Fat-A-Thon Blubber Blog

Day 6 "Carry Me"

2011-01-30T07:34:00.000-08:00

OK, so the actual blessing for Day 6 doesn't really say "Carry Me". And come to think of it...at my current weight, that would be quite a feat! No, the actual Blessing is ever so much more general in nature...but reality says I'm going to have to lean on you wayyyyy more than I should if I have any hope of conquering this 'health crap'.

Here's the real blessing: Day 6: Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." - Galatians 6:2

I won't delve deep into my belief that the thought of helping your fellow man isn't solely a Christian requirement. I did my 'philosophering' bit over on Avalon's site. Here, I'm going to stick to figuring out how to beg you for some camel time...

Yep. I'm a weak-minded simpleton. I have the stick-to-it-iveness of twice used tape and the will power of a fly in a dung heap. I'm plain flat pathetic!

What in the Hades is your secret? No...really...what is your SECRET? How do you go about your daily lives not eating or doing the things you shouldn't? And before anyone tells me to go 'exercise' when I feel like eating something, I need to point out that my guts have been scrambled THREE times in the past few weeks. Attempting to sew (which I failed miserably at, in case you care) started cramps-a-plenty. I've managed to work up to going up the stairs twice in a day - but I've ended every day this week in pain. Horrible cramping in places I'd rather not cramp, thank you very kindly. (hoo-ha cramps suck eggs - just so you know) So...exercising away my temptations is NOT an option at the moment. Would love to, can't. Not for a while at least.

So...what are your brilliant suggestions for NOT eating the things that are my vices? Oh sure, I've tried the count to ten thing. Close your eyes, take deep breaths...slowly count to ten...

What happens? This: One...little mini-wheat won't kill me. Two...really, they're small - why not have two? Three...oh heck, I've already ruined my metabolism for the day, why not have 3? Or a bowl? Four...now I'm stressed, I've fallen off the wagon. Five...stress getting worse, cravings intensifying... Six...damn. I'm going to eat an entire bowl of mini-wheats, I know it. Seven...yummm....they're going to taste sooo good and crunchy. Eight...well, hell. If I've already blown it, I might as well have some peanutbutter on celery. Nine...this breathing thing makes me lightheaded. and...Ten...mini-wheats here I come!!

Yep, that's about how it goes. Breathing: 0 Failure: 1 I need a better option.

Also, can we please figure out how to band together to somehow magically remove all other stressors from my life? Oh my, wouldn't that be grand. You see, I admit I'm a stress eater. Preferably chocolate or salty if I really feel bad about something. Case in point - the Quilt from Hades. Sit back and let me fill you in...

A dear friend, Suzanne, asked me to help finish a quilt she had made to be auctioned off to benefit our local charity, Kids N Kamp. I would do ANYTHING for Suzanne. She has been the absolute most amazing friend to me the past several months. When I suddenly began bleeding while at our Mom's Quilt Weekend, it's her hotel door I knocked on in utter panic. She's the one who got me to the car and who explained to my wonderful friends what had happened. She's also the first to have danced when we found out the baby was fine.

Move forward, Suzanne is the first person I texted when we found out we lost our son. Somehow, in my mind, she kind of 'owned' a part of him. I know, crazy...but it's how I felt. Suzanne is also the person who took me to the OB a few weeks ago, and then helped me get admitted to the hospital. She welcomed Avalon to help in her Shoot-A-Thon basketball fundraiser for Kids N Kamp, and has spoiled my littles at every chance she can get. Brass tacks, I adore this lady. Finish a quilt for her? No problem! I'm in!!

Um...huge problem. The damn quilt is possessed. I'm convinced of it. I couldn't work on the quilt the first few days I had it. I'd had to clear off my sewing table, get supplies together, and that sent me into cramping. Crap. Then, I started putting on the binding she brought me, and...well, I didn't like the look of it. I grilled my teen daughter (the quilt was being sold to teens) and her boyfriend, and they agreed, it looked odd. So....I asked Suzanne if I could do something different. She had no problem with it, as she herself was 'done' with the quilt, frustrated beyond belief. Next, I had to cut the fabric and try my new method of binding...which...FAILED miserably. Crap squared. Then came hours upon hours of tearing off yet another binding. Fun...not. And finally, I threw in the artistic towel and attempted to sew on the original binding, only to find a) I didn't have enough of it for the entire quilt, b) I couldn't make the corners look good, and c) I utterly bombed the entire thing. Crappity crap CRAP.

I had to call my friend, the woman who had bent over backwards for me to be helpful, and tell her I let her down. ACK! Suzanne never batted an eye, she was perfectly fine with it. (making the guilt ten times worse...) But I wasn't fine with it, not at all. Not only was it the worst sewing failure I'd had in a couple of decades...but it happened when I was trying to help someone who trusted me. Big whoppin' boatload of a failure. Can you say 'chocolate' anyone?

Oh yeah, I got up from my accursed sewing table, marched straight to the kitchen, dug out left-over-from-Christmas chocolate chips...and melted those puppies down. I then proceeded to chocolate cover a banana. Yummmm.... The whole time I'm searching/melting/coating/refridgerating, I was thinking, I know I'm eating this because I'm stressed. I KNOW I don't need this. Why do I want it SOOO BAD?! Awww heck, I'm a failure, I let Suzanne down, I might as well eat...

Don't even say it, I fully realize those were the ramblings of a fruit loop left too long in the sun. Just because I'd blown it with the quilt, does NOT mean I needed chocolate. The problem is, I need to find a good disconnect to convince my brain of that, when the sugar/wheat/salt/peanut voices start talking to me. They're kinda loud... Pretty pushy too... I'm...w..e..a...k......

As for the quilt, I called Suzanne and apologized deeply. I will likely do so 100 or more times. I also plan on having a mutual quilt-master friend of ours show me what I did wrong, and teach me the proper way. I will then make a quilt to be sold with hers at next year's auction. I do NOT like being beaten, and this particular hunk o' fabric has pummeled me mightily.

In the meantime, I need my camel-people (my burden-carriers, if you didn't get that) to help me with my load. Do you have any great, brilliant, insightful, fit-for-a-nutjob suggestions of what to do when those mini-wheats call my name?

Ahh-leeee-sshaaa....you KNOW you want us. We're crunchy goodness... Ahhh-leeee-sshaaaaa....just one little bowl won't kill you. We're good for your colon...everyone knows it. Ahh-leee-sshaa...come get us.....

Yep, I need help.

Psychiatrists need not apply.

Day 5 - "God and Laughter"

2011-01-28T05:42:00.000-08:00

Day 5 - "Of all the things God created, I am often most grateful He created laughter." - Charles Swindoll

Good grief. I spent all day yesterday, and a ridiculously large amount of my should-have-been-sleeping time thinking about how I would ponder these words yet again. This 'duel personality' double blogging thing is hard! While it's frighteningly true that I seem to have a bit of a split personality, even I manage to feel like I've said it all sometimes. Such was the case yesterday. Until...

Oh yes, there is nearly always an until in my world...

I wasted the day trying to think of new ways to say how we use laughter to get through tough events. I turned my brain inside out, shook it up, and even tried a power wash or two...but I couldn't get anywhere. Then, as I laid there trying to sleep, feeling ever-so-awful about how much I'd eaten yesterday...it finally dawned on me. OK, maybe it more like smacked me upside the ripples of my fat rolls... But, 'dawned on me' sounds so much better, I think I'll go with it.

What I realized was that there is one more huge, glaring reason I appreciate that God made humor, my butt. Or rather, the width of my seemingly ever growing back of my front. Then again, my front is far too sizable as well, so count that as yet another reason. What the blazes am I rambling about? In short, I appreciate God making humor because I'm going to need a whoppin' boatload of it as I try to tackle my seven deadly sins again: food, food, food, food...aww, you get the idea.

Yes, I figure I might as well go for changing my body as I try to change my outlook. Way, WAY easier said than done. You don't get to be my size by occasionally over-indulging. No, there is a fair amount of STRESS eating in my world. And worst of all, there is MORE than a fair amount of food sensitivities going on here. It's not fair. In fact, it stinks worse than month-old Limberger cheese left in a heating duct.

I really wish I could tell you I've porked up because I've enjoyed 6000 calorie days of Big Macs, bon bons, and baked Alaskas. Seriously, I wish I could say that, it would have been a lot more fun getting here. No, my vices are far less interesting, and dang it - I've never had that much fun. Contrary to what the skinny, judgemental people of the world think, not every overweight person consumes truckloads of low-brow fare. Sometimes, it's more about the what eat, and the how much our bodies hate it, that matters.

As for me? My contentious old bod hates wheat, yeast, potatoes, peanuts, cashews, sunflowers, and sugar. It's not fond of rice, corn, bananas, and dairy. Personally, I dislike most meat (I'm a very bad carnivore). Which frankly....leaves extraordinarily little on my 'good' list. In the few times I've been able to entirely remove the 'badduns' from my plate, I really do feel better. But good golly miss Molly...that's a whopper (yes, every pun intended) of an order!

To say I've been stressed the past few weeks would be as collosal an understatement as, Mt Rushmore was slightly challenging to complete. I think I've reached Mt Fuji sized heapin' quantities of stress. Therefore, it shouldn't be a giant leap of logic that I know I've been 'stress eating'. Does that mean I've been wolfing down gallons of ice cream, piles of doughnuts, and bucketfuls of chocolate? No.

My personal demons? Frosted Mini-Wheats. No, really, I'm serious! The little crunchy buggers are like crack to me. Little bit of sweet, LOTS of crunch....ooooh...heavenly. I've also, horror of horrors, been eating peanuts and the occasional spoon of peanutbutter. Gads! I've even gotten so decadent as to have a slice of toast twice. Both with peanutbutter ON them! Oh the inhumanity of it all...

I've indulged in dried apricots, dried cranberries, and raisins. I've eaten potatoes, baked and in the perfectly perfect form of those around a meatloaf. I've even dipped into that terrible pot of homemade stew, ripe with potatoes and corn. Shame, shame on me.

Doesn't that list of evils look terrifying to you? Aren't I a shameful pig? I don't think so either. Only a large part of population automatically assumes I am when they see me. I must be indulging in creamhorns and canolis - after all, whole grains and fruits and vegetables couldn't possibly make someone as fat as me... Consider that laughing point number one - the jokes on them. Their stupid whole grains are possibly the worst for me!

Laughing point number two? The fact that so many healthy things hate me. C'mon, it's funny. I'm one of the few humans on earth who LOVE Grapenuts, Shredded Wheat, and All-bran cereal. Admit it, the rest of you eat it to keep your crapper happy. I actually like it. And yet? I sends my body into a tailspin. No fair I say. NO FAIR!

So, here it is. I'm going to embrace the idea that God gave us humor, by begging Him to provide me with an abundance of it as I try my best to detox and reset my tastebuds again. It usually takes a few months to convince myself I no longer want the terrible things. I will likely have dancing bagel dreams and shredded wheat surfing fantasies. But I might as well tackle it all now - while I'm working hard to get my head and heart retrained in other ways. Misery loves company, so to speak.

It's going to be a rough start though. I've already started today on the wrong foot. I ate two dried apricots. Bad, bad dieter...

God help me.

Day 4 "Laughter and friends"

2011-01-27T06:41:00.000-08:00

Day 4: "Laughter's the shortest distance between two people." - Victor Borge

As I said on Avalon's site, I truly believe in this. Normally, I enjoy making people laugh. But as a dear friend holds her son for his last hours...there isn't much joy in my heart. Before I go about the business of this entry, I want to share Jen's most recent Caringbridge update with you.

www.caringbridge.org/visit/matthewbarr

"Matthew is still here with us. He has always done the opposite of what the doctors and nurses think! I have been holding him in my lap almost every minute. I get this strange ache in my arms if I put him down. I know I'm going to have that ache for the rest of my life so I'm holding him as much as I can now.

Our pastor came over yesterday and prayed with us for Matthew to go to Heaven. As much as we don't want to lose him, we also know that the Matthew we know and love isn't really there anymore. We are praying for a peaceful transition for him, from our arms into Jesus' arms. Thank you for all of your prayers. "

Am I going to try to find something funny to say after that? NO. But I do have a point to make....

Matthew is exactly the reason I want to pursue becoming a humor writer. Does that seem counter-intuitive? Well, it's not.

Actually, I knew I wanted to be humor writer years upon years ago. When my oldest, Aurora, was an infant, I would write columns to amuse myself. I've probably written thousands of columns through the years, most of which were never written down. I write columns as I drive. I write them standing in line in the grocery. I write them as I fall asleep at night and mull over the events of the day. 99.9% of the time they're darned funny, and frankly, about exactly nothing. I'll see something that tickles my funny bone, and my head goes straight to what I would say about it, how I would structure a column about it. When I was a first time new mom, the columns centered around diapers, spit up, and the sudden realization that life revolves around bodily functions. Gee, I wonder why?

Long ago, in the days before (before I ever even knew there would be an Avalon, much less the world she would introduce me to), I wanted to write to show people that they take themselves too damn seriously. I wanted to be the next Erma Bombeck to shout to the world, "Take a chill pill, folks! Life is FUN, stop stressing over stupid stuff!"

I still want to do that. Only now, I feel a quiet desperation to do so. Now, in the after, I want to stand on rooftops and scream to the world, "YOU DON'T KNOW HOW GOOD YOU HAVE IT!! STOP GRIPING AND ENJOY LIFE!" I want to spend every day reminding people that life is hysterical, if they'd stop kvetching long enough to look around them.

But that's not all of the story anymore. I now have an insidious, sneaky secondary reason that I want to be heard. I want to make people learn to like me...so they'll listen to what I need them to hear. It's true, laughter does bind people together. If I can figure out how to make thousands of people laugh on a regular basis, then every now and then, when I need to get serious...they just might pay attention. Crazy, isn't it?

I'm not looking for fame and fortune. I'm looking for fame alone. I don't give two poots for fancy cars, big houses, or any of the other trappings of fortune. I want fame - because with fame comes credibility. Is that fair? No, but it's the reality of our society. There's a reason charities clambor for celebrity endorsements. People listen to celebrities. They identify with them, imagine themselves as 'friends' of the celebrities, and they LISTEN to what they have to say.

Let's face it, I'm never going to be body beautiful, and I'm at least a few decades late to begin my Oscar-winning acting career. My singing voice approximates more of an off-tune macaw than a lilting nightingale, and my fashion designing prowesse is limited to designing Halloween costumes for the 8 and under set. I'm nearly positive none of the above will win me accolades or national attention. But I can write. I can take a normal day, find the funny in it, and share it with people. I can also take a day and show you the poignant side of life, and why you need to learn to see it. It's taken me years to have the courage to say it, but I...can...write. Now I need to figure out how to do it for the masses...

So why do I seek fame so desperately? Because I want to grab that elusive golden ring of credibility. I want people to seek out my words, so that when I need to, I can say something important. I want to bond with millions by making them laugh, so that I can grab their hearts and make them hear the heartbreak of one more mother...as she holds her child for the last time.

I want to celebrate the laughter and joy cancer kids bring to their loved ones, and the anguish of the silence when they leave. Laughter can bring us together, so that we stand as one in its absence.

I want to make people laugh...because I can't stand the thought of one more child dying in silence. I want someone to listen...

Day 3 - Unique

2011-01-25T18:59:00.000-08:00

Hah! I'm back on track. It's the eve of Day 3...and I'm here to pester you. Mwuaa haa haa... Oh yeah, I'm on it.

