More Than One Kind of Eclipse

Totality.  It really is a misnomer.  Some things are so powerful that even when they totally cover an object, the object can not be obscured.  It can be changed and altered, but it can not be obliterated. 

Totality is something that can not be explained unless you experience it.  Childbirth, seeing the 
Grand Canyon,  being with someone when they die, seeing a bird hatch from an egg, watching whales spout in the ocean, hearing a symphony play a favorite piece of music, walking through a museum and happening upon a favorite painting. 
Words are insufficient.  

But once you do have the experience, you are forever changed. 

We went to see the Total Eclipse.  The Total Experience is life changing.  During the hour and a half dozens of things become apparent.  

1. It takes a while to develop but seems to recede more quickly.  

2.  While the light remains eerie, it is still there.  It doesn't take much to light up the world.  Even a tiny bit is impressive.

3. The sun actually heats the earth efficiently.  Even when it is half-way gone, it becomes much cooler, quickly.

4. During Totality, it is possible to see the edges of the shadow of the moon.  You feel like you are under a bowl of darkness with dusk around you. 
5. Even at the darkest moments many of your friends provide much-needed support and light. 
6. Seeing the stars midday reminds you of what is in plain sight, if only you are in the right place to see them. 

7.  The Corona is much more than a flash of light. It is magical, powerful and the memory won't ever leave you. 

Sort of like having a Cancer Kid.  Parents can't ever explain what it is like. It never goes away. You live in uncertain darkness, not knowing if it will return.  The world looks the same, but there is a chill in the air. 

You are trapped under a bowl with no way to reach the edges and enter the light.  Even when Cancer "left" for good.  Despite how close you are to reaching the edge, they keep moving it.  The worry and long-term side-effects haunt your dreams and your waking moments.  There is no way to ever believe the monster will not return.  It is hiding ready to spring back if only we knew where to look and how to look for it.  

Both are an experience that changes your life forever.  

This is my Cancer Kid taking photos of Totality.  She had already been changed forever.  This was just one more thing and a great thing. 

I've Been Asked Why I Stopped Writing

The longer one hangs out in Cancer World, the more apparent it becomes that it is not a wondrous, happy, healthy, healing place.  It just isn't.  No one exits without deep permanent scarring. The shocking kind that can be hidden, yet still exists under the long sleeves.   

I often wonder if anyone is really interested in watching the Cancer World train wreck day after day, week after week, year after year.  Does my writing help anyone?  Do I do it because 12 years of living here have taken away my ability to write about anything else? Does my constant haranguing make people desensitized to the entire journey?  Cancer World is simply a grind.  An endless plodding grind. 

 One with an ambiguous ending. 

People want happy endings, evidence of great triumph over adversity and life-affirming stories.  The grim reality of Cancer World is there are no happy endings.  Many many children die long horrible deaths.  Some receive reprieves and believe they are done.  Families celebrate "End-of-Treatment," "Cancerversarys" "One Year Off Treatment," "Last Dose of Chemo."  No Hallmark card fits any of these situations. Very few children ever hear the words "Cure."  They are told they continue to be "NED." 

                        No
                        Evidence of
                        Disease

Many are told they are in "Remission"  This is not a word that warms the cockles of our hearts. Simply a reprieve.  Some are short, some are endless.  We all live with the fact next word we will hear is "Relapse or Recurrence."  We know cancer comes back with a vengeance.  There is no way out.  We are here for perpetuity. 

Mary-Elizabeth is currently doing great.  She seems to have settled into her little universe of side-effects.  She handles the GVHD.  She sees the endocrinologist. She manages her hot flashes. She weeps on occasion for the loss of the chance to have a child that carries her particular group of DNA.  She is hyper aware of any changes in her body.  A bump, a sneeze, a strange feeling of concern.  She addresses each of them.  I only try to put my worry in the way back of the fridge and hope it is not growing something disgusting. 

Others have not been so lucky.  We have met so many people over the years and know many many families that have come to the end of the road.  They simply take their children home to die.  

These deaths are painful and agonizing in so many ways. There is no way to describe the veiled anguish of every Mother's post.  They put their best face forward and try to have something happy to say.  

