don’t like those numbers. I want 100%. I can’t even imagine a world if that 10-20% chance comes crashing through our lives. That would mean more chemo. More radiation. More suffering.  And what if, it is never cured? Then what? I don’t even want to imagine. So I cling to what Owen says.

“You know the strongest man you’ve ever met going through Chemo, doctor?” He said, matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” the doctor replied, questioningly.

“That will be me, doctor.” I loved that.

Given we were already mentally preparing for this talk, however, it didn’t come nearly as emotionally shocking as it did when we were in the hospital a month ago, and the first doctor from upstairs came down and suggested the word Cancer with her concerned eyes. We were not expecting that. That was the moment that slowed down, where like in the movies, the sound quiets and all you see are the characters’ expressions as they hear the grim news. The doctor pulls out the documents and solemnly words the news. The wife stares blankly at the doctor and puts her hand on her husband’s knee. He leans down and rests his head in his hands. And you know. You as the audience know they just heard they’ve got cancer. But when you are the one in that scene, it feels like a dream. At least it did for me. Is this real? This wasn’t part of my life plan.

But still, I was emotionally jarred by the official news that chemo was next. It made everything all the more real. Even more real than the surgery. This is what I think of when I hear of cancer. I think of the chemo–the monster that kills cancer patients faster than the cancer can kill them–but somehow, doesn’t kill them, just leaving them bald, frail, weak, and in bed. So after the doctor left the room, I went into the bathroom and cried. Cried for my husband. Cried for me and for the kids. I don’t want to go down this road. I don’t want to have to see my husband in that state. There are many more tears ahead and I don’t want to cry anymore.

Today I had time to process it a bit more. In the quiet of the day as my husband recovered on the couch and I paid the medical bills we had already accumulated with the blessing of donations in our GoFundMe Campaign, an intense chest pain came over me–anxiety. Almost an attack. But I prayed and asked for prayer. I decided–no cleaning, no added stress. Instead, I spent an hour designing a banner for a buy, sell, trade group I’m co-administering on Facebook with a couple of close friends. It was medicinal. I need a creative outlet. In the end, I think today’s anxiety came today of all days and not earlier because my body is finally having time to just feel. I’ve been in survival mode for a while. I just hope my milk supply goes back up. The baby is now drinking mainly formula, because 2 weeks ago, once Owen started getting another flare up (chest pains, nausea, night sweats, fatigue, weakness, poor appetite) my supply plummeted. In my mind, I felt like I was so strong. But the body knows. Survival mode kicked in. And that means less milk for my baby.

wedding handsOwen went through it too–negative emotions I mean. Some friends of ours, the Pallottos, came over tonight and took care of the kids for a couple of hours, asking us to go out for a while and just be together. We did. It was good for us. We went to Red Lobster and picked at our crab legs between holding hands, talking, and sharing silence. We laughed. We even cried. My husband’s lips were ash and he didn’t have much of an appetite. He broke down a couple of times unexpectedly. We held hands and for the first time in our marriage, remembered that in the big scheme of this life–it is the two of us in our family who are one. Our kids will grow up one day and leave and they will not be with us. It will be us two. I will be with him through this cancer. And he, God willing, will be with me when I experience my big issue in the future, whatever that may be. It became so much more real tonight. So this is marriage. This is sickness and health. And strangely, it brought me comfort and an overflowing surge of love. I love him. I love this man. And he is mine and I am his till death do us part.

I drove us back home afterward, and felt a poem forming in my mind about my mixed emotions– sadness, anger, and yet love and joy still.

I told Owen–“I have a poem forming in my mind. It’s called the Paradox of Pain. You know–I want to laugh, I want to cry.”

Then Owen replied quickly, “…I want to stab you in the eye.”

“Yes!” I cried, “You know!”

psalm 56 3I write this blog because I believe in being translucent. I don’t think we can truly know each other and love each other unless we allow ourselves to see one another as we truly are. Listen, I know the truth. I know God loves us. I know he has a plan for us. I know he will use this for good. I know he will be there with us through it all. I know this. And knowing that certainly gives us a hope and a strength, I could no way have on my own. But it doesn’t mean that I want it. I don’t want it. I want a life of bliss and no suffering.