Here's the Blessing: Day 3: "Thank God for the way He made you. You are special, distinct, and unique. You were not made from a common mold.” - Erwin Lutzer

I've already delved deeply into my support of this notion on Avalon's site. I don't feel a great need to repeat myself, so I want to approach this from a different angle as we chat this evening. Rather than constantly having to remind people they were born unique...I want to ask,

"Why in the Hades does the world keep trying to make us all ALIKE?!"

I mean, seriously, think about it. We all go about our daily lives wishing we were just like HER. (or him, or her again I suppose ~ if that's your flavor...) Every damn thing we watch on television, see in a magazine, hear on the radio...tells us there is something dreadfully wrong with us if we don't eat like her, dress like her, drive a car like his, think like him. Every ad, every talk show, every self-help book says the same thing. 'Do this, think this, act like this...or you're doing it WRONG."

Phhhthhhtttt... to all of them that insist so 'insistingly' that I'm wrong. (In case you don't read phhhthttt, that's a gigundus raspberry, and it's aimed directly at all those do-gooders.)

No really, I couldn't be more serious. Who in the Hades do these people think they are? Oh sure, they have fancy degrees and umpteen zillion years in school, purgatory, or whatever torture chamber they willingly tossed themselves in. BUT...they all seem to be missing a gigantic slice of the pie of intellect. People are DIFFERENT.

I don't two figs and hooter what they think. There is a reason we learn about the 'bell curve' in even the simplest of statistics classes. Any group, of any thing, for any purpose, will NOT produce perfect numbers. When you gather data about a group, that data will cluster. But thing about the cluster is that it's NEVER a perfect stack above one value. Noooo-ooooo my friends. A "bell curve" means that data will stack up around one value...but that it will also exist and taper off both below and above the most popular value. It's not possible to stack all data at one point...so WHY do we keep telling people they have to squeeze themselves there?

Should people value their families and spend their every waking hour shaping the lives of their children? Nope. Heck, a good number of humans I've met would be much better off if they'd forgo the entire notion of reproducing. But noooo, society says they must, so off they go. Why force that? Not everyone should be a parent. Why aren't we as supportive of non-parenting? Why force people into roles they don't want, and won't be good at?

Should people get an education? Duh. I'm not advocating dropping out and taking up beer swilling as an occupation. What I'm saying is that college isn't for everyone. Each person needs to choose their path - and not feel one bit inferior if they take the road less traveled.

Should people try to be as healthy as possible? Super Duh. But damn-it-all, each of us inhabit a different vessel. Some of our vessels fight us at every turn. 'Eat less, move more'. I LOATHE that simplistic statement. I've eaten as few as 600 calories a day (on the advice of a DOCTOR), and exercised vigorously every one of those days...and gained weight. To whit, the specialist who ordered the diet (along with my family doctor at the time) accused me of lying. Did either Dr. try to help? Did they listen to my pleading, my despondancy? Nope. They crammed me right smack in the middle of that stupid bell curve. When the reality is, I'm a floatin' somewhere waaaaay out on the rim. I needed rim answers, not hump-a-dump easy ones.

I could go on ad nauseum...but I won't. I think you get the point. I believe God DID make each of us unique. My problem is that it's become socially unacceptable to be distinctive.

I'm a 43 year old stay at home mom. I have waistlength hair and a love of funky jewelry. I adore beautiful shoes, but hate pain. I'm quite comfortable in my combat boots, so I wear them. My favorite skirt came from a Rennaissance festival. It's nearly floorlength, and is made of hundreds of small patches of brightly colored fabric. I wear rings on almost all of my fingers because they were given to me by people I love and they make me happy. I'm way overweight, and struggle mightily with food on a daily basis. (I'm allergic to everything - food hates me) I'm also intelligent, witty, loving, and passionate. The problem is, the last statement is often lost in the facts that came before it. Society says I can't possibly be smart or personable....I dress weird and I'm fat. I must be simple.

I'm sick to death of it! Who cares if I'm over 40 and have long hair? I swear I don't spontaneously gobble up small children and store them in there. And what's an extra few rings to people? Last time I checked, I've never used them as a set a brass knuckles, so what's the big deal? Why on earth does staying home to enjoy and educate my children automatically classify me as a subhuman blob? Heads up, I'm mensa qualified. Super ultra phhhthhhtttt to those who question my 'smarticle particles'. (Suite Life on Deck joke - tossed in for my kids) I might walk slightly off the beaten path...but why in the name of Budda's butt should that matter to anyone?

Well, it shouldn't. Erwin Lutzer was dead on. We ARE all unique, distinctive, interesting creatures. It's high time we appreciated that in each other. Society needs to stop cramming we octagonal pegs into the square holes. We 'ain't gonna fit'. No how, no way. And there's not one thing wrong with that.

Pffffttttttt.... Nope, that wasn't another raspberry. That, my friends, was a virtual fart. I pass gas in the general direction of anyone who attempts to mold me into the mass image.

Pfffttttttttt.......................

Day 2

2011-01-25T06:37:00.000-08:00

Day two of my quest, and I already had to break my 'Avalon morning/Blubber Blog' evening thing. Darn teenager, darn old router. Aurora had a HUGE journalism project to finish, and she bogarted the internet signal until long after this old broad had to go to sleep. Remember that road of 'good intentions'? Yeah...it's another layer thick. Poop.

Here is the blessing for Day 2: "A man leaves all kinds of footprints when he walks through life. Some you can see... Others are invisible, like the prints he leaves across other people's lives. " - Margaret Lee Runbeck

I started this morning by re-reading my entry on Avalon's site about the blessing. Wow...what a pompous twit I can be! OK, the whole bead chain thing is 100% true. Our family has invested a ridiculous amount of money in the beads, hoping that they will someday be a legacy for Avalon. I really do have a long mental list of 'heart' people and 'square' people. All of that is honestly what I try to share with people when I speak publicly.

But, cripes all mighty, I really didn't mean to come off as a pious preach-a-lot when I talked about myself. I honestly DO try very hard to be friendly with everyone I meet. That's the truth. But it's also very, very true that I'm an opinionated, control-freaky Wench-o-matic sometimes. I am NOT, by any stretch of the imagination, a highly evolved uber-calm ocean of tranquility. No, no-no, nooooooo----oh. Huh uh, nope, no-friggin' way.

I really don't want anyone to get the wrong impression here. I honestly, whole-heartedly DO believe in being kind to people. I really do committ acts of kindness and do things like stop store managers to tell them their cashier or stock clerk went out of their way to be helpful. BUT...there is a flip side to that. I'm also the one who will pitch a whoppin' fit if someone is a turd to me. I see it like this, if I do my best to be courteous, and go the extra mile to report kindness, then dag-nabbit I've earned the right to gripe when someone oozes fecal matter my direction. So there.

I do my best not to yell or swear. I do...my...best. That, however, is not always good enough. As my kids would happily rat me out on, I DO often lose my cool and yell. I try not to...but my word, I think Gandhi himself would yell at my kids sometimes. You know those sappy my-house-is-a-place-of-peace people? Liars, one and all. Every parent on the planet loses it sometimes, it's a fact. I know, it's a sad fact. After all, our kids' hearts are the place we tread the heaviest...

I guess what I'm trying ever-so-awkwardly to say is...a) I'm not perfect - don't ever think for 1/2 a second that I am, b) we ALL make mistakes, and c) we should probably think long and hard about how to deal with our lapses in judgement. After all, we do leave footprints on the hearts of our fellow man.

Doubt the impact you have on other people? Google 'rude people' and see how many zillion sites come up! Stand in the 10 and under line at the grocery, behind someone with 28 things...and see how you feel. Wait patiently for a parking spot, and watch some guy swoop in before you can make the turn. Have a cashier ring up your order without ever speaking to you - and scowl at you when you hand her coupons. C'mon...you've all experienced these moments and a million other ones. How did it make you feel? How did it affect your day?

That's right, one rude twit can ruin your whole day. How many of you have logged onto Facebook to see a friend's status update about some hateful booger who recently wronged them? How many times have you had your feelings hurt and spent the next several days replaying, re-replaying, and re-re-re-playing every detail of the events in your head? We're all human, and somehow we manage to glob onto the negative stuff with much more fervor than we do positive things. I don't know why, maybe it's some collective genetic flaw. No matter the 'why', the fact is we're all 'globbers'. It logically follows that when we send negative out into the world, there will definitely be some poor schmo just waiting to grab onto it and have a bad day.

So, why not try to send less ugly into the world to give people less to velcro onto? Why not make a concerted effort each day to toss a positive pebble into the Big Pond - sending ripples of good into the world? Why not? Because it's hard! That's why not. It is difficult some days, but it's oh-so-worth it.

Believe me, there are days I hate the world. Do you think there was anything positive in my Universe a few weeks ago as I writhed in pain in an ambulance? No. My world was crashing, my heart breaking... But, the medic didn't cause my pain, he was there to try to help me. The nurses in the OR didn't kill my child, they were trying to help me live to care for my other children.

I had every right to be nasty and beligerant. But what would that have done? It would have expanded my circle of awful to include people that didn't deserve to be there. That's not fair. Besides, by trying my best to be civil, most of the people that helped me that night did their best to ease my pain as much as they could. Were they all kind? Um...no. But the ones that were, did such a great job...they made up for the ones that weren't. The footprints of kindness overroad those of indifference. Kindness CAN make a difference.

Again, I want to make sure I'm clear. I can be as much of a flaming female dog as anyone else. (ask my husband, he's got the bite marks to prove it) But I'm trying. I'm a work in progress, and that's all I'm asking of you.

As you head out your door to work, school, an appointment, shopping...stop and think. 'What kind of day can I have?' You can rush off irritated at the amount of work/responsibilities you have, or you can be grateful so many people need so much of you. You can ignore the fact that your cashier is human, and blather on the phone while she checks you out...or you can get OFF the phone, and smile and chat warmly with her. Odds are, you'll improve her day immensely with the second option. And who knows? The pebble you toss by being friendly, may bring a huge wave of kindness to someone you love as it spreads out.

We do all leave footprints on each other's hearts. How about we try to make them as peaceful and loving as we can?

And finally, I have to share something my wise friend, Angie wrote on Facebook. She wanted to add a bit to today's blessing. Angie's addition is in itallics: A man leaves all kinds of footprints when he walks through life. Some you can seelll Others are invisible, like the prints he leaves across other people's lives. And sometimes, even though the prints are only there for a little while and only go so far, the tread sinks far into the heart and changes the path of every footstep thereafter.

Angie's words immediately brought to mind all the cancer kids she and I have loved and lost. Every footstep on their hearts was magnified exponentially by the brevity of their lives. Every footstep on their parents' fragile hearts, will forever be tinged by the pain they've endured. And most significant, every footstep those children placed...will forever change those of us who loved them.

Be mindful as you step today...you cannot imagine the importantance of your actions.

Peace out!

Day 1

2011-01-23T18:49:00.000-08:00

Holy friggin' cow...how many times have I written "Day 1" on this stupid blog? Well - pffthhttt to you blubber butt - I'm writing it again. Only this time, it actually doesn't have a whoppin' boatload to do with losing weight. I'm on a quest - and the over-sized back of my front is just going to have to come along with me.

Quick update - because if you really care, you can always pop over to Avalon's website to read the details. I last left you in Sept of 2010. Desperate to once again start an awareness campaign to drag people kicking and screaming into the world of knowing about cancer kids...I restarted my infamous 'Crazy Cancer Mom Fat-a-Thon'. As with many aspects of my life, I fully embrace the saying, "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions." Actually, I think I've repaved the damn street so many times, it nearly leads to Heaven now. At least...that's what I tell myself.

Anywhooo...back in September I began starving again. Of course it didn't go well, it never does. My body hates me, I hate it, it's all rather circular in nature. It's no wonder I've become progressively simpler in my old age. I spend so much time running in circles, I'm beginning to approximate the intelligence of dog. And not a real dog either, I'm getting close to one of those celebrity drop-kick-me-things that can't even walk it's so inbred..

Ack, off topic again. Big shock.

Soooo, back in September me, my good intentions and I began yet another diet. We UNbegan that diet nearly immediately after we started it. Why? Because against all reason and logic, I found myself pregnant! We were as shocked as we were THRILLED. The entire event became a huge state secret between myself and Nick - for reasons too many to enumerate here. We had a wonderful few weeks of being blissful, then our first setback happened, an implantation bleed. The bleed forced us to break the news to the kids before we'd planned. We had to tell them, we thought they might want to know why Mommy wasn't supposed to move off the couch for 3 weeks... The bleed healed, and all progressed normally, with the grand exception of me fighting off a few rounds of bronchitis and sinus infections. Bleck.

The holidays came and went, and we outed our big news to the world. We all basked in the sunshine of a new life, and made as many plans for our newly expanded family as we had arguments over who would get the most hug time. No baby was ever wanted more.

Sadly though, wanting is not the same as getting. On Dec 30, during a pre-amniocentesis ultrasound, we learned our miracle was over. We'd lost our son. Right then and there I heard my heart shatter...but that was only the beginning. Dec 31st I had a D & E surgery to clear the uterus - but there were complications. Several days later I delivered my son in an ambulance on the way to our local ER... I told you there were complications. And finally, a week after that nightmare, I had a second D & E surgery. In a nutshell, the past several weeks have SUCKED.

So what-in-the-Sam-hill am I doing coming here to the place I'm usually rather witty and a tad cheerful? I'm getting to that! Keep your pants on. (unless you don't want to, in which case I'll be quiet - I'm on a quest to be a more accepting person...) Yesterday I received a care package from an online friend. One of the things in the care package has sent me on a personal quest to find a 'new' me and a 'new' direction. After the Hades I've been spiraling through the past several weeks, the new direction thing has got to be pretty easier. It's not hard to go anywhere other than straight down. Left, upper left, right, straight up...I'll take anything.

My package contained something called "A Box of 101 Blessings for My Friend". Pretty cool, huh? At first I fully intended to rip into the box and read every darned blessing. It's important to note here, I have the patience of a gnat. I nearly always read the last page of a book before I finish the first chapter. I have always read the 'spoiler' pages about Harry Potter books and movies the day the were released (unless I could find bootleg pages even before the release!) and I have to fight multiple world wars with myself not to give people presents long before the holidays I purchased them for. Patience...of...a....gnat.

The thing is, the first card in the box stopped me in my tracks. It welcomed me to my new little world by saying, "Especially for you…a bouquet of 101 blessings to fill your heart with the fragrance of love and friendship." A bouquet of blessings? Just for me? I couldn't possibly sully that... Hmmm...maybe I could just look at one...

So, I turned the first card over and found Day One: “A friend is a person who listens attentively while you say nothing.” That's it, that's all it took. I was hooked.

For years I've come here, or to one of Avalon's websites to pour my heart out to you, strangers whom I consider my dear friends. I've begged for mental support, thanked you for prayers, and when at all possible, tried to make you laugh or leave you with a thought to ponder as you trudge through your daily life. I've been rattling your brains with my 'nothings' for years now...and yet, you've remained my 'friends'. This time, it didn't take a full-on Godsmack to get my attention. I sat up and paid attention at the loud whisper instead. (good thing too, I'm still bruised from the last smackdown..)

The plan I hatched late last night was a quest. A 101 day journey to self awareness, self acceptance, and love. Each day I will read a new card, ponder on it - and write as much as I can about how I see it, and how it affected me that day. In a perfect world, I'll write on Avalon's website in the morning, and this one at night. We'll see if I can figure out how to stick to that. (believe it or not, my random thoughts take more than a bit of mental gymnastics!) The point is, I want to be serious sometimes, and stupid silly others. I think Avalon's site is OK for family/friend/coping stuff - but my whole I'm-going-to-change-my-existence mountain is best left here, where I can swear more.

