GiG is home.

Photo by Barry Alan.

A week ago today, I left New Hampshire at 5am in an effort to beat Boston traffic and make it to Rhode Island with time to spare before my mom's scheduled appointment with her oncologist. When I got to the house at 7am my mom was asleep on the couch, evidence of a night of awful sickness surrounding her. My dad was visibly shaken and tearful.

This was the start of a week that got considerably worse before it got better.

For right now, I'm concentrating on the better.

I wanted to be sure to let the masses know that GiG came home from the hospital today and is feeling better though the tiredness of a week of sleepless nights has caught up with her and she'll need to make up for the rest she missed.

I'll need to do the same thing. I have an emotional hangover. This happens. I spent the week in a mode of function and purpose; tend to my mom. Now that this particular fire is out, the intensity of it has just caught up to me and I am exhausted by a week's worth of emotion crashing through my body in one massive wave. The last two nights I've taken 5pm naps.

But, tonight as my mom rests easier, I will now do the same.

Sleep tight, peeps.

In real life, even House doesn't have the answers.

I am sitting at the foot of my mom's hospital bed watching her sleep, the green blanket from home which lay over her rising and falling with her breath. I am comforted by the motion of her breath. I am grateful for its ease this moment.

Dan is next to me working on a crossword puzzle. The room is lit only by midday sun sneaking through the cracks of the closed window panels. We're hoping she sleeps for a while as the three nights she has spent here so far have not provided much rest. The deepness of her current sleep is aided by the sedative drugs she was given this morning when she underwent a procedure in which a scope was inserted through her mouth and snaked down to her left bronchus for the purpose of getting pictures as well as lung samples. Even though the procedure went smoothly, we decided we should take shifts watching her sleep in case there are any complications. It is expected that she will cough more following the procedure; even cough up blood.

That was a minute of writing I got in yesterday before family started showing up to visit with my mom and the day busied up.

I am happy to say that my mom seems to have improved from where she was these last few days, from where she was even yesterday morning.

Dan's wrap-up was pretty right on (and, of course, adorable). That is, unless any of you caught the first version before I corrected it in which Dan said my mom had a pulmonary edema, a much more serious diagnosis than the pulmonary embolism she actually had. As the pulmonologist explained to us regarding emboli, "Tiny ones cause pain, big ones kill you." My mom's, thankfully, was small and thus she is still alive.

I cannot yet write at length about what has transpired over the last few days---soon I'll have to shower up and head back to the hospital---but I can at least summarize where things stand now while I sit here having my morning coffee alone in my parents' kitchen at my mom's seat at the table. My mom went into the hospital with chest pain, utter weakness and fever on Wednesday. The chest pain was attributed to the pulmonary embolism (which is, apparently, common with lung cancer), the weakness was due to chemo and general dehydration, and the fever---well, they're still trying to figure that out like, as we've said many times, it's our very own episode of House. While fever is often seen with pulmonary embolisms, they have to rule out infection which is of particular importance because my mom's immune system is so compromised by the chemo. All testing has ruled out the presence of bacteria, but the reason they did the bronchoscopy is to be sure there isn't an infection hiding behind the tumor. While in there, they saw just how much the tumor was obstructing my mom's airway (thus causing breathing difficulty, the collapse of lung tissue and the potential for infection) so they may have to do some radiation soon to shrink the blockage.

This is the science of things. Decisions will be made this week regarding radiation, chemo, etc. Surgery is pretty well off the table. Science.

Since Wednesday morning when my mom was admitted, science has been very much second to life and emotion. Conversations were had that I never imagined having. Many tearful phone calls and worried text messages were exchanged. My sister Katie will be flying in tomorrow.

But, it seems that for the time being, the worst of this particular episode is over. Last night my mom ate an entire sandwich and bowl of soup for dinner---the most she's eaten in days. The color has returned to her face and she was sharp enough yesterday to bust my and everyone else's balls.

