The One in Which I Talk About the "Turd in the Punchbowl"

Recently, my husband came home from the winery and said, "I was pouring wine to a nice group in the Reserve Room, and then I said something that was like 'the turd in the punch bowl'." I thought...it could be anything, really. Steven is known for saying some things that could be deemed "inappropriate".  Like at one of the latest wine club releases, when Steven somehow tied in the phrase "It's like porn. You know it when you see it." with his welcome address to our club members. I don't know what to say. He has a masters in literature? A way with words? I love my Schmoopy with #nofilter! Can you imagine a more perfect match for the #MFBCFNW?!

Anyway, back to the "turd in the punch bowl". The background: When I was first diagnosed, one of my high school friends sent me some Ninja bracelets from the International Spy Museum that both Steven and I wear every day.

Thanks, Pam! (And the SKW family for the "No One Fights Alone" bracelets!) 

One of the guests asked about his Ninja bracelet and Steven told "The Story" - about how his wife has brain cancer and calls herself a Mother Fuckin' Brain Cancer Fighting Ninja Warrior  - (I'm not sure if he went that far)  -  that she identifies herself as a Ninja Warrior. And the guest said, "Oh, <uncomfortable silence> Because I've been to that museum, and it's really cool."

So, if I understand the turd analogy correctly, the reference to my cancer was the turd. I will admit that having cancer is pretty very shitty, but let me get this straight: We're not supposed to talk about cancer with people we don't really know...or only when it's "appropriate" - maybe when they bring it up first? So we know it's "safe.

I've had my own "turd in the punch bowl" moments recently, I guess. I've dyed my hair blue - all kinds of shades of blue (which is nothing like Shades of Grey, by the way. I sense some disappointment there? Especially with the earlier reference to porn? #sorrynotsorry)-  I've been trying to find the right shade of blue - which I think I've finally found - More like Smurfy than Sharky teal.

My hair started out a caramel color brown when I was young, then darkened a lot through high school and college.

Little June didn't know she was a Ninja Warrior yet.

This isn't a great picture of my hair at my college graduation, but it's an awesome opportunity to show my brother's rad Flock of Seagulls period. And my Mom, Dad, and Grandma.

Then in my 30's, my stylist suggested adding highlights. Eventually, it was very light - and I wasn't really sure what my "natural" hair color was. (I think hair stylist like to do that, don't they? So, they can sucker you into paying mucho dinero every 6 weeks of so.) Well, I ditched my stylist about 2-3 years ago, grew out the highlights, and discovered that there is some gray all along the temples. I'm okay with that. I've earned those grays, but it was a bit of a shock at first. So, I was coloring my own hair to try to match the roots up top as best I could - just coloring the gray.

Then I got cancer. "Fun Fact" (not really "fun", but maybe "interesting"): Unlike some other kinds of chemo, the one I take does not make all of my hair fall out. It's the radiation treatments that were the culprit, so the hair fell out only where the head was radiated. Apparently, a LOT Of my head was being radiated - and don't forget the exit points!

My hair fell out in a strange monk-on-acid-like pattern, I think.

But it's grown in (mostly), and I'm digging my little pixie hair cut. But look at how dark it is! And the gray was even more apparent. Believe me. vanity has gone out the window; however, I realized that I had a unique opportunity to let my freak flag fly and dye it ANY color. But I'm much more conscious about the toxic stuff that we wade through on a daily basis, and I try not to deliberately be in contact with it if I can help it. So, I started buying demi-permanent dyes that wash out after a few weeks and don't contain nasty, toxic stuff. I can't won't bleach all my color out of my hair, so it comes out like a dark brown with colorful highlights.

Relay for Life, Livermore - June 2015

First, I tried purple to celebrate the Relay for Life event, and when that faded, I decided to be bold and try blue. I swear that in all my 51 years of hair colors combined, I haven't ever had as many compliments about my hair as I do now. I've had women, young and old, actually stalk me in stores to stop me and say, "You're hair is gorgeous! I love the blue!"

And more importantly, I love it! 

I've found my "natural" color. I was supposed to have blue highlights with dark hair all along. 

Bird walking...bird walking...where was I? Oh, Yea. 

The Turd.

Twice now, someone has asked me what "inspired me" to go blue.And I tell them the TRUTH - "Well, actually, I have brain cancer, and I lost most of my hair through radiation treatment. When it came back, I decided to do something a little wild." I say it very matter-of-factly, not sad or depressed. I don't start crying or anything. It's just, well, MY LIFE. But the expressions on the faces of those listening to this, though...well....

turd. in. punch bowl.

And you know what?

I call bullshit. If 50% of males and nearly the same percentage of women will get cancer in their lifetime, we need to be talking about it more. And not just when it doesn't make people bummed out or uncomfortable. Or at an event specifically for "OUR" Cancer Awareness. We're supposed to live in this happy, land of unicorns and rainbows where cancer doesn't exist? Or where at least we're not reminded of it? Blissfully in denial? Yet there are so many different kinds of cancer that some cancers have to share months of "awareness"? And ribbon colors.

Just think about that for minute.

While we're on the subject, these months of "Awareness"...like people aren't aware that Breast Cancer or Brain Cancer or Colon Cancer, etc. exist? Let's be honest, and say that these months are really fundraising months for these cancers where we focus on a type of cancer and those who are involved are given more focus by legislators and the public to have a voice to plead their case: Please fund our organizations for research and support. Please help us find a CURE. Well, I would like permission to say that 12 months of the year without being accused of being "inappropriate".

No, I take that back. I'm not asking for permission. Fuck it. I have a #braincancerpass #freepass, Excuse me if I make you uncomfortable or bum you out by talking about my condition when it's "inappropriate". I. have. brain.cancer. And if we don't start talking about cancer more freely, when will it be cured? Is there a disease that has a precedent in modern times - one that affects so many people, and yet we're not frantically pouring money, time, and energy to find a cure?

I know there are a lot of hard-working scientists in research facilities around the world, trying to uncover the mysteries of this disease. And I know this is complicated because each form of cancer has it's own idiosyncrasies. So, let's talk about it. And not act like it's a turd in a punch bowl.

OH, you know my Schmoopy, the one with a "way with words"? At our last oncologist and neuro-oncologist's appointments this month, he asked them point blank: "Do you think we'll ever find a cure for cancer?" Since this has gotten ridiculous long, and that's a whole 'nother kettle of fish, I'll save their answers for another blog entry. But you've got to admit, that's a pretty ballsy thing to ask them, no?