I AM serious though. I want to be a different person at the end of the 101 days. No...I will NOT adopt a dalmation each day, although as a rabid Disney enthusiast I would be lying if I said the thought had never crossed my mind... And NO...I don't envision that I could possibly lose a pound each of the coming 100 days, turning me into a svelte svengali with perfect hooters. (although dang it..that would be cool!) What I'm looking for are new attitudes, new outlooks, a new shot-in-the-butt to my self esteem and self awareness. And heads up, I'm aiming to do that for ALL of us. That's right. You're not just going to sit there and judge me...you're going to get off of your mental cabooses and join me! We're in this together, my friends. Like it or not. ;-D

Did I have any great personal epiphanies today? Um...no. I did eat a healthy, calorie conscious breakfast and lunch though. Heck, I even did pretty well at dinner. Buu~uut....I'm nearly sure my Bailey's and Creme nightcap just tanked my 'healthy eating' for the day. Yeah, yeah...what-ever... Rome wasn't built in a day either. So there.

Oh, and I lost my cool, my temper, and my resolve with my short people tonight too. I didn't Velcro anyone to a wall, so I didn't lose it too bad. And cripes, just how many times can you say, "Don't throw that, don't say that, don't touch that" before your tongue revolts and marches across the room to smack your progeny? I mean, geez, I'm only human...

Crap. I think I just tanked my good intentions for the day. Rats. Ahh well, yet another layer added to Hade's Highway. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day...

I'll see you later on FB, Avalon's caringbridge, or here...pick your poison.

LOVE!

Day 8 - 1st weigh in

2010-09-21T06:32:00.001-07:00

I have sooo much to blog about, zero heart to do it. But, I swore to be 100% transparent and honest on this journey, so here it is. Today, on my first "official" weigh-in, I've gained 1.5 pounds.

Start: 276.5 Today 278

I fully admit I've actually been weighing myself every few days. By day 4, I was down 4 pounds. I truly thought I would be down a full 5 pounds by today. Then, I went grocery shopping over the weekend. Did I buy sugar? No. Absolutely NO desserts, NOTHING that would normally be considered 'unhealthy'. NO sugar cereal, NO potato chips/pretzels/crap food.

However, I did buy Kashi cereals for fiber, and tortilla chips to eat salsa/hummus with. Apparantly, I...can't....do...that. I counted/weighed/measured/accounted for every last bite. I kept my calories under 1600 most days, 1800 on the worst day. BUT...my body reacts terribly to corn/wheat/potatoes/etc. Two days of tortilla chips (even in moderation of 7 chips per serving) and homemade stew last night were enough to sink my battleship. In three days I gained back the 4 lbs + 1.5 more. Damn.

Before you all think I'm crazy, let me assure you, this has happened before. Years ago, I begged my then-family-doctor for help. I kept detailed food and exercise journals, and took them to her, looking for answers. She sent me to an endocrinologist, who said my body needed to be shocked into starvation. He put me on a 600 cal/day diet - and prescribed x amount of exercise. In less than a week, I gained NINE POUNDS! It was AWFUL. I took my log to all doctors involved, and they told me I was lying, I'd been cheating. I hadn't, I didn't, I was crushed...

Much later, I switched family docs and the new doc suggested I have an estrogen-loading issue. The easiest way to sum it up, is that my body has a tendency to hang on to yeast - which raises estrogen levels - which then dorks up the whole thyroid/metabolism thing. To deal with it, there is a strict yeast cleansing diet. When I follow the diet to the letter, I've lost up to 40 pounds in a month. But it is very, VERY difficult to follow.

Guess what? It's time to find it again. I'll be starting it beginning with lunch today. Oh, and I got clearance from the cardiologist yesterday that I can start exercising. (that's a long story - and was actually pretty funny yesterday...but I'm NOT feeling remotely humorous at the moment...) Hopefully, week #2 will be better.

I'm NOT giving up! I'm NOT going to 'fake it', fudge to you, or whitewash any of this. Cancer kids don't have that as an option, so neither do I. We parents of CKs (cancer kids) hear awful, devastating news all the time. In fact, for lots of us, that news leads to a greater amount of bulge to battle with. I suppose I shouldn't have thought for even one second that this would be an easy battle to take on. NOTHING about Childhood Cancer is easy...why should my awareness campaign be?

Is the yeast diet tasty, fun, or resort-ish? NO - it sucks. But...then again, so does having cancer when you're supposed to be playing Tee-ball or Barbies. Folks, if you think I'm suffering...you should meet some kids I know.

I'm sad today, really, REALLY sad....but this time, I'll get over it - and I'll move on. I will NOT lose faith or momentum. I will continue to humiliate myself if it means 'my' kids have even one tiny chance of being heard. I WILL lose this weight, and fight my way into the public eye somehow. I WILL make sure the American Public LEARNS about kids with cancer. I HAVE to. I've seen too many kids suffer.

But today, I'm sad. I'm kind of defeated. And oh yeah...I'm another year older.

Happy Frickin' Birthday to me.

Day 6...

2010-09-19T19:51:00.000-07:00

Ugh! Sick kids, laundry to the moon, shopping for healthy food, medical kid, house in utter chaos...

I want chocolate, a maid, booze, and a backrub. In...that...order.

I'm getting none of the above.

Damn.

Day 4 - Crap.

2010-09-17T19:42:00.001-07:00

Little time to be witty tonight...

Ambrosia - A#2 - has been 'pukey-Sue' most of the day. She's been worshiping the great blue plastic barf basin (not even able to make it to the white porceline God). Tried to do school with Avalon - who also fell prey to something this afternoon. Is she getting the my-guts-are-coming-out-through-my-nose Ambrosia thing? Or, is this typical Avalon nightmare. Doesn't matter which, she's been flat on the couch - so dizzy she doesn't feel safe to walk, and not interested in food.

Before Avalon fell victim, we did some school today. Which left Aurora downstairs, on puke bucket duty...not a 15 yo's favorite way to spend an afternoon. Neither is packing...and that's a whole other story...

Massive clean out happening here too - so the day's been nuts. I do have a few diet notes though....

Tacos are $%@% high in calories!! Who knew? OK, so maybe you skinny types did, but we blubber butts had no flippin' clue. Seriously...not kidding. Nick made taco meat for us last night - so in my crazy day, it was easy to have tacos for lunch and dinner. Two each meal - lots of lettuce and tomatoes - no sour cream...and they still cost me HUNDREDS (too many to mention) of calories! I'm pissed. Yeah, you read that right, pissed. Is that a family-friendly, politically correct word? Nope. Tough toenails. I thought I was being responsible....and I sabotaged myself by accident. It's a P.O.ed kind of moment.

I supposed I could hope this whole barfy thing is a virus...and I'll puke out all those calories tomorrow.

Then again, maybe not.

Day 3 Am I bitter?

2010-09-16T19:56:00.000-07:00

Aurora (my oldest daughter) says I'm a smidgeon bitter. I'm sure I don't have any idea what she was talking about. I mean, I simply made a small, non-combative comment....and she went and called me bitter. I don't think that was very nice...

Yesterday was one of those crazy-errand-days. You all know the ones, where you've put off 85 things that should have been done yesterday, and now you have no damn choice but to accomplish them all in one whopping marathon. I hate those days. Seriously...give me a choice of dental work or errands...I swear I'll go for the freaky dude in a mask. (who signs up to have their hands in people's mouths all day? Ewww...) I hhhhhaaaaatttttte errands. They make me crabby.

First stop was to Aurora's new ophthalmologist. Sure, I've been to the building before, but once...a year ago. Do I know where it is? Well, yes I do, by golly. But did I know exactly how to get there? Ummm....noooo....maybe not. It's not like I went 38 miles out of the way, or drove to the wrong city, or missed the zipcode entirely. I just didn't realize I needed to get off the highway at an exit that's pretty far north of the actual building. And by the time I realized there weren't any other options...I was whizzing right past the bastion of eye health...and smack into a whacked out part of downtown that has exactly NO direct route back to the stupid road I needed.

Errand Day: 1 Alicia: Big, fat, hairy ZERO.

Great. Fine. Fan-friggin'-tastic. Time to wind my way through twisty, non-directional, pointless roads, as I ever-so-successfully erode away my 'grace period' of I-might-actually-be-early-for-once! Early was OUT. I began to hope for same calendar day.

As I finally found my way to boulevards I knew were headed the right direction, we began to crusie through a rather snooty suburb of Columbus. Funny, this is by no means one of the nicest, or most expensive suburbs. But, it is definitely a high runner in the our body secretions don't smell mindset. You can't walk 6 feet down their streets without bumping into someone who can spout their lineage in perfect Days of Our Lives fashion, Why, my Father was the 2nd richest and by far the best known Fart Fancier that Madame Medusa has ever seen...

So here I am, running late, gamey from stress sweat, and most importantly for this particular tale...hungry and CRANKY, as I drive the streets of perfection. And that is when I saw them.

Joggers.

Oh, not sweaty, pudgy-so-you-know-they're-suffering-like-you joggers. Oh noooo-ooooo.... These were the never-had-6-oz-of-fat, wearing-expensive-shoes-and-running-couture joggers. You just knew chicki-babe's sports bra matched her sport underwear. And you double-dutch-dare knew they were all the best of the best that the best of the best sporting goods stores only carry in sizes 0-6. (because anyone over a size 6 doesn't deserve to live, much less marry, reproduce, or god-forbid...exercise) You just knew it...

The following conversation then took place with Aurora. I believe she judged me. Rather harsh of her, if you ask me.

Me: I want to trip them.

Aurora: What?!

Me: I...want....to....TRIP...them.

Aurora: Who?!

Me: The joggers.

Aurora. WHY?!

Me: Because they're judging me.

Aurora: Have you lost your mind? They're not judging you. They're running down the street. They don't even know you're in here!

Me: They're skinny. They're jogging. I don't see sweat. They're judging me.

Aurora: You are completely NUTS. Those people can't even see you! That's mean.

Me: I don't want to cause bodily harm. Nothing broken, no permanent damage. I just want to see them faceplant...once, OK mayyyybe twice...

Aurora: MOM! You would hurt somebody if you tripped them! Seriously, mom. You're weird.

Me: If they jogged past me on the road, they'd judge me. I'm a blob, they'd instantly categorize me as lazy and gross. Am I wrong?

Aurora: ...well....maybe....

Me: C'mon...you know I'm right.

Aurora: Mom, you're a tad bitter. They could be nice.

Me: They'd judge me and I want to trip them. I could be happy settling for just one. The really skinny chick. C'mon...just one pudgy little cankle in their path?

Aurora: Mom, I think you're a little bitter.

Me: Nah, I'm sweet. I've got too much chocolate back-logged in my butt.

She better watch out. If she keeps judging me, I've got plenty of chances to toss out one of my cankles...

Day 2 - No Buckeyes!

2010-09-15T04:57:00.000-07:00

Holy Sabotage, Batman....are you serious?!

OK, so something snapped in me on Sept 13. Something about recent bad news for Avalon, recent bad news for the children of dear friends, and National Childhood Cancer Awareness Day all coalesced in my tiny noggin and created a ginormous boot to kick my butt into action. For once, I didn't think, I just did. Sounds great, right? Sure, unless you're the boob who just jumped off the cliff...

Now don't get your panties in a twist. I'm not giving up on day two or anything. In fact, I have no intentions of giving up at all this time. But holy bageezees, Batman...did I have to face sabotage on the very first day?!! Sure, sure I did. Why? Because dorky old me forgot about '
Mom's Night Out', that's why. MNO is put on by a local charity for families of pediatric cancer. One of their programs is to have a monthly meeting where local moms come together to chat, eat, kvetch, eat, laugh, and...eat. Actually, come to think of it, food happens to be a central theme in lots of the mom events. Hmmm...I may have to consider sacrificing my mental state for my diet fate. Then again, dag-nabbit, there are skinny moms who attend this stuff. How come I can't be one of theeemmmmm? (said in my best whiny 6 yo voice) Aww bat crap.

But I digress.... (BTW, if you're new to my writing, you might just want to get 'used to' the whole digression thing.) To honor the collective worship of the entire city of Columbus, OH, the theme of this month's dinner was a Buckeye tailgate party. Not realizing I would soon be signing my life away, I ever-so-innocently signed up to bring Scarlet and Gray popcorn and da da da dummmm...buckeyes. Any locals just instantly understood the gravity of the situation. For those of you not 'of Buckeyedom', let me fill you in. Our city is bonzo for Ohio State football. We cheer wildly for the Ohio State Buckeyes. Yeah, we all worship a nut. It's a nut with arms, legs, and a face...but it's still a nut. Better yet, eons ago some genius came up with a candy to honor that nut. 'Buckeyes' (in candy form) are peanutbutter/confectioner sugar/wonderment that are dipped in chocolate, leaving a small spot with the peanutbutter peeking through...so they look like the actual nuts that fall off the trees. A good candy buckeye (or 3) gives debauchery a run for its money. I mean seriously, the older you get, the more kids that can interrupt...Buckeyes begin to take the lead... Just sayin'

So, here it was, my first night on my VERY public diet, and I had signed up to bring popcorn and buckeyes. Oh, and Scarlet and Gray popcorn is actually scarlet and gray (OSU colors). It's candy coated and perhaps the most amazing popcorn you will ever place in your face. When I realized I had to go buy this stuff...I could nearly smell the failure in the air... But, I had promised, so off I went.

The good news is, our local grocery had sold out of S & G popcorn, so I had to wait to shop until I was on the way to dinner. After an appt downtown, I popped into a store on the way to MNO. What luck! They were sold out of popcorn! OK, let's be honest. I should have danced. Really, that would have been the appropriate response. But the fact is, I sulked. I am such a flippin' nut job - I was utterly bummed they didn't have a sweet treat that I couldn't eat. I've...lost....my....mind.

After settling for scarlet and gray cookies and finding some buckeyes, I headed off to meet up with my moms. As I drove there, contemplating the insanity of the situation, reality began to set in. I started to realize how little I'd thought through the whole I'll-start-the-diet-TODAY thing. Why? Oh I don't know...things like my birthday is next week. Or, how about we're going to the Rennaisance festival this weekend? How about our free weekend (food included!) at Kalahari Resort in 10 days?! Then....then....there's Halloween on the horizon...then....Thanksgiving... Aaaaaghhhhhh!!!!!

Breathe in...breathe out. Breathe in....breathe out. Ohhhhmmmmm.......

About the time my hair began vaulting from my scalp, I pulled into the parking lot. I stomped my way into our gathering room, fussing loudly about my lack of popcorn, while fuming quietly about all the stuff I wasn't going to get to eat in the coming months. Grumble, grumble, fuss, fuss.... Grrrr....

First, I was hugged by my friend whose son had brain tumors as an infant. We were in the hospital at the same time a few years ago; Avalon recovering from her catastrophic surgery, Will recovering from his stroke - a late effect of the radiation that saved his life 15 yrs before. I was hugged by another friend who has heard the awful words we all dread, and yet she smiled and hugged me. Oh, then there is the bouncy, smiling, hysterical mother who only has pictures and memories of an infancy spent in the hospital, empty arms but a joyful heart. As I hugged each of my friends, all of them part of this awful family of cancer parents...the buckeyes became so much less important.

I ate salad, a bean picante with a few tortilla chips, and a Diet Coke. No KFC, no cookies, NO BUCKEYES.

Hey Batman, think you're up to helping me kick some cancermom flab? I think our kids deserve it.

Fat-A-Thon Day 1~Sept 15, 2010

2010-09-14T06:57:00.000-07:00

Day 1 - I'm probably certifiable

What in the holy crap have I gone and done?! I've lost my mind, that's what. I've publicly pledged to restart something I've failed at before. Oh sure...that inspires confidence...

