Do you see what I see?

Photo not by me.

So, I’m sitting in a coffee shop in downtown Portsmouth (NH for you 02871ers) right now...it’s 4:15, just dark. This town is the picture of New England Christmas and from my seat by the window, not only is there a view of the huge pine tree all lit up at the town center (star at the top and all), but what I’m observing of the passersby can only be characterized as “ holiday hustle and bustle.” Lots of scarves, lots of shopping bags slung over shoulders, giant wreaths with large white bulbs woven through their greenery hanging on lampposts. In the stream of headlights moving down this main strip, I can see the snow flurries that have been falling all day. (Does the fact that I can see the window of my therapist’s office, the lamplight indicating she’s still there, take away from the Rockwellian picture I’ve painted? For the record, I’m not spying, this is just my favorite coffee spot. I started coming here long before I realized that was her office window...too long, in fact. How did I not notice that earlier? Anyway, don’t put it past me to do something like spy on my therapist, I just happen not to be doing it now...though I do keep glancing up. Should I call her and ask her to wave to me?)

Nobody’s more surprised than me to see that I’m writing again so soon but (because apparently I’m so sensitive right now that even the wind makes me cry) my heart was just so swollen with love from the outpouring (I hate the word outpouring, I’ve decided) of support that came after yesterday’s post, that I had to write. Holy shit, you guys. I thought I was done thanking you mo fos.

I’m trying not to get overly mushed up here, mostly because I don’t want to cry in this coffee shop again, but there has been no more gratifying experience since starting this blog, than yesterday. It could be the most gratifying of my writing “career.” (Though the letter from Penthouse Forum rejecting my story for its “extreme racism” and because they “don’t publish stories about yaks, weirdo” still ranks.) Between the comments on the blog, Facebook, and the ones that came in with the Owl Post especially, I was just really overwhelmed with emotion and (yes, here it is again) gratitude.

Thanks for such a warm and enthusiastic welcome back. Thanks for saying such nice things not just about my mom and family but about my writing. Jeez, you guys really made me see just how lucky you are to have me! (I kid...too much?) Anyway, I can’t remember why we even broke up in the first place. Oh yeah...well, you made even that better for a minute anyway. Thank you.

There was a time when I thought I would never share any of my writing with anyone I knew. I was much more comfortable with the idea of strangers reading my stuff, much more comfortable with strangers “knowing” me. I had such anguish over what people would think if they really knew me (and that I do things like stare up at my therapist’s window...no, seriously, it’s just a crazy coincidence that her window sits directly across from my favorite table). I feared what I perceived would be a bad reaction so much that I didn’t show anybody anything (and barely wrote for that matter) for a long time.

But, "Holy Dumbass, Batman" on me! It has been so rewarding to be received by all of you as I have and it’s actually provided the support and self-esteem to keep me going. (You haven’t bested me yet Penthouse!)

(And, by the way, for a long time I thought I knew every single person who ever read this thing...um, wrong. At my mom’s wake, a second grade teacher from my elementary school who I haven’t seen in years---who wasn’t even my teacher---told me she reads The Spew...And then she asked her friend, who also taught at my elementary school ---and who was the first teacher to ever scold me for talking; she kept me in for recess---if I was one of her students, which I wasn’t. I’ll save for another blog a description of the exact strangeness and loveliness of seeing these women in addition to my kindergarten teacher moving through the line at my mother’s wake.) (And, by the way, some people on this things are straight-up strangers. How ‘bout them apples?)

I digress (‘cuz that’s what I do), but the point was that I was just really so touched by your responses yesterday and even if you’re just acting the supportive parent to your scribbling eight-year-old, I am grateful. So, again (and for the last time of 2010...maybe), thank you and thank you and thank you.

Now, I shop...

(The light just went out in my therapist’s office...I need to catch her at the door if I plan to keep up all night.)

I'll be home for Christmas...

It was very hard for me to take the last picture off of the top spot but this one made me feel okay about it. She had hoped to see one last snow...