And everyone likes a cliffhanger, right?

The One in Which I Totally Embarass Schmoopy/Steven. Squeeee!

I was revisiting some of my blog posts, which I do occasionally to make sure I'm not totally repeating something I said before. FYI, I know I repeat things sometimes. Well, I don't know necessarily what it IS that I'm repeating, but I know I've said some things more than once here. I blame it on the treatment - radiation is notorious for affecting our short-term memory. But then I talk to other people who are my age or older, and they say, "I do that all the time, too". So, whether it's brain cancer or age - you pick - I wanted you to be aware that I know that I repeat myself.

Oh, Oh! Warning! Ear worm coming on! "I repeat myself when under stress...I repeat myself when under stress..." (Click at your own risk of spreading the earworm.)

 (Kiddies, you're just going to have to trust me on this one. You had to be in your formative years in the 80's to really appreciate this. But I didn't receive these socks for nothin')

(Now, that's one I think only my generation is going to remember. See! There are things we remember! Doesn't that feel good?) My job here is done. Oops! Not quite.

I had three high school friends who came to visit me within the last week. Two flew 3,000 miles all the way from the D.C. area to spend a day and a half with me. One lives in Los Angeles - and for all of you that don't live in California, look at map, people. It's BIG. It's not like she lives down the block.

But I digress.(It wouldn't be an authentic June blog post if I didn't bird-walk a little bit, right?)

I was extremely thrilled to see all three of them (of course), and honored that they took the time away from their busy lives to come out here to see me. Unfortunately, I had one glitch in my visit with Pam & Jill. When we planned the visit, my chemo cycles were not going to coincide with the visit, but with my Tooth Saga, I was on the tail-end of cycle #9 when they arrived. Saturday morning laid me out flat, and I had to take another five hours of sleep before I rallied for a wonderful evening. On the plus side, they got to explore downtown Livermore, and I was the recipient of some awesome goodies as a result (see socks above):and this sweet shirt:

If you come visit me, expect your car to be dirty when you leave. It's all DIRT, Baby!

It was all good in the end.

 Snuggled under blankets, listening to live music at Double Barrel in downtown Livermore. 

Visiting with Allison was a lovely time. She drove out from San Francisco at rush hour. I warned her about that, but then I remembered that she lives in L.A. (Hello! McFly! You call this "traffic"??) Fortunately, she arrived just in time to enjoy the sunset in my backyard, and we had a chance to discuss Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Happiness around the firepit. No pictures. I'm finding that I "forget" about my phone more and more - except for the app that reminds me when to take my meds. And pictures of sunsets. And sunrises. But spending time with people trump phones 100% of the time.

Saying good-bye with all these friends was slightly awkward (for me). Doesn't the saying go, "This isn't saying good-bye. It's just saying 'See ya' later!'"? But we all knew/know that in my case, that may have been good-bye. In fact, they might not have gone through that much trouble if there wasn't at least a tiny part of them that was saying, "This may be the last time I get to see June alive." We didn't discuss it, but I talked to Steven about it, though. (Hint: I talk to him about pretty much everything. So, if you tell me, "Don't tell anyone about this,..." that really means, "Don't tell anyone but Steven about this....")

Don't worry, my Warrior friends. I'm not dwelling on that last good-bye. If you follow me on social media (Instagram, Facebook, etc.),  you know that I'm spending a lot of time enjoying my new surroundings in Livermore. Sunsets, sunrises, walks with Schmoopy and the doggies...and trying to transform this house into our home.

It just so happens that my next MRI is scheduled for next Monday, 10/26, and that always brings on the scanxiety syndrome. Through yoga, meditation, and my Schmoopy, I keep re-centering myself to the present and the gifts I have every day: visits with family and friends, the beauty that surrounds me, and my best friend/love of my life...the best thing that ever happened to me. Namely: Steven.

I was at a wine club release a couple weeks ago, and one of the club members leaned into me while Steven was talking and said, "You know how lucky you are to have him, right? He's a good one."  (I resisted the urge to say DUH! And if you are reading this right now, #sorrynotsorry #braincancercard #freepass) Just in case you didn't know it by now, yes, I do know how lucky I am. He gets embarrassed when I talk about this, but that's just one of the things that makes him so special.

I talked to my "mother-in-love", Judy, the other day. (She lives in Arizona.) She feels helpless that there's nothing she can do to help me, living so far away. I get that, but there's really nothing that anyone can do. I told her, you already did probably the most important thing to help me through this.. You raised the man I married, my Schmoopy. I don't know what I would do without him. The greatest gift of all.

He shaved his head for me, but winery guests were afraid he was sick - and my hair grew back, so he has hair, too, now!
___________________________________________________________________

This totally didn't start out as a blog post singing Steven's praises, but I started writing, and this is what came out. It was going to be an essay on how to achieve World Peace and stop Global Warming. But I guess that one will have to wait. Priorities, people. Priorities! 

P.S. I know I've told you how bitchin' he is before. That's not a brain cancer or age/memory thing. I just think he deserves it.

P.P.S. Thank you so much to Jill, Pam, and Allison for the visits!!! Love, June Xoxoxo #mfbcfnw

P.P.P.S. And not to bum you out, but just a reminder: It could be "Good-bye!" for any of us - and not "See you later!" Something to think about when you are with your precious loved ones.

The One in Which I Talk About Continuing Chemo (Temodar)

Disclaimer: Use of Temodar will NOT result in this kick-ass blue color hair. 

I had so little experience with doctors and hospitals before my cancer. The only other hospitalizations I had were for the birth of my babies - and I only did that three times - not four - because we had Katherine at home with a midwife. (For real. Yes, on purpose. And it was my best birthing experience, FYI) But I'm not writing to open a can of worms about that subject...

I'm afraid I might be opening a can of worms on this other subject, but....what can I do? I'm just laying myself out there, speaking MY truth. Which is the whole point of this blog.

Every other experience I've ever had with a doctor - for myself or my children - I went in, I had an examination, the doctor diagnosed me, and he/she told me what to do. Whether it was prescribed medication or a humidifier or ice or the RICE diet...So, this whole GBM experience has thrown me for a loop. And caused some a shit-ton of serious anxiety.