OK, so here's the thing. This whole lose-weight-to-raise-awareness thing has been taking up space in my pea-brain for far too long. I'm sick of it keeping me up at night. I'm dad-blasted tired of it claiming so much mental real estate that I forget things like my own phone number. It's time to drag the insanity out of the dark recesses and plop it squarely in the light. Hopefully, I'll reclaim a smidgeon of my sanity in the process...

You see, years ago I had a friend who likened her aging brain to a rolodex. You spend a lifetime accumulating knowledge of all manner and sort. You gather things like historical facts, emotional thoughts, and the useless data that we require to function in polite society. Well...our brains are like a rolodex. Eventually, they run plum out of space. When that happens, something gets kicked to the curb. For example, I can still recall my best friend's phone number from elementary school, but I utterly, totally forgot my son's 3rd birthday last year, until someone else mentioned it. I firmly believe my rolodex is overstuffed and cards are flying out at speeds sufficient enough to decapitate small dogs. I've decided it's best to voluntarily remove a few things, before our neighbor's Yorkie takes a hit. Hence, I've moved the Fat-A-Thon idea back 'out' - to free up several zillion kilabites of internal memory. I can virtually hear the synapses breathing a sigh of relief... (Indulge me on this, let me live in the delusion that I'm soon to be as organized as I will be svelte and gorgeous...and stop laughing)

So here we go again. You, me, a bunch of strangers, and the internet...all about to start a wondrous journey together. We're going to sweat together, laugh together, and please-oh-please lose some fat blobules together. (it's a word - deal with it!) I've proven in the past that I know how to lose weight. Really, I have. However, I've also proven that I'm a weak-minded simpleton who hears talking bagels and singing chocolate. Knowing what to do and doing it happen to be vastly different beasties. Your part in this nut brigade is to keep me honest. Cheer for me when I tell the bagels to be quiet, and yell at me when their siren song lures me in.

But most of all, your job is to laugh. That's right...laugh. Folks, this world is full of far too much seriousness. Ask any of us cancer parents. Holy crap, we've got enough serious to fill the grand canyon several gagillion times over. (and yes...I maintain that is yet another 'real' word!) Cancer parents have death, pain, torture, and helplessness in their realities. More than most people we need to laugh to survive! So join me in honoring my fellow cancer moms. As I gripe/moan/kvetch-like-it's-my-job....laugh with me as I attempt to battle my butt. I do this for all of us who have eaten our stress, and for all of our children who have unwittingly been drop-kicked into the world of cancer. If you can embrace the utter INSANITY that is the Fat-A-Thon...then maybe you can relearn to appreciate the wonders of the life you live.

After all, you're not posting pictures of your rear-end on the internet. I am. That alone should make your day....

September 12, 2008 Day 5

2008-09-13T05:07:00.000-07:00

Damn croutons. They're out to get me. Seriously, I think they sit in the pantry and plot my downfall.

It seems soooo simple. Don't eat croutons, have a wheat/yeast free day. Check and check. Except reality is closer to - don't eat croutons, have a wimpy, boring salad that threatens to derail the entire diet plan and road to thin and svelteness! OK, so 8 little pieces of crunchy wonderfulness (I'm telling you, these are real words) shouldn't have this much power over me. Seriously, I shouldn't have to eat them...but they scream my name. Then they offer to massage my tonsils. Heck, they even tell me they're good for me, saving me from bigger evils. Powerful, powerful little beasties they are.

You see, this is how it went down. I really wasn't hungry at breakfast. (a good sign I'm getting a handle on my yeasty/sugar/wheat issues) I settled for a cup of coffee and eventually an ounce of cheese. Not terribly gourmet - but at least it was something.

The morning was school, school, school - so I really didn't think much about food until the kids badgered me for lunch. Oh yeah, perhaps they (and I) need some sustenance. Alright. They got noodle/chicken left overs from last night, I made my onion/egg/tomato concoction with some leftover chicken tossed in. Pretty good slop, and relatively high on the healthy scale. Two down, one to go.

Finally, it was time to stuff our faces with dinner. The kids were grilled cheese and grapes. Me? OK, did the grilled cheese smell fantastic?! Oh yeah. Color me tormented. And I don't make just any old grilled cheese. This was gourmet whole grain wheat bread, brushed with butter, slowly browned, filled with American cheese, cheddar cheese, and monterey jack. Uh huh - I'm drooling at the mere thought of it now. Last night? Sheer torture it was. Enter the crouton army.

After "dinnering" the kids, I settled on a salad for me. I'd had this amazing Cobb salad at Damon's on Wednesday, so I thought I'd try to replicate it. OK, salad mix, 2 oz of herbed chicken, 2 TBS of bacon bits, 1/2 C cheese...things were looking pretty good. Then, they called to me...

"Aleeeeeesha....(croutons can't spell) Oh Aleeeeeeeeeshaaaaaa... You know your salad is softy and wussy. If you put us on there, you'll have a crunchy wonderland. No more flimsy...you'll get crunch. You know, we're not those grilled cheeses. We're little, we're harmless.....oh Aleeeeesha......"

Stupid croutons. Who made them so literate? Then again, who made me so weak?

Damn.

September 11, 2008 Day 4

2008-09-12T06:26:00.001-07:00

You know, I think its a tad depressing that I have to put the year up there in the title. I know it took me years to reach my current state of fatitude, but damn...does it have to take years to get rid of it? Its a smidge of a bummer.

I'm happy to report I'm not even a tiny bit depressed about my dieting today! I was fantastico! (its a word - go with it) I was going to report I'd had my first yeast-free day, but then I remembered the croutons I'd put on my dinner salad. Rats. I was close....so so close. I want some serious dieting karma points for today, though. I think I opened the refridgerator and stared at the sourdough bread at least 7 or 8 times. Worse, I even had to take the whole grain gourmet wheat bread out of the 'fridge and make sandwiches for the kids. Arrrgghhhh.... Oh ho, it is to suffer....

If you're new to my rantings, or haven't read any of the archives - there's something you should know. I'm horribly, terribly allergic to yeast. I'm pretty stinkin' allergic to wheat too. If I can manage to fully purge them from my system, I feel like a million bucks. I'll have energy coming out my ears, my sinuses will be better, and I'll begin to lose weight faster than you lose socks in the dryer. Once I've been fully yeast-free for a while, even a mere half a bagel will give me hives and make me feel like I've got the flu. I found this out years ago, its not news to me. I've even managed to get to anti-yeast Nirvana a couple of times - hence how I know about the killer "relapse" effects. Here's the issue, even though I know I will feel better, I know what horrors yeast and wheat reap upon my pathetic body, I know what I can lose....giving up bread and pasta sucks!

I mean, seriously folks, it blows goat chunks. No wheat/no yeast means no bread, pasta, pie, cake, cookies, or cereal. You might as well lick cardboard for dinner, its about all you're left with. So while I know all the bad stuff that happens when I fall off the anti-yeast wagon, the fact is, I also know that the acute reaction lessons over time - and I will eventually get back to real life, eating it without really "feeling" the side effects. You'd think my close-to-needing-wider-doorways butt would be a clue that the yeast/wheat thing really does take its toll, but no....I'm not that smart. Besides, when bagels talk to you in your dreams, its really hard to be reasonable the next day.

So here I go again, trying to fight my yeast demons. Expect lots of griping about this. The 4-6 weeks it takes to get rid of the screaming cravings are pure torture. After that, its more of a dull roar...

Breakfast/lunch (I made too much, and heated the rest up for lunch) 2 C coffee w/ 2 TBS creamer - total 180 cal, 2 eggs- -1.5 C onion-1 C tomatoes, 2 TBS bacon bits (=60 cal)-1/2 C shred ched cheese (200 cal)

snack - 1oz ched/mont jack cheese

Dinner salad-2 TBS bacon bits (=60 cal)-2 TBS vidalia onion dressing-1/4 C shred cheese-1 TBS sunflower seeds-croutons (7 or 8?)

Diet Coke

Not bad!

September 10, 2008 Day 3

2008-09-11T06:48:00.000-07:00

Hey - still dieting! Three days down, 3000 to go... No, that's not a bit depressing.

It was actually a pretty good day. Reasonable breakfast, healthy, huge, late lunch, so no real dinner. I could have chalked it up as perfect, if I'd A) managed to exercise and B) not eaten the German chocolate brownie....

I'm telling you, for a reasonably intelligent woman, I'm a weak-minded twit. I knew I'd done great on calories, and health-wise. I knew I would lose weight today, if I could just be good. I knew I didn't *have* to eat the brownie......but ooooh.....it looked sooo gooood.....

Crap oh. I suppose I should be proud I only ate a little bit. A week ago, I would have eaten all that was left. I did not. A week ago, I would have chased the brownie with some other horror, because I would have said, "Hey, I've already screwed up. I might as well eat A, B,C, and D - I'll start again tomorrow." Ever thought those famous last words? I most certainly have! In fact, I've thought them past 200lbs, past 220, past 250... You get the idea.

So, you know what? I'm choosing to see today as a victory! I only at a small German chocolate brownie, and part of a cupcake. (Oh, did I forget to mention that?) I didn't eat all that I wanted. There has to be bonus points somewhere for that.

Now...if I could just fool myself into thinking chocolate was toxic... Man, that would really make this a lot easier. Yeah, chocolate is poisonous...and bread.....and caramel....and pasta.....and..........

Breakfast: 1 C coffee 2 TBS creamer (90 cal), 2 eggs-1C onions-1/2 C tomatoes-1/4 C shred ched cheese (100cal)

Lunch: Water, Cobb salad with: vineagrette dressing, grilled chicken, 1/2 hardboiled egg, 1 TBS bacon, 1/4 avacado

Dinner: 1 oz sunflower seeds (180 cal) , 1 C coffee with 2 TBs creamer (90 cal), 2" x 2" German chocolate brownie + 1/2 cupcake = three zillion calories

September 9, 2008 Day 2

2008-09-10T05:03:00.000-07:00

Well now, I'd love to regale you with tales of my strict suffering and mind-numbing perfection - but we'll have to both settle for moderation. Sure, sure, I was the Queen of Control for most of the day, but then I got to go "out" tonight.

This brings me to an odd musing. Should dieters be allowed to go "out"? I mean, can we function in normal society without acting like a horse's patoot? How many times have you had a dieter to your home for whatever-the-reason, only to have them make a huge fuss over what they "can't" eat, or how "awful for them" your dinner is? Have you been in public with a dieter? They'll usually turn themselves inside out refusing some extravagance, all while making you feel like so much sludge for actually nibbling the accursed item. And Heaven help you if you notice/ask/pay-any-attention-to their "restraint". Its a sure bet you'll hear about their sacrifices, how successful they've been, and basically what a schleppo-de-Beppo you are for not following in their Food Saint footsteps. I'm telling you, there are valid arguments for dieters coming with warning labels.

So here I was, smack in the middle of dilemma. Should I go to my Mom's Night Out and be a giant equine rear-end by refusing to eat anything that wasn't good for me? Or, considering I knew the fair was "tailgate" food - subs and such - should I just stay home? I mean, unless you're Rachel Ray with a Donald Trump budget, "tailgate food" is not likely to be anything close to diet food, or heck, even healthy. I mused for a while this morning, and ended up deciding to go. Events, outings, Life aren't going to stop happening because I need to reduce the size of my caboose. That's how I got into this mess, thinking in absolutes. "I'll eat this Wendy's triple, because tomorrow I'll never eat Wendy's again..." There's no point to absolutes, they just don't lead to absolution.

So, off I went - seeking the company of other cancer moms, the joy of a few child-free hours, and the assurance that I can, indeed, carry on a conversation with someone over 13. Yes, I needed last night - even if I knew it might not be diet perfect. I left the house determined not to "pig out" and doubly determined not to be the dieter who makes all those around her want to stick a fork in their eye. Want to hear the really funny part? I was responsible for bringing dessert! Hah!

All told, my cupcakes and I didn't do too bad. I had two small sections of a sub, and I even removed a lot of the bread - it was soggy from transport time, and kind of icky. I had probably a 3/4 C serving of a bowtie/spinach pasta thing - which was crawl-inside-of-good. And I did try to get more spinach, less pasta - at least I tried to without becoming that picky patoot person I've described. I only had 2, count them 2 cheese puffs - because I wanted to try the whole-grain healthy puffs everyone was talking about. (They sucked. Not worth wasting my calories on.) I had 4 Tostitoes dippers and tsp or two of Mexican dip, and a Diet Coke. I'd say not to bad in DietWorld. That is, until dessert time......

Ha ha, it is to laugh! I didn't do too bad there either! Hee hee, fooled you. Yes, I had dessert. But, I had it in moderation. I had a 2in x 2in piece of German Chocolate Brownie, and a mini cupcake. I should have stopped at the Brownie, but the mini-cupcake intrigued me - I've never seen them so small! It couldn't have been an inch in diameter, it was rather fairy-cakeish. I tried one out of sheer curiosity, and won't need to again. It was just OK, nothing too magical and certainly not worth the zillion calories that were probably lurking in it. Oh well, nothing ventured nothing gained.

So, I survived going "public" and really didn't do too bad. I did, however, meet up with not one, but two Dieting Patoots. They regaled me with tales of their sacrifices, and I tried to keep my sub in my over-sized stomach. In all fairness though, as I thought, Good Grief, does she know how annoying that is? they were probably thinking, My Word, does she know how big her butt is?. Its fair. We're both blind in the ways we need to survive. Alls fair in love and fat.

Toodles!

Brunch: 2 C coffee with 2 TBS creamer each - 180 cal, 1 egg with 1/4 C shred ched cheese - 2 sausage links - 1 C onions- 1C tomatoes

3 C of water during the day

Dinner: what I described above

Monday Sep 8, 2008 - Day 1

2008-09-09T01:24:00.000-07:00

Weight: 269 Lost? Obviously, my mind! To go? 120 lbs. May God have mercy on my soul....

I am Fat. I've tried to pass as "fluffy", "Reubenesque", and even just "large". No no - those are lies. Big, giant whoppers. I am a fat, rotund, ginormous woman who has got to get in control - or risk needing my own zipcode.

I founded this site, same time last year. I started it, with all the high hopes and good intentions of a woman on a mission. While my mission to help cancer kids never waivered - my resolve did. I was in the middle of a self-discovery/self-awareness campaign...when our family computer upchucked and died. In truth, it wasn't a suicide, or death by aging. It was, in fact, a homicide - committed by a teenager and My Space. No matter the 'cide, the fact is, I was techno-less.

Being techno-less was depressing enough, but it just so happens this came at a time we were the poorest we've ever been in all of our years. We were in such a bad place, we had to visit a food pantry, get on food stamps, and even borrow money from family. It couldn't have been worse timing.

So, I'd already been in a precarious state with my food control, when I was suddenly thrown head-long into depression Hades. Oh yeah, the diet bit the big one. Hell00000! You don't get to be this size if you don't EAT when you're depressed....Duh.

As with most falls from any given recovery wagon, this one was hard and fast. I didn't just fall, I actually burned the wagon in effigy once I hit the pavement. I began eating like it was my job. I ate carbs like a crackhead smokes dope - needing more and more to satisfy the beast within. It wasn't pretty.

About the time I began to come down from my caloric high, we were slammed with another round of StressFest Avalon style. While tax returns and incentives bought us a new computer, Avalon worries and appointments kept me from even thinking about using it. Seriously, the new computer sat, in its box, for MONTHS before I could carve out time to install it. We'd attempted to have the old one repaired before we invested in a new one, but its never been much more than a Blackberry since its dark days at Best Buy. I can receive limited emails on it, and only visit a tiny fraction of any websites out there. It simply wasn't capable of re-opening mine and Avalon's sites, even if I'd had the heart to do them, which I didn't.