"Mom's back," was how my dad put it.

So now I'm going to head back to the hospital to see her. Yesterday morning when I raced there to be sure I would get a chance to see her before she went under for her procedure (a measure of the sort of just-in-case that is hard to believe is reality) I wasn't going to see that mom. Glad she's back today.

Whether things will stay this way, whether this is the beginning of a years-long road or the beginning of the end, we have no idea. Stripped of its platitudinal essence and from its spot on book marks and coffee mugs, the "this" of "this moment" is truly all we've got.

So off to the shower I go.

Thanks all for the support and prayers and love for GiG.

A Guest Spew

Lola couldn't be here today as she was out getting her new tattoo.

I don’t know if Lola will get mad at this, but I decided to Guest Blog on her site in her absence. She’s been trying to update over the last few days but she’s been quite busy tending to a few things that take precedence. However dear Spewers, one thing you should know about the anxiety-ridden mind of Ms. Lola Mellowsky, a mind I am so lucky to know in so many wonderful ways, she feels a great sense of debt to update her readers and her blog frequently. She feels very lucky to have so many fans; so much so that she really starts to feel pressure when she lets the blog go a few days without update. Hopefully, this will make her take a quick breath in relief as she prepares for her next entry. Believe me, she is working on her next entry right now, she just hasn’t been able to put it down on the Mac.

So, for today, you are stuck with me. First, the big update: Becky is still winning the battle of female incontinence. The second update: Gigi is in the hospital.

The evil word of the day today is Pulmonary Embolism. Gigi had a rough night a few days ago and she was up most of the night vomiting and spiking a fever. When they went to have their regularly scheduled visit with their oncologist, they decided to admit her to make sure all was ok. After a day or two of a Dr. House mystery (could it be Lupus?), they discovered a pulmonary embolism, which, if I am to believe Wikipedia, is a blockage of an artery or branch of the lung due to a clot which travelled through her blood from elsewhere in the body. Gigi is being treated now, but she’ll be in the hospital until she’s better. I’ll let Lola update you on what this all means (because I don’t really know), but that’s the scoop. Hopefully, she’ll be back home soon.

For the past few days, Lola has been spending most of her day at the Hospital with her Mom (she highly recommends the Stuffed Shells from the St. Anne’s kitchen). Her Dad has been there too, and of course her sisters (and Our Tina) have been checking in as well. Last night, Lola and her Mom watched a movie together on her laptop and talked until it was time to leave. Her Dad had to work, so it was Lola and Gigi in the dimly lit hospital room watching a Sandra Bullock comedy as the beeps and hoots of the hospital machines chirped in the background. It sounds sad (and it is in many ways) but I am sure it was a night neither Lola nor her mom will soon forget.

Lola called me on the way home. She was exhausted in every way. Her voice was gravelly and hoarse as she gave me the update on her day while she made her way home and into a rarely empty Mellow homestead. She said goodnight to me as she crawled into her childhood bed and we hung up, both missing each other as we turned out the light. Today, for Lola, it’s more of the same.

So that’s the update. Lola will be back soon to tell you more and to Spew all over you (yes, that’s what she said).

My sister is famous.

I thought we could all use a laugh today given yesterday's downer of a post.

My sister Becky is the voice of modern women (and their soiled drawers).

P.S. A hearty thanks to Bec for allowing me to post this. (I swear I asked.) You're saving lives, sister.

Looks like someone has a case of the fuck-its.

I really do swear a lot, don't I?

Oh, I'm just so cranky today.

We all are, aren't we?

It's hard to want to write an I'm-just-so-cranky blog entry when A) crankiness on a Monday is nothing new and I'll sound awfully whiny going on about it and B) I'm annoyed at you for calling me whiny.

More concerning still is that when I explore this crankiness I find that it's not really crankiness at all; it's dread and stress and fear and fatigue and worry and all sorts of emotions that I would just like a break from for today. Just for today I'd rather rest in the comfort of financial panic, social outrage and the sweet chorus of curious voices inside my head.