They acknowledge they are counting on God to perform a miracle and have their child with them again. Yet they know, they know all too well, the time of the last smile, the last breath, the last gentle kiss is coming.  The sand is rapidly escaping the hourglass, and there is no way to stop gravity.  The entire process is just overwhelming and excruciating. 

Time does not heal the wound of losing a child.  The pain does not lessen or diminish in few months or few years. This is a gaping, car-swallowing sinkhole kind of wound that never ever heals. The pain of losing a child remains forever.  Life does not get easier, nor does the pain lessen.  

The reason we fight so hard to beat such a demon is that somewhere in our mother souls we know.  We know the depth of the love, the deep well that burrows into the center of the earth and out the other side to connect with the Universe. We know how much we love our children and losing them is not an option.

I ended the blog because I couldn't keep from talking about all the sadness that had been the last few months.  There had been so many losses of such lovely children.  Too many funerals, too many "Joyous Life Celebrations" too many deep sighs choking back tears moments.  

 I don't keep count anymore.  I cringe every time someone celebrates the last dose of Chemo or the end of treatment.  I just hold my breath for them.  I know too much. 

We were at the end-of-treatment to only have the monster return seven years post-remission and 57 months after the last dose of chemo.  What the Hell!?   She is now 5 years post-transplant, and no one is talking cure. No one has said we don't have to worry anymore. No one is saying much.  I think we are all just waiting.

 I certainly am.  

Back and Forth

In and Out
Over and Under
Up and Down
Happy and Sad
Joy and Sadness
Fear and Bravery
Determination and Capitulation
Despair and Faith
Agreeable and Recalcitrant
Healthy and Sick
Life and Dead
Obstreperous and Tractable


This list is much much longer.  The one that we focus on is

Remission and Recurrence or NED and Recurrence.
I thought it was bad that we don't ever get to know if "Recurrence is going to happen or Remission Sticks.  It is such a roller coaster and so much happens in between.   We are close to the four-year Relapse mark.  We have passed the 11th Anniversary of being in Cancer World.  I am finally starting to breath again.  AND THEN.

She gets a stomachache, or she is really tried or her back hurts or there is a small weird bump or her eyes keep getting conjunctivitis or ____________ fill in the blank. I don't like to be a constant complainer or worrier but I at my core I am worried.  I am worried.  That little voice sits on my shoulder and keeps telling me to not let my guard down.  I am not out of the woods.  There is no exit to this genuinely secret glen.

I visit with families that have just entered Cancer World.  I spend time with them imparting secrets about hospital living and Cancer World survival.  I go to kid's funerals.  Those that Cancer destroyed.
On one day, I visited with a mom who's 4-month little girl was born with a tumor the size of an orange and the funeral of a fourteen-year-old.  Needless to say, I had ice cream for dinner.  It was all too much.

Many think I am just crazy to keep visiting and going.  I don't want to be one of those people that walk away from family and friends when it is tough.  I have seen that happen with many.  It is too much most of the time but in reality it is impossible to do it alone.  I could never have done it without those that stepped up and lent a hand and gave at the perfect moment.

Been Dragging My Feet

For reasons unknown, I have not been able to make myself go to Children's Hospital with Wishing Rock Bags.  I have them packed, I have sorted, I have great new People Magazines, but I have not been able to go.  I plan it and then when it is time to leave, I take to my bed to watch Keeping Up With the Kardashians.  Yes, it is bad.  It can be very very bad.  

I had a million and one reasons for not going.  I was tired, I might have the bubonic plague, there is a terror alert, and I am on the top of the list. They won't let me in. The Seattle Guild Society was right, these silly little bags are meaningless. 
Then I had to go.  I made myself go.  I told someone I was going.  I had to do it.  And I did.
I went.  And I remembered why I do this.  I let someone tell me their story.  I listened to them, told them hospital survival secrets and let them know about Midnight Bacon. 

Something about the act of giving back and listening and just being there is so potent. We don't even have to know each other's names we just know.  We know the deep-seated fear, the questioning of everything that might have caused the issue. The wondering "WHY" no one found it earlier. The realization that no matter what you do or what you let them do to your children, it might not be enough. It might not work.  It does not work sometimes.  It might come back. The treatment might bring more cancer and an endless list of long-term side effects.  Knowing the fear never goes away.  Knowing the future is something other's can focus upon because we have just this moment in time.  

