My special "extra dairy" diet

Contrary to popular belief, I'm not losing weight for fun. Or to "feel better". Or on purpose, on any level.

In fact, I'm intentionally making efforts not to lose much more weight.

I have a fairly limited diet (I can only eat what I can digest, after all), but I am here to tell you that I throw calories and fat at everything I can.

Case in point, would you look at how I basically frosted this burrito with sour cream?

Mmmmmmm.... That would be a smashed black bean & cheese burrito with five packets of Mild Sauce (I may or may not stockpile Taco Bell sauces for my own personal use) and about half a cup of full fat sour cream. Delish!

So far, so good

It's January 6th. I'm sitting at the airport, waiting to board my (nonstop, thankyouverymuch) flight to Houston. Tomorrow is scan day. Friday, I'll get the results. (I'm crossing all of my fingers and toes that it's working, for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which is that this chemo's mouth sores don't start in my throat and go down and through my entire digestive tract.)

It's the 6th. And I've done a ton of stuff already this year. 

New Year's Eve, I slept in my house by myself, like a real grown up. After 40 days and 40 nights of sleepovers with Jude, I was finally well enough that we could both take a little break. Wahoo! 

New Years Day, I had a TV marathon party with my sister and our friends Jane, Michael and Rafael. Oh, and tamales. TV and tamales. That's a good day! 

Saturday, I went to brunch with some girls from home. Best gluten-free adventure ever! (Jewels Nakery, Phoenix Az)

Saturday afternoon, I spent some more quality time with my seester. Talking, laughing, crying. Followed by one of my favorite dinners at one of my favorite places (Waldorf salad @ CPK).

Sunday morning was spent with Steve, Sunday afternoon was spent on my couch, and Sunday dinner at Jo's was about the best spaghetti I've ever had.

Monday brought a lot more couch time. (I try to be productive, I really do. But even when I feel "good", I'm tired and the most ridiculous things wind me.) Monday evening, I learned a very difficult  (but important) life lesson: I can't eat chips and salsa while I'm in a treatment cycle. (It was Dat 21, so I thought I'd be safe. Not so. My stomach doesn't want to kill me anymore, but my feet and hands are still swollen from sodium overload.) But at least we got a pic taken before the food sent me running home.

Tuesday was breakfast with Steve (I may have to break up with Village Inn. Not because their food was crappy. Please. Their hash browns are always awesome! Sadly, I had to use the facilities while I was there. It was horrifying. A mix of my memories of the pink girls' room at Taylor Elementary and every grotesque bathroom I've ever seen murdered (on TV) in a public restroom.) And then I saw my cancer shrink and acupuncturist and then Judy and I went to the movies with Jo and Roomie.

And now I'm sitting on a plane. Front row. 

The perks of being able to play the cancer card. I was in a wheelchair all the way up to the gate, and now I have front row seating, so my feet can be up for the flight. Fingers crossed that'll be enough to keep my little piggies from swelling so much that I can't walk into Papa'so BBQ once we get to Houston, because this girl is craving a loaded baked potato, Texas style.

Scan Day

I started today off bright and early in the Diagnostic Imaging dept. Here in Texas,  they use a different (tasteless and colorless) contrast than what I'm used to in Gilbert. And I'm here to tell you,  I'll take 32 oz of Tropicana OJ with a half cup of chemicals thrown in over the same amount of mocha flavored barium any day! 

I mean... Look,  I'm genuinely smiling in this pic. That's happened with barium exactly zero times. 

After my scan,  Judy and I went to lunch with Cousin Jan. This time she took us to The Raven (OMG, aaaaaaaaaa-mazing food!) and then on a driving tour of Rice. (OMG, beeeeautiful campus!)

After lunch, Jan and Jude dropped me back at the hotel do I could take a much needed nap,  and then they enjoyed some grown up cousin bonding time. 

After a good three hour nap,  I woke up with a screaming headache and a need to go outside and warm up. (Hotel a/c always kills me a little bit.) So Jude and I took ourselves on a walk of the facilities. 

It took us an hour to walk on one side of the street lunged with MDA buildings. My guess is that there's another hour worth of walking to be done on the other side. 

This place is GINORMOUS. 

And totally awesome. 

And at the end of our travels, we stopped for a selfie in front the main building. If you look at the tippy top of the pic, you can see the MDA signage. And if you look at our hair you'll see that this is probably my best matchy matchy hair cut pic yet!

I'll get results on today's tests tomorrow afternoon. Be looking here for the update.

Daytrip to Flagstaff

When the wig came in on Wednesday, one of my first texts was to my brother, Brett, telling him that we needed to get together and having a redhead pic taken together with his little girl. I mean, now that there are three redheads in our family... it needed to be documented on film. Obviously.

Friday morning, as I was waiting for my doctor appointment, I sent a flurry of texts to my three Arizona brothers to make sure the timing would work for everyone to get together the next day, and... hallelujah, it did.

And thus, the ultimate daytrip/roadtrip was born.