So, I’m going to try to just jump back in, okay? No long explanation about how/why I needed to just drop off the planet for a bit. How I needed space, privacy, time to just die a while by myself. How I’m not really out of that place and can’t promise I am back for good on this blog, but want to try because I feel like a bit of a shit for dropping off like that without any explanation (though I’m sure you got it). You should know that I’m sorry. I don’t flatter myself that anyone was losing sleep over my absence, but I don’t take it lightly or for granted that you guys show up here to read this stuff, so not writing for close to two months didn’t sit right. I’m sorry for not calling...it’s not you, it’s me.

More to the point, I really want to wish you all the happiest of holidays. You were with me through so much of this thing. There was such great support offered here and I drew so much strength from all of your words and I hope you know how deeply thankful I am. The kind of gratitude I feel for all of you---to those who wrote and followed along here, to all the people who showed up at my mom’s wake and funeral, to every person who told me a story of my mom that I had never heard, or expressed their love for her, or their memory of her laugh---this kind of gratitude is so much bigger than cursive letters stretched across the front of a note card. The words thank you feel too trite for the depth of this gratitude. In fact, the synonyms for gratitude---thankfulness, appreciation, etc.---don’t cover it. Gratitude, simple and vast, is the only word that comes close.

So please feel this gratitude and take it into your hearts while you’re celebrating the holidays with your families and friends. While you’re listening to Nat King Cole, when your stomachs and hearts are full, when you pull back from the table and feel grateful yourself for all that you have, please know that I will be feeling grateful for you. The grief is at times oppressive, the longing ceaseless, but when I reflect on all the love and thoughtfulness shown during my mom’s illness and after her death, I feel the joy of her and I thank you all for that (even though I just said I didn’t want to use the words thank you).

This season has been difficult, of course, and all month Dan and I have talked about jumping on a plane and going somewhere warm for Christmas. Just getting gone, really, it doesn’t matter where. When I think of trying to gather with my family, trying to engage in the spirit of this holiday that my mom planted and grew in all of us, the throb of her absence is unbearable (though I know I am bearing it...we all are). So I wanted to leave so that I would not feel it. So that my body would be so disoriented by foreign sights and smells that my mom’s absence Christmas morning would just be another of all these alien senses, perhaps even camouflaged in the mess. But I’ve since decided otherwise and will celebrate this year at my sister Becky’s house up here in NH, which she and her husband have generously opened up to all of us once again. (Will somebody tell Bec?)

It was a gradual shift, I guess. But the thing that really clinched it was stopping at my parents’ house on my way out of town last Friday night and seeing the long rectangular folding table my dad had set up in the middle of the living room, a roll of holiday paper stretched across it, a pile of neatly wrapped presents beside it on the floor. Alone now in a home he shared with my mom for close to 40 years (during which he probably never wrapped a Christmas gift), he set up this wrapping station where he toiled by the light of a tree he put up only for my nephew’s sake, because he felt my mom guiding him to buy and wrap Christmas presents for his family as she would have done. The sweetness and the sadness of this sight killed me and when my dad showed it to me and then turned back around to see what I thought of his little workshop, I started to weep.

I see my dad trying so hard to to do right by my mom, right by us, and though I know he would understand my going away---in fact, he totally got and supported it---something about this coping mechanism of his is just so loving that I want to try to receive it and reciprocate; same goes for all my family. (I didn’t understand this, however, until I just finished that sentence.)

(Also, I totally reserve the right to have a bipolar attitude shift about the whole thing...perhaps even later today...this happens a lot...Dan loves it and feels very secure in his home as a result.)

I suppose I’m also recognizing that I’m going to feel my mom’s absence no matter where I am and being around people who feel similarly might bring comfort. Or it might not. Part of me thinks that being around family---around women who look like her and a father who longs for her---will make the sadness that much more acute. But I’ve been swinging from one choice to the other in my my brain for weeks and a decision needed to be made. If I get to the house and suddenly feel the need to go home and return to my under-the-blanket den and watch some movie that’s deeply depressing for reasons which have nothing to do with dead mothers (like The Wrestler, which we just got in), the option is always there. So, as long as my family is okay with it (which they all seem to be), I’ll plan on spending the day with them with the caveat that if the want-to-die/cry/hide feeling becomes unbearable, I’ll head out. (Though, of course, my hope and expectation is to enjoy myself.)

