Nest #13

We're settling in to our latest nest.  The thirteenth since we married almost 31 years ago.

Math whizzes know we average one place every 2.4 years.  Actually, if you remove the home up north in Augusta where we lived from 1993 to 2005 it's closer to a new place every year and a half.

I'm guessing a box or two maybe may have made most of the moves and never opened.  Hopefully there aren't any unopened jars of food in there!

There are six cities we've called home through the years.

Osceola, Iowa (pronounce OC ola); Pierre, South Dakota (pronounce pier); Janesville, Wisconsin; Augusta, Wisconsin; Indianapolis, Indiana; and Verona, Wisconsin.

It's our third attempt at home ownership.   I say attempt since we didn't live out our days in either of the first two, maybe the process didn't "take."

Our latest home is right-sized for some nest with no little ones running around.  Two floors and a basement (for my somewhat storm-phobic spouse) with a deck and no lawn mowing or exterior care responsibilities!  Yay!

We're coming through the Bell Curve of home sizes.  The first home we bought was small, around 1,500 square feet plus a nice unfinished basement.  The second was larger and we made it bigger until it was 3,000 square feet.  This one weighs in at just under 1,500 square feet.

A little larger than the place we moved our of, but no so big we feel compelled to fill it with more stuff.

On a quiet street in what seems (so far) to be a calm neighborhood, it feels like a good match for this stage of life.  I don't think it's what we'd call the end-stage of life, but certainly closer to it than the start.

It will take a little time to adapt to a new place and different spaces.  We'll be back to sharing a bathroom again, so this could take a little time to figure out.  Our schedules differ enough, I'm usually long-gone before its time for the hair curler to be plugged in.

Other than preferring to have a radio and a clock in the bathroom, I'm electricity free when it comes to early day activities.  Of course, the lights are on - but I'm not counting those at the moment.

Home Ownership means we can paint our own walls - something my spouse finds to be very important.  It also means picking up the phone to call a "guy" when something doesn't work will no longer be included in our monthly payment.

No one lives on the floor above or the floor below.  We have an adjoining home to ours - but it's all quiet from there.

You might say all the branches aren't yet in place for the latest nest - it isn't even feathered yet.

Going Forward

Forward

We’re back now from hearing the news.

It was not cancer as we were told earlier.

Our sighs of relief released our hearts from weeks of relentless fear and worry.

Although some concerns were shared and a treatment plan was spelled out, we can breathe.

Again.

No parents probably were ever so lucky.

Earlier in the week, thoughts of care giving were a concern.

Would he choose to move back in with us if the news came back unfavorably?

He’s 25.

That would have been awkward. For him. For us.

But we would have done it. Anything he needed.

He’s our kid.

As the treatment plan was spelled out , we carefully listened.

To the warning.

“Not out of the woods completely” the doctor said. We heard her.

Every word we heard loud and clear.

More visits, more monitoring and diligent watch on the numbers.

Anything. Tell us what we need to do to keep the numbers down. Please.

He’s on the edge. No teetering allowed.

We can support his efforts. His watch. It really is him and not us at all.

But is it really just him? I think it’s all of us.

If we’re all in the same boat together it will come out ok.

He can’t be left to float alone out in the open water.

The doctor has tossed him a life preserver. 

Now we all will pull him back to shore.

To a safe place.

When we left the doctor’s office our conversation was lighter.

More positive

We made plans for Thanksgiving and Christmas shopping in Milwaukee!

His father, his brother, Mark and me. The four of us.

Together.

Rhonda

Good News!

It's been a long two weeks before we could drive to Indy to join Mark for the appointment with the cancer doctor.

During the wait, it's virtually impossible to imagine or think about the best-case scenarios.  That leads to sleepless nights and working hours with moments of daydreams.

Fortunately, we didn't have a long wait in the doctor's office.

The doctor asked our son a couple questions, then shared what they found in the dozens of tests.

Bottom line, he doesn't have cancer.

We give thanks to God for such a diagnosis.

There are still things wrong and reasons he isn't feeling in the best of shape.  For that, another doctor will be consulted.

After the appointment, we had a fairly somber celebration dinner.

Many, many families don't get the positive news we did.  Like you, we have friends facing long and grueling battles with a deadly killer.

We pray for them as we continue to pray for Mark.  Prayers for the medical team still looking for the cause of the problem and prayers of thanks he can disable life's pause button.

We're glad to see that for us this time, life does go on.

David

Still Waiting....

We’re still anxious to find out what the diagnosis is.  

Tidbits of news have been passed onto us…the parents.  

“The doctor called. She said my bloodwork came back normal.”  

“Normal?” How exactly can one be rushed into a bone marrow biopsy and aspiration and then the blood remains in a normal state is beyond me.  

Isn’t there something wrong here?  

I’m sorry, but the kid looks sick. I’m his mom. I know when he’s sick.  

He’s sick.  

With something.  

I want to shout at someone “ HEY! This is my kid! Figure it out so we can go back to our lives!”  

But I don’t think I get to do that.  

On Friday, we drive back down to Indianapolis.  

We will sit across from the doctor as she tells us just what she has determined to be the problem.  

Then we’ll listen to the treatment plan.  

“It’s the normal treatment for this kind of illness” she’ll probably  say.  

She’ll of course will have said this many times to parents…to their kids.  

They may decide they need to inject my son with toxins that could make him feel sicker than he has been in his life.  