Kirk and I got together around 11:00 yesterday morning, grabbed a quick lunch at Chicka-fil-A (no one loves fried chicken like we do!) and then hit the road. We rolled into Flag around 3:00 (don't even get me started on the one hour pit stop we had on the way when I pulled off to get gas and it took us half an hour just to get close enough to a gas pump to have my debit card denied) and hung out at the park with B&K while Tyler worked the rest of his shift.

Karen was a real trooper and chased Natalie around the park while Brett, Kirk and I sat on the grass and talked about growing up in Taylor, eating casseroles every night (we compared favorites/least favorites - ha!), picking oranges to make fresh-squeezed juice at our California grandparents' house, Grandma cooking a quarter into her chocolate cherry cakes (whoever got the piece with the coin in it got a prize - Brett got $5 once), Uncle Jimmy's gorilla mask and everything else under the sun.

The weather was perfect. The conversation was excellent. The grass was REAL GRASS (not something we see a lot of in The Valley of the Sun). We laughed. Hard. 

It was awesome.

We left the park around 5:30, dropped Brett off at The Lumberyard to get us a table, and went back to the house to grab Tyler (he got off work at 6:00) and then met back up for dinner. Over dinner, we discussed who makes the best ribs (Charleston's, hands down... according to Kirk and me, anyway), laughed at memories, had some photos taken and may or may not have (read: definitely did) cry a little about my uncertain future.

Dinner was good. Conversation was great. Sibling bonding was excellent.

And then Kirk and I drove home. We got back to my place around 11:00.

It was a marathon of a day, and I've been paying for it all day long... but it was 12 solid hours of awesome that made today's aches and pains totally worth it.

I'm so glad that I'm well enough to travel (even if it does sort of put me in a body bag to have to sit still, and in the same position, for hours in the car). I'm so grateful that Kirk's schedule was such that he could come with to keep me company and be my backup driver. I'm so happy that I was able to see the little boys before I head to Texas. I will always treasure the memories we made yesterday.

Brett, Natalie and me at the park. Sweet little girl was less than enthused at the thought of holding still to be in a redhead pic with us, but we still love her. 

She may not have loved to sit still and look at a camera, but what does love is to swing. High. 

That girl is fearless. She's only 17 months old, and she was constantly walking off, trying to make friends with big kids (I'm talking 8 year olds) and a GIANT dog that another family had brought to the park. It's amazing to me, how early kids' personalities start to emerge, and this little one will be a force to be reckoned with. I was so impressed with how brave she is, and how she wouldn't let anything or anyone get in her way of doing what she wanted to do. 

Four out of six siblings together for a meal with less than 24 hours planning. Not bad.

All we were missing was Katie and Spencer. (Photo cred goes to Karen. She was a real champ about taking pics at dinner. Love that girl!)

It may have taken my sweet little niece some time to warm up to her aunt who was bald, and then had hair, and then was bald again, but by the end of the night, we were buddies. 

I love the sweet little babies/kids in my life, but I'm not physically strong enough to hold them when they wiggle or fight me. I'd been holding Natalie after we tried to get a better "redhead pic", but she got too wiggly, so I had to give her back to her dad. She reached her arms out to me as soon as she landed back in  Brett's lap, so I looked her in the eye and told her that I really wanted to hold her, but I couldn't hold her if she wasn't still. She came right back to me, straddled my hips, put her arms around mine, and settled her head on my chest. Within ten minutes, she was out.

Sleeping babies are one of the Lord's tender mercies, and holding that sweet little girl while she slept was one of the best parts of my day/week/month.  

I needed to have a pic taken with Tyler and his long hair with me and my bald head. He's been growing his hair out for four years, but it's the first time in his life that his hair's been longer than mine. 

Tidy told me that he thinks his hair's grown three inches in the last four months. I told him that was because my hair stopped growing four months ago, and the universe had assigned my typical inch-a-month hairgrowth to him.

(Don't mind that I'm showing my religion in this pic and the one above. I was too busy holding that sleeping baby to have an awareness that anything was amiss with my sleeves. Ha!)

For those of you who don't know, Kirk's been making me laugh OUT LOUD for over 30 years by opening his eyes as wide as he can. (Which, as I'm sure you can see, is not all that wide. That's why it's so awesome.) Feel free to laugh at both of us in this pic. We crack our own selves up. Hard.

And that's what we look like in real life - smiling until our eyes almost close. 

Kirk's been my little buddy since he was born. By the time I was ten and he was five, we were inseparable. Before his voice changed, our mom couldn't tell us apart if we were talking/laughing in another room (even now, he has the same laugh as Judy and me, just in a lower, more bass-ish range). I am the typical oldest child, and he's the classic middle, but the two of us are more alike than we are different. Getting to spend the day (and most of the night) together in the car was so great.

Yesterday was awesome - on every level. Those are my favorite days.

What a day!

Holy moly... today has been one for the books. (And I'm so tired that... oh, gosh. I don't even have words.) But today is a day that must be documented. So... here we go.

It was Jo's and my Third Annual at Schnepf Farm's Peach Festival.

So what if I only brought home about 10 peaches this year? That was about all I could carry. (I'm such a weakling now.) But I ate my fill of peaches in the muddy, slippery, mess that was the peach farm. And we got a good selfie. So... WINNING!

