This Is Dedicated To The One I Love

Six years and 399 posts later, I think it's time to give T-Bone some love. I mean, I've told you before, many times in fact, about what a great partner and father he is, plus The Great Story of how we met. He's a keeper, that one. And I really do know how lucky I am.

But it still hit me like a ton of bricks at a blood cancer conference we went to this weekend. We listened to a panel of "cancer moms" tell their war stories, and several of them had the same doctor. They all nodded when one mom shared a moment from the beginning of their journey when that doctor took her husband and her aside and said, "I can cure your child's cancer. But I can't guarantee that you two will be together when it's over." Damn.

T-Bone and I talked about that at the start of everything - how we really needed to check in with each other every day and take a moment here and there to just BE together - but no one ever put it to us so bluntly, or really any way at all. We could immediately see how difficult this was going to be, even with a solid foundation, and I told him early on that "This is our trial." As a couple, as parents, as people. And it has certainly been that.

And we've kicked ass.

Two months from today, Peach will take her last dose of chemotherapy and go off treatment. Five months from today, I will shave my fool head in celebration of her victory and in support of St. Baldrick's and childhood cancer research. And 50 years from today, T-Bone will still be greeting me every day with "There she is." and his precious smile.

Truly, madly, deeply.

The Great Escape

So I'm plotting my departure from The Job. For real. Actually, I've been plotting it since the day I got there, over three years ago. JimiNEE, has it been that long? See, that's how they get you. The fluorescent lights, the Goody Days, and the GD banality of it all finally wear you down until one day, you look up, and 20 years have gone by, and they're planning some brisket plate (dessert's extra) retirement party for you in Conference Room 3. Well, not me, sister - no thanks. I'm OUT.

Not quite yet, but soon. The plan is to wait until Peach has finished kicking cancer's ass, and my officemate gets back from maternity leave (I couldn't leave them two warm bodies down. I'm not a total bitch.), and then it's adios, mofos. Somewhere around mid-May? Sounds good to me. And where am I going, what am I doing? What all bright(?), young(?) attorneys-at-law, esquires do - I'm hanging out the proverbial shingle.

I know, right! Me, the lawyer who really doesn't like practicing law. Here's what happened: I was at The Job a couple of months back, cursing my work and the asshole lawyers and their asshole clients who make my days so very unpleasant. I found myself saying, "How can you not get this right? Anyone can do this! Even I can do this!" And then I thought, "Yes, as dumb as I am, even I could really do this." Meaning, the same boring work I do now, but for the little guy, instead of The Man. And do it right, and make everybody happy, for roughly the same check each month, but over fewer hours and with exactly NO CRAZY. So T-Bone and I have been mulling over the logistical aspects of "opening" a practice and deposing law school friends about their experiences in the biz. I've done a lot of research on the procedural and practical aspects of this very narrow area of law and how I can get a case from Point A to Point B - and get paid for it. Also, I've spent a fair amount of time trying to grow the balls to actually do this.

Yes, it's risky, but it's also very necessary. As good as they've been to me during Peach's treatment, I'm going Nowhere Fast, personally and professionally, if I stay in that place. I'm really feeling called to the non-profit arena, so the short-term goal is to work to support my Cancer World volunteering habit. The long-term goal is to break all the way into a non-profit career and leave this fucking powdered wig behind for good, but I've got to get my foot in the door first. You know, the foot I've had out the door at The Job since orientation three years ago.

So, baby steps. But it's a start.

Wrapping Up

I'm backdating this post because I didn't want to end the year on a down note - especially since I'm writing you so few notes these days. Also, 12/31 is Peach's diagnosis anniversary (as well as the day two crazy kids I know went and got married 14 years ago), so I think a more celebratory post is in order, don't you? Yes.

Two years. TWO. Can you believe it? I'm sure I've said it before, but sometimes I feel like we've been doing "this" forever, and other times, I feel like just yesterday, we were sitting in the pediatrician's office and being told to go directly to the children's hospital, do not pay on your way out, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. And then all hell broke loose.

When I think about the sheer amount of information - in all forms - that has passed in front of us since that day, my mind truly boggles. When I think about the physical and mental toll that "this" has taken on Peach, I am in awe of her resilience. And when I see the light at the end of the tunnel getting brighter every day, and our family emerging on the other side of "this" healthy and intact, I am so proud. And grateful beyond measure.