I've followed the "Standard Course of Treatment" or the "Gold Standard" in the U.S. right now with treating a Grade IV glioblastoma multiforme. I was fortunate enough that my tumor was in an area that was operable, so the first step was resection. Then 6 weeks of radiation (5 days a week) and chemo, Temodar (7 days of week). This was followed by 6 months of Temodar, 5 days on and 23 days off. I also have something about the make-up of my tumor that supposed to make my cancer cells more responsive to the Temodar ... so, that's good, right? That 6th cycle was in the month of June...

and then...

About two months ago, I started hearing from my doctors that they were thinking of continuing the Temodar cycles another 6 months: cycles 7 - 12. (Wha'?!?!) My Neuro-oncologist said in a phone consult in June, that after the 6th cycle is a period of "negotiation". (I wondered what that meant exactly...) And when we met with her last Monday, she reiterated that it really was OUR choice if we wanted to continue with the treatments or move to a "wait and see" approach. I would still have my MRI's every other month - and there would be no medical intervention (surgery/chemo, clinical trial, etc) unless/until there was a change on the scan [i.e. a recurrence]. She was comfortable with "graduating" me from the Temodar cycles. [By the way, she said three of the four NO's at UCSF would recommend the continuation of the treatment. (It doesn't take a genius to figure out who the fourth doctor is, does it?)]

In the last two visits with my local oncologist, he characterized himself as "aggressive" and recommended the additional 6 months. (He works closely with the UCSF NO, so he already knew what her recommendation would be.)  The Temodar appears to be "working" - meaning, we're not seeing new growth. (note: We are not seeing shrinkage either.) But  - as I've said more than once in my blog -  with GBM, where growth is the norm (practically inevitable), and it's usually fast and furious, no growth is a good thing. And just so you know, if/when we stop the Temodar, we wouldn't go back to it if I showed signs of growth. They both said it makes no sense to "take a break".

I just wasn't expecting to have a decision so major plopped in our laps like that. It's required a lot of researching, talking, and reading, and crying...

I know there are people out there that opt for NO Western/Modern Medicine and opt for Alternative Options from the get go. Others trust only in the science of medicine and don't explore alternatives. For them, the decision would be easy. What has made it so very difficult is that I believe that I should take the best that "Western/Modern Medicine" has to offer, and do our damnedest to augment that with what we can as patients: the stuff we have control over.

I've made it clear from the beginning that I believe in an amalgam of both. I let the doctors tell me what is available - my "best options" with scientific evidence to back it up, while I use all my resources to do everything I can do to compliment that - and I believe it makes a difference. The focus on the whole person: the mind, the body, and the spirit. Nutrition, Fitness, Mindful Meditation, Yoga, Tapping into the positivity and love in me and the people around me...You've read it/heard it/seen it from me for the last nine months, This is nothing new.

And suddenly, the doctors are saying, "Yea...this whole modern medicine part...you're going to need to decide if you want to continue this another 6 months or not..." Wait...What?!?! Because, guess what! They don't have a fucking clue at what really works beyond this. Because there are no long-term studies and completed clinical trials regarding this issue.  I mean, there are some promising stuff coming down the pike, but they have no real academic, completed Phase III trials that say THIS is more effective than THAT. (Except Temodar/radiation treatments) Part of what's so complicated is that there are so many variables. There are ~120 different kinds of brain tumors, but let's just focus on GBM. Each patient has a unique set of circumstances - age, fitness level, where the tumor is, what the genetic makeup of the tumor is... I've read and read and read...I have to take breaks because it makes me want to cry. I can't avoid the numbers. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not a number! Let's just say that it's a sucky situation and leave it at that.The good news is the numbers are getting slightly better. I'm still working on being the Outlier, though...

MAYBE the Temodar is the reason I have not shown growth at the tumor site. Or maybe it's one of the 100 things I do every day to help my body heal?  Or maybe it's a combination of things? Who knows? I can tell you who doesn't know: my doctors. ANY doctors. In the world.

Oh, if only he were really a doctor...but I digress....

This is some heavy shit. "Quality of Life' - there's a phrase that gets knocked around a lot with people with chronic/terminal illnesses.. It's a decision of: do the negative side effects of a treatment make life so miserable, it's not worth it?

Steven and I have spent hours talking about this decision, but in the end, he said, "I can't answer that question for you. I don't know what it's like..." I know we'll be revisiting this conversation again in the future. This is some intense, scary shit. If I think of it as a life-or-death decision, I just cry and am useless. So, let's not do that, k?

Right now, the "quality of life" question is a no-brainer. I decided to continue with the treatment. Yes, I am physically weaker, and when I stop taking the chemo, it will take some time to build up my strength again.  I researched the hell out of Temodar and current practice - and although it's all over the map  - there is a lot of precedence for continuing through 12 months - even longer, if it continues to be effective, and I am still coping well with toxicity (as measured by blood work - platelet counts, etc). But we'll deal with that when we come to it. The fact that I have no shrinkage WITH the Temodar makes me wonder if I didn't have any medical intervention at all...

Maybe this is TMI, but I'm willing to live through a couple of days per month in bed with: nausea, constipation, and extreme fatigue, if that means that I have more months with my family. It also requires that we are strategic about plans leading up to and just after any cycle. And when I told my oncologist about our trip to Disneyland and the accommodations and adjustments we made, I said, "We're learning all the time about how to live with cancer." He looked me sincerely in the eyes and said, "That's what your life is going to be like. Forever." 

There's a technical term for that. It's called: No Bullshit.

No guarantees, but I know that I will leave no stone unturned. And if/when Temodar stops working (Kiddos, sad to say that it seems to always stop working eventually), we'll have more difficult decisions than this because ...did I mention that the doctors can't tell us, "Just take two pills and call me in the morning." ?

That's what it means to have a terminal disease without a cure.

P.S. I noticed that I used the word "cry" a lot as I'm rereading this post. #cancercard #freepass

The One in Which I Talk About Being the Queen of the Iron Stomach

I do not throw up...

STOP! No, no, no!

Please, don't click to leave the screen! Don't you trust me by now to have a point when I say seemingly inappropriate things?? There's a point to all this, but you have to keep reading to find out.

As I as saying, I pride myself on having "an iron stomach". I don't know why. I have an extreme aversion to vomiting - and I'll use every bit of my will to stop it from happening, no matter how much I feel like I need to. I think I deserve a crown and a title for this, no?

The real one, I want made out of gold and precious stones, of course. This is just a rough idea of what it would like.

 In fact, I have only two real memories of throwing up - The first one is a kind of cute one actually.