Life is so much more than what we had planned and more about what we can do this moment.  It's okay to watch your friend's lives continue.  Plans being made.  It is part of your stepping off the path.  

When I was in highschool, I read a Ray Bradbury short story about a man that returned to Dinosaur times to hunt.  There was required path, and you were only to kill the appointed Dinosaur.  It had been determined it would die soon and not affect the timeline.  This man stepped off the path and upon return he found a small glistening blue butterfly on his boot.  When the doors opened to return him after the hunt,

everything seemed familiar but were slightly off.  It was not the same.  It is never going to be the same.  No matter how hard we try and no matter how hard we pretend and no matter how hard everyone wants it to be the same, We stepped off the path.  

The only thing we can do is help those behind us.  
So.... I will consider myself cured of the plague, be kind to security and keep at it.  Besides, I'm almost caught up with the Kardashians. 

She was Surprised and I was Relieved.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Mary-Elizabeth Sierra Lanham Named to Dean's List at Gonzaga University

SPOKANE, WA (6/12/2015)—Mary-Elizabeth Sierra Lanham, a resident of Lynnwood, WA has earned placement on the Gonzaga University Dean's List for Spring semester 2015. Students must earn a 3.5 to 3.69 grade-point average to be listed.

Gonzaga University is a humanistic, private Catholic University providing a Jesuit education to more than 7,500 students. Situated along the Spokane River near downtown Spokane, Wash., Gonzaga is routinely recognized among the West’s best comprehensive regional universities. Gonzaga offers 75 fields of study, 25 master’s degrees, a doctorate in leadership studies, and a Juris Doctor degree through its School of Law.

Among her circle of friends, this is not such a huge thing.  It is something that kids do on a pretty regular basis.  She has always been a good student and sometimes even amazing.  But it is not easy and it is something she works so hard at doing. 

Every grade, every point, every single test and quiz and report is the result of hours of study and preparation.  Radiation and Methotrexate into her spinal fluid have robbed her of many things we take for granted.  She can't memorize.  She can't keep something in her short term memory if her life depended on it.  All those people that memorize, drop the info on the page and then forget have a skill she no longer possesses.  She has to do an extended solitary process of making sure she understands and learns the material.  

She does not believe she made the Deans list and even argued with the Registrar about the posting.  

I have watched her spend every bit of her energy on being a good student.  Lots of her fun time in life was spent in the hospital and then studying or getting ready to study.  

I think back to the first time I saw the 12 inch lead door closed her into the Radiation Suite.  I knew the damaging radiation was destroying more than elusive cancer cells.  I have come to appreciate how much was destroyed.  I think it is going to be okay.  It just made the hill higher, slicker, rockier, and more difficult.   

It didn't make it impossible. 

Perception and Reality

She looks Great!

Who would ever know she had Leukemia.

Boy treatment must have been very successful.

How could you ever guess she has had 349 doses of chemo therapy?

We hear this all the time.  When the kids really look green and have no hair and have a tube sticking out of their noses, people know. 

It is the times when the hair comes back, maintenance begins and the less obvious effects are there but only if you know where and what to look for.  (never end a sentence with a preposition.)  If you are in the know, you can tell.  The small 1/8th scar at the neck, the back of the arm stretch marks only from massive prednison.  Chipmunk cheeks. The constant use of purell

.  The fear of salad bars. The squirming at the sight of the stagnant pool of water holding the ice cream scoops between servings.  

So much is not visible.  They have color in their cheeks, cute curly hair, a smile that does not quit. 
There is a curious inner strength and wise visage.  It masks the loss of brain matter, fertility, thyroid function, heart health, lung capacity,  hip, knee, and shoulder joints.  No one sees the places where future cancer lurks waiting to show itself.   

Everything is not what they seem.

Many friends and acquaintances knew we were spending time at the NCAA tournament.  Gonzaga played North Dakota State.  Gonzaga really struggled.  North Dakota State was tall, and powerful and could shoot like crazy.  Not only did they shoot, they sunk so many balls without touching the rim, I worried.   It was sort of crazy.  They pushed and went ahead on more than one occasion.  Gonzaga did not pull away, ever, for very far.  I was not willing to believe they were going to win until the the last 36 seconds.  