So there I was, trapped in techno wasteland and up to my eyeballs in monetary and medical stress... Hmmm....can you guess how I spent my free time? It darn sure wasn't at the gym.

No, no - I've spent our months apart eating. I've eaten, lazed around, eaten, watched TV, eaten, gained 3 sizes, and eaten some more. Good grief, even writing this makes me nautious...I can imagine what you're thinking. Better yet, I'd rather not.

I'm so disgusted by my current rolypoly self, I'll just leave you with the facts, and move on for the moment.

A: I've gained back all I'd lost, and doubled it. I had been down 12 pounds, I'm now 11 more than I was when I started last year. Barf.

B: As with all things, honesty is the best policy - I tipped the scales this morning at 269 pounds. Boo hoo - it is to cry.

C: I'm going to do my level best. I make no promises though. I've come to realize, I'm a weak minded twit. If at any time you feel like encouraging me - have at it! I apparently can use any and all help in the known universe.

D: I'll try to keep it interesting for you. Heaven knows, I usually don't have a problem finding things to talk about.

That's about it for now. As I start this ridiculous journey again - let's hope for the best!

Breakfast: 1 C honeydew melon = ? calories, 2 C coffee with 2 TBS creamer each - coffee = 180 cal

Lunch: 1 oz cheddar/montjack cheese = 100 cal, 3 oz turkey = ? cal, 1 diet coke, 1 tsp mayo = ? cal, slice tomato, leaf of lettuce

Dinner: 1/2 C pasta, 3/4 C chicken chunks with tomato hunks, 1 piece sourdough bread, water, 1 C of coffee with 2 TBS creamer (don't panic - I'm using up the creamer I already have this week, then switching to the powdered stuff - its nearly "free".

Went-to-bed-woke-up-coughing-midnight-snack-I-shouldn't-have-eaten: 2 oz chedd/montjack cheese, and crap, here's that honesty thing.....3 (yes, you read THREE) of those little kid long tube popsicles. You know the ones you get a zillion in a box for 3 dollars? Kind of like an ounce of koolaid in a long tube? I long since pitched the box - but I think they're 30 cal each. Who knows? I just know I'm totally regretting it! Argghhhh... Guess I found weakness #1, middle of the night eating.

Wish me luck!

Going Home!

2008-08-02T11:35:00.001-07:00

You are all amazing! If we could harness your positive energy...we'd rule the world!

Spent two days in PICU - then on to 3 Tower. Pain wise, worse than last time. Poop-wise - yahoo! We outsmarted her system - got her pooping by Thursday night! She's not eating or drinking enough to keep a bird alive - but we all think we'll have better luck at home.

Sorry no updates - haven't had time to get to a computer. She hasn't been as mobile as last time.

More details, and tons of pictures later.

THANK YOU 1000 times 1000 for all the cards and letters. We have dozens upon dozens to open at home. She has only been awake enough for a few at a time while we've been in. (lots of morphine, lots of shutting down to avoid the world...) I'm going to try to come up with a way of thanking all of you. You made our hearts sing - and have given her much to look forward to as she's cooped up over the next few weeks. (again....) Its been a pretty boring summer for her - now she's actually excited about staying in!

BTW, I've been asked a lot if it was a good idea to have taken her horseback riding last week. The answer is...No! It probably wasn't. Ask me how much guilt I have about it... ;-)

Again, thank you for all the positive thoughts and prayers!! You are the reason we got her home so quickly!!!!!!!!!!!

LOVE UP TO THE MOON AND BACK!
Avalon's Grateful Family - mom Alicia, dad Nick, big sisters Aurora and Ambrosia, and little brother Anam

Avalon is OUT of surgery!

2008-07-30T10:43:00.002-07:00

Avalon's surgery went well. She's headed to PICU. I wrote a long post - and blog demons ate it. No time to redo.

Thanks for everything - I'll post more later - and hopefully you'll get to see it!!

HUGS!
Nick and Alicia - the ultra-proud, incredibly-lucky parents of 4 great kids: Aurora, Ambrosia, Anam, and the amazing warrior, AVALON

Avalon is OUT of surgery.

2008-07-30T10:43:00.001-07:00

Avalon is OUT of surgery!!

2008-07-30T10:26:00.000-07:00

Avalon is in recovery (PACU). Dr. Kosnik just left - he said everything went as well as it possibly could. He said she's off to PICU after recovery - then to the floor until we can drag some poop out of her. He actually teased about squeezing it out. Way, way different feeling here than that god-forsaken shunt surgery. And even way better than the R side temporal decompression. This time we knew the reason for PICU - so no panic attacks.

BTW, no matter how upset I am about the shunt surgery, there is something that bears repeating. This hospital is staffed with the most amazing, caring, loving people you could ever hope for! (OK, one glaring exception noted....)

Before surgery, we got to hug on a Surgery Center friend because she was training in the surgery unit. Then, one of our dear PCA friends hunted us up quickly in pre-op to smooch little miss. We entered the surgery waiting area to a giant hug from the desk clerk that we've known for years. Just now, an anesthesiologist friend came and hugged, after checking in on my little princess. My heart is full! There can never be too many hugs, or too much love in your life. ;-)

Quick note, I know this all sounds rosy, and today's operation did go well, but please understand, Avalon still has her issues. For example, yesterday during her sisters' dentist appointments, she absolutely could not place pieces in an 8 piece jigsaw puzzle. She spent the 45 minutes only using her L hand, never picking anything up with her right. (she's right dominant) She also couldn't put any pieces into one of those 3-D wood puzzles, she couldn't figure out how to turn them the right way. (she's 5!) She's falling asleep in the car, again, usually a sign of high pressure. So - basically, there is still a lot to work on. I feel like I need to say that sometimes, because we all forget how hard she works - when she makes it look so easy to those of us watching her.

Anyway, I don't want to be a computer bully - so I'd best get going. I just wanted to let you know, the operation went well, and we're off to the next step. But at least, mommy and daddy can take a deep breath - she's working on waking up. Hallelujah!!!!!!!!!

Thanks for sending her (and us) so many positive thoughts this week. I will take happy tears any day. (and there have been a lot of them!!) We appreciate each of you. May you find blessings in your world equal to what you've sent us....

HUGS and the highest of hopes.....
Alicia and Nick - the ultra-proud, ultra-lucky parents of 4 amazing kids....Aurora, Ambrosia, Anam, and the great warrior....AVALON.

Did you find it?

2008-07-30T04:35:00.001-07:00

OK, this is my Crazy Cancer Mom blog. Long...long story. Feel free to read through the archives, we'll discuss that later.

For this week, I'll try to post updates about Avalon here. I can access this blog from anywhere, so its my best bet to be able to post stuff anyone can see.

She goes in at 10:30 this morning. Give me about 3 hours after that.

Thanks for all the prayers and positive vibes. I know she'll be safe thanks to all of you!

November 20, 2007

2007-11-20T20:13:00.000-08:00

Weight: 246 Lost? 12 Left to go? 88

I am utterly sucking socks with my own "new posting system". I'm about to rent a dad-blasted billboard announcing my complete failure at organization and time management. Then there's the Macy's balloon I may purchase space on... I'm figuring that Snoopy's butt is the only thing big enough to do my food fetish justice.

OK, so maybe its not exactly a "fetish" by conventional standards. (I don't know...chocolate makes a convincing argument toward fetish. May have to consider it...) Maybe more of an obsession? Overwhelming, mind-numbing, calls-to-me obsession? Good grief! I'm starting to think I'm either the most weak-minded blob on the planet, or I'm truly a gonzo garbonzo. I'm having the worst time humanly possible surrendering food.

Don't start with me. I know I dont' have to surrender all food. I know I just need to give up the food that my body doesn't like/get along with. Problem is, my stupid endocrine and immune systems that object to peanuts/sugar/starches/blah blah blah ~ haven't bothered to clue in the taste buds. Wouldn't that just make life easier? Have my pancreas ring up my tongue, "Hello. Is this Mr. Lick A. Lot? Oh good. Listen, this is Ms. Lotsa Ins Ulin. It would really take the stress out of my life, if you could develop a taste aversion to sugar. I mean, I just can't tell you how great that would be. You will? Oh thanks! What a team player!! I'll be sure to recommend you for employee of the month. Bye."

Can you even imagine?! How conveniant would that be? I really don't think its too much to ask. Seriously, I've never done anything to my tongue. It should love me! OK, so there have been a few hot coffee incidents. But, I've never pierced the thing. And, even as a child, I religiously avoided mid-winter flag poles. Generally speaking, I've lived a pretty tongue-friendly life. I feel its perfectly reasonable to request it work with my other parts.

Then again, it probably already does. Cripes, by the size of my two-ton-Tessie-tuckus, I'm quite sure there is a full armada of fat cells that worship my tongue. No doubt there are tongue and "cheek" (ha ha! I crack me up!) temples in my tuckus, fully devoted to the celebration of my rebel tastebuds and their constant supply of new fat-cell family members. Hey....maybe that explains that one odd-shaped roll I have...

Get real. That roll looks more Tootsie-ish than temple-ish. Pickle juice. I really am just a weak-minded monkey. Stupid self awareness...

Keep on, keepin' on! Thanks for hanging in with this crazy lady!!

Alicia Hall, losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness of pediatric cancer
http://www.crazycancermom.com/

November 17, 2007

2007-11-17T04:42:00.000-08:00

** Don't forget to check out yesterday's blog for my evening's rantings. I was rather "stuck" on a certain theme....**

Weight: 246 Lost? 12 Left to go? 88

Breakfast: 6 zesty sausage links, 2 C of coffee w/ 2TBS creamer each

* Exercise will be partially dependant on the OSU Buckeyes today! We're heading off on a marathon shopping trip this morning - then home to watch the OSU-Michigan game. We're going to come up with some Buckeye exercises. Jumping jacks for first downs, a run around the house for a TD, sit ups for field goals. I'll keep you posted! ;-)

Exercise: The Buckeyes tried to kill me! I ran around the house for each touchdown. I planned on doing 10 jumping jacks for each first down. Planned being the operative word.

First, it dawned on me, I'm a rather zaftig woman. Doing jumping jacks in the family room wasn't the brightest of ideas. Instead, I opted for the basement with its non-shaking concrete floors. This then entailed running down the stairs to jump and jack for each first down. Now I love my Buckeyes...but criminy! They gained a lot of yards today!! Again I say, I'm a rather poofy, zaftig woman. Multiple trips up and down stairs are not exactly kind on my over-burdened knees. But those trips paled in comparison to the beatings they took as Jump met Jack. I can solidly attest that its a bad, BAAAAAD idea for a large woman to Jump, particularly when he's paired with Jack. In fact, I probably never really Jacked....I was too busy holding onto my boobs for dear life. These puppies aren't small! In fact, they're not puppies, they're more akin to Great Danes.

So let me see if I can properly describe this afternoon's events to you. Buckeyes make a first down. I thunk-bump, thunk-bump my way down rickety basement stairs. I twist, turn, and weave my way past mountains of "to-do" piles/bins/boxes to the best available open space. I then begin jumpin' and jackin' - only to nearly knock myself out cold with one of my own hooters. As I contemplate the black eye I've just sustained, I have to compare the pain of my beaten face to the tearing sensation I'm experiencing as my boobs attempt to launch themselves into another zip code. I decide that perhaps the typical jumping o' the jack is not necessarily in my mammarian best interest.

Instead, I bid Jack adieu - and only concentrate on the Jump portion of my commitment. I resume my methodic Jump-out/Jump-in debaucle, while attempting to secure my god-given missiles with the brute force of my clamped-down upper appendages. The entire exercise becomes an omage to Pilates as I further distress my pitifully under-developed arm muscles by asking to them to work against their own southern cousins - Miss Left and Miss Right. The poor arms were heavily outweighed. Think of a lego fort attempting to hold back the great Mississippi. They were simply outgunned.

As every part of my person began to complain, my mind lost track of whom it should listen it to. I was thrown into a sort of singular civil war. With whom should my allegiance lie? With the aching knees who carry me so faithfully up and down the stairs to my beloved computer to vent my abnormalities to cyber space? Or should I empathize with my personal dairy factories, as they've so valiantly fought against gravity for me all these years? (although they lost that particular battle decades ago...I just don't hold them accountable) Or, should I feel great sympathy for the flabby wing arms that were suddenly being called into service to control heaving mounds of flesh that would have made Atlas himself buckle at the knees? Oh the choices...it was mind-numbing. Then again...so was the pain.

In the end, I decided I owed loyalty to all my separate factions and parts. After three rounds of ill-fated Jum-Jks (I never really did complete ones - so I've changed the name to protect the innocent) I caved to my inferior exercise capabilities, and offered a substitution. I did toe touches instead. Lest you think I completely caved to my pudge, may I once again point out my rather sizeable chest accoutrements. Doing toe-touches requires smashing my pudgy middle while flinging my hooter allotment upside down and trying not to suffocate as they join forces with my triple chins to suffocate me with every toe tickle. There is a solid argument against "fluffy" women doing callestenics - our own boobs can kill us.

As it turns out, I, the official over-eating-Mistress-of-mayhem, may have metaphorically "bitten" off more than I could chew. I chomped my way to aching parts and poor food choices. Brilliant. I never knew there was a bazamba/diet connection. Now I do. Don't whack/beat/abuse your melons....they may pile up and suffocate you in your sleep. At the very least...they will lead you to your temporary dietary doom - by making you so depressed, you feel the need to self-medicate with chocolate. Stinkin' boobs, can't live with 'em, can't leave them on the nightstand.

Guess I "exercised" the wrong options today. Cat farts.

Hmmmm - it would appear my Exercise entry became my mental exercise for the day....oops.

Alicia Hall - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness of pediatric cancer

www.crazycancermom.com

Lunch: 16 cheese puffs, (2) 3" x 3" pieces of home-made pepperoni pizza, 4 Babe Ruth mini-candybars, 1 Diet Coke

Dinner: 1 3" x 3" piece homemade pepperoni pizza, 4 Reese's peanut butter pumpkin minis, 4 Pringle potato chips (2 cheese, 2 salt & vinegar), 1 Diet Coke

4 glasses of water

November 16, 2007

2007-11-16T06:32:00.000-08:00

**Day 1 of the new type of blog. Look below to the entry titled "November 15" for a full explanation of why it looks like this.**

***Over the last few days I posted blog entries for Oct 31, Nov 1, Nov 2 if you wish to "backtrack" and catch up with me a bit.***

Week 1: (OK, so we all know this isn't actually week one. However, I'm going to "reset" the time calendar for practical reasons. I didn't do measurements way back when I started. This is the only way I can think of to organize measurements. I'll only post measurements on Fridays. Hopefully, that will let me see some improvement - somewhere.)
Bust: 51 in. Waist: 48 in. Hips: 53 in. Upper arm: 16 in. Thigh: 26.5 in.

Weight: 246 Lost? 12 Left to go? 88
(I'm sticking with my original start weight of 258. I'm afraid I'll be too disheartened if I start that over too. I honestly haven't touched a scale in over 2 weeks. I'm glad I haven't degenerated as much as I feared. Whew! Apparently the cards/hormones/stars decided to play nicer with me than I thought. I'll be posting weight every single day.)

After many mental Olympics, I decided that after the day is done and I sit here to assault you with my random thoughts...I should make the blog user friendly. So, I'll add what I eat as I eat it, then inject my ramblings between the stats and the facts-of-the-day. Face it, I'm a woman - its my genetic prerogative to change my mind. I embrace my x chromosomes with glee!