Where's a girl get some good old-fashioned mental illness when she needs it? Oh, how I miss the simplicity of depression...

Instead, my braining is sizzling and popping with dilemma fried in unknowns and powerlessness (seasoned with heartbreak and anger).

It's chemo week again. I'll be heading down to Rhode Island first thing Wednesday morning to make it to my mom's appointment with her oncologist and then on Thursday the party begins.

For the first time, I don't want to go. I want to go. I mean I want to be there, I want to hear whatever will be said, I want my mom to feel supported.

But I'd rather hop a flight to California and spend some time getting drunker than I've ever been in my life. I'd even do some drugging if it would take me further from this place.

There's no move right now. It's sit-and-wait time. Manic downtime where there's nothing to do but sprout growths of clustered wonderings to your root questions.

My mom had a MRI last week in order to see if the cancer spread to her brain as she has been complaining of dizziness that is likely due to all the chemo-related meds. (The terms spiders in my lady-parts is less scary to me than the words "cancer spread to her brain.") Although we were told this MRI looked normal (as in brain-tumor free) another message on the machine later told us that they would have to wait until this week to be totally certain of these results (read: ass-covering) as they want to compare the recent MRI images to ones taken in February just after she was diagnosed. I know it's only a MRI of her fucking brain, but would a little certainty about one fucking thing, kill someone? Can't someone tell us one thing for fucking sure?

And I know they can't. Nobody knows anything for sure. They can want what's best for her, they can believe they're doing their best, but nobody knows what's best. As far as I can tell, cancer is not a science. And, the fact that nobody really knows what they're doing where it concerns the life of someone I love so much, could make me (is making me; has made me) crazy.

This is because: What if we're doing something wrong?

And you sit and you stir with that thought day and night. Is there something else we should know? Something else we should try?

My mom has felt sicker since starting chemo than she ever did before. I knew that was going to be the case---you get worse before you get better, they say---but is still unnerves me and seems so counterintuitive. What if you get worse before you get worser?

You think and think and think.

I'm worried about this next chemo session.

I'm worried she's going to lose her hair and it's going to kill her spirit.

I'm worried the next CAT Scan will show that the treatment isn't working.

I'm worried that even thinking like this (never mind writing it...) taints my hope and puts energy into the universe that will affect her negatively.

And I'm worried about my mom because if I'm so consumed with all of this worry, what could she be feeling?

How do we keep her afloat?

I was in the car with her when she got the initial all-clear message about the MRI. I heard her repeat what the person on the voicemail said, "MRI is normal." But when I looked over at her thirty seconds later she was weeping.

"What? What is it, Mom?" I asked, panicked and trying to split myself so that I could both comfort her (I was sure she had misheard the message and on a second listen learned that they had found something) and keeping us on the road.

But they were tears of release, she explained. She had been terrified that the MRI would say otherwise and could only release her fear now that she was safe (so to speak).

Her fear had been cancer in her brain. What could that possibly feel like for her? What does that fear feel like when she's awake with her thoughts at night?

Something other than cranky, though sometimes it comes out that way for her, too.

And then sometimes it is crankiness. And I feel annoyed. And it's the normal stuff of family.

Other days, it's the stuff of brain tumors. And not a thing feels normal anymore.

Not even a Monday.

Birthday Spew

A personal fave.

You guys...the blog is a year old today.

I swear to god.

I feel like I should divulge some dark secret in celebration: I steal.

No, that’s not true.

I pee standing up.

While I wish that one was true, regretfully, it is not.

I just feel like I want to mark this occasion with some sort of give-back because I am so grateful to all who power up your computers every day, type in that ridiculously long web address and stop by the Spew. Seriously grateful, in fact. Some of you have even been here since the very first post. Others jumped on after my Oprah interview. Whichever you are, you need to know that I’m not blowing smoke when I tell you how appreciative I am that you take time out of your busy (Facebook) schedule to come here.