I talked with a friend this morning and I said it was hard game to watch.  "But they won by 10 points."

It made me think.  Many of our Cancer Kids "look great".  Have hair.  Have color in their cheeks. Are smiling.  Are back in school. College.  Playing sports, in the orchestra.   But.... it has come at a cost.  A huge emotion, physical and future cost.  Costs we can't even calculate as we spend time sitting in the waiting room for the next blood draw, the next LP, the next scan.  

It is always a good idea to step back, and maybe ask a follow up question. Take a moment to not assume everything is as it seems.  

Here is hoping to continued good health AND a better game tomorrow night. 

Dear Mary-Elizabeth

I'm  not sure how much you know about what I have been through.  I think you guess a lot but have tried to keep focused on your journey.  As you know WE had cancer.  WE had a relapse. WE had a Double Cord Blood Transplant.  But you have returned to your life and I am sort of waiting for mine to be found again. 

 I think I have been looking in all the wrong places.  It is such a weird thing to loose your way when  you are not ready to be done with your working life.  It just seems unreal. I am not ready to step back from the world just yet.  I still feel 18 and have lots to offer.  I am just wiser than I used to be.  I have seem more, felt more and lost more.  This next part needs to be good because, let's face it, I am a bit more than middle-aged. 

This last week I have had a chance to re-connect with some friends.  They say you can see yourself most clearly in the eyes of others.  It is always good to see a positive reflections.  And to be honest, I don't think it was just the good wine we drank.

I think I might have to turn back a bit to law. To figure out a way to use my specialized skill set but not be eaten alive.  I have realized that to do the Family Law piece the way I did it, I took on the pain of the family.  It was woven into my being,  I don't have that capacity any more.  My own pain and worry have filled that part of my being.  

Okay, let me see if I can figure that out.... 

Making Memories after Diagnosis

 There is a certain urgency when a child has been diagnosed.  We rush to do so many things. Memories have to be made and made NOW. 

What if these are the last of the memories? What if we don't survive long enough to go on our Make-A-Wish?  What if there is no time for  high school and college and marriage and the first job and the first car and the first broken heart?  What if? It is a panic that strikes the heart of each and every parent, grandparent, relatives and friends.  We have to make memories NOW.  We have to take advantage of this time, this moment, this......
everything. 

Well, take it from an expert, there are plenty of memories being made each and every moment.  Each day, each blood draw, each visit from the Child Life, Social Worker, Ukulele Guy.  Now granted not all the memories are good.  Treatment will erase many memories, but there will be memories. They will be a different kind and those that share them will be altered by the events. But  often there are bits and pieces of good memories.   

We are altered to our very core.  On a cellular level.  When your child faces amputation, total body radiation, red, blue, yellow chemo, and endless invasive procedures, bone marrow transplants,  it has to change you.  As you watch people you love perish and their loved ones writhe in  pain for moments, and hours and months and years, it is hard not to be transformed. 

Human beings are made up by the bits and pieces of who we are and what we learn and experience in life. We absorb things every day. We also are a product of what we remember.  Often we are a bit like Kimchi and need to sit about and wait until we are done.  But eventually there is a good end product.

The moment we hear the words "Your Child Has ____________________ we begin to incorporate the new "Memories" into who we are and will become.  

 It is a good reminder that we should value, treasure and work on this every single day....  

Transformative Journeys

Itzhak Perlman used two canes to plop into his seat. He took a very long time to reach the stage.  Polio took his mobility but not his genius.  
He sat down and the first violinist handed him a century's old Stradivarius. He alerted the orchestra and they began to play.  A bit of Bach.  If you closed your eyes, you could see the ball room and the big dresses and the smokey candles.  We were transformed for those few minutes to a another world. A world we dream about but really would not want to inhabit.  It was cold and hard and children died of simple colds. Women died in childbirth and only the rich had enough to eat.  Hard hard world. 

I am hoping sometime in the future, people will listen to the music of John Williams and remember a time when children were hooked up to machines and poisoned
to try and cure them of Cancer. They will look back at this time and shake their heads and wonder how baffled we must have been. How hard it must have been for us to put our children in the hands of such barbaric spells and cures in the name of science and more life.  We look at the machines and the labs and endless tests and hope for healing.  This is the best we have "for now".  