Kiddies: Way back when, in the 60's, when I was a little tyke, there were no dvds, no digital t.v. recorder, and not even any VHS tapes! So, when you wanted to watch your favorite show, you had to wait until it was actually being broadcast on t.v. And if you missed you, you missed it. I know! Hard to believe!
 

Well, it was nearing Christmas time and my favorite, favorite, favorite Christmas special was on that night, "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas" (the original, obvi!)

I love that dog!

My mom had made my favorite dinner, lasagna (so, I might have overindulged in that?) but I remember the beginning of the show being introduced on our t.v. as I was dressed in a flannel nightgown and grabbed our huge, green throw pillow and plopped myself on the living room floor on my stomach and settled for the BEST show! Only within five minutes,without warning, I threw up all over that pillow! (Remember, t.v.'s could not be paused at that time!)  To her credit, my mom didn't seem upset as she cleaned me and everything up...in fact, I remember she giggled a little bit - seeing the humor in it all. She's still a sport! Thanks, Mom!

The second memory... involves shots of liquor and a good friend that held my hair back from the toilet. (Thanks, Allison!) But I really don't remember it. So, it doesn't count, right?

I hereby decree that I retain my title as Queen Iron Stomach! 

<Trumpets blare>

That's why when I began my post-surgery treatment for my GBM, my radiologist and oncologist prescribed two kinds of anti-nausea medications, I thought, I won't need these... (Reminder: my treatment was: 30 days of chemo (Temodar)- 7 days a week, and 30 sessions of radiation, concurrently, M-F) The radiation technicians always asked me how I was feeling, and they were amazed when I told them, no. I was fine. A little ginger tea and being careful what I ate was enough to combat the queasiness. I did have fatigue at times, but I listened to my body  - I napped pretty much every day, but tried to take walks - long or short pretty much daily. My doctors were very pleased with how well I was handling the treatments, too. Yay!

After my little rest from the initial treatment and my January MRI, I began the next step in my treatment: Temodar - 5 days on/23 days off as a cycle. Temodar is the same chemo that I took during the whole initial treatment, albeit in a smaller dose. It's a pill form that I take at home right before bedtime, so I (hopefully) sleep through the worst of the nausea. What nausea? Oh, that's right. They neglected to mention that I was going to have a MUCH larger dose of chemo now. In fact, after the ramping month in January, February and March's dosages are TWICE what I was going during radiation. ZOINKS!!! (Okay, I have brain cancer. They probably told me, but I just don't remember.) #freepass

In March (the first month of the new dosage), Day 1, 2, and 3 are okay...Ginger tea, ginger this, ginger that...okay. Day 4 March's cycle, I broke out that anti-nausea meds that they had prescribed way back when. I took it right before I went to bed. Who knows if it made a difference? By Day 5, I surrendered to my bed. I figured if I was able to fall asleep, my body needed rest  - and it had the added plus of making me unconscious to the very real, very intense nausea I was feeling. Day 6 (the day after my last chemo pill), I felt pretty much the same way, and then I slowly started to bounce back.

As I've just written about in my blog, I was in France almost the whole first two weeks of April, so they postponed the Temodar cycle by a little bit. Again, Day 1, 2, and 3, were okay. I was using the anti-nausea meds every night. I don't know if it was because I was jet lagged or that I was unable to really sustain my VERY healthy diet I have here, but this cycle kicked my ASS! I don't know if I should be allowed to retain my Queen of Iron Stomachs crown because I stayed in bed or on the sofa, buried in blankets for two days straight. I never threw up, though? The worst feeling is that you are so sick you can't eat anything and that makes you more sick...

STOP! No, no, no! 

"The worst feeling". Really? Really, June?!?!

Let me try to redeem myself from this lame statement above....
I've got a strategy to help me through my challenging times: 1) I try to learn from my mistakes. I try to keep track of what I've done and the results. Makes sense, no?
2) I delve into the standard practice of thinking about: "It could always be worse..."

When I first returned from France, I binge watched HBO's "Band of Brothers" because I was so interested after visiting Normandy. During the last couple days, I've watched "The Pacific", which the companion series about the American assault in the "Eastern Theater" during WWII. [Picture me with headphones and my ipad, wrapped a gazillion blankets.] In a strange, twisted way, it reminded me that I had better quit my whining - that what those guys went through...Let's just say that I'm not going to earn any medals of honor for feeling like I want to throw up a lot but not.
(But I'm keeping my imaginary crown!)

I also read a lot of blogs and webpages about other people who are living with cancer. And it's a guarantee that everyday, I read about someone who reminds me "It could be worse..."Like Valiant Vito, who (and his mom) inspire me every day.

What I'm facing is nothing compared to what they faced. There are some similarities, I would argue, though. We're all scared sometimes. And we all have to figure out how to keep our heads down and keep going. And the acceptance of the randomness of it all... Sometimes life is so damn random.

I didn't write this blog entry to have you all say, "Sorry, June, that you are going through a tough time." or "I'm sorry you're not feeling good." I'm not fishing for sympathy. Promise!

I try to make my blog about giving some window into the world of someone living with cancer. And if you are someone living with cancer, I hope you take away some feeling that you're not alone. We are just warriors trying to keep our heads down and keep going. We can do this!

And to make sure I retain my crown of course.

The One in Which I Really LIsten to Todd, the Hawaiian Surfer Dude

First of all, I have to thank everyone who rallied around me after my last blog post and offered gentle, kind words of encouragement and support. I suppose you had every right to "pull a Cher" and just tell me to:

If you don't know this cultural reference, I'll give you a hint: (you still have Google it) but add "Moonstruck" to the search.

Instead, with your love and support, I've pulling myself back up onto the "board" and trying again to find my balance. 

During my surfing lessons with Todd the Hawaiian Dude, one rule he taught us is this: once you have your feet planted on the board -  you need to focus on something on the horizon - some point that would be in the direction you wanted to end up. If you focus on something else...damned if your board doesn't veer off course and send you in the THAT direction. It doesn't guarantee that you are going to end up where you wanted - but you have a hell of lot better chance.

In Maui, I may or may not have had one run when I was distracted by this little boy on a board in front of me...and almost ran into him because I was focused on HIM instead of where I was supposed to be going. I can neither confirm nor deny this story. The only one who could rat me out tell you the true story is Katherine. <slips Katherine a $20> We're all good here, right?

Pop Quiz: Who in this picture isn't focused on where he/she wants to go? DUDE!?!