Normally, when I hear musicians or actors “thank the fans,” I want to wretch. As if, now that they’re hobnobbing with the stars of People magazine’s cooter shots, they give even one shit about the chick with the Loony Tunes sweatshirt who bunked with the homeless in order to score front row tickets and scream, “Justin Timberlake, I love you! (Check out my blog!)” I often think “thank the fans” is an item from a to-do list their publicist gave them, falling somewhere between bed Seacrest and advocate for an endangered species.

But while I can hardly compare myself to Timberlake (he doesn’t have my sex appeal) or even possibly claim a fan base (that doesn’t consist of the teenage boys from the skate park next to my house whom I flash every Friday) I do have to say that when someone tells me they enjoy my blog, I feel truly thankful that s/he, in a world of books and newspapers and Kindles, even reads it. (If, however, they don’t say they enjoy it, I poison their cat.) I feel a buzz of excitement every time someone says to me, “I follow your blog (and you’re kind of a pervert.”).

So, screw it, I’m pumping my chest, pointing my hand to the sky, giving shout-outs to Jeebus and thanking the fans.

Thanks people...especially those who have their little mini pictures up there in the corner. And the ones who leave comments. (You’re my favorites.) And the ones who do neither of those things but check in when they want to look like they are doing something important at work. And the ones who have a little Spew with their morning coffee. And the ones who visit between porn sites (a li’l Spew with their spew). And the folks who check in from my dad’s hospital (Holla atcha Charlton Memorial!) And the ones who got here through my sister Bec’s Facebook advertising. And all the rest of you too. But most of all, I’d like to thank those who happened upon here because they did a google search of Leslie Lillian, featured singer on a 1980‘s Jane Fonda workout video, who was referenced on here one time by my sister Katie in the comments section. According to Google Analytics, I get hits from that search term all time. (I’ll save the entire list of word combinations that deliver people to this site for another entry, but favorite among them are: “fat irish face” and “top of my ass hurts when I wear thongs.”

Joking aside (But why? it’s been so long since we’ve joked), I really am appreciative of you being here. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll drop you faster than my pants on burrito night once I get really big, but for now...you complete me.

It’s been quite a year. Michael Jackson’s death, London, Bookish. Now, of course, cancer. Do you feel like it’s a case of bait and switch? You used to come here for a little “That’s what she said” and now all you get are extended absences and tales of woe. I’ve been thinking of adding one of those lines at the top, below the blog title, which explains what this place is about. In trying to find the words to capture the theme here, I realized that cancer now has a place in this blog’s identity; my identity, I guess. This is certainly a departure from wherever I was a year ago. Wherever I was three months ago, actually.

I don’t think I’ll ever be back there. Not in that same place, anyway. Things have shifted. There will be new places, I’m sure, but not the one I dwelt in where I could go on living my life, happily taking my mom and all of life for granted. What I’m saying is that I think cancer will probably continue to remain a main theme around these parts. It has metastasized to my blog.

Though, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there will be plenty of thong jokes to go around when we need a little levity.

So, into a second year we go. I’m hoping to perk up the look of things, maybe learn how to do something visually creative. (This could involve a web address change---stay tuned.) Mostly though, I think the change will be in content. Because I’m changing. It is very strange to know you are going into one of the most important years of your life but have no idea what to expect.

This blog will be whatever that’s about.

I hope you stick around (and leave tons of comments).

I will do you right by continuing to show up too. This is all getting too big to keep inside anyway.

And that, my friends, is what she said.

Big News!

Photo courtesy of iWomb.





Not, however, my news.

My sister Cherie is about ten weeks pregnant. (I've been holding on to this nugget of info since Easter...)

Holla! Congrats Chirl and Petey! Looking forward to taping the birth (and posting it)!

P.S. Not my strongest post-absence entry, but wook at da wittle baby.