When you are in the middle of Cancer World you can not have a breakthrough come fast enough.  It can not come with enough alacrity. The entire process seems to drag on forever.  It is hard to see how far we have come because we are in the middle of it. It is hard to see that progress is being made, at all.  We only see that our children are suffering and we are not able to do anything about it.  

Today is the day Pearl Anne and Ellie Mae's life giving stem cells were infused into Mary-Elizabeth.  It was three years ago.  36 months, 156 weeks, 1093 days, 26,236 hours, 1,564,160 minutes.  In some ways, it has slipped by with lighting speed.  In others, it seems likes time has stopped.  In it's tracks.  

I realize when I let myself look back, I see we have in fact been on a prolonged trek. But like the long walk on crutches to the stage for Itzhak on the polio stricken limbs. There has been progress, there has been triumph. There has been an ability to move forward.  It has not been in vain. 

The Downside of Too Much Information in Cancer World

As everyone can agree.  I am on the computer and writing way too much.  I embraced this blog as a way to put the information about ME out there in 2004.  It all started before diagnosis.  I became very aware that she could listen to me talking on the phone.  I could not stand to tell the story time and time again.   

Remember when we talked on the phone?  

Well in the past ten years many bloggers have joined me.  Lots of parents and patients added their stories to the web.  Then came Caring Bridge.  A blog site dedicated to patients and their families.  Then Facebook exploded and support groups showed up.  

In my case the group is Momcology.  Secret handshake, passwords, have to prove you are one of us, initiation and vocabulary test before you can join.  You know the sort of site.  (Never pass up a chance to support this effort.)

With every good thing, there is a downside.  This explosion of sites and access and ways to interact has intensified the knowledge of how bad Childhood Cancer really is a lot of the time.  We know on some level it the worst of all worlds but HIIPA has made it harder to find out what happened to someone you spent weeks with in the hospital.  If you were in such a state you failed to get a good contact number, people just disappear.  It leaves you in a place where you let yourself believe they survived. 

It is no longer possible to be that naive.  More and more the relapses, life ending infections and complications, the impending deaths of precious lives is part of every day. Parents  put their desperate pleas to the universe in a post along with a small picture of their most valued and irreplaceable child. 

Another pin prick, more blood drips, more sadness pools at  our feet.  I am not suggesting they should not share.  I know the need to say the words and let the power of those fears dissipate if only for a bit.  A chance to reach out and find others in the same dense fog. This is a dark, dank lonely and sad place.  Cancer World is a place of despair and frustration and fear. We are here and we are here together,  our group, our tribe, our fellow travelers. We understand what they are feeling.  We know the steps they take. We know that bottomless fear and despair of lack of solutions.  We know we are dumping poison and radiating our children to as close death as possible in hope of bringing them back.  Hoping they can get back to "NORMAL".  

Some parents are sad, some are angry, some curse God, some plan the destruction of the National Institute of Health. Some raise money by shaving off their hair, some walk, some run, some have auctions and events.  You absolutly have to do something. This kind of fear and despair has to vent out of the pressure cooker that is Childhood Cancer.  I took on Chef Walter at Seattle Children's Hospital for failing to have anything to feed my daughter during her long stay.  (Check out 
www.facebook.com/BetterFoodPleaseAtSeattleChildrensHospital)  

This week I have learned of three relapses and four deaths.  I have read the agony and cries of mothers who are living with the loss of their children as time keeps marching forgetting them. I have learned of families being sent home because there is nothing left to do.  I have discovered, with more frequency, the term "Comfort Chemo". 

So... Where does all this leave me.  I can't fix it. I couldn't even shame Seattle Children's into serving something more than unwashed iceberg lettuce, frozen toasted cheese sandwiches and hot dogs.  

(Photo Stolen from Liz Selleck)

But I guess I can take a lesson from our children.

Don't stop. 
Don't give up. 

 Even when they say there is nothing left to do but Comfort Chemo.  

Journey Reality

so.... We are creeping up on the 3rd birthday of Pearl Anne.  She has been stepping up and working hard to be a grown-up immune system.  She did need some help and some re-vaccination had to be done.  Some times when you are two, you are so busy with life and saying "NO" that you forget to produce titters when you are given a little bit of a bad virus and are supposed to get to work. 