I know my siblings are feeling similarly conflicted and displaced by the jarring of the universe that has occurred since my mom’s, our sun’s, death, but they all have children so the going on, particularly with Christmas, is demanded of them in a way it’s not of me. (Thank fucking god...I could no more get out a stack of Christmas cards right now than I could cure cancer.) But then it was this same childless freedom that had me by my mom’s side in the nine months following her diagnosis. I feel so blessed that I was able to be there---I would not change a single thing in that regard---but there are moments of my mom’s suffering, fear and despair that I cannot yet shake, moments of this experience that I keep going over and over in my head, including that of her death, and the fact that it's the holiday season doesn’t slow that down.

We’re all just doing the best we can is the point, I suppose.

And like that, we’re back in the game here on The Spew. I should warn you that I’m not sure where we’re headed. If you thought the shift from Neighbor Stalker Blog to Cancer Mom Blog was unsettling, I’m not sure Dead Mom Blog will be much better. Not that I’m sure that this is the direction things will take. The fact that I can write the words Dead Mom Blog suggests the return of a sense of humor, but the pit I feel in my stomach when looking at them, tells me not to expect consistency. I hope you’re all okay with this. Does it sweeten the deal if I promise no self-penned poetry? You have my word on that. On we go, okay? Maybe a little backwards at times because the recent past is so much a part of the present, but who knows? Last year at this time I had just finished my Bookish updates and vowed that 2010 would be the year I started meditating. Hardy fucking har. The point? I’m not going to even pretend that I have any idea what’s coming...in life or on the blog. (Though, here’s a little teaser: A NEW NEIGHBOR HAS ENTERED THE SCENE...and so far the relationship is entirely boring.)

So...

(I feel like I’m in one of those texting conversations when I don’t know how to end it.)

Merry Christmas (and Happy belated Hanukkah and Thanksgiving for that matter) to all of you. I hope the next couple of weeks are full of all your favorite aspects of life and that the time you spend with friends and family is rich with pleasure, frivolity and spiritual nourishment. If not, Mickey Rourke is just a ride to Blockbuster away...

P.S. Thanks to everyone who gave me the shove back here that I needed and for sticking with me. (And for those who didn’t, go screw! My friggin’ mom died...).

Mama Gigi YaYa

Jeanne Marie Mellow August 18, 1949-November 5, 2010

Thank you all for your love and support. The wake will be held Friday, November 12 from 4pm-8pm at Connors Funeral Home. The last viewing will be Saturday at 10am and the funeral will be held at St. Barnabas Church in Portsmouth at 11am. It's a costume party...

Weekend Update

This image is to coincide with our Weekend Update headline, plus it will make Lola smile as she will someday write a movie or Broadway show for these two ladies to star in (alongside Rosie O’Donnell).

Once again, I just wanted to update the Spew-Heads on the week that was. Lola will be back here soon, so don’t worry. She is really doing an incredible job at taking care of her Mom. She has such a grasp of all the medicine that is part of her Mom’s daily regime (and there are oodles of medicine) and is so on top of all the care her Mom needs that it’s clear that she could be a brilliant doctor or nurse. She is quite the caretaker.

I think it’s safe to say that when it comes to her Mom, we have drifted away from good days and bad days to good moments and bad moments. The truth is, no day with this cancer is all that good. It was a rough week with GiGi. Her pain continues and there is difficulty in trying to find the right solution to her pain. More drugs, new drugs, old drugs, combination of drugs – it’s a crap shoot trying to find the right mixture of prescriptions that relieves our friend of her pain. The hourly question to GiGi is “What’s your Level?” meaning level of pain on a scale of 1 to 10. We are not hearing any 0’s or 1’s. However, in true GiGi fashion, the question makes her laugh. Don’t you love Gigi’s laugh?

The problem with the pain meds is that it has an effect on her breathing, and Gigi is already short of breath (and that sometimes causes brief pangs of anxiety for Gigi which makes her breathing even more labored). It’s scary to watch especially when you know the strain her lungs are already in. To make their Mom more comfortable, Lola and her sister Becky have been taking overnight shifts with her Mom, sleeping on the floor by her side for those moments when GiGi wakes up at night and she is in pain, restless, scared or just awake. These are the moments that this cancer has created.

