Bring On The Cookie Dough.

TheBusiness of Life is about celebrating birthdays… the way you’d like to.

Dad’s sick.

Drama. Drama.

Stress. Stress. Stress.

Oh shit and then it’s my birthday.

4-6″ of snow later, I contemplate shoveling my driveway or… to make oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

For the dough of course.

“I’ll make it for the kids” I tell myself.  A treat on a day when school is canceled, cooped up inside and movie-ed out.

But it’s for the dough.

For me.

It’s my particular brand of crack — screw cake– especially oatmeal chocolate chip.

I’ve also decided to postpon my birthday, my real- celebrate the hell out of it- birthday for 6 mos.  I figure post-40, and given the past month, I’m allowed.  So mark yer calendars for July 21st and clear out the drunk tanks.

Hey… looky here, the dough’s ready.

Oh Happy Birthday to me.

And because it’s my birthday, here’s the song I like to rock to on my big (but not official) day.

Good Grief. “Always Look at the Bright Side of Life” (Music LeBetsy)

Tibetan Prayer Flags. Joyful displays of hope. (Photo courtesy of wikimedia.org)

When dealing with the crappy side of The BusinessofLife, it is best to try to look for the bright side. Or at least try to laugh.

Back from California. Back from seeing my father.

There is no easy way to say this, but my father’s life is coming to an end. We’ve stopped all treatment, focusing on letting his last remaining days be as comfortable as possible, someplace where he’s close to my Mom.  There is no way around it but it sucks. Sucks. Sucks. Sucks.

Totally sucks.

I’ve spent the better part of the last week and a half digesting this. Unable to do anything but barest of bare minimums and I’ve been missing apts, swimming classes, not returning phone calls, and most obviously to you, not blogging. I wish I was the type in crisis to hunker down and work, or to not eat and lose the weight I seem to not be able to get rid of (it’s happened in the past so I’m, like, “what the HELL?!?!”) but I’m like a zombie. Imagining myself as a slow moving slow, possibly moaning, probably un-showered, and with a blank stare on my face, zombie.

Hot.

I’ve gone through the process of grieving before. Usually I keep it together, stop eating (oh hell-o dear, sweet size 2 pants!) and then FREAK when I see something that reminds me of that person: scarf, wine, a meal, a place.

This seems to be different. I’m handling it different. Maybe because my father is still alive and is in the process of dying. Perhaps the confusion is there.  I don’t know.

But I’m grateful to have seen him and to be with him and my mother. A hug. A kiss.  A smile.  These are treasures that I’m packing away forever.

I’m spending this week looking for The Bright Side. Of Life.

“Cause living doesn’t stop.

Joy can be found.

Ahh and this somehow seems fitting… I’ve been humming “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” from Monty Python’s “Life of Brian”…

Advocacy.

This awesome picture is courtesy Devon Advocacy

The Business of Life is sometimes about sticking up for yourself.

Still in California. Still at the hospital. Still hanging out with Dad, post-brain surgery.

What LeBetsy is finding out, from my experience with my Dad, both post-surgery and prior with his cancer treatment, is that you much always be on.  On the case I mean. Making sure you are on top of the needs.

My father treatment here at UCI Medical Center has been pretty outstanding. Phenomenal in fact. He’s been with them, with various doctors and treatments from the beginning, almost from the first moment the melanoma was discovered.

From surgery to surgery, radiation to chemotherapy my Mom has been running the gamut, since we’ve been here my sister and  I’ve been trying my best to help. And it has been really trying.

As I tweeted and FB’ed, the biggest lesson learned at my Dad’s bedside is that one must firmly advocate for their (or in this case a loved one’s) well-being. The moment you assume that someone (Drs. in this case) knows what’s best, is the moment you cede control of your destiny.  I bet it also, looking back, probably the moment that most things go to hell in a hand-basket for people.

Not that we stopped being Dad’s advocate, it’s that you have to be almost fanatical about it. Ask all the questions, follow-up always, confirm constantly.  Never relent.

It’s exhausting.  And I’m only a visitor here.

My mom’s been tirelessly and fanatically advocating for my father for over 2 years.

Recently we had one small episode where we assumed his neuro team had informed his oncologist about the brain surgery. Decisions were being made and we assumed (again, that word!) that these included input from his fabulous oncologist.

We were wrong.

No blame, Dad’s surgery was 2 days after Christmas.  Xmas- New Year’s is a crazy time. And things fall through the crack– like my father’s cancer dr being informed.  It’s all been fixed.  Dad’s in the right place and being monitored by Neuro, cancer and endronoligists — which is exactly what we want.

But I learned a valuable lesson.

You are you’re own best advocate. Ask the dumb questions, assume nothing and always follow-up.

For you and your family.

Good Morning Dad.

A part of The Business of Life is seeing your parents through the decline…

A week ago my Dad had a tumor the size of a tangarine taken out of his brain.

51 stitches and…

a 7+ hour  New Year’s Day plane flight later…

We find ourselves look at our father in a new light.

As a parent.

The brain is an amazing thing.  I mean they took out a tangerine from his frontal lobe.  I honestly didn’t know what to expect.  Would he recognize me?  Would he be conscious? Alive?  Should I pack my trusty black dress in case?   Should I have plan B — at least sketched out in broad strokes — if I have to stay longer?

A week? What about a month?

I’ve gone to bed (or not) with these visions swimming in my head, only to know that my mother probably has the echos of much worse.  And that keeps me up even longer. Being 3 thousand miles away the distance only heightens it.  A picture is a thousand words, but sometimes being in the presence of someone so much can go unspoken. You can assess them, feel the energy of the them and — especially with someone like your Mom (or at least my Mom) — know pretty instantaneously where she stands.

Having arrived at John Wayne Airport (I know, I know, the name cracks me up everytime) there I matched up with my sister, who’d arrived earlier from the state of Washington.

And so it began.

3 Days later, here’s what I know, so far:

• Life is short;
• Dad’s totally alert;
• He’s speaking;
• He can read almost everything;
• But expressing thoughts, the words, are hard;
• He’s improving at an amazing clip;
• The brain really can bounce back from some really horrendous things;
• The brain doesn’t bounce RIGHT back. Not really.
• Time is both your friend and your enemy. You wait for both good news and bad with equal apprehension;
• I have a feeling I’ll be back in California again. Sooner or later than I think. If that makes sense.
• My Mom is a warrior. She’s a force. Full of positive, happy and super-focus energy.

So all the kings horses and all the kings men are making the journey of trying to put Humpty Dumpty back together again,  as best we can, after the fall.

I really hate saying it like that … but it’s the truth.