Anyway last week was a crazy, stressful and very tiring.  I, for one, am out of shape in the going to a million appointments at several hospital institutions in short order.  But we did it.  We have been excused from next year's appointment and are not expected back for the week-long trudge until 2017.  A very good thing.

So I managed to get myself pretty worked up and freaked out over the course of the week.  Mary-E looks great but then she did the first time Leukemia creeped into our lives.  She was in perfect health when I sent her off to college when she relapsed.  I know that with every blood draw, every bruise, every hair that falls, it could be a sign and not a good sign.  

Well this time what you see is what you get.  Thankfully.  

I asked Paul Carpenter (our favorite Aussie Bone Marrow Doctor) when I could stop worrying.  He asked Mary-E what she wanted to hear.  I said I wanted to hear the truth.  His reply to me was  "She is fine for now.  You will always have a reason to worry." 

That was not the answer I wanted.  I wanted him to say we were done. They had fixed her and we were released.  Instead, we have just been transferred from Pediatric Bone Marrow Transplant Service to the Adult. She will be closely followed for the rest of her life.  They are watching and waiting for something to appear, the next thing to be handled.  This journey is just going at different speed. It is not over. 

I, like a million families of children struck by cancer, want it to be over.....  Really Really Really OVER.  It is never over.  It is never ever really over. We don't get to go back to the time before cancer. I know this but there are moments I want to believe it is not the case.  

I think it is sort of like giving birth.  The pain of the actual birth recedes with time and more children are born.  So.... you ask. 24 months until the next big appointment. There will be some small check-ins.  She is essentially done.  But in reality she is not done.  She is done for NOW.  I wanted her to be done done.  I wanted to put away that knot in my stomach. I wanted to not wake at 3 a.m. in the morning with a start.  A deep chill of a horrifying dream. Over, I want it to be over.  

I am working on gathering the strength to go forward and constantly prepare for battle.  Even it is just by taking a few deep breaths.  I need to re-charge somehow.  One step, One moment. One thing at a time. 

Best use of my energy.  Putting away Christmas...... with a label maker as part of the process.  

Year Three Evaluation....

There is a secret Facebook Group known as Momcology.  Lots of sub-pages for the different kinds of Childhood Cancer, age groups, locations etc.  Lots and lots of Mom's.  It is a wonderful support group where things are said that are not said in public.  

We are often so caught up in our own room of Cancer World we don't know much about other rooms.  Sarcoma Rooms,Lymphomas, Wilms, AML, ALL, Brain Tumors.... the list is pretty long.   We all learn from each other.  We learn about the way kids are diagnosed, the treatment and the follow-ups.  We learn that some kids have to have a prosthesis eye and they out grow it. We learn Brain Tumor's are bad.  We learn where cancers spread. We learn more than we ever wanted to know. 

But most of all it is a place for the quiet despair and agony of the moms. Moms with traumatized children, dying children, relapsing children. Children with huge struggles from treatment and the lingering after affects.  Teenagers, tiny babies and young adults.  We watch and learn and do what we can to support each other. 

One thing I have gleaned from months and now years of spending time on Momcology is that everyone has "follow-up" appointments. Most Moms deal with something called Scanziety.  It is a little known disorder not yet recognized by the medical community but it is real and lives in the hearts of these strongest of strong women.   They have to face sending their children through MRI, PET and CT scanners at varying intervals. The doctors are looking for signs of wayward cancer.  As the day approaches, the intensity of the Scanziety increases. The tension and fear and feelings of total despair is ever present.  
I don't want to belittle this fear but this week, I am wishing Meb had such a simple follow-up.  A scan, a result, a conference and then a new plan or a sigh of relief and a new date for the next scan.  

Oh, No Not for us. 

 It is a week long process of multiple tests and exams and evaluations.  A week of it.  Blood draws, close physical evaluations, Pulmonary Function tests, two separate eye exams, Dermatology, Hematology, 
gynecology,  two dental exams, PT, and then Vaccinations.  All through the process everyone is on high alert and holding their breath.  What will the test say? When will it all come back? Can they see anything?  Is something hiding out?

It is the same sort of follow-up anxiety but packaged in another way.