With that in mind, and my lack of ability to "stay on the board" this past week, I thought it made sense to look back and see what I've been focusing on lately. And as the first step, I returned to the "scene of the crime" and reread my last blog post.  The first thing noticed is that I used the phrase "in control" to equate with "balance" ... And I'm clearly afraid of NOT being control - which in my mind, means falling off the board.

What I'm hearing in my head is Todd, the Hawaiian Dude/Surfer Instructor, asking me, "What were you FOCUSED ON?"

Well, that's easy for me to tell you because I have a lot of evidence of what's going on in my head. I write most of it down! Let's have a little look-see, shall we?

I shared a picture on my "June's Warrior's" Facebook page yesterday. Let's call this Exhibit A:

When I'm not blogging, these are the journals I write in the early morning  - when I'm not screwing around on FB.)

This is a little window into my world in the early morning, while everyone else sleeps. I have my private time with my various journals, my blog, and anyone on the East Coast who happens to be on Facebook.

Let's examine Exhibit A:
First, in the upper left picture is a simple 2015 calendar. As a teacher, I usually buy the Academic Planner types that go July - June, and I DID have one of these in my purse this year. But I told Steven that it freaked me out that my calendar "ran out" in June 2015, so we replaced it recently for a "normal one"- I wanted to be able to write the things we're doing all the way until the end of 2015. It's funny how little details like that can play with your mind, no?

About a month ago, I bought a three-pack of moleskin journals from amazon. The one in the upper right is my Private Journal. It started out as a Gratitude Journal - and I do write about the things for which I'm grateful....but I've found it helpful to just have a place to let loose with no rules. So, it pretty much is a spewing of all the thoughts, good and bad, in my head. It's more of a clear-my-mind exercise. Which is why is PRIVATE. #nojudging! #suckitmariannewilliamson #sorrynotsorry #freepass

The second journal (bottom left) is a customized "To Do" journal. I used to love the Franklin Covey Planner - and I still like the concept - You set purposeful daily goals based on long-term goals that focus on your core principles & values. Phew! That was a mouthful! But having spent mucho dinero on various configurations and sizes of the planners through the years, I've found The Secret: you only need.... <drumroll, please!> paper and pencil! Voila! I just saved you a ton of $$$! Score! Now, if you want to know the whole process behind it, you might need to plunk down a few nickels at the kindle store to read about Covey. Or just google that shit..because the concept has been around for EVER. 

The final journal is more of a notebook in the classic sense. I take notes from books, documentaries, and the internet to help learn about my disease and health/wellness. I've divided my Health/Wellness into the classic trifecta: Mind, Body, and Spirit. This notebook contains the little "smoking gun" of truth about what I've really been focused on.

I've been reading/taking notes as much as I can about:
My Body: 

• How can I nourish it to help it heal from the intense treatment I've just gone through, as well as boost my immune system for the months ahead of chemo cycles? 
• What can I do/how much can I exercise my body to support my healing and strength?

and
My Mind: I've been voraciously reading about my disease.

• What can expect from my current Standard of Care?
• What are the latest breakthroughs in treatment of GBM? 
• What can supplements/alternative care are available to support the standard of care that I am receiving right now?

But then my mind goes beyond that, to....

• What happens next if/when this current standard of care stops working effectively. 
• What do survivors do when the 5/23, Temodar cycles don't result in stable MRI's anymore.
• What if...what if....what if..

Ummm...   June?   Where the hell is your focus???

And I had a Big Fuckin' A-Ha Moment. You know that 2015 Planner that I talked to you about in the beginning? Steven has been trying to have conversations with me about things that are planned 4 to 6+ months in advance, and I've been avoiding these planning sessions. Ironically, I've been assiduously avoiding the 2nd half of 2015 altogether.

I'm so afraid of the (potential) rocks ahead that I'm not lifting my head up and looking at the horizon. I think I'm doing a (reasonably) good job at appreciating the MOMENT...at being grateful for what I have in front of me RIGHT NOW. (See, Marianne Williamson! #notsorry!)  That's not scary at all. It's beautiful and magical and sometimes even awe-inspiring.  

Mommy-to-Be, April, 8 months pregnant now!!!

I'm going to be grandma sometime in the next month or so!!! What?!?!? It's so exciting!!!  

 
But in order to "stay on that board", in order to find the delicate balance of living with cancer, I also need to be casting my eyes on the horizon, too, and focus on where I want to end up.

Once I realized my mistake, I went to explain/confess to Steven. I said, "You know why I haven't wanted to talk about these trips we have coming up and do the planning with you? I've been afraid that some medical emergency might happen while we're away, and I'm scared about what we would do. Especially being 6 or even 12 hours away from my local medical team.  Steven, you know why I have been avoiding talking about these plans? Because I'm afraid of what we'll do if something goes wrong."
<And I used the "s" word!>
"That's just STUPID!"
(Kiddies, you thought I was going to say something else! I can tell! But I've been a 5th grade teacher for more than a decade and "stupid" is the "s" word for most of them. Isn't that cute?)

Yes, I can plan. While recognizing that I have limited control of the ultimate outcome.  Shit happens. (Shhhh! Don't tell the 5th graders!) But I can't control everything. And I certainly shouldn't FOCUS on the worst possible scenario. Listen to Todd the Hawaiian Dude, people!

So, I made a goal to spend more time focused on the direction I want to go on the horizon. I think that's maybe the Spirit part of the trifecta. The part that people use the words faith or hope to describe. It's not that I haven't thought about it, or wrote about...but I haven't ACTED on it.

SPIRIT:

• One of the first things on my list is to work on Meditation. I've been reading about it, and taking notes, but I haven't attempted to DO it. (Okay, I attempted to do it yesterday, but I ended up napping. It's a beginning, though, right?!) 
• I also know that I will be better off if I join a support group of Cancer Warriors/Survivors. I have the dates/times written in my notebook, but I haven't gone to one yet. Now, I have written it in my planner to attend a group the 2nd week in February.

I hope that Todd would be proud of me. I am up on the board, enjoying the feeling of the water rushing beneath me and sun on my skin, but I'm also looking ahead at the horizon and trying to steer in the direction I want to go. I might veer off course anyway, but I'll probably enjoy the ride a lot better if I let go of the fear of what could go wrong along the way.

P.S. I need a 2016 Calendar so I can write down: "Celebrate Autumn Elizabeth's First Birthday!

The One in Which I Talk About Goal Setting While I (MIGHT BE) Living with Cancer

This is the time of year when everyone begins to reflect on what they've accomplished so far, and what they want to accomplish in the next year. This has been a tricky thing for me, this year, as I factor in the idea that I might be living with cancer.