In the good moments department, GiGi seemed to be in good spirits over the weekend. She was holding court in her family room – talking, laughing and even eating a little. Her pain had somewhat subsided (about a level 4) and we all got to share in her smiles and laughs. The family gathered on Sunday for Barry’s birthday, and everyone seemed happy to be together – at least for those brief moments, and celebrate something.

And then came last night. Lola was going to take a quick jaunt home today to tie up a few things in NH before heading back to RI. So, as I was furiously cleaning the apartment before work today in anticipation (yes ladies, that’s what guys do) when my phone chirped with a new text message. It said, “Rough night. Not sure how today is going to go.” When I finally spoke to Lola, she said her Mom had a really bad night and was having trouble breathing. They felt an ER visit was imminent. To add another small dose of terror to this nightmare, GiGi did not remember talking to her nurse the day before. Through it all, GiGi’s mind has been razor sharp, so the thought of even the slightest bit of forgetfulness scared the crap out of everyone.

When I heard from Lola next, they had decided to take her Mom to the ER. When they started to move her to the car, GiGi became winded. The more short of breath she became, the more scared GiGi became which made breathing even more difficult. They decided an ambulance was needed. The call was made, the ambulance arrived and GiGi and Barry drove off to the hospital with Lola in tow in her own car. We think she will be admitted, but I haven’t heard back yet to confirm.

In fact, I haven’t heard anything yet. So, like you, all we can do is wait. In the bad moments department, this is right up there.

UPDATE: GiGi had fluid drained from her lungs and is feeling a little better. She is admitted for at least the night, so stay tuned. Lola said that they drained "like a forty of beer" from those lungs. Lola's keepin' it real for y'all.

UPDATE 2: Another rough night at the hospital. Lola stayed the night and made sure she was there to comfort her Mom when needed. Leaving her Mom's side when she was so afraid was not something Lola was prepared to do, so they pulled up a recliner, gave her some sheets and let her stay. The bad news was GiGi's roommate, who was preparing for a colonoscopy, was having major blow out throughout the night (what a lullaby). The plan is for GiGi to come home today. Barry was back at the hospital bright and early and Lola went home to rest. If all goes as planned, GiGi will be sleeping at home tonight, although she will likely still be in pain and short of breath. We'll keep you posted.

There is no substitute for the Spew

Attention Spew Readers - Coming this Christmas for a Limited Time Only - Spew Shirts!

Settle down class. Ms. Mellowsky could not be here today, so I will be substituting for her today. Don’t worry – I’ll be brief and liberal with my hall passes.

Lola is, as she has been for a while, by her Mom’s side this week and sad to say, it’s been a rough week. Gigi just can’t seem to catch a break. On Friday, Team Chemo was all packed and ready to go to St. Anne’s for GiG’s next dose, but when they go there, her “numbers” were off so they had to scrap the Chemo plans for that day. Forgive me, I don’t have Laura’s grasp of the medicine behind all the cancer (and few do), but I know the numbers being low was not a good thing. They battled this with a blood transfusion and more meds for the pain. My god – they gave her blood to make her feel better!

Over the weekend, GiG was pretty wiped out. Between the medicine for pain, nausea and breathing, it’s hard to do anything but sleep. And, with family monitoring her constantly, that is what she did. She tried to eat, but could only keep a few things down. As the day wore on, her strength came back a little and she would hold court in her room (of course she had to put on lipstick first). She was even able to eat some of Becky meatballs, but she grows tired fast and soon we all left her to the peace of her slumber, always a daughter (or husband) on hand to be there when she woke up. They never had days like this on The Brady Bunch. When I left them all on Sunday night, GiG was feeling a little better, although still sleeping so I didn’t get to say goodbye.

But the nights seem to be the hardest for our friend and Monday morning was a different story. She was in pain, trouble breathing and just feeling like crap. When her blood gases fell below a certain level (again, I am not sure if I have that right – I just know the numbers were bad), the decision was made to go to the hospital. Monday was spent in the ER. She was given some pain meds that gave her some relief and they were also able to take a CAT Scan which was scheduled for later in the week. She was there until after dark, opting to come home for the comfort of her home rather than trying to sleep in a noisy hospital. In true Mellow fashion, they all came home and had a hamburger feast in the kitchen (GiG ate a little).