Ironically, I say that knowing that it’s silly and knowing that it is through our suffering that we become strong and better people, which I want too. I want to grow closer to Christ. I want to be stronger. I want to be more compassionate toward others. I want to grow closer to my husband. I want to appreciate life more and take less for granted. I want all of that too. But you can’t get all that growth, without some pruning. Pruning cuts and it pinches and it hurts. It hurts! But I do know that the Master Gardner has a beautiful plan for his garden. And we get to be a part of that plan. I do trust in that. And while today was a tough day and not the last of those tough days, I know that because of what I know, there will be many great days too.

Thanks for reading. If you have gone through cancer, how did you deal? How did you come to terms and move forward? Would love to know more of your stories.

What Cancer is Teaching Me

Posted in #LifeWins, Marriage by
#LifeWins

Owen at the hospital on May 4th.

As most of my readers know, on May 4th my husband was diagnosed with cancer. We learned after some tests that he has stage 2 Malignant Thymoma. He has been in a lot of pain. He has lost a lot of weight. And so we eagerly await the surgery needed to remove the 10 cm sized tumor in his chest.

On the other hand, we do not look forward to the likely chemotherapy that he may have to take prior to the surgery or after.

Either way, given that we have an HMO, everything has taken forever to move forward. He finally has his appointment with the surgeon this Tuesday, June 2nd. So we’ve had 1 month of waiting. And during this 1 month, Cancer has taught me 6 Things:

1. That God loves us, and will be with us through this fire.

We know that cancer is a byproduct of living in a fallen world. God promises to redeem this world and one day, after all who will come to him come to him, he will recreate the Earth, and there will be no more death, crying, sadness, or pain because all the old ways will be gone. But until that glorious day, we get illnesses. But God promises to those who love him and are called according to his purpose, that he will be with them by either keeping them from the fire, or being with them through the fire. I don’t know why Owen has been allowed to have a type of cancer with a good prognosis while others do not. I do not know why Owen has been allowed to have cancer when others do not. But I don’t doubt God’s love for us or any other cancer victim for that matter. God love us all so much he sent his son to die on a cross, so that one day, we can rise again and live forever in his presence no matter how we have rebelled against him in our lives. We can put up with Cancer knowing what awaits us in eternity. But even here in this age, I know he can use Cancer to do good. And that he plans to do that with us. He is allowing it, to do good in our lives.

2. We have an amazing network of people in our lives.

Honestly, it has been quite humbling. You all make me want to be a better person. You have reached out to us and blessed us more than we have ever helped and blessed others. I’ll pray. I’ll make an occasional meal. I’ll make a small donation here and there. But that’s about it. I mean we have people who are not even friends reach out to us. One person, for example, whom we have nothing in common with and with whom we have even heatedly debated our differences reach out and not just give, but give generously. God has shown his love for us through all of your amazing and wonderful support. The calls, the texts, the food, the house cleaning, the donations, the prayers, the hugs…we feel it. Thank you, to everyone who has reached out to us.

3. My husband continues to impress me and I am falling even more in love with him.

The way he has endured his pain. The way he continues to work. They positive attitude he maintains. How honest he is with me about what he is going through spiritually, emotionally, and mentally. The amount of compassion he has developed for others with cancer or who have other health conditions that need medicine. I’m in awe of this man. And I’m honored to be his wife.

4. To show more grace toward my husband.

In the end–no matter what he has done or hasn’t done to irritate me, he is My Love. And I would be devastated if I lost him. When faced with the reality that without medicine, my husband would die from this cancer inside him, nothing he does or doesn’t do is worth fighting over, or pouting over, or holding bitterness against him. I love him. I’ll take him. Flaws and all. I hope he feels the same way about me.