 I have come to believe that we will have bad news.  I am just conditioned for that process.  Today Dr. Balter (first of two eye doctors) came out of the exam room and came in my direction.  My heart stopped.  Dead.  I asked him what was wrong and he laughed.  and then said "I totally understand why you would react with so much anxiety. I was the one that started this process.  But she looks great." (He was the doctor that first discovered something was wrong with her in 2004.)

I know she looks great. I know she feels great.  I know she is almost 3 years out of transplant. She is back in school. She is off 99% of her meds. She may not have to go back for this evaluatoin again for 3 years. But  I also know how close leukemia and secondary cancer's hover.  I can say it all the time that things are fine but I also know that when ever we put her under this many thousand's of dollars of tests, something might rear its scary head.   

It happened before.  

So here I sit.  Day 1 of 5 and wonder and wait and try not to work myself into too much of a tizzy.  But as I fail to keep calm, I am not the only one. I am not the only Mom wondering and wanting to know if everything will be okay.  

Day Two Tomorrow:  Derm, Ophthalmology. 

I can do this. We all can do this.  We can survive a simple "Follow-up". 

Life Changing Moments

I spent some time in the Central Valley.  A place we all know of, but few visit.  It is where our food comes from. Lots of our food.  Every square inch of the valley is producing lots and lots of food.  Who knew grapes were left on the vine to dry and become raisins?  They cut the canes and let them sit for a while and shrivel.  Love seeing "3 avocados for $1.25".  Oranges on the trees, yards with fruit trees, all orange and yummy this time of year.  Need some lemons, walk around the block and help a tree be unburdened a bit.

The Valley is flat and stretches for miles.  It is dusty and windy but a bit of rain fell.  When the wind shifts there is the odor of cows being raised too close together.  It is a lot like much of rural/agricultural America.  Lots of little towns, some, like Visalia have a real down town.  Walmart is there but kept on the edges.  It is California in some ways: In-n-Out Burger, Orange Trees, crazy drivers.  It is also sort of Southern Idaho: Big Pick-ups, large fields needing to be harvested, great Mexican Restaurants, the babble of Spanish.  

Look west and the Coastal Range is in view. Then, 50 miles East, the beginning of the Sierra Mountains.  They spring up from the Valley floor.  A bit of foothill action but when you start to climb, you climb fast.  Up, Up, 1000 feet, 2000, 3000, 5ooo.....Weird trees cover the sides of  the mountains. Some deciduous trees, mostly big pines and scrub of some sort. 

 Then there are the rocks, big rocks.  The kind that could down a Seattle ferry if it dropped on it.  Big.  Did I mention big.  Huge, massive

• colossalstar
• enormousstar
• extensivestar
• gargantuanstar
• giantstar
• giganticstar
• greatstar
• humongousstar

• immensestar
• magnificentstar
• mammothstar
• massivestar
• monstrousstar
• monumentalstar
• toweringstar
• tremendousstar

• vaststar
• behemothicstar
• bulkystar
• cyclopeanstar
• elephantinestar
• grossstar
• immeasurablestar
• jumbostar

• leviathanstar
• lustystar
• mightystar
• mondostar
• monsterstar
• mountainousstar
• outsizestar
• oversizestar

• planetarystar
• prodigiousstar
• stupendousstar
• titanicstar
• wallopingstar
• 
  
• whoppingstar

 rocks..... get my drift.  So You climb, you drive along and then you enter the valley through a very long, dug by hand tunnel.  This is what you see

It is simply magical. I don't know what to even say.  I have seen the pictures.  I simply was not prepared.  I got out of the car and I just sat there with a dropped jaw.  I was sort of like the first time I saw the Grand Canyon, the Leaning Tower, Devil's Tower, the Pacific Ocean, a whale, a hummingbird in the snow.  

We all talk about God and Creation and the Big Bang and the Universe. We are amazed how fast an e-mail can travel or simply the wonder of electricity.  But this. This place is a reminder that good and beautiful things take a long time.  They can not be rushed or pushed or even nudged along. 

This special place was made with the gift of time. First the mountains pushed way way up, the water brought them down and a valley was born.  The world turned cold, the glaciers filled the valley and then moved the rocks with them.  Left them as the glacier moved and worked and pushed into the central valley.    

I have no words, just a reminder that important things take time. A lesson I need to learn as we approach year three of the transplant.