He might cry. I will cry.  

For him I will cry when I wake in the morning , while washing  dishes,  doing laundry and in the darkest hours of night. There may be times when I weep and ask God for mercy on my child. For us.  

We have lost our normal. 

The C word

This is the first in an occasional blog by Rhonda and David - parents of Mark with thoughts and comments about his health and ways we're trying to deal with it.

Learning that our son has something in his body that shouldn't be there - an alien invader - made me think.  Four years ago my side of the family had been untouched by the nasty C.

Then in late 2011 or early 2012, Dad said he was diagnosed with a form of leukemia.  He died in June.  Mom died in June 2015 of pancreatic cancer.  Now, our son is facing it.

It made me think about a lot of things.

As a sports fan I thought about ESPN.  Really.  They created a sports awards programs more than 20 years ago called the ESPYs.  In its second year, the show honored Coach Jim Valvano with the Arthur Ashe Courage Award and he delivered one of the most memorable speeches of recent vintage.

In 2014, one of ESPN's own, anchor Stuart Scott received the same award for his fight that claimed his life in 2015.  I've highlighted a couple of special sentences from a portion of his speech:

I listened to what Jim Valvano said 21 years ago. The most poignant seven words ever uttered in any speech anywhere. “Don’t give up, don’t ever give up”. Those great people didn’t. Coach Valvano didn’t. So, to be honored with this, I now have a responsibility to also not ever give up.

I’m not special. I just listened to what the man said. I listened to all that he said, everything that he asked of us. And that’s to build the V Foundation. And – and let me tell you, man, it works. I’m talking tangible benefits. You saw me in that clinical trial. Now, here’s a thing about that. Coach Valvano’s words 21 years ago helping me and thousands of people like me, right now, direct benefits, that’s why all of this, why we’re here tonight, that’s why it’s so important. I also realized something else recently. You heard me kind of allude to it in the piece. I said, “I’m not losing. I’m still here, I’m fighting. I’m not losing.” But I’ve gotta amend that. When you die, that does not mean that you lose to cancer. You beat cancer by how you live, why you live and in the manner in which you live.”

So, live. Live. Fight like hell. And when you get too tired to fight then lay down and rest and let somebody else fight for you. That’s also very, very important. I can’t do this “don’t give up” thing all by myself. I’ve got thousands of people on Twitter and on the streets who encourage me.

Mark's fight will be like that, I suspect.  He'll fight and work and do all he can.  But it's more than him. I take comfort in knowing the Lord is with him, providing strength and comfort and peace during a tough time.  And comfort in the many encouragers around Mark who will support him in their own way along every step.

We'll know about the direction of this journey.  Today is another in series of medical procedures to determine what's next.   

So, life goes on.

David

Proud to be His Parents

I’m one of the lucky moms.

I get a phone call nearly every day around 3 p.m.

It’s my kid in Indianapolis who just calls to “check in,” you know, to make sure I’m okay.

I’ll admit that some days I have taken his calls for granted. I can’t count the number of times I’ve said to my husband: “Can you get that? It’s Mark. I have nothing new to say.”

I should feel fortunate to receive a call every day. I know that, and yet I’m still selfish. Sometimes I just don’t feel like talking . . . or trying to find my phone in my purse . . . yet again . . . before the ringing stops.  

Yesterday I had a different kind of call . . . of the WAKE UP variety.

Our 25-year-old son had just been diagnosed with lymphoma.

Our 25-year-old son has tumors throughout his body.

Our 25-year-old son has an enlarged spleen and is so exhausted he can hardly get through each day.

Did you catch that our son is 25?

He hasn’t been feeling well for several months. We’ve known. He has been to many doctors. He’s had all kinds of tests and procedures, but his nameless affliction persisted.

For far too long I’ve been hearing: “I’m just so tired.” “I just don’t feel well.” “I can hardly eat.” “I just want to sleep.” “My body hurts.” I was answering the phone with “How are you feeling?” rather than “Hello.”

A few years back our son started having horrendous headaches. Then came the blackouts followed by more headaches. We thought Mark might have to drop out of college. He stuck it out.  He made it through. He is now successfully employed in a career he enjoys.

He’s made us very proud.

Remember, I’m the Mom here. I’m entitled to say things like that.

Even with the headaches hammering him each day, Mark got into his chosen field, starting on the bottom rung of a large insurance company in the call center. He has moved up quickly. Now, he’s in management and the youngest ever hired into his current position.  

What about that wouldn’t make any parent proud?

We brag about Mark and his accomplishments constantly. Yep, I think I have become one of “those” moms.  And, nope, I’m not going to apologize for it.

But now . . . Cancer!

Like a lot of couples married 30 years, my husband and I have faced some battles . . . but we’ve fought side by side — and won.

It’s not in our family’s DNA to give up. Cancer won’t change that.

Several family members, from both sides of our marriage certificate, have succumbed to cancer — one just eight weeks ago.

But WE WILL NOT LET this ugly beast take our son.

Cancer is in for the fight of a lifetime.

And WE WILL WIN.

Mark is scheduled for a bone marrow biopsy on Friday afternoon — ironically, at 3 p.m.

So, no call from the kid that day.

Lucky mom that I am, I won’t need a phone to talk to our son.

I’ll be standing right next to him.

Rhonda

This is the first in an occasional blog by Rhonda and David - parents of Mark with thoughts and comments about his health and ways we're trying to deal with it.