Forgive me. I need to interrupt here for a hot second...

Before I launch into this topic, I just have to make this clear to everyone. Some of you get it. Some of you don't. So, I have to lay it all out there. I might be living with cancer.  Yes, even after the treatments I've gone through. If you want to know more of the specifics of what that means to me/us, click on the page "Living with GBM and My Medically Now What?" Regardless of whether I am looking at a recurrence in my future, I am forever changed, physically and mentally (literally). I felt like I needed to get that out of the way because it's been increasingly obvious to me that some of you think that I'm on the road to recovery, and when I'm done, I'll be a "survivor" going about my Old Normal June ways...Old Normal is gone. Forever. My family and I are still working through what that means to us. But we are acknowledging, accepting, and adjusting to this new reality.

Now that we're all on the same page... Let's proceed...

Goal Setting While I MIGHT BE Living with Cancer:
My New Reality is trying to balance my desire to control what I can in my life while accepting that My Grand Plans could go Ka-Blooey! in a heart beat based on what my medical team says from month-to-month. And it's a very uncomfortable place for me these days.

I've been a goal setter for a long time...A serious goal setter for about 20 years. That's when I discovered Stephen Covey and his book, "First Things First" -- It's all about consciously focusing on what matters most in your life and making sure your life reflects that. That doesn't mean that I/we always succeed in that, but it is all about intention and focus.

[If you haven't heard of Covey's work, I highly recommend you do some research of your own. There are lots of resources online to get you started - and he has several books out if you are into that sort of thing. This is the perfect time to do it, too, when everyone is motivated to make changes in the New Year. Damn. I wish I could get a little commission on that...but let's just call it "Paying it Forward" and move on, shall we? ]

At the core of it all is that you are deliberately looking at your life and the various "roles" you play, intentionally identifying what you want to BE/ACCOMPLISH in this area of your life, and then setting up a plan to make it happen through Goal Setting.

Goals should be SMART:

Specific

Measurable

Attainable

Realistic

Timely

Some of you are rolling your eyes at me right now. I see you! (You didn't know that Ninja Warriors have the superpower to see through your computer screen? Silly, silly you!) No, you're right. The concept has been around a long, long time. Kiddies, just because something is old/not new doesn't mean it's not valuable. Look at Beanie Babies and Pokemon cards. Okay, maybe not good examples...

A BETTER EXAMPLE...

(History Geek Alert!!) The origins of  Benjamin Franklin's the Art of Virtue: His Formula for Successful Living dates back to an idea he had in 1726, at age 20! He took a different approach - identifying 13 "virtues" or life principles that he felt were essential.. Each week, he would focus on one of them until he completed the cycle, and then he'd start over again.
I don't know if it's a true story, but I have heard it said that he had a hard time with #13 - Humility - after going through the first 12 virtues successfully. Which is pretty damn funny, considering what we know about Franklin and his ...eh hem...shall we say "weaknesses" as far as Temperance, Chastity, and Moderation go.... Who knows? Maybe he only focused on one a week, so that left him with a clear conscience the other weeks to engage in debauchery to his heart's content? Whatever the truth, overall, he was a pretty accomplished guy, so he was on to something, I think...

Sorry, my history geek self has gone completely amuck...#Freepass!

What I am getting at is ....
Things are different for me right now as a Planner/Goal Setter who might be living with cancer. But should they be? That's what I'm struggling with right now.

What's got me all twisted up? I can certainly make my goals SPECIFIC and MEASURABLE. The tricky part is...are they ATTAINABLE and/or REALISTIC? I'm talking about not knowing the New Normal June - which I'm guessing is going to be changing over time, too - and not knowing what is attainable/realistic for HER. errrr...ME! (What the heck? When did I morph into Elmo and start talking about myself in the third person???)

EXHIBIT A:
I registered to complete a half-marathon in Livermore on March 28, 2015  - way back in the summer 2014. Notice I said, "COMPLETE". I can hear some of my long-time runner friends saying...
Them: "Complete? You mean, RUN, right?"
ME: Uh...NO, I don't mean run. I mean, just cross the finish line after covering 13.1 miles on foot.
Them: But you've run three full marathons and several half-marathons already. You're worried about finishing a half?
ME: Ummm...YEA.

The problem is...I have NO IDEA if this realistic for me - in this next stage of my New Normal- undergoing continuing treatment which includes monthly chemo cycles. And, go figure, there are not a lot of resources out there one way of the other from other people going through the same thing. Trust me. There isn't a Half-Marathon Training Plan for Post-Brain Surgery/Radiation/Chemo Cancer Patients out there...

This is where I enter the confusing territory of...Am I just plain stubborn and/crazy? (uh. maybe you shouldn't answer that one...)  But just so you don't jump to the conclusion that I am completely crazy - Steven and I have been walking nearly every day (2-3 miles) - including The Hill - during my whole course my treatment, and I'm envisioning just adding on 1 mile a week to one of the weekend walks ...Seems pretty do-able to me...but the hell do I know?

How far does one push the envelope to see what we are capable of doing before we've gone too far?  I don't want to limit myself and stop taking chances. But I also want to LIVE as long as I possible can, and that MAY mean accepting that some goals are counter-productive in that respect.
Of course, Steven and I have discussed this issue. The logical first step is to talk to my medical team about the REALISTIC and ATTAINABLE part with them. But given the lack of data I see online, I wonder just how much they really know. And then there's the issue of there being just ONE June "Outlier" AKA #MFBCFNW, which is a very shallow statistical data pool indeed.

I'm not even going to get into the TIMELY thing...TIME SPECIFIC?  That's a "whole 'nother can of worms", as they say... Why do they say that? Google that shit, my friend... Imagine the poor English Language Learners that come to America and try to understand the convoluted, mishmash of nonsense that comes out of our mouths sometimes?

Speaking of which, I'm afraid this particular blog post is about as clear as mud...and I apologize. But that is where I am right now in my journey. I feel like the security of knowing what was going to happen each day during the initial treatment kept me tethered and safe to some degree. This wait-and-see crap just isn't my bag, Baby. But more and more, I'm beginning to realize that it is part of the New Normal June's Life.  Sometimes I feel like Sandra Bullock in Gravity - scared out of my wits and floating in space.

Wouldn't it be nice if it ended for me just like her? Landing on some soft sand with an ass of a 20 year old? A girl dream, can't she?