I am also learning to embrace myself with glee these days. (And no, I do not mean that with any sort of sordid undertones!) I'm learning to find the things that I enjoy and dive at them with gusto. I like writing. I like to find the ridiculous in life. I like to tell people my opinions. I like (for the most part) people. I'm having a whopping good time "meeting" new people, "chatting" with all of you, and musing about this insane journey we collectively call Life. Its all rather interesting.

I'm also learning to stick to my convictions, stick my neck out when I need to, stick up for groups that I feel kinship with, and on occasion...stick my tongue out at an offending driver who appears to be begging for comment. I'm finding that "sticking" is rather good for the soul. (Again, please refrain from swimming in the gutter!) Damn shame I can't figure out the secret recipe for "sticking" to a diet. That's one pot of glue that continually eludes my grasp.

Recently, I've found myself in every situation I described above. I've stuck to my convictions about how people should treat each other, I've stuck my neck out by arguing with a brain surgeon who outranks me by at least 10 or 12 rungs on the evolutionary ladder, and I've shown my roundy, pink opinionater to several crass drivers. Today, I had the wonderful opportunity to stick up for a lovely local organization that our family has benefitted from. Today, I had a brief opportunity to stick a lovely thought in some strangers' heads....I can only hope it'll stay there.

Adventures for Wish Kids is a local charity that provides fun activities for families of children with life-threatening illnesses. They include all siblings, not just the ill child. Families are treated to outings at local gaming centers, to a local amusement park, to professional soccer games, a Christmas party, a Halloween party, sometimes shows, and basically, any opportunity the organization can dream up and make happen. Events are always free - and often closed to the public - providing these special kids with a sanctum of acceptance and freedom to just be...
Adventures gives our medical children the chance to be children, and our families the rare opportunity to forget the medical stuff that make us different - and allow us to only be parents having fun with the kids they love more than life.

Like I said, this afternoon, I got a chance to stick some nice thoughts out there. My kids and I were interviewed for a radiothon that will benefit Adventures for Wish Kids. Perhaps "interviewed" isn't quite the exact definition. A more accurate assesment would be that I invaded a local radio station with 4 children in tow. While the four year old medical child and her 6 yo sister attempted to answer some questions, my 13 yo daughter "baby wrangled" her 13 mo brother who was bent on the absolute destruction of the beautiful offices they'd so erroneously invited us into. That poor DJ, his heart is planted firmly in the correct place. His common sense, however,...may have unknowingly taken a bus to Bermuda.

I give Andrew (the beseiged DJ) grand amounts of credit. Not only did he calmly and patiently stand on his head to draw some form of useful information out of my daughter, he never batted an eye at her ramblings or her less-than-articulate descriptions. I love Avalon up to the moon (and back...as Big Brown Nutbrown hare says), but my dearest darling daughter can't speak worth a fig. She doesn't say any "S", "F", "Sh", or "Ch" sounds. We've discovered in speech therapy, she's quite capable of making those sounds....just not particularly interested. Considering we often have difficulty discerning her meaning - Andrew's efforts were nothing short of sainted. That dear, sweet man recorded more than 40 minutes of Avalon babble - to attempt to distill out a 30 second commercial. My heart and sympathies are with him. I hope he has access to some Margarita fixin's. Come to think of it, a bit of hooch might help clarify things!

As for myself? Oh, in my typical quiet and reserved manner (quit laughing...it could have been true!) - I also offered opinions of AFWK. Its not difficult. I LOVE THEM! Who wouldn't? I don't think I could line up enough chances to sing their praises. The Adventures staff works to give kids back a tiny piece of what illness has stolen from them. And I don't mean just the medical kids. All children in a medical family are affected. All of our kids have surrendered things both tangible and not. They have patiently and lovingly allowed their sister the freedom to dominate our attention at times, and I will never be able to repay their gentle souls for that. I'm grateful beyond words to any organization that lifts their burden...even if only for a few hours.

As we rolled our way home, over-stuffed with restaurant fare and giddy with our sugar highs, I had time to contemplate our brush with "stardom". I realized I was proud of more than how the girls handled the interviews. I was proud of their hearts.

I was humbled by my oldest daughter who effortlessly gave up her chance to be "on air", so she could safeguard her brother. A kind AFWK volunteer offered to hold the baby - not minding his squirming and squawking. But my sweet teen wouldn't let him out of her sight - she couldn't stand the thought of him being scared or sad. As she has so many times before, she surrendered her interests, for the greater good. She kept her baby brother happy, and she allowed us to speak in peace.

I was impressed by my 6 yo daughter who sat so patiently, waiting her turn to say a few sentences into the mike. She spoke clearly and carefully, trying to sound as "grown up" as she could muster. She never interrupted, she never argued, she even gently coached her little sissy, when sissy's memory failed her - as it often does. She continued the roll she was forced to take, but has accepted with a Grace far beyond her years. She acted as her sister's guardian, supporter, and greatest cheerleader - all while quietly waiting her own turn for attention. She was a sister of extraordinary character today.

I was amused by youngest daughter, my medical child. She was cautious and quiet at first. She faced the challenge of the interview in much the same way she's met her medical hurdles. She refused to let it conquer her. She began the interview answering each question with a small "Yet" (yes - in Avalon-speak), polite and obedient to what we had requested of her. She finished the dialogue with joy and finesse, making it fully her own. That's how she's often handled a medical situation. She'll agree to the procedure without complaint. Over time, she will develop her own view of the situation - and choose her own interpretation of events. She makes her life her own - and I'm consistently amused to find how wise she is. She was her typical self today - honest and pure.

I was a very proud mom today. It would seem that some of what I've said through the years may have "stuck" afterall. Better yet, it was overwhelming obvious that my kids stick together - with a bond that no force can hope to weaken. They fight, they argue, they swipe toys from one another and threaten any number of dubious consequences on each others' heads. But, when it counts, they stick together like peas in a pod.

I think its the best kind of sticking I'll ever do. Hope they have enough of that stuff for me to hang on too...

I hope you'll stick with me, as I try to fight may way through this battle of the bulge and Beast. I appreciate you!

Alicia Hall, losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness of pediatric cancer and the children it changes.

www.crazycancermom.com You can always email me! alicia@crazycancermom.com

Breakfast: (new type of blogging - I'll be adding what I eat as the day goes along. Its my attempt to force myself into accountability.)
6 Bob Evans maple sausage links, 2 cups coffee w/ 2 TBS creamer each.

Lunch: Salad: Iceburg lettuce, 1/2 C shredded Cheddar cheese (200 cal), 1/4 C honey-turkey, 1 TBS thousand island dressing, 2 TBS croutons - 1 Diet Coke

Dinner: Well, I went a bit south this evening. We went to Max & Erma's - a local casual dining restaurant. We had a gift card, I was too pooped to cook, its a really bad combo. I had 1 breadstick, a Rueben sandwich, a small baked potato (I'm talking puny potato, smaller than the palm of my hand) and a small sundae for dessert. Water to drink

November 15, 2007

2007-11-16T06:06:00.000-08:00

After weeks of dismal dieting dismantling...I'm climbing back on the wagon. I'm more than a bit terrified. I'm well aware that this effort will be Herculean compared to the original start. Back in September, I had the Childhood Cancer Awareness month going for me mentally. Now, I have just my over-sized rump and my love for these kids. Not that both aren't huge...but I'm honest enough to know I'm in for a doozy of a month.

Not to mention...how nutty is it to start dieting at the holidays?! Well, I've decided its time for no more excuses. My life has become one long road of excuses - and I'm a bit fed up with myself! No kidding I'm stressed. Aren't we all? No kidding that its way more fun to eat like an elephant with a sugar fetish - don't we all feel that way? Difference is, my buttocks exceed the size of most elephants, and its time I quit feeding the beasts. I've "excused" myself into size 22 britches...and that just plain ticks me off.

I've come to realize in the past few weeks, that my current method of blogging hasn't been suiting my needs. I let the blog get several weeks behind, because I was dodging having to be honest about my astronomic caloric intake. Oh...I told myself it was because I was tired...I was over-booked...I had too many things on my plate... Again, no kidding. So do the vast majority of Americans - we're a bit of a Type A country. Yes, all those things are still going to be true, but I have got to quit caving to using them as an excuse - or toss the towel in right now. To that end, I've had to seriously re-think how I'm going to approach this. I've decided that I'm a weak-minded mushroom who cannot be held responsible to be well, responsible. I can't just go about my day with no accountability - I'm a sneaker. So, I'm going to re-vamp how I rat myself out. Hope you all don't learn to hate me.

Here's how its going to work. I'm going to open the blog first thing in the morning. I'll start a "Blog" for that given day - and then add to it every time I eat. I'll tell you what I scarfed down, what I did for exercise, and various other diet-related garbage like that. It will all be under that day's date - followed by my normal rantings to the universe. If you could care less what I eat - just skip to the mind mash stuff. If you want to tell me I'm a porker - feel free. Maybe a bit of humiliation will act like a giant butt boot. Who knows? And last, I'm going to put the dreaded "numbers" at the top of the blogs. Oh yeah, that's right. I'm going to make myself stare at those stupid digits - all in a radical attempt to set myself straight.

You'll notice there is currently a gap in blog entries from November 2 - November 15. I'll be going back and filling those in over the next few days - I'll put a star and tell you which I did, if you wish to go "back" and fill in the cracks in logic. Eventually, my mind, my blathering, and my goals may all meet back up and move forward together. We'll see!

Thanks for hanging in there! At the least, maybe these past few weeks will fuel the oh-I-hope-she-fails faction. I've added drama! Let's see, in soap opera mode I would be glancing sideways with a pregnant pause - looking concerned. I'd have furrowed brows, perfect hair, and look contemplative - as if waiting with baited breath.

In reality? I'm pudgy, have sticky hair from a 13 mo old's spaghetti hands, and I'm embarrassed and ready to kick my own keester. Even I'm interested in how this is going to play out.

Wish me luck!

Alicia Hall - losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness for pediatric cancer
www.crazycancermom.com

I love email! alicia@crazycancermom.com

November 2, 2007

2007-11-15T17:58:00.000-08:00

First of all, I have no earthly idea what the heck was up with the post for November 1st. Stupid thing. I wrote it like a civilized human - complete with paragraph structure, and spaces between paragraphs. It posted like it was written by a left-handed chimpanzee. No spaces, no paragraphs...stinking difficult to read. After 2 days, and a dozen attempts to edit it, I rewrote the entire post - only to have it happen again. The only way I could make it remotely pallatable, was to put in those giant spaces. I fear I will have to do that again today - so please bear with me, and with blogspots apparant bug-a-gogo. Ack.

My real reason for writing today? I'm old. I'm ancient. I've crossed into a new, and admittedly terrifying, phase of my existence. I am now the mother of a teenager. May God and the universe have mercy on my pitiful soul....

My oldest daughter crossed the threshold to teen wonderland today. I believe I could actually hear the gray hairs springing forth with a new-found gusto. I can guarantee you, I could hear the increased whoosh-whoosh of my heart beat, as my blood pressure climbed to never-before-seen dizzying heights. I now own a teen...I have found fear.

As my daughter assured us this morning, she can most definitely feel the difference in her life. She can tell the world is different now. I mean, like duh..., she's a teen now, that makes everything different. Now she's just so mature she should be able to stay up later, make all her own decisions, talk on the phone for more hours than there actually are in a day, and be allowed to do/buy/get anything and everything she wants. Uh huh. Oh, my dear child is in for "such" a rude awakening. I may be old...but last time I checked, I wasn't entirely dead yet.

So here was my day, partially massaging the Macy's-balloon-sized over-inflated ego of my new "teen", while simultaneously patching up the bruised self-esteem of an aging diva who is having trouble reconciling her perceptions with her actual life. Oh yeah, its been a contradictory kind of day. "Mom, I think I should be able to stay up an hour later, pick all my own clothes, and be allowed to go the mall alone with a friend." "Daughter, you're still a little kid, your taste borders on vampire sleaze, and those boobs paired with your lack of common sense will guarantee I won't let you out of my sight for years." You may deduce how well the day went for me.

And what was my dieting self doing while attempting to adjust to this new chapter in our Family History? Eating. Eating a lot. Eating sugar. A lot of it. Eating Halloween candy, and pretty much anything else that wasn't nailed down. I'm afraid my spiral into self-destruction is picking up speed. I have an overwhelming feeling this downward (or by the scale, upward) trend is not finished yet. Crap on it all...I'm frustrated! I can't figure out how to staple my lips shut. Worse, I can't figure out why I can't figure it out.

Ack. Are all parents of teens/toddlers/cancerkids/and first graders this nuts?! I've gone so far overboard, I'm considering changing my name to Brazil. I'm quite the hard nut to crack.

Fudge farts...I can hear the Snickers calling.

Alicia, the Crazy Cancer Mom, losing weight (well, entertaining the idea) and my mind, to raise awareness of pediatric cancer.

www.crazycancermom.com

November 1, 2007

2007-11-15T17:41:00.001-08:00

After admitting to my Halloween obsessions and shortcomings in the last post, I thought I'd share a few more Halloween thoughts. First, I figured you might want to gander at my gaggle of kids. Well, even if you could care less, I suppose I'm forcing you to gander. I'm proud, they're cute -its my site! Also, here is my Halloween superhouse the night of Trick or Treat. The Jack-o-Lanterns don't show up terribly well, but there were 5 of them.

In addition to my discovery of my total lack of self control, Beggar's Night was also frought with epiphanies. While the occasional epiphany about your own shortcomings can be productive in a self-help sort of fashion...not all intellectual realizations are that life-affirming. As for the slew of them I discovered on Trick or Treat....well, I wish I had more in the positive column.

First, money does not equate to class. In fact, I'm beginning to suspect that certain levels of income actually foster higher incidences of "classless" behavior. We live in a higher middle class neighborhood. We are not one of these people, we are merely renters with the best landlords on the planet. We are, in effect, "fakers" here. The interesting thing, is that I perceive the vast majority of the homes around me to be filled by fakers - but they're fabricating a different facade. Maybe they can truly afford that house, but they then insist on acting as if they have much more money than they do. They live in house AA, while pretending to have the funds and prestige of the multi-million dollar houses AAAA that my hubby works on. In other words, to convince the world that they have more than they do...its all about looks. How the yard looks, how the house looks, how the car looks. There is very little substance here - its just about appearance.

How does lack of substance equate to lack of class? Easy, when you're so busy about how you look, you have exactly no time to consider the fact that there are other people in the world. When you only see your own face in the mirror, not the face of a member of the human race...you forget that you are actually part of something bigger than yourself. You go through life with blinders on to anything but your own agenda, as if the world existed to service you. And that, is how we get to classless.

Examples? You want examples? Are you doubting my integrity? Or, are you painfully curious as to what my neighbors did to garner my distaste? Well, let's see, just where should I begin? How about with the people who cannot be bothered to participate in Beggar's Night? C'mon folks, you don't have to go hog-wild looney like me and buy full-size candy bars. Sweettarts are cheap and the kids still love them. But here, only 1 in 4 houses even participated. And decorations? What?! In my sister's neighborhood, the people buy those fabulous blow-up things, hang lights like Christmas, play music and have firepits going to warm the kiddos. Here? One in ten houses might have a Jack-O-Lantern. Woo hoo. Our house stood out like a glowing shrine to Halloween, and we thought it was pathetically under-decorated. No graveyard, no smoke machine, only 5 pumpkins. What were we thinking? I'm sure most people consider us the tacky trailer neighbors. Hah!