After tromping through the mud and the muck, Jo brought me home so I could rest up for an evening of good times at Kirk's house.

I'd gone over a couple weeks ago, and Hazel said something about how she wanted to paint my head, "like an Easter egg". Hello! I can do that. So, I sent Judy to the store for some paints, and Mary had about a bazillion brushes. Done and done.

Best family dinner/art event of all time.

Monson and Hazel were the most enthusiastic (and lasted the longest... until all of the black paint was gone, and until waaaaaaaay more than the approved amount of my skin had been covered), but all of the kids got into it. Strangely, I don't have a good pic of Russell with a paintbrush in his hand, but here is the proof that he left his mark.

The rules had been ONLY ON MY BALD HEAD. Not on my face, not on my neck, not on my ears. ... Monson and Haze got a little carried away. (And Monson was having a love affair with the pot of black paint. He seriously could not get enough of it.)

By the end of the game, I looked more like a convict with prison tats than a cancer patient (esp on the left/Monson side of my head), but it's all good.

This was my favorite pic of the night. This was at the beginning, before all of the weirdness happened on the side(s) of my head.

Kirk started with writing my name (he called me Lala when he was a baby, and it's sort of stuck), Russ painted on a cancer ribbon. I don't remember which of the big boys drew that big smiley face on the back of of my head, but it was Hazel who made sure there was a red flower and a blue butterfly to be pretty.

I love these kids. I love that when they think of me, they have memories of nicknames and smiley faces and flowers, and that they would want to make sure that a cancer awareness ribbon was prominent on my bald head.

The images that followed were more of the same: writing their own names, painting a beach scene complete with palm tree under the smiley face sun, and... who the heck knows what Monsy was trying to make happen with all that black paint down the side of my neck.

I'm so glad that the kids aren't afraid of the baldness, that I was able to help them make a memory that will (hopefully) make the cancer less scary for them. ... Best. Family. Dinner. ... Ever.

The State of the Union

Don't mind the political nature of the title of this post. ...  My couch and I have been spending a lot of time with my friends in The West Wing this month. (I'm about seven episodes from the end of the series. ... I can't say any more than that, because I'll probably start to cry about it. Again.)

But for real... here's what's going on in my world:

Lots of TV watching. Usually because I'm too tired to do more than sit/lie/fall asleep in a sitting position on my couch... but sometimes because I wake up in the middle of the night with a busy brain and can't go back to sleep.

Lots of crying. ... See the statement above about how I keep waking up in the middle of the night with a busy brain. I happen to live in a body that needs 8 hours of sleep to function. ... And I haven't had a solid 8 hours of sleep on the reg since, oh... August. (I did get a solid 10 hours Saturday night. - Thank you double dose of Ativan combined with two Tylenol PM! - Which gave me hope that maybe I'd be in actual control of my emotions yesterday. Uh, no. No, I was not in any kind of control. And if you don't believe me, feel free to ask my sweet little 6 year old niece, Hazel. The poor kid was sitting on my lap in church when I could not get it together. Shoot. Me. Now.)

Lots of weird little projects. (Walk-in closet cleaned out? Check. Kitchen towels organized in the hall closet? Check. All hot pads washed and mended where hot bacon grease may or may not have incinerated entire sections of yarn? Also, check.) See statements above about the busy brain. My options, when my brain is this busy, are to either make my hands just as busy as my brain is... or to sit on the floor and cry. Sometimes, I get a lot accomplished. Sometimes, I don't.

Here's the thing: I am tired. More tired than I think I have ever been. (And, kids, I have been tiiiiii-red.) This has been the busiest month, bar none, of my life. Which, truly, I think has been a good thing... because without all the stuff that's been keeping my hands busy, I'm afraid that my super-active brain would have imploded on itself and killed me on the spot. But still, I am tired.

So tired that I can't handle talking on the phone, unless I'm driving at the same time. ... Because I need the distraction of driving to keep myself from bursting into tears. So tired that I still haven't counted the cash from the bake sale/Jester'Z fundraiser of last week. (Seriously. I haven't even unzipped the bag it's been sitting in. On my table. For almost a week.) So tired that I honestly considered sleeping on my closet floor on Saturday, because I wasn't sure that I had the energy to pick myself up and put myself to bed.

If it wasn't so laughable, how tired I am, it would be pathetic. I mean, I'm so tired right now that my gums are swollen and my teeth hurt, which is a new low, even for me. (It's awesome that I think that's funny, right?!)

The good news is... (drum roll, please) Dr. G fought a good fight with my insurance company, and I'm scheduled to have my radioactive injection on Thursday.

The PET is Thursday morning at 7:00, and I'll get results on Friday around 10:00.

And as much as I am a leery of getting the results (at this point... and trust me when I say that I've thought of and through ALL of the possible scenarios here - usually in the middle of the night... there really isn't a scenario/treatment plan/surgical option that I'm a fan of), I am hopeful that once I have concrete information as to what's causing the cramping on my left side, I'll be able to sleep. For at least six hours. And then maybe the swelling in my gums will go down and I'll be able to smile a whole smile. (A girl can dream, right?)