The One in Which I Explain Why I Feel So Lucky Today - and Reveal a Ninja Warrior Secret

Two days left of my initial treatment! It's raining heavily out there, but I don't know what it would take for me to miss my radiation appointment today! Oh, no, no, no, no! You don't know who you're messing with! This is a Ninja Warrior on a mission! Bring it on, Sharknado!!!

June is on Day 29 of a 30 day radiation treatment schedule! Nice try!

You might have noticed that I changed up my blog banner. It probably looks too busy (Hey, who asked ya'??), but for now I think it more accurately reflects where I am on my journey. I'm not just a mother fuckin' brain cancer fighting ninja warrior. I am seeing more and more time and energy for the other "parts" of me. And it feels so good.

In the end of September, when Steven and I received my prognosis, I was in a very different place (mentally & physically) than I am now.  Post-surgery, I was having focal seizures 8-12 times a day! I spent most of my time lying down in bed or on the sofa, and Steven was right by my side the whole time, stroking my hair and talking me through the seizures. And yes, I felt so lucky to have him there with me. (I don't know what I would have done without him!) But I'm not gonna lie...I cried a lot. Not because I was feeling sorry for myself, but the thoughts that kept running through my head were: "Is this the best it is going to get?" "Is this how it is going to end?"

The idea was so crushing and debilitating...I cry just remembering it now. And I'm sorry if I've made some of you cry, too.

Just in case you need some...haha!

By the way, kiddies, I have become the biggest cry baby in the world, I think. Sad tears, happy tears...it's all good! Don't let anyone tell you differently.

So, why do I feel so lucky today, despite the fact that I still have GBM and a lot of the unpleasant things that it entails? 

Well, first of all, I discovered that I was Mother Fuckin' Brain Cancer Fighting Ninja Warrior (#mfbcfnw). So, that's cool, yes? Okay, kiddies, I'm going to share one of the most powerful lessons that I've learned as a Ninja Warrior. Ready?

The less you worry/think about things you can't control, the less "crushed and debilitated" you will feel. Focus on the things you can control. I might look badass, all bald and stuff, but the secret is: my primary weapon as a Ninja Warrior is my MIND. I can control my thoughts.

You mean, you've heard this before? You're right. It's not new. But it takes a long time to master, and it takes a lot of practice and discipline. And you will probably backslide occasionally, which is when those tissues come in handy.  But it's worth the effort to think about what you can and can't control, and focus on the CAN part as much as possible. Trust me.

So, Steven and I  - okay, mostly Steven (#myrock), I have to say, in the early days because I wasn't strong enough in the beginning - started with what we could control - plugging away, seeking out appropriate medical care for me and getting treatments started. Of course, we found Dr. Awesome McAwesomesauce, who changed my prescriptions and I haven't had another seizure since. Eek! I hesitate to even type that - I don't want to jinx myself! Sshhhh! Pretend I never said that. And now my initial treatment plan is nearly complete! That's crazy! It will be 42 days of chemo and 30 days of radiation! Woot!

Don't get me wrong... It is different. No doubt. (If you want more details about the medically side of things, click on the tab above or the link here: "Living with GBM and My Medical "Now What?")

But today, I feel more like I am Living Life in Full. I'm more than just a cancer patient. I feel stronger every day and more like "myself" - but with a more obvious potty mouth, which I've decided isn't such a bad thing.  I'm helping to plan our holiday family gathering at the end of the month and getting ridiculously excited about the arrival of our first grandbaby!  I've even begun to create Pinterest boards and send out absurdly long emails with details about these things. Now, anyone who knows me is saying, "Dang! JUNE is BACK!" <high fives to all of my fellow Type-A homies out there!>

Steven and I went for our daily therapy walk yesterday, and we had a good cry conversation about how we both are forever changed by this. There will always be the dividing line of B.C. and A.C. Where do we go from here? There are so many things that we don't know, too.  We don't have control over everything....

Wait, doesn't this sound suspiciously like something I said a few paragraphs above? I told you it takes practice! Keep trying, my fellow Ninja Warriors! Maybe we'll never truly master it. But if we keep trying, I believe we'll be happier for it.

Cancer doesn't define us, but it does change us. Not just those who get it, but all those who love the person. And it's the "Now What?" part that is confusing, scary, daunting.., But the exciting thing is...there's a "Now What?" for us, right now.

My New Living Life in Full will obviously look different - but isn't that changing all the time for all of all of us? I feel so lucky today because I am focused on the LIFE part.

The One in Which I Go Full Baldy and Still Feel Like Merida from Brave

Shall we go in the Way Back Machine...just kidding...about a month ago, when I decided to get my hair cut "short"? (See post if you've forgotten/missed that one.) If you remember, I was specifically told that I wasn't going to lose all my hair from the chemo I was taking, BUT I would lose "patches" of hair due to the radiation treatments.

So, rather than shave my whole head, I decided to cut it short and just see what "patchy" really meant. In my case, "patchy" meant I lost almost all of my hair from the crown on down to my ear on the right side of my head. There were not going to be any comb-over techniques to hide this one. I still had basically a normal amount of wavy, curly hair from ear level to the nape of my neck. So, if wore a hat, there was the illusion that I wasn't Full Baldy. But without a hat, it was just a hot mess.

Also, I signed an actual paper that said I understood that there are no guarantees that lost hair will ever grow back again...so, it was time to jump in the deep water of:

1. shaving my head
2. getting a wig (or two)

So, naturally, I went to a professional....

Schmoopy AKA #myrock shaved his head weeks ago in solidarity.

Now, he's obsessed and thinks it's "too long" if more than two days have gone by between shavings. Love you, Schmoopy!!! #baldhottie. As a result of all his recent experience, I entrusted him to shave my head. We have no pictures because I was trying to avoid the mirror during the actual "act", and it looked really messy anyway. Like, there was HAIR EVERYWHERE!

First, he had to scissor cut the considerable amount of hair that I still had on my head. Then he had to do that actual shaving. When I first looked at it, I thought he didn't know what he was doing - there were still dark patches and totally bald patches...abut then he explained to me that the BALD-BALD was from the radiation - when the hair literally falls out, and you've got NADA on your scalp (except redness and dry skin from the irritation).  The dark patches were stubble from my hair that was actually still there. So, the Natalie Portman stubble thing was not to be.

Natalie Portman famously shaved her head for V for Vendetta. I definitely need to learn how to do the smokey eye thing...