My first text from Lola today was that it was more of the same – a rough night (up all night) and a trip back to the hospital seemed imminent. But, a call later gave a little better picture. GiG was sitting up and visiting with Our Tina. They were trying to feed her a little something and she seemed in good spirits. After I was bratty and told her she needed 2 ML of Ringer’s Lactate Stat (My only medical jargon learned from years of watching television), she even spouted back, “If you are not quiet, you’ll get a Compezine suppository.”

So that’s where we are – more of the same. There are more details that I didn’t get into and even more tears that I will save for Lola to pass along to her devoted readers. As you know, Lola knows her Spew fans like updates, so I am giving the update. Lola will be back soon to bring smiles to all the faces of her Spew-heads (just like she does to mine every day).

Today's post is brought to you by the letter B

I keep my phone turned on and by my bed when I'm in Rhode Island in anticipation of an "I've fallen and I can't get up" call from my mom who's on the other side of the house.

I'm thinking of investing in Walkie Talkies; I would be sleeping right now had my sister Becky not texted me shortly before 6am to check on my mom. She has been forgiven and now given credit for supplying me with the handful of minutes (that's not an expression) I needed to scrape together today to update.

Most important, I still have a virgin colon (and am resisting all sorts of jokes there...).

I did end up canceling the appointment but not because you all frightened me with your tales of fecal woe (which you did!). Dan's uncle, a man of legend in his family and community (as it sounds from the turnout at the funeral) passed away this past Friday night and I canceled my appointment in order to attend the funeral. Though it is always sad to lose one of the world's great souls, his death was not unexpected and hopefully brought the man some relief as he was in his 80s and had been ill for a while. Dan said the funeral was a great tribute and also quite the service with Archbishop of Connecticut delivering the mass as Dan's uncle was a priest. Though I wish I could have been there, I did not end up attending as my mom has been struggling more than ever these past few days and it wasn't the time to leave her.

As always, she is fighting the battle of pain and vomiting, both of which are stripping her of strength and energy (not to mention joy). We are trying to find the right combination of medications to alleviate her suffering but have learned that it's not as easy as simply taking a pill as what works for one person does not work for another. Also, the body gets used to pain meds pretty quickly such that the the dosage needs constant evaluating and upping. For my mom, who has always been weary of over-medicating, this is an adjustment. The other part of the balancing act is finding the medication and dose that will stop the pain but also keep my mom's brain sharp and aware and here with us. So, that's the journey. This morning, as every other, I wake up hoping that today she has a better day.

Last night she did finally find relief from the pain but it wasn't until 8pm (and after a bout of vomiting). As soon as she finds relief, her face changes. I can actually see her eyes shift from strain to warmth and she is able to smile which the pain usually prevents (a robbery felt by everyone). I felt sad that the best part of her day was at its ending, but grateful it came and I am hopeful that it carried her through the night. That's the start of my usual line of morning questions I ask when I go to greet her up in her bedroom:

How was the night?

Did you throw up?

How are you feeling this morning?

Can you eat anything?

Where's the pain?

And so on. And throughout the day this same line of questions cycles around as we try to help her find comfort as the hours go on. It's been a tough few days and I can't say otherwise. Still, there have been moments when my sisters and I have hung out on her bed, or sat three of us on the couch, my mom in the middle, watching Lifetime movies and I don't have to wait until later to cherish them.

While I obviously don't want my mom to suffer, I said to her the other night, "I feel kind of selfish because I want you to be here."

She said, "I want to be here too. We want the same thing...And when I don't want to be here and you want me to be here, that's okay too."

Profound moments like this are happening every day now. I watched my mom say goodbye to her visiting sisters, most of whom live out of state, and recognized that this goodbye was the hardest any of them have ever had to say.

It's intense, to say the least.

So, now my handful of morning has passed and it's time to see how Gig is doing today...

Sometimes I just shout it out midday while looking up at the sky, arms pleading, "Give her a break today, will ya?"

Feel free to join me.

Have you seen my boundaries?