Until then, I have six and a half episodes of TWW to get through. (Yeah, I've watched a good half an episode while I've been typing. Remember how I told you I have to multitask, or I cry? Case. In. Point.)

As always, more details will come as I have them. For now, I just wanted to check in with ya'll (I thought maybe it was time to talk about more than the Neon... and no, I still don't have an answer there, the latest is that they'll have final word by Friday this week) and let you know that while I am one tired girlie, I am still kicking. I may not be answering my phone or making any unnecessary public appearances, due to lack of social (or any other kind of) energy, but I'm hanging in there. I'm grateful that it's FINALLY scan week, and am super hopeful that the (okay, my) hyper emotional insanity is about to end.

So... Scan Day

So, I thought it might be fun to do a little virtual tour of the prep for my PET scan. (Also, I happened to ask EXACTLY the right person if I could take pics today. Not only did she say yes, she purposefully posed the tube o' poison, for your optimum enjoyment.)

I apologize upfront that I neglected to snap a pic of the super cozy "recliner" where I get to nap for an hour after being injected with the tracer. I also didn't think to snap a pic of the PET machine. My bad(s). Next time.

Okay, so... this is the Injection Room. AKA: The Radiation Chamber (if you read my fb posts). This is the room where they inject me with radioactive matter, and then leave me in solitary to brew for a good hour or so before they put me in the PET chamber.

Once I get into the room, there is this HUGE glaring caution sign. (Good news I'm NEVER pregnant when I go in for my PET.)

I did ask, once, what would happen  if I was pregnant. Answer: the PET would not happen. There are too many risks to the fetus. The hospital may still do a diagnositc test, once the pregnant woman knows the risks, but the techs at MD have the right to refuse. And Dave the PET Guy will always refuse. (I like Dave.)

This is the locked container that my radioactive tracer comes in. Note the hazmat signs all over the box. (I love my life.)

And this, my lovelies, is the tracer itself. The push this radioactive matter (see the yellow hazmat sign at the top of the canister) through an IV, and then wrap me up in blankets, turn down the lights, and leave me to marinate in radioactive juices before actually running the scan. (I'd like to report that I only got stuck twice today. Mind you, the stick that took was in my wrist and HURT LIKE THE DEVIL - be looking forward to pictures of the bruise, it's gonna be a beaut! - but at least I only got stuck twice.)

This is the trash can that the waste goes into. Pretty crazy, no?

After an hour of sitting very still/sleeping in solitary, they come and wake me up and take me for the PET itself. But first... we make a pit stop.

That's right. At the HOT restroom. ... How special is it that there's a restroom set aside solely for the use of those of us who're packing radiation in our bowels/bladders.

Once the pit stop is over, the PET room is the next stop. I walk down the hall, seeing all kinds of signs like this:

And I thank my lucky stars that there are people who know more than I do about stuff like cancer, and radiation, and the need for hot restrooms, and how to read a PET scan.

As much as I am a silly girl who likes to have as much fun with the cancer as I possibly can... I'm so incredibly grateful for the staff at MD Anderson. From the receptionists to the nurses to the techs to the doctors... they are fabulous. I am still here because of them. ... Them AND their radioactive injections.

After it was all said and done, I went downstairs to get a muffin in the little cafe. (Best. Pumpkin. Muffins. E-ver.) and I tied a grey ribbon on the Tree of Hope for Mark. It's not much, but it was all I could do for him - for them - today.

As always, a day spent at MD Anderson is a day spent with a grateful heart. I am still tired, but I'm not anxious anymore. (What's done is done. Now all I need are results. And those will come soon enough.)

Life is good. ... Life is EVEN BETTER when you can take pics of stuff with biohazard warnings all over them.

This is my life, kids. ... And it is AWESOME!

Ooey gooey and DELICIOUS

Q: Who thinks it's a good idea to make cinnamon rolls over the weekend?

A: This girl.

Q: Who then thinks that what she needs in her life is a warm (leftover) cinnamon roll for breakfast on a workday?

A: Again, this girl.

Q: Who prefers her cinnamon rolls with extra (by which I mean, EXTRA) icing?

A: You can figure it out.

Q: Who's usually running too late to sit down and eat breakfast in her own kitchen, so she takes it with her and eats it in the car on the way to work?

A: Yup... Again, me.

So, you can probably see how it happened that I wound up with cream cheese icing smeared down and across my dress today. (Stupid seatbelt. Also, I'm a bit of a slob, even when I'm not trying to balance and/or eat pastries from behind the wheel.)

And thus we see the perils of taking warm, ooey gooey cinnamon rolls (with too much icing) on the road. Doesn't mean it wasn't worth it. And it doesn't mean I won't do it again!

Like, tomorrow, maybe...

Sometimes I get confused and think I live in Gotham City

As some of you (read: ALL of you) may know, I do some pretty stupid things in the AM.

And when I say stupid, I mean... STOO-PID.

So, I thought it would be fun this month to do a post a week chronicling my early morning idiocy. You know, just to help you feel better about your own lives. I'm such a giver, right?

You're welcome.