If Peach continues at the rate she's going, we'll be having a big 'ol party on April 29th, her last day of treatment. And you're all invited. Until then, Happy Healthy New Year, y'all. It's gonna be a great one.

Sigh.

Sigh.

Papa Turista has leukemia. Stage 0 Chronic Lymphoblastic Leukemia, so we're in "watch and wait" mode until he needs treatment, if ever. It's about as common in adults as Peach's leukemia is in kids, but being that it's chronic vs. acute, many folks live with it for years and years before needing treatment. He's like the poster boy for CLL: White, Male, 70. Looking at past blood work (thankfully, he's very good about going to the doctor), it's likely it started developing in 2009. Again, like Peach. And of course I asked and the answer is: NO. Just a big fat fucking coincidence.

We found out about a month ago, and other than immediate family and about four friends, he hasn't told anyone. We won't tell Peach and Olive either, unless we have to, so keep it under your hat. I think if I hadn't been working on my De Facto Residency in Hematology Oncology over the last year and a half, I would be much more upset. And afraid. But as it is, I'm just really, really mad.

I tell you all this today because Peach is marking 20 months in treatment tomorrow. With, hopefully, about eight more to go. This kid of mine: Amazing. She just keeps plugging along - stiff joints, steroid weepies, and all - smiling every step of the way. Since we last spoke, she brought the house down at GGMS's graduation ceremony (don't get me started), she raised over $3000 for childhood cancer research, and she designed a freaking Hermione Granger video game. She made it through two weeks at sleep-away camp, and last week, she stared down Middle School - and won. Whatever the challenge, she takes it on and does incredible things. And sweet, sweet Olive is her biggest supporter. Truly, I'm about to burst over the both of them.

Which is why I feel guilty when I complain, like when I unloaded on Karla May the night I found out about Papa Turista. Even though cancer has become part of our daily conversation (and that of this neglected blog - I know! I said I was going to ease up on the cancerspeak!), we are still so very blessed. As difficult as it is, especially for Peach, this trial isn't near what some people have to endure every day, forever. And while I wouldn't ever choose it, wish it on anyone, or want to repeat it, we have learned so much, met some unbelievable people, and watched our baby rise to her fullest, best self. So there are some gifts to be had, and things to be thankful for.

But I'm still mad as hell.

Gratitude

Really? This is what it's come to? Quarterly reports?! I mean, I told you last time that I wasn't going to be quite as cancer-y going forward, but I certainly didn't mean to leave hanging the teaspoonful (smaller than a handful) of you who actually stop by here every day. My apologies!

That said, it's been five years since I started this blog. Huh.

I scroll through old posts every now and again, making myself laugh. Or cringe. Or just reflect. And I find something new every time. It occurred to me recently that when I wrote this, I neglected to mention that I made it through that MRI by thinking about how many times my friend's daughter had powered through the many MRIs she had - and hated - while battling a brain tumor. Then, when I wrote this, I didn't say that the real impetus for my giving blood for the first time was because of a family friend's recent lymphoma diagnosis. And then, of course, there is the irony of all ironies in this post, where I mourned the loss of both of those precious souls. A post that I revisited at this time last year.

I'm a big believer in The Cosmic Connection, so I look at those events as not only my attempts to pay tribute to Bailey and Sharon, but also as my preparation for what was to follow. I had no idea that nearly a year to the day after that blood drive, I would be encouraging my own family and friends to donate blood in honor of Peach. I could have never dreamed that after following Bailey's family through the world of pediatric cancer, I would be helping Peach navigate her own journey.

But here we are, on the eve of another blood drive in honor of Peach, and nearly one year away from the end of her treatment protocol. And we are so grateful. This child continues to amaze and inspire all of us with her attitude and her fortitude. Not only is she tolerating her ever-fluctuating med schedule without complaint, she's even been "reminiscing" about different moments from the past year - like, "Remember that time after my 13th spinal tap, and we got yogurt in the rain? That was so fun!" And because her ticket did in fact get pulled for The Most Awesome Secondary School for Girls in the History of the World, I'm sure world domination is imminent.

No, I couldn't have predicted any of this, but we landed here just the same. And we're doing great. So thank you, Bailey. Thank you, Sharon. Thank you, Universe.