Then there was the wheelchair. Avalon, of course, had to beg in her chariot. For the first few houses, she insisted on getting out and walking from the driveway to the door, but that didn't last long. She tires so easily, that even with the chariot - she would have happily quit after about 30 minutes. (mind you, she stuck it out for the next hour - so sissy didn't get more candy than she did!) So here we are, "rolling" our way through the neighborhood. No biggie in my mind.

Except, people were HEARTLESS. We were forced from the sidewalk more than once - by parents pulling kids in those big plastic wagons. I would say, "Excuse me please.", and they'd look at me, turn their shoulder/back toward me and just stand there. The only way around was to offroad through the grass with the wheelchair. People would let their kids crowd up behind us on someone's walkway to their house, trapping us as the monsters shoved past us (twice) and elbowed us or pushed one of us into the flowerbed. And my personal favorite? People giving candy that were annoyed Avalon couldn't come up onto their porch. The poor thing was made to feel more like a disregarded dog than a child whose legs don't work so well. It was all rather appalling.

But then, there were the Moochers. I have to say, the Moochers honked me off the most. The Moochers did more than ignore a little kid, or not pay attention to how rude their children were behaving. The Moochers actively flaunted their lack of class. They own the top of my Crap List. The Moochers are the people who have kids, (sometimes several) who take the kids around the neighborhood with BOTH parents following - thereby leaving no one at their own house to give out candy. Of course, not everyone with both parents is guilty. There were houses where older siblings (my house) or grandparents gave to beggars. But on our culdesac alone, I can tell you of 7 families that only took - they never gave a thing. Can you believe that?!!!

Like I said in the previous post, we spent years having to "borrow" a neighborhood to Trick or Treat in. I want it to be known, I never did that without "giving" as well. We always took ridiculous amounts of candy to be given out from the house we were originating from. I couldn't have imagined just showing up to take without equally giving. That wasn't even an option. Then here I was, smack in the middle of golfcourse Hades, with people who can easily afford a few bags of candy - and not only did most people not bother, but plenty of them were too busy taking from others to consider giving back anything. In a word...puke.

Thankfully though, not all of the evening's epiphanies were bad. In fact, one of them was quite enlightening. As I trudged house to house, dismayed at the lack of effort or decorations, I began to notice something. Every time a front door would open, the house behind it was immaculate. And I do mean, every time. The floors, tables, family rooms opening before me would be spotless, organized - like something out of a magazine. The first few times, I thought, "Wow! What a great housekeeper. I wish I could be like that." Then, over time, it got a bit depressing. Our own house looked like a tornado passed through minutes before we left. There were toys strewn everywhere, the typical load of laundry (or 4) sitting in the kitchen - waiting its turn, dishes and pans from the entire day, and a sewing machine, fabric, and craft stuff cluttering the dining room. Simply put, our house was in its normal disaster state. I began to find myself "peeking" into the houses, hoping desperately to find someone as messy as me.

What I found was nothing but perfection. Perfect yards, perfect hair, perfect houses. I was "perfectly" disturbed, until I had my best epiphany of the night. Perfection is boring! I don't have time for it! As the girls and I made our way home from the final treck into candydom, we rounded the corner and our house grinned at us, in all of its Halloween glory. That's when it dawned on me. Of course I don't have time to clean - I'm too busy doing ridiculous stuff like this. Who has time to stay perpetually caught up on dishes? Not me. Not when there are 18 totes of Halloween decorations that must be carried up from the basement and lovingly put up. Who has time to keep the dining room picture perfect? Not me. Not when there are costumes to be sewn, and Fall clothes to be altered. Who has time to keep caught up with laundry? Not me. Not when there are Doodlebops to be danced with, Goosebumps marathons to cuddle on the couch and be scared about, and Halloweentown movies to watch over and over. Who has time to be perfect? NOT ME!

I don't have time for perfection. I'm having way too much fun Living. This is an epiphany I can work with. I'm not as sloppy, behind, or pathetic as I thought. I'm simply too hands on. If I would have bought the kids' costumes, not decorated, and never watched a scary movie with a 4 yo cuddled next to me...my house could have been spotless. But I did, I will again, and I'm downright fine with that. Hah! Hey, it only took me until 40 to figure out I'm human, and I can't actually do it all. Who knew?

As for the diet...well, the epiphanies of yesterday, of imminent failure - weren't that far off. I wholeheartedly admit to eating completely out of control. I don't want to think about the thousands of sugar calories I've had. I know I'm in raging diet meltdown at the moment. The problem is, I'm having trouble identifying the deeper reason - and even more trouble figuring out how to stop. Hang in there with me. All is not lost. I am not giving up, I'm just riding a large, painful wave at the moment. As with all hurricanes, this will eventually pass.

Thanks for hanging in with me!

Alicia Hall, the Crazy Cancer Mom, losing weight (I'll get back to it - I promise!) and my mind, to raise awareness of pediatric cancer http://www.crazycancermom.com/

alicia@crazycancermom.com

October 31, 2007

2007-11-14T21:22:00.000-08:00

Halloween. I think Halloween should be the National Holiday for Cancer Kids. Think about it.

You get to put on masks, wigs, makeup, and costumes. You can "pretend" to look like the walking dead and no one will suspect the circles under your eyes are really your own. You can cover the bald head that brings stares, and no one running past you on the sidewalk knows the truth under the hat. You can wear your germ-warfare mask, pair it with a surgeon's outfit - and people will think you're clever. Best of all, you can rake in a mountain of candy, and thanks to steroids...your parents will gladly let you eat yourself into sugar comas for as many consecutive days as the candy supply will fuel.

Halloween...its a whole new world for a Cancer Kid.

For the rest of us, there is Trick Or Treat. Beggars' Night is a wet dream to a chocoholic...and a Stephen-King-meets-Jason movie to a dieter. Yep, I whole-heartedly embraced the big O of the chocolate...and promptly had my head chopped off by Mr. Hockey Mask. In all, it wasn't the best of days for my ba donka butt.

The major problem is, I love Halloween nearly as much as I love chocolate! I loved Halloween before becoming CrazyCancerMom, but now I embrace it with my whole person. (see opening paragraph) The further problem, I want to be the Halloween superwoman. For years upon years, we lived in a neighborhood that was unsafe to Trick or Treat in. My oldest daughter never begged close to our house. We would "borrow" neighborhoods - begging in friends' subdivisions, or eventually near my sister's house. To be able to welcome little beggars to our own door, to walk our own streets...it just so exciting! I want to be the Halloween superhouse - the best decorated, the best candy...ever.

While my dedication to decor doesn't affect my derriere, my devotion to decadence surely will. You see, I refuse to be the sweettart person. I want to be the full-sized candy mecca. I want to be the house the kids race to first next year. Translation? I bought a case of full-size M&Ms, playdough for the little kids, 7 bags of various chocolate confections (the snack size - not the tiny bite size!), and 250 gummy things of various gross shapes. I had enough candy to jack up hundreds of kids...and it was glorious............

I actually made it a point of pride with myself, that I never touched the M&Ms. Hubby and daughter's 2 and 3 partook of a few bags one night, but I muscled through and never ate one. That, however, cannot be said of my 7 bags of wonderment, particularly since - 7 started as 8. If confession is good for the soul, I will now be racking up karmic bonus points by the gazillion. In the two days before Trick or Treat, I managed to single-handedly eat an entire bag of PayDay snack-size candybars. All by myself, alone, family never even knew they were here. Ack.

You've heard, "Give him an inch, and he'll take a mile." Well, in my case, "Give her a bite-size, and she'll eat a truckload." I fear the road to ruin has just been paved...I haven't quit sneaking, snacking, nibbling on the candy we passed out, or the candy the kids brought home. I'm utterly hopeless at the moment. This is going to be one vicious battle.

I'm so frustrated with myself! I can't, honestly, figure out how people don't eat the bad stuff. How can some people keep full candy jars? If its here, it haunts me. If I can see it, I "hear" it. I truly represent the worst of what parents don't want their kids to be. I'm nearly as obsessed as the girls right now. Except, they want suckers and gummies. They root past the Snickers, Butterfingers, Babe Ruths, and Reese Cups that call my name 24/7. How do you do that?!! If there is some magic potion that will relieve me of sensitivity to the siren song of a Snickers - please feel free to email me. I'd sell my left boob to shut up the shrieking chocolate.

I'm rather afraid that if I don't learn to turn a deaf ear quickly...I will have another blubber roll the size of my left boob to contend with.

Ahhh Halloween, my love and my torment. How can such a perfect day divorce me from all common sense and control? Am I really such a weak-minded twit as to be entirely bereft of self-control?

Um, Yes.

Alicia, the Crazy Cancer Mom, losing weight (at least in theory), and my mind, to raise awareness of pediatric cancer and its victims www.crazycancermom.com

You can always email me at alicia@crazycancermom.com or simply comment here.

October 28, 2007

2007-11-01T19:41:00.000-07:00

Today, Avalon, my cancer child, had the honor and privilage of being invited to be a part of a fashion show to raise money for pediatric cancer. The show was the Black Tie Blue Jacket Fashion Show at Saks Fifth Avenue, here in Columbus. The event raised money for the Columbus Blue Jackets Foundation and their work with Hats for Heroes. We've known about the fashion show for months, the tickets to last night's game for only a few weeks. So while it was fun, we really didn't plan this weekend's Blue Jacket-a-palooza ahead of time.

Tonight's fashion show featured Blue Jacket players, their wives/girlfriends, and local "heroes" - children affected by cancer. Some of the children were on active treatment, some were off-treatment like Avalon, and one was the sister of a small boy who lost his battle. The children were matched with a player/girl combo. Each child walked down the runway twice, with two different player/girl teams. The players and their wives/girlfriends changed outfits before the second "walk", but the children remained in the same outfit.

The entire event tried to make the kids feel as special as possible. The children were allowed to pick their fantasy outfits the week before the event. I don't know how that translated for the boys, but I'm here to report that my little princess thoroughly enjoyed her fashionista session. She tried on several I-couldn't-afford-them-in-a-million-years dresses, and checked their "twirl" factor to the delight of the Saks' staff. In the end, she settled on a delightful ivory dress with a lace bodice, poofy tulle skirt, and full length black velvet jacket that was trimmed with lace and pearls. Honestly, it was exquisite. I'm sure it will look lovely on a little girl somewhere in Columbus.... Since I would have had to sign the check for it, it had no hope of meeting the lesser dresses that currently reside in her closet.

The day of the show, the children reported to the store a few hours before the show, for their hair appointments, make-up sessions, and professional photos. By the time we got there with Avalon, the organizational elements had fallen apart a bit, and much to my dismay, she never got to pose for a professional portrait with "her man". However, the photographer soothed my wounded heart better than I could have hoped - with the spectacular photo I shared above. No picture ever said it better...one big hockey player - holding the hand and heart of one little girl.... I love it.

Avalon did get to pose for some special pics with a different heartthrob, a charming young man, Joe. Although Joe is 20, he recently finished treatment at Children's. Joe's bone cancer is a pediatric cancer, so people diagnosed with it, are preferentially treated at Children's. Given that Joe had just graduated from high school when he was diagnosed - it really was the best place for him. While I loathe the beast that brought us together, he and his warm family are examples of the reasons I tell people I'm not all sorry for this new life. Joe is the epitome of what we want our sons to grow to be. He's gentle, caring, thoughtful and funny. He refused to let the beast beat him down, even as it robbed him of a leg. After all, in Joe's own words..."Its only a leg." How many "adults" would be mature enough to look at it from that perspective? Joe is one in a million.

Prior to the pictures, our fashion model had her session with the stylists. While the hairdressers were kind, they weren't terribly prepared for the special needs of a child whose hair is thin, and radically different lengths. Prior to her brain surgery, Avalon had 10 quarter-sized sections of hair shaved out. When you add all that was shaved for the shunt incisions, she lost probably a third of the hair she'd worked so hard to grow back (post chemo). This was more traumatic for her than we had anticipated - so we've spent the past 10 months working diligently to "cover" her "shortcomings". Now that her auto-immune issues are causing her hair to fall out, she's even more sensitive about how it looks. Unfortunately, high-end hairdressers, in adult salons, aren't necessarily used to dealing with her unique issues.

When all was said and done, Avalon's hair was partially curled, held up by two bobby pins, decorated with a pearl bow that I'd brought from home, and sprayed stiff as concrete. Ten minutes and 10 photographs with Joe later, it completely fell apart. Thank goodness, she's not my first girl, and I've been playing hide-the-holes for nearly a year. I managed to fake it all back together pretty well. Oh the joys of public events with special kids!

After pictures, we only had to wait a few minutes before we lined up for the show. Avalon's first hockey player was her beloved Dan, and his girlfriend, Kim. Poor Kim, she came into this event as the"other woman". When we broached the subject of Avalon walking with Dan and his girlfriend...Avalon was horrified! "What do you mean?! I'm Danny's girlfriend!!" It took some quick talking to convince her that Kim was the "big girl" girlfriend, and Avalon was his special "little-girl" friend. She wasn't happy - but she gave up griping. I was more than a bit worried about what my opinionated little stalker might come out with...but she surprised me.

I had forgotten to allow for the "wow" factor. As with her much-swooned-over clinic-love, Ryan, Avalon often loses her voice around Dan - at least for a while. During her quiet worship time, Kim marched right in, and stole her own piece of Avalon's heart. Honestly, Avalon had no choice, Kim was every bit as kind and charming as Dan. Avalon liked her enough to share - we were good to go. I'm such a mush, I was weepy. Its a rare blessing to have a stranger shower your child with such kindness. To have it times two...ack, I was a puddle.

The first walk went well. When I left Avalon back stage, she was happily holding Dan and Kim's hands - and chatting their ears off. When she hit the stage, she grinned, waved, and posed at the end of the runway just as in practice. Dan helped her take her fancy overcoat off, and then she twirled like a pro - complete with hands on hips at the end. She and her sissies had been watching America's Next Top Model for weeks and practicing their techniques. She would have made Tyra quite proud.

Backstage again, Avalon had to say goodbye to Dan and Kim as they ran to change into their second outfits. We spent our down time chatting with Joe and marveling at his "bionic" leg that so fascinates one of the other young heroes. You have to love cancer kids - nothing freaks them out. They look at Avalon's "chariot" and don't even see it. They know that Joe normally uses crutches, so they can't wait to check out his new leg. They've all been bald, so the baldies among them don't raise a single eyebrow with the kids that have grown them back. Its an odd fraternity, but, in a strange way, quite a life-affirming one.

Soon enough, the players and girls came wandering back. That's where the fun really started. I have to say, I really still know squat about hockey. I know the 4 or 5 players we've met several times, but I don't know the new guys, their specialties, their bios. Its nearly impossible to make me "starstruck" about anyone on the planet - so these dear hockey players have no chance at making me impressed enough to behave. They pretty much get me as myself. This, sometimes, can make me slightly irreverant, at best.

It happened that Joe, the ultimate hockey fan, was behind Avalon in the line-up. He proceeded to "enlighten" me as to who was who in the expensive duds in front of us. I heard about "draft pick", "really fast on the ice", "great catch", blah blah blah. Now I love Joe, but he could have been speaking Greek or Finnish for all I understood. I will say I was honest, I admitted to my failure-to-understand and bigger failure-to-be-impressed. About that time, one of the players set off the store alarms again. The runway and stage were set up exterior to one of the mall-side entrances of the store. The models actually "left" the store to enter the stage. Not a problem, except the clerks forgot to remove some of the security devices from the expensive items. I think 4 or 5 alarms were set off before the first walk. I'm sure the dressers tried their best, but again - a player was setting off the alarm. Mind you - it wasn't easy to figure out who. As the players milled around, the stupid alarm would go off and on - leaving everybody searching themselves. When nobody could find it, we all gave up.