I like to buy gas on my way to work. Why? Because I loooove gas station breakfast. Gone are the days that I could have Cheetos and a Cherry Coke for breakfast, but I'm still down with donuts and/or chips with a bottle of water. I mean, a girl may as well fill her own tank while the car gasses up, right?

The last time I bought gas, I picked up a glazed donut from the bakery. (I heart QT. They have an actual bakery section. ... Don't get me wrong. I will eat Hostess, but I do prefer glazed raised.) I got back in my car - after having put the nozzle/hose back in the tank, don't you worry - and headed off to work.

Now, my car's a stick, so driving can be a little tricky when you're holding a bottle of water in one hand and a donut in the other.

I know. I paint quite a picture.

But I'm not done yet.

Imagine this: Me. At a stoplight. Water in one hand. Donut in the other. Needing to shift down in order to turn onto the freeway. ... So I did what any rational person would do; I put the donut in my mouth to hold it while I made a tight turn.

About halfway through the turn, with my mouth holding a half-eaten glazed donut, I thought... "Oh my gosh! This is EXACTLY what the bank employee felt like in Dark Knight, when The Joker pulled the pin and stuck the grenade in that guy's mouth and drove off with the school bus full of money. Ahhhhhh!"

I'm not kidding. My mind started racing and I totally panicked...

And then I remembered that I was holding a pastry between my teeth - not explosives - and I was able to breathe again. Also, I was able to eat again. ... Which was lucky, considering I still had half a donut to go - and a whole lot of post-Joker-anxiety to relieve.

Because I have absolutely NO shame...

I'm going to tell you another story about how mornings are not my favorite time of the whole day.

It's a pretty well-known fact that I don't function well in the AM. I mean, it's so bad that I have to plan what I'm going to wear the night before, otherwise I stand in my closet for 20 minutes staring at rows of clothes, thinking that I have nothing to wear, and I end up being late to work. I'm adorable.

For most of the day, I can think on my feet. Believe it or not, I'm actually pretty rational. ... Most of the time. (I know that I don't come across as a rational being when all you know of me is this goofy little blog, but I promise that I do actually have a brain in my head.) But in the morning, all bets are off.

The following is a true story from my actual life:

I was getting ready for work and thought to myself that I wanted to wear my brown wooden earrings. So, I went to my handy-dandy jewelry bowl to get them. (I know. I'm sooooo organized.)
Problem:

There was only one wooden earring in the bowl.

Weird.

So I proceeded to look through the other two bowls. ... I even fished through the Christmas jewelry bowl, and nothing.

And that's when it hit me:

"Oh my gosh. I only have one earring. ... A serial killer broke into my apartment and took the mate as a trophy!"

True story.

This was my actual thought, followed closely by:

"Oh, wait. A killer would only need a trophy if he'd killed me, and I'm still alive."

Not, "A serial killer? Really? That's the most ludicrous thing you've ever thought, Evans!"

Oh, no. My thoughts were very much along the lines of, "Calm down. You're not dead."

(In retrospect, it was very reminiscent of the time that I had to tell myself "Evans. Calm down. The Joker doesn't know Batman is your boyfriend. He won't hurt you." in order to fall back asleep in the middle after the night after having Dark Knight flashbacks.)

Good heavens. Sometimes I scare even myself.

I am pleased to report...

That my PET scan yesterday went off without a hitch.

For the first time in my life, I didn't have any scan-related stressors in my life on scan day. (To name a few stressors of the past: canceled appointment, broken machine and I had to walk - in socks and sans bra - to the other building on site that had a working machine, scar tissue in my good arm - in the one spot to put a needle - blocking the IV).

It was a glorious day.

I walked in. I exchanged pleasantries with Stella. I forked over 10% of the cost of said scan. The nurse came to get me, and told me I could leave my own clothes on. (Well... I had to take my bra off. Darn underwires. But other than that, I got to stay dressed as Laurie and didn't have to change into a gown and scrub pants. Hooray!) Dave the PET Guy was able to get the tracer in me with only one poke. (Very much unlike the 45 minute long torture-and-tear-fest that was prepping for my last scan.) Dave then left me with two warm blankets and a pillow and I slept for an hour in solitary while the tracer went to work. I got to pee in the "hot" bathroom (makes me laugh every time), and then made my way to the PET chamber. I got settled in, arms over head, and as Dave was wrapping my arms with yet another warm blanket, I fell asleep. And didn't wake up until it was all said and done.

True story.

One poke and the tracer was in. Slept for an hour whilst radioactive material raced through my veins. Slept for another 30+ minutes in a tube while the PET scan was measuring the affects of said radioactive material.

I guess maybe I should always get less than 6 hours of sleep the night before a scan, and then double Ativan myself before I go in to get poked. That was cake!

Super sleepy Laurie + drugs = easy peasy scan day! Who knew?!

Perspective

I have a cold.

Have I mentioned that?

I blame the church coughers.

Also, the multitude of people at my work who've been hacking up a lung for the last month or so.

And the handles on shopping carts, and the door knobs at the church and those grody little kids that I love who insist on getting up in my business.

Not to mention, my lack of a spleen/natural immune system.