5. There are things you shouldn’t tell people who have just told you they have been diagnosed with Cancer.

I don’t think I would have known these words until I’ve been on the receiving end (next to my husband, of course). We know people mean well. But man, some of us just don’t think. I hope I’ve never said some of the thoughtless things others have said to us. When it’s all said and done, I’ll make a funny post about it. 🙂

6. I’m stronger than I thought I was.

I can only guess this strength comes from God because I don’t know this new, strong version of myself. I’m a crier. I used to cry at least once every day about something. But God and my husband have been working on me the last 6 years, teaching me to have self-control, teaching me to trust God and not be so easily overwhelmed or offended. I think its been all in preparation for this. We are going to get through this. I can be strong for my husband. He needs me to be strong.

So what about you? For those of you who have struggled with cancer or who have watched a loved one through the illness, what did you learn? I know we are just at the beginning, especially if Owen does get chemotherapy.

10 Quirky Characteristics About Me That I Embrace

Posted in About Me by
  1. IMG_4825I talk out loud to myself all the time. Even when alone. Yep! I just don’t answer myself. That would make me crazy, I think. This is one good reason for bringing my kids to the grocery story with me. So I can tell myself out loud that I just need to find the coffee filters and the garlic salt before leaving and have no strangers around me wonder if I’m speaking to them. J
  2. I pray out loud to God.It keeps me focused on my prayer and not allow the prayer to drift off into thought.
  3. I mispronounce words all the time.Typically, they are new words I don’t know, so I’m not sure how to pronounce it if it is not phonetically clear. But sometimes it’s common words when I’m speaking, even when I know the correct pronunciation. It just comes out wrong! My husband laughs at me and wonders how I became an English teacher. Ask him how I pronounce Shasta. J Maybe I have a hearing problem? These top three reasons along with the fact that I cannot tell the difference between my husband’s “yeahs” and “nos” and have certain friends I just can’t understand over the phone makes me wonder….hmmmm.
  4. I am crooked. I have a crooked toe, a crooked smile, crooked eyes and eye brows, a crooked back, and even a crooked tongue. Hence the nickname—Crookyt –which I have used as a social media title for many years. I suppose I don’t embrace the crookedness of my facial features thought. Its why I wear my hair to one side and side bangs….to cover up the squished up side of my face!
  5. I have a song for each of my kids that I made up when they were babies.

Kanan—My name is Kanan, I like my milk on tap. Don’t give me no bottle I don’t drink that crap. Choo-Choo trains and race cars are what I like to play. But if you give me bottle I will say no way!

Jameson—who’s that baby with the dark blue eyes, chubby cheeks and chunky thighs? His name is JJ and he likes to stand. Sucks every finger on his right hand. Cute bottom lip, itty bitty toes, fuzzy little head and a button nose!

Benjamin—My name is Benjamin and I like Piñatas. My Momma, she makes um really good enchiladas. I like to poop and I like to play. But when it comes to talking, I will have it my way. Like Burger King, I am delish, just ask my Momma, you will get your wish!

Scotland—Scotty Scotty Scotland, lives on Maryland, has three brothers who do what she tells them too. She’s a little cutie pie. She’s a little sweetie pie. But take her Momma and she will surely surely cry!

And…(yep, she has two)

             My name is Scotland, I’m really pretty. My Mommy loves me in a Foofy Diddy. Or without one. It doesn’t                        matter. Cuz I’m sweet and special in every way….

  1. I talk with a strange voice to be silly with my kids.I do it by moving my tongue in such a way as to block the back of my throat. Then I push the air up from my mouth back up my nose as I speak. It sounds like a duck kind of.
  2. I speak for all my babies before they can speak for themselves.They all have a voice similar to Cartman from South Park and are extremely bossy.
  3. I’m a storyteller. When telling stories with my sister, I can go off into strange hypothetical scenarios that make us laugh so hard, we cry.
  4. Red grapes give me fun, exciting butterflies in my stomach. I often eat them around 1 o’clock in the afternoon for a pick-me-up. It helps me endure my 5th period class, who can drive me bonkers sometimes.
  5. I have a Wild Imagination.

    I often imagine ways to break taboos. For example, I’ll be teaching my class one moment and then realize….I could jump on top of that table right now and do the running man. I could. I won’t but I could.