In case you're wondering: I would have to razor shave my whole head in order to get an even look - and I've been told that is not the way to go. (Owie! and a major commitment to keep it up)  I was thinking about doing a chalk drawing of a globe or something, but that would only be for special occasions, of course.

Steven, Me, and my brother, John - Baldies Unite!

But first let's put some hats on! Brrrrrrrr!!!!

The bald thing really isn't a big deal. Let's face it. That is NOT one of my 99 problems.  It's all about adaptation. The single biggest thing I've noticed is that my head is cold! How do men do it??? They just get used to it?? My (obvious) solution: Hats, hats, and more hats!

I got a couple sleep caps which are super soft and warm at night. And a skull cap like thingy so I can wear basically any hat and not have it chafe my scalp - which is getting tender due to being to close to the end of my treatment. I have also ordered a wig that I will have in about a week. I don't want to reveal that just yet, but let's just say it is NOT this:

I ran the Princess Half Marathon in 2013 dressed as Merida. Not too many women dressed as Brave. I found this guy at the start, though. 

Although Merida's hair didn't inspire me with my wig choice this time, she's been very much on my mind during the last few days of baldiness. Because her hair was spectacular (in the movie), and she is a such a badass.

I've just finished up week 5 (of 6) of my initial treatment. These last 7 treatments are called "boosts" where, in addition to the normal routine, they spend some time really focused on a specific area of the tumor cells.  I had been trying to avoid steroids as much as possible (because of the unpleasant side effects) but they are amazingly effective at minimizing swelling of the brain tissue. I started taking them last week because I realized that I was having some headaches and my speech was being affected/slowing down. I guess the "boosts" are causing more swelling because Doctor Rad (the radiologist) has upped my dosage for the last week. This will help with the headaches and speech, but probably make me look a bald chipmunk!

I created a playlist from Brave's soundtrack to play during my treatment yesterday, and visualized this scene from the movie when this song came on. Ultimately, Merida learned in that movie that she didn't have total control over what happened in her life, but she could remain true to herself, face adversity proudly, and do the right thing.

We can't control everything, but we can control our reaction to it.

Merida hair gone, but a half-marathon medal around my neck!

The One in Which I Talk About the Goodness in the World...and the Essentials

Yesterday, Steven and I were taking our (almost) daily walk up and around Communications Hill. It was chilly (by California standards), and I was bundled in my scarf and Steven was protecting his bald head (brrrr!) with a beanie, but we were still holding hands the whole way - all the way up and all the way down the 3 mile trek, as we always do.

As we reached the ~1 mile mark, he turned me and said, "This is the best part of my day, just walking here with you." And I said, "Me, too. Me, too." and he kissed my hand. With a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes, I concentrated on the feel of his hand in mine, his lips on my fingers, and the sound of the crunchy autumn leaves under our feet.

Me, too. Me, too.

We were at one of the last traffic lights, and I could hear from the chime in his pocket that Steven had received a text. He's been trying to simplify his life - pare down to the essentials. Part of his strategy is to have stricter control about when he does and does not check his texts, emails, notifications, etc., so he was tempted to let it go. I admire that. But with Thanksgiving quickly approaching and the coordinations for all the family travel, etc., I urged him to stop and check it. Even in the glare of the sun, I could see by his expression that it was not good. And then he shared with me:

He has a core group of guy friends that dedicate twice a year to get together. They geek out about food, wine, life, and just enjoy each other's company. One of these men's son (only 16 years old) had passed away suddenly. Neither of us had ever met this boy, but that didn't matter. It could have been anybody's son or daughter...anyone's tragic loss. The rest of the walk home was marked by mostly stunned silence as we both tried to process what we had just learned.

We didn't have very much time when we got home to prepare to leave for my radiation treatment, but one of things that I always do is make a new paper ninja star and write on it  - things to carry me through the experience. It seems like a silly ritual, but it helps me focus and remain calm during the treatments.  It's the MIND/SPIRIT part of my holistic approach to recovery & survival.

We were so stretched for time, though, that I had to grab the paper, pen, and scissors, and create it in the car on the way to the radiology office. But I knew just what I had to do:

Never forget the most essential: LIFE. 

During my treatment, I clutched that ninja star across my chest and visualized our morning walk, hand in hand, and the feel of Steven's lips on my fingers and the sound of the crunchy leaves.

When we got home from my treatment, I received a text from a coworker/friend. (Okay, if you must know, he was like my "work husband" for ~9 years. Love you & miss you, Todd! <3) ... He had a package to deliver to me after school.

It turned out to be a notebook filled with letters and notes from some of my former students. It was passed around the local high school, so these were kids from my class of 2009-2011 who wrote me messages. Letters and notes filled with compassion, encouragement, and hope...and some misspellings (for which I accept no responsibility!) #freepass

It was so overwhelming! I wish I could post every one of them on here. I am so touched. I think I will write about this book in more detail later. These kids deserve it. I just wanted you to have some small feeling of what an amazing gift this was for me. Any teacher would understand. It's one of those jobs where you're never really sure what kind of an impact you've had.

I curled up in my bed for a little nap and cried as I read...good tears  - of joy and gratitude.

and then...
(I know! Can you imagine?)
and then...

Steven brought home a package that was shipped to the winery for me. It was an unassuming white box, but when I opened it, this what I found, folded lovingly inside:

It is toasty warm and Tess-approved.

It is this beautiful crocheted blanket from Project Chemo Crochet. [One of the secrets that no one tells you about being a Cancer Fighting Ninja Warrior is that you are almost always cold because of the treatments and medications.] Please click on the link to learn more about this amazing project. I think I need to learn how to crochet, so I can pay it forward...

The letter inside said:

"...We know that there might be times during this journey when you might feel cold, alone, tired, and scared. Our hope is that during those times you can feel our arms wrapping you with the love that went into every stitch.

Cancer's a bitch, that's why we stitch. Stay strong!" 

The thought of people from all over the U.S. and Canada stitching these squares.. <more good tears>
I feel your love!

I don't know why terrible things happen to people in this world, and I'm so sorry if you are going through something tragic right now.

So, today, it felt right for me to acknowledge:
I alive,
and I'm so, so grateful for all the good there is in this world.

Since I almost certainly won't "see" you until Friday, I want to wish you a day filled with friends, family, love, and LIFE.

P.S. I cry at the littlest things now, so I can't even begin to imagine how much of a blubbering idiot I will be when I have my whole family together. But they will be good tears!