Anyway, I have a cold.

And I'm a miserable sick person. I mean, miserable.

Give me cancer any day. I can handle a potentially deadly health threat with the grace of a gazelle. ... But when I have a stuffy (or runny) nose, all bets are off on how I'll handle stress or what kind of attitude I'll have.

So, I've been sniffling, sneezing, leaking and/or struggling to breath for over a week now. I've been wondering at how my nose has turned into a veritable snot factory. My energy has been sapped. (Even more so than usual.)

I noticed that I have a brand new growth on my forehead, and have been having flashbacks to both the first grade and September of last year.

Oh, and I have a scabby sore on my nose from blowing it too many times.

Folks, what I'm saying is: I am tired, I am stuffed up, I have a scabby nose and a warty forehead.

It's not pretty. (Literally or emotionally.)

I have been wondering what is wrong with my body, why I ever had to lose my spleen in the first place and what new stressor is making my stupid body revert to a childhood wart-causing virus. (Again.) I've been hating the cancer and wondering why it had to come along and wreck my body.

Basically, I've been feeling pretty sorry for myself. ... It's because I have a cold. I always get stupid when I have a stuffy nose. (Maybe my brain turns into boogers? I don't know.)

...............................................................................................

Enter the experience that turned my outlook around today...

This morning, I was walking through my office building when I noticed something unusual. Or, rather, someone unusual. (We bankers are coached, regularly, to pay attention to the height, build and general appearance of people we don't recognize. Call it an occupational hazard, but we have to stay on task and pay attention to our surroundings.)

I was walking behind a gentleman who was wearing the most unusual get-up: baggy, loose-fitting pants that were long enough to cover his shoes, long-sleeved shirt with a high collar, gloves that went up under the sleeves of his shirt, and a hat with some serious neck coverage. Something like this:

He was walking really slowly, and looking into each office along the hall, and my spidey sense went off, telling me that I needed to stay behind him to see where he was going. (There are two banks in the complex I work in. A man who's completely covered up is a pretty big red flag. Bank robbers tend to wear disguises to throw people off, and baggy clothes can hide a true weight/build, making them harder to ID.)

As I slowed my walk to match his, he stopped altogether and turned sideways. I paused, too, unsure of why someone who I'd decided was some kind of suspect would be stopping in the middle of the hall... other than to catch me out as following him and maybe shoot me in the head. (Who has an overactive imagination and watches too much crime-drama television? This girl!)

He turned sideways, and looked into an office, and then slowly turned toward me... Looking lost. And very much NOT like a bank robber.

Sweet blue eyes peeked out from under that hat, and he asked me if I knew where Senator McCain's office was.

I concentrated on keeping eye contact - and not looking at his distorted face - as I explained that Senator McCain's office is in our general neighborhood, but it's not in our office building. I offered to look up the exact address for him, if he came back into the bank with me. He smiled, and thanked me - as much with his eyes as with his words - and we walked back down the hallway together.

We walked slowly, because he couldn't do much more than half my usual pace. (And, folks, I am not a fast walker. By a long shot.) As I pulled the main door open and we walked into the sun-filled courtyard, I held the door for him and asked if he was wearing the hat to protect his skin from the sun. He nodded, and as he looked down at his baggy pants and gloved hand, said two words: Skin cancer.

I just nodded, and said I was sorry. (Truth is, as soon as I'd seen his profile, I'd figured it was the C word.) Bless his heart.

It turns out he was walking slowly because he is sickly. His clothes were loose because I don't know that they make clothes small enough to fit his tiny little frame. He was covering every square inch of skin that he could to protect his sensitive skin. (So much for those super heightened robbery spidey-senses I thought I had.)

We went into the bank and I sat him down in the lobby and asked him to wait while I went back to my desk to look up McCain's address for him. Roughly three minutes later, I came back to find him writing in a notebook in a weak, scratchy script.

I gave him the address and a printout of Mapquest directions from our building to McCain's and offered him a bottle of water, which he declined.

As he walked toward the door, he thanked me again. I told him he was most welcome, and I thought to myself...

"No more, Evans. You may have a stuffy nose, but you have a nose. You may not have the energy to walk around the block, but you still have the pleasure of sitting in the sun. No more whining. Not about a cold, or a bump on your forehead, that you can't walk as fast as you used to, or about the kind of cancer YOU were lucky enough to get."

I tell you, that sweet, slow-walking, little man was a gift from God.

I love how, every once in a while, I can see His hand in my life. I'm so glad that I was able to help someone today. I'm so grateful for what helping that sweet man gave me in return: Perspective.

We all have something: a burden to bear, a trial to learn from. ... Today, more than usual, I am grateful for what it is that is mine.

The very best part of being tired all the time.

Beyond the obvious perk of sleeping 8-10 hours a night without the use of sleep aids, the best part of being tired all the time is the view from my couch.

Here's how my typical day goes: I roll out of bed at 6:00, and am on my way to work by 6:30. I usually get home between 3:30 and 4:00. And then I hit the couch.