So, with things being what they are, it's been a long time since I've written one of those uber-personal posts where you guys get that kind of squirmy uncomfortable feeling because you're learning something about me that you probably didn't need nor want to know. (The words "Raise Head," my response to Dan's getting a pay increase last year, come to mind.) Well, WAIT NO MORE! This will be the KING OF THE OVERSHARES! In fact, you better look around now because you don't want any co-workers or family members catching a glance of your computer screen over your shoulder and realizing what kind of sick-o you truly are.

Today's topic:

I'm having a COLONoscopy. (That was for your nosy cubicle neighbor.)

You have no idea how badly I wish I could go all Katie Couric with this blog and bring you guys into the room with me. We could have a little counter on the screen for all the inappropriate ass jokes I make before going under.

(Just so we're clear, I recognize that colonoscopies are very common and thus not as much of a source of embarrassment as I made it seem---it's not like I'm having genital warts scraped off in high def (too much?)---but I am talking about colons here, my colon in particular, and that kind of feels like a lot.)

The story is this: I have ass issues. Assues, if you will. Nothing crazy, nothing terribly debilitating, nothing we have to go into detail about...but enough consistent irregularities (if you get my drift) that I had to check into things. Given my family history---both my maternal grandparents and an aunt have had colon cancer and other family members have had polyps---the gastroenterologist to whom my GP referred me, thought we should dig deeper (oh, this is such fun for me).

Judy and I just firmed up the details of the appointment today and it's all going down next Wednesday. (Judy and I had great phone rapport. However, as we figured out a day and time that worked and she said that the doctor does procedures from 7am right through to noon and I said, "And then she has lunch?" Judy didn't quite get my joke.) So, that's that. I will have to fast on Tuesday and drink some kind of magic brew and then Dan will deliver me to the hospital Wednesday morning. (I'm pretty sure the prep is worse than what I'm stating here but I've purposely avoided reading about it...though I did read something that told me to avoid red jello which gave me a helluva laugh.) I'll have to go under for the procedure and thus won't be able to drive home so Dan's taking the day off to care for what will be his very sedated wife. (They say redheads require more anesthesia than most. Yes, Dan has already started making jokes about taking advantage of me...what with the doctor's head start and all. Too far?)

When I went to visit the gastroenterologist (a woman...the only way for me) and she suggested the colonoscopy, I was initially fine with the idea. Only hours later did I start to wonder what the hell I had signed up for. Most people don't get colonoscopies until at least 40 and some doctors won't perform them on people any younger because of the risks involved which include bowel perforation (let's pray that the blog title the day after the procedure isn't "Raise your hand if you have a perforated bowel!") or other complications that come with this kind of intervention. Normally this would dissuade me but, again, the family history means I have to be that much more vigilant. I started rethinking things, however, when today on the phone I was asked if I had a living will or a medical power of attorney.

Pardon?

I don't have either, so this will have to act as my will:

I, Lola Mellowsky, hereby declare that should I die during my colonoscopy (which I would not want written on my tombstone...please come up with something quippier or else use a Salt-N-Peppa lyric of your choosing) that I would like the following orders carried out:

1) Don't even tell anyone I died during a colonoscopy. Tell 'em I was found handcuffed to a hotel bed...that would be way less embarrassing.

2) Please bury me next to JFK.

3) Under no circumstances should Sarah McLaughlin be played at the funeral. (Salt-N-Peppa is fine.)

4) All attendees should be required to capture their tears in a graduated cylinder which is to be turned in at the end of the service. Anyone who turns in a contribution of less than 200mL will be locked in the church until they can cry the requisite amount.

5) I don't want a church service.

6) Radio City Music Hall should work.

7) Mr. Dan Lederer will be required to sign a contract stating that he will never remarry or else risk eternal haunting.

8) My rubber band balls are to be distributed evenly among my siblings.

9) My favorite sister should get the most.

10) Please donate all my journals to the most remedial English As A Second Language classes.

***On a final note, I would just like to say thanks to all you FB peeps who wrote such nice things about The Spew today. I absolutely was not gonna show up but seeing what you guys had to say made me remember how fun this can be. Thanks to all of you and to everyone else who keeps showing despite my lack of consistency which is due to a motivational/inspirational rut among other things. I truly appreciate it. Thanks for pushing me out of my funk...That...is...a...what...she...say.