Sometimes I lie down for an hour and then get up and make something (like a bowl of soup or maybe an egg sandwich... I'm so gourmet) for dinner. Sometimes I hop in the shower, and wash my hair so it can dry before I go to bed. (Showering still wipes me out. Esp if I have to wash my hair. You know, the two days a week that I do that. I can't shower in the morning and still get ready for work in 30 minutes, so I take care of that in the evening.)

By 5:30, I'm usually back to camping on the couch. And I stay there until bedtime. (AKA: 9:00 PM.) Sometimes I fall asleep before bedtime and then wake up in the middle of the night and walk back to my bedroom, but, without fail, I am on the couch for hours every evening.

And the view is magnificent.

I tell you what, I love my couch. I love my little apartment. I love the big sliding glass door in my living room that lets a little bit of the outside world in. I love the canvas that is the Arizona sky at sunset.

One of the very best things about having gotten sick is that it forced me to slow down. (Not that I was ever one to be going really fast through life, but still...)

I'm pretty sure that the very best part of being tired all the time is that I am parked on my couch every night, in front of a view like this.

It's moments like this that I am grateful for a body that doesn't work as well as it used to, for the opportunity to be here. Now. Watching the sun set.

October 20 - late

I spoke. Twice. ... Neither talk went exactly the way I would have wanted it to, but I had prayed beforehand that I would know what to say, and that I would say that thing over what was written on my yellow paper, so I'm okay with how it turned out.

The workshops were less well attended than they had thought they would be. I spoke with my friend who was on the committee and she said there were 89 people in the cultural hall when we started. (They had expected over 200.) There were about 10 workshops every 45 minutes, so none of the classes were jam packed. I had between 10 and 15 people in both workshops I taught, which wasn't the crowd I'd been expecting (again, it wasn't the crowd the committee had been expecting, either... there was a brunch before the workshops and you should have SEEN all the food that was leftover!), but I do so enjoy being the center of attention, so I'll take what I can get.

Most of my family came to listen to me speak. Spencer and Brea brought their two youngest. It was an interesting experience to talk about the cancer; specifically, about how hard physically it has been, with my 8 yr old nephew staring up at me with his beautiful, wide eyes. At the end of that first session, I spoke directly to him and thanked him for coming, as I told him that I hoped he would always remember that I had had cancer, but that I had always been me, too; that I had always had candy at my house, that I had always loved him, that I had always made an effort to choose happiness. I told him that when I was almost his exact same age, I'd had an aunt who had cancer, too, that she taught me those things and that they have been invaluable to me. ... If there is anything in the world I would hope to  give my nieces and nephews, it would be what my aunt Kathy gave me.

I spoke more about the physicality of the cancer than I did the emotions, in both sessions. That was not my intent. I spoke more about the medical side, the diagnosis to the surgeries and the recoveries that I had planned to. The upside is that I got to look out at a group of people when I said the words "22.5 tumor" and see the shock register. The downside is that I wasn't able to share as many of the emotionally impactful experiences that I had wanted to. ... It takes a long time to give even a brief travel log of the doctors I've seen and what my body has been through. I can't believe that I thought 45 minutes would be hard to fill. ... I didn't even scratch the surface of what I had intended to say.

As I told my brother, Kirk, yesterday afternoon, the beauty of not getting to say what I wanted to say there, is that I can say it here. There, I had a limited timeframe and was going off the spirit of what I should say. Here, I also go off the spirit and feel my way into what I write, but I have unlimited time in which to say/write what I want or need to say. (Read: Go get a snack. This is gonna be a long one.) I know that what I said this afternoon, and how I said it, was impactful to people in the groups. I know this, because I was approached, privately, by several of them afterwards and they spoke to specific points of what I had said (things that were NOT written on my yellow paper, but came out of me anyway). I am grateful for the opportunity speak publicly. I am equally grateful for the opportunity that I have to catalogue things here, for a readership who takes a genuine interest in my life and what I have to say.

So, for those of you who weren't there - and for those of you who were, but didn't get to hear what I had planned to say, because I was so busy talking about what was coming into my mind at the time - I give you what I what I would have said, had I gone off my notes:

When I think back on the last two years, there are four key life lessons that come back to me:

1) Be there. When you know a friend needs you. When you are invited somewhere, be it a birthday party, a Primary program or a friend's house for dinner. Make an effort. Show up. You never know what will matter, what people will remember years from now. Whenever and wherever you can, be there.

2) Show love. In a multitude of ways, because it's important that everyone you love can feel that - and people feel/receive love differently. Say you love them. Show them you love them. Hug them, kiss them. Smother people with love. (I mean, it's infinitely better to smother a person with love than with a pillow, right?)

3) Say thank you. All the time, to everyone. Every chance you get. Because the reality is, there are people helping you or doing things that have a positive impact on your life that you aren't aware of. So, when you recognize kindness, acknowledge it.

4) Celebrate everything. I mean, everything. Whether it's a milestone in your life, a reconnection with an old friend, National Ice Cream Cone Day, a clean scan or the first day of beautiful Fall weather. Recognize the important events/days/people in your life, and celebrate them.

Showing up, showing love, showing gratitude and celebrating life are what it is all about, I have decided. And I intend to do those things for the rest of my life, as well as I can do them.

*Insert travel log story of the last two years of my health history here. (Again, if you don't know said history, refer to June 16th. That post came as close to "summing it up" as I ever have.)*

I've had several conversations in the last few weeks revolving around the world, "vulnerable". Often, that word has a negative connotation. I would like to submit that vulnerability isn't necessarily negative. It can actually be quite the opposite, as it is only through being vulnerable/open that we can be made complete/whole.

With a little reframing of that word, I think it can be seen as an opportunity for growth and healing, rather than a place where you feel powerless and separated from your peers and loved ones.

When you have absolutely no control over an area of your life, you have to learn to acquiesce and give it over. This year, I came to a place in the my life where I knew what I needed - and it was everything. I needed everything. I didn't have job security, in that I was a new hire with a small company and I wasn't sure if a medical leave could be arranged. I didn't have Short Term Disability insurance to bring in any income while I was out of work, and was at risk of losing my health insurance if I couldn't keep my job (which was a very real possibility, considering the size of the company and my short time with them). I didn't have savings. I had no one in my home to talk to in the dark, worried, sleepless hours of night. I did have cancer. I had nothing but a diagnosis and a knowledge of the surgery that  was to come, along with uncertainty in what I would do once I got there. I was vulnerable. In every sense of the word - and I could not get away from that feeling. So I did what I have always done. I wrote.

I wrote and I wrote and I wrote and I wrote - and ultimately asked for help in the one area I knew I most needed it. (See June 16, 2012.) And that help came. My hole was filled. - And I'm not just talking about the Money Pit of Cancer hole. - Multiple holes were filled as a direct result of me recognizing and acknowledging that I needed help, and asking for it.

I reached out with two hands, and hundreds of hands reached back.

Had I not been so open to knowing what I lacked, could I have recognized the blessings when the help came flooding in? I think not.

Vulnerability is hard. It is scary. We want to have a sense of control in our lives, like that control is what will make us happy. I would like to submit my theory that the very act of giving up that control, opening yourself up to feel all of the things you need to feel, will ultimately do more for you than keeping a lid on it ever would have.

I needed help. I asked for it. I got it.

As humans, we all struggle with vulnerability. That mixed emotion of hope and fear is familiar to us all, yet uniquely individual at the same time. Speaking specifically to single adults, we have a vulnerability that our married ward and family members do not have. They cannot understand the particular vulnerability of being single, because they aren't in our circumstances. More specifically, they aren't us - they don't live in our bodies and have our experiences and our feelings. They literally cannot understand us, in the same way that we cannot understand them. But the Lord does understand. He understands all of us, our circumstances, everything we think and everything we feel. I testify that the Atonement covers not only our sins and imperfections, but our infirmities as well. Turn to Him. Use the Atonement. Let yourself be truly vulnerable. Be open. Ask for what you need and TRUST Him - and the people in your life - to give you what you need.

He came that we might have life, and have it more abundantly. (John 10:10) Abundance is perception. (Says the girl  with the 600 sq ft apartment, 11 yr old car - with a tape deck - and little to no money, because she has spent it all on her health. ... Says the girl who also has more love in her life than she knows what to do with.) 

Men are that they might have joy. He came that we might have a more abundant life.

Joy is a choice. Abundance - the awareness, the perception, and our own personal definition thereof - is also a choice.

May we all be a little bit better in recognizing what it is that we do we have, in choosing joy, that we might have a more abundant life. With all my heart, I believe that is what He would want us to do.

September 11

I stopped by the Tempe Healing Field on my way home from work this afternoon.

I love it there.

I mean, I love it! I always love Tempe Town Lake, but there's something about the Healing Field that speaks to my very soul. The flags, alphabetized and organized by building and/or occupation both break my heart and bring me immeasurable peace. The haunting sound of Taps floating over a quiet, still group of people as they pause to pay respect to those for whom it is being played is something that I hope I never forget.

        
The Pentagon section had boots placed at the foot of several of the flags.

Upon closer inspection, the boots were donated by servicemen and women.

(I wonder if the man who wore these boots knew Hawkeye Pierce? ... You know I can't think about the Korean war without thinking about M*A*S*H. And I can't think about M*A*S*H without sighing a deep sigh over my favorite military doctor of all time. ... And yes, before anyone calls the authorities, I do know that Hawkeye is a fictional character. But a girl can dream.)

My favorite moment of the afternoon came as I was walking out of the WTC1 area. There was a group of volunteers, helping someone look for a specific flag/bio. I had overheard them talking, saying "It's W-E-I, not W-I-E..." as they meandered through the W's, looking for a specific flag. I walked right up to a flag on the outside of the field and picked up the bio. Weingard. I held it out, and called, "Are you looking for Scott Jeffrey Weingard? Because, if you are, I've found him." A sweet old man turned and smiled and made his way across the field to the flag representing his friend. The group thanked me. I smiled and said that I was happy to help. As I turned to leave the field, I heard the older gentleman say, under his breath, "I used to babysit him." ... Cue the tears.

May we never forget that day. May we never forget them. ... Ever.