About that time, I finally caught sight of the young man in front of us. Mainly, because Joe was impressed he was there...and because he was grousing about his "ensemble". It happened this young man was handsome, had a hip haircut, and winning smile. To be sure, some Saks dresser saw a perfect "Man"A-Quinn. In reality, he was horrified. They'd given him...a manpurse. Now any old manpurse is bad enough. But A) putting a man-purse on a hockey player is damn funny. And B) having it be a man-purse that is white, with black piping and a black strap (not distressed brown leather - something remotely manly...), is so funny it hurts. This is where my I-don't-get-impressed-by-anyone thing kind of came to haunt me. I couldn't resist...I had to tease. To keep quiet...well, it would have been criminal.

The conversation went something like, "You know, you really could work that purse. I mean, c'mon...sell it, honey. Oh you can do it..." (you can guess my inflections) Answ: "I know. I should. (big grin) Nah, I don't think I can do it." Me; "Oh puh-leeese? Seriously, we'll pay you to go strut that thang. C'mon, I bet we can get these guys to ante-up!" It went back and forth like that for a couple of minutes, when I realized I'd never even been introduced to this guy! I finally said, "I'm so sorry, I've never even met you and I'm being ornery." His answer was a grin, and "No, don't worry - I have a purse, I deserve it."

About that time, the alarm went off again. As he was begging the universe for it to be his "purse", a clerk came to check the bag. Sure enough, Victory! The purse was the offending object. As the clerk took it away to remove the security tag, the player was hoping she'd "lose" it. I did try to redeem my earlier finkiness - and offered him my ample rear-end to hide behind if the lady brought the purse back. He declined the offer, but managed another grin as the much-aligned bag was returned to him. Poor fellow...I at least wished for photographic failure to happen as he pranced his purse down the runway. Only time will tell if the universe decided to smile on him...

As for Avalon, she was a bit put-out having to watch Dan and Kim chat with another hero. That is, until she met her new "team", Ole-Kristian and his lovely partner Guro. We couldn't have asked for kinder, gentler people. Avalon, the great man-hater, instantly warmed up to Ole. And again, I was shocked to meet a hockey player with a heart of gold. These guys seriously are mis-represented! Guro was not only model-beautiful, she was as sincere and lovely as Kim had been. I can't tell you how wonderful it was to be so surprised. At our first game, I had been impressed that the players were nice enough to "fake" sincerity around our kids. I'm so ashamed, and yet proud to report how wrong I was. These men, and the women they love, are truly committed to our children. They are warm, caring, thoughtful people that I'm proud to say I've met. I could care less about their profession, its their hearts I'm in awe of.

After the second walk, Ole and Guro surprised me by asking more questions about Avalon's diagnosis and prognosis. Ole had even recognized a publicity photo of Avalon. The photo was when she was barely two, and bald from chemo. She looks quite different, so it was impressive that he searched her out - and took the time to ask. Apparantly, I wasn't the only one they touched...Avalon has added the two of them to her "who loves me" list. She's insisted she get to make pictures for Ole now too. That's pretty high praise - we have to "convince" her to make pictures for Jody - she tells us "He's a nice guy, but I really love Danny." To ask to be allowed to make pictures for Ole...well, he must have seriously impressed her. Poor man, I'm not sure he's ready for a pint-sized stalker...

The last funny of the night, has to return our focus to our family hero, Dan. As I chatted with people backstage, I thought my hubby and daughter #1 had retrieved Avalon. Next thing I know, here comes hubby, sans children. When I ask, "Where are the girls?" The answer? "I don't know, I thought you had them." Hmmmm, that's interesting. It didn't take long, or many inquiries, to find out that a certain hockey player had been spotted trotting off with them. (their relationship is legendary - everyone watches them because they think Avalon's hero-worship is cute) No problem, we'd pretty much deduced the obvious on our own. We spent the remainder of the evening kid-free, as the world's best baby-sitter entertained our wee-one. I mean think about it, who better to protect your kids than hockey players?! Heaven help the mortal who dares to anger him. Personally, I'm crossing my eyeballs, fingers, and toe hairs hoping Dan sticks around through the dating years...he could save me many sleepless nights! I can't possibly think of a better threat to some wayward teen...

The evening ended with many hugs and thank you's to Guro, Kim, Mandy Shelly, and various Foundation staff and supporters. Its hard to feel like you ever get to thank them enough. The players, their wives and girlfriends, and generous benefactors donate countless hours to help raise funds for not only our local Children's Hospital, but also for national pediatric cancer research organizations. Most of them don't have children, and none of them have been touched by pediatric cancer. They choose to selflessly love and work for our children. How can you ever say "Thank You" enough for that?!

For my part, I will spend this weekend writing thank yous and mailing little girl drawings. For Avalon? My guess is, she'll keep on stalking. Except now, she's added a new hockey victim to her roster, and two wonderful women to the list. While they will undoubtedly be hugged, talked about, followed, and buried with pictures of snakes and hearts...the three "newbies" will have to understand. They cannot hope to reach Danny status. He owns such a huge hunk of her heart...I fear I'm a distant second most days....

That's OK, I understand. I'd stalk him if I was 20 years younger.

As for the dieting diva? Well, to be perfectly honest, her starvation routine is in need of a total overhaul. I've taken the stress of this past month, and used as a collasally good excuse to return to bad behaviors and pathetic ways. I'm irritated with myself, and honked off at my ba donk a donk butt. (thank you, Jessica!) Am I giving up, surrendering, or quitting? NOPE. I'm just realizing, I have some mental sludge to flush out before I dive back in.

Its a journey... its a journey.... its a journey......

Let me live in my delusions for a few more days. Its nice here.

Alicia Hall, losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness of pediatric cancer and the lives it touches
www.crazycancermom.com
A) Go Blue Jackets!
B) Please feel free to email me at alicia@crazycancermom.com
C) I love your comments! Or - you can shut me up by passing on the blog....

October 27, 2007

2007-10-30T20:58:00.001-07:00

WARNING: Due to necessary background info - this post is long. Get over it, or move on now. If you choose option B - may the fleas of several camel herds invade your skivvies...

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My four year old daughter is a stalker. She's a loving, caring, protective stalker...but truly - I think she could be categorized as a bit "obsessed".

It all started in Feb of 2007. We were invited by our local hockey team, The Columbus Blue Jackets, to their "Gold Ribbon Game". The Blue Jackets Foundation raises an incredible amount of money for pediatric cancer research and various ped onc charities. The Gold Ribbon Game is part of their efforts to raise awareness. They invite local cancer children to attend the game, participate in aspects of the game (riding the zamboni, throwing out a puck, being interviewed on the Jumbotron), and to come to a "meet and greet" with players after the game. Prior to this event, I knew absolutely zero about hockey. Post event, I knew little more about the game - but I knew I LOVED the Blue Jackets.

At first, I thought I was crazy taking 3 girls to a hockey game. All I'd ever heard was that hockey was violent and the fans liked it that way. What in the Sam-hill was I going to do with 3 of the girliest girls there ever were at a hockey game? I'm thrilled to report, I was utterly, completely mis-informed. The game was exciting, fan-friendly, and an absolute blast! We cheered, we clapped, they danced. In all, we enjoyed every moment of it!

After the game, we attended the player meet-and-greet. And there, my friends, a lovely young man named Dan Fritsche, became a victim.

Just as the meet and greet started, the team reps requested a group photo of the players, heroes (the program is called Hats for Heroes), and the police officers in attendance (the local FOP helps with HFH). An important note here - Avalon is man-shy. At Disney, she wouldn't even pose with Peter Pan, for Pete's sake. Here, they wanted her to smile with huge, scary hockey goons and guys in full-out police uniforms. All I could think was...Right, that's gonna happen...

Being that she was also the tiniest one there, I figured there wasn't a chance she'd show up in the pics. Just then, one of the players leaned down, and asked if she would let him hold her for the picture. She rather leaned back, looked him up and down (seriously, she sized him up!), and did the unthinkable...she agreed! You could have knocked me down with a feather. I thought, I'd better take a pic of this...no one we know will ever believe it.

After the pictures, the kids and their siblings were invited to take individual pictures with the guys and to have the players sign their shirts and hats. Dan was the first player we asked for a picture - so I could thank him profusely for being so gentle with her. After making the rounds of the room, she went back to him and asked for another autograph. She had completely lost track of who was who, and was just doing what everyone else was. Not only was Dan not irritated or annoyed with her...he was very amused and very kind. He told her he'd already signed her hat. At that, she cocked her head, thought about things - and promptly stuck her belly out as far as she could with, "Well OK then - you'll have to sign this!" He laughed and signed on. Poor man, he didn't know what he was in for.

A few weeks later, we were invited to our local Children's Hospital for the opening of the Columbus Blue Jackets Family Resource Center. Its a place for parents of in-house patients to go and get on the internet, do laundry, take a shower, eat. Day parents can go there to use the lockers, breastfeeding rooms, wait between appointments, etc. Its a very big deal. Avalon and a few other Heroes were there for photo ops with some players. Unfortunately, most of the players were ones she'd never seen before. Rats...we were back to Ms. Man-Shy. I took Dan aside and told him I thought she'd agree to anything, if he asked her. I explained how bashful she is, and that she really seemed to like him. He smiled, said "No Problem" and took care of her like she was his own. Avalon was never away from his side. She sat on his lap, held his hand, and did everything asked...right next to her big hero. Oh yeah...the seeds of love were planted.

Moving forward several more weeks, we were invited to be a part of a fundraiser for the CBJ Foundation and the Hats for Heroes project. A few Hero families were invited to attend BD Mongolian restaurants with Blue Jackets players - to thank people for coming and supporting the Foundation. As with the hospital, we're always willing to go to fundraising events, because no one in our family is shy about thanking people. I will hug/thank/chat with anyone gladly. I'm so grateful to have my daughter, I will never be able to thank the universe, or generous people enough. So...I went to ambassador my way around the room, and Avalon went to see...Danny.

As soon as Dan got to the restaurant, Avalon was waiting for him. At events, the players show up in street clothes, and then don the fancy jerseys that the PR team have waiting for them. Its kind of like a performer putting on a costume. Normally, they're not considered "on" until they're dressed and led into the room they're "working". Avalon could give a hoot less about the outfit. She stuck herself to Dan like a fly to a horse's heinie - the second he walked in the door. No amount of pleading on my part worked - she was stuck fast. Dan couldn't have been kinder about it. He held her hand, hugged her, and proceeded to spend the next few hours signing autographs with her on his lap. When a fan would want a picture (without Avalon!) he would gently set her down, then promptly pick her right back up. I was chatting with one of the PR team about feeling guilty she was bugging Dan. His answer? "I'm Dan's age. I would give anything to have her follow me! Don't worry, he's not bothered. He's enjoying her hugging her as much, if not more, than she's enjoying following him. Stop worrying, she's just fine."

During the course of the evening, I realized - he was right. Dan never looked cross or irritated. He looked at Avalon with genuine kindness. And not the manufactured, for-the-camera brand of kindness. No - he treated her like an uncle. When the crowds were gone and he was back to being Danny, instead of "Dan Fritsche, Columbus Blue Jacket player" (said with loud announcer voice...), he continued to "hang out" with Avalon. She "helped" him get his dinner, and fully stalked him while he ate. She worshipped him, and that was quite alright with him. Oh yeah, I fell head over heels in love too. You can't treat my daughter that well - and not expect me to love you!

Several weeks later, we did another PR event with Dan. Same as before, he annoyed fans by signing autographs with his little buddy firmly planted on his lap. He would set her down for photos - but promptly pick her back up. When too many people wanted pics, he moved a chair right next to him, so she could sit there and not have to get up and down. In all, he again, made it obvious that he really cared, not just a for-show tolerance. In all, he was a gentleman, and a wonderful friend.

Over the summer, we lost track. Avalon never stopped talking about him - but we didn't manage to keep her healthy enough to be able to meet up with Dan and his girlfriend like we had planned. He was still a huge part of our family, as Avalon included him in her "who loves me" list - but we didn't actually see him.

And now, we are finally at - today. I told you this would be long! But, if you didn't know the other stuff - you can't appreciate how funny tonight was. Tonight, we were able to attend a CBJ home game, courtesy of tickets donated to a pediatric cancer charity we are involved with. Thanks to a cancer/brain damage kid who doesn't move quickly, a baby who doesn't believe in time schedules, and a mom who needs 8 more arms, we got to the game at the end of the first period. As we were riding up to our seats in the elevator, Dan scored!!!! This was HUGE!!!

The announcer was yelling, the place was crazy - and Avalon was shrieking about "Her Danny!". You would have thought her own brother scored. The entire elevator trip (God's slowest elevator...) she talked/squealed/babbled about how "proud" she was, how happy Dan would be. She kept saying, "That's my Danny!!" The elevator operator and our fellow travelors looked at her like she was nuts. Too funny.

Once we got to our section, the ushers were kind enough to switch our seats to the wheelchair section. We merely asked where to leave her chariot - they made room for us to stay down in the open section - so she could stay in her chair. It was a very kind act, and actually worked quite well for her. Well, the next two periods were an exercise in "Dan-watching". We had to constantly update her as to his location, his actions. She got pretty good at following him herself, after a while. The funny part was her defense of him. He'd get shoved into the glass walls and she'd shriek in defense. "That's my Danny!! You be nice!" Mind you, if he got a good shot in, she'd cheer for him to smash the other guy. What a hoot!

So here I sat, middle-aged mom with a 4 yo in a wheelchair, and her 6 yo sister. (Dad, big sis, and baby brother were several seats down) Sisters 2 & 3 were both wearing purple velvet princess dresses with gold holographic sequins that sparkled like sunshine in the sodium lights of the stadium. In all, we couldn't have looked less like hockey fans. Yet, my girls were screaming like fools for their men. Its important to note, the two little ones yell for different players. Daughter #2 couldn't possibly share a crush with Daughter #3. Daughter #2 stalks her own favorite player, Jody Shelly. While she hasn't had quite as many occasions to interact with Jody, his wife understands her crush and completely endorses it by reminding her hubby to be extra kind to my 6 yo. You seriously have to love these people!

Anyway, overweight, middle-aged supermom and her two screaming princesses were quite the comical lot. The ushers around us weren't helpful - they kept egging the girls on. The band o' men in front of us - weren't helpful either, they found the girls riotously funny. So, I gave in to pressure - helped the two stalkers follow their "prey" and sat back and thoroughly enjoyed myself. And then...dum dum dum dum....it happened. (that was my pathetic attempt at forboding music) Dan was involved in an "altercation" - right below us. Mind you, we were pretty much in nosebleed section - but the view was amazing. So, yes, the "event" was far below us, but it was literally - right in "front" of us - we could see faces/expressions clearly. It started as a typical hockey scuffle - with our wonder boy getting in his fair share of beat-down. During this, Avalon was cheering him on, and yelling at the other players - all pretty normal. Then, it happened.

As the refs held Dan away from the other player, the Shark bad guy reached around the ref - and sucker-punched Dan in the face. I thought I was going to have to sit on Avalon! She started shrieking, "That's not nice!! Hey! You can't hit my Danny! I don't like that! That was MEAN!" I'm telling you - she was the picture of righteous indignation. Kids don't get any angrier than she was. The be-all, end-all was her yelling that she was going to go down there and beat that guy up. She wasn't going to let him hurt her Danny. I think the guys in front of us nearly hurt something laughing. The ushers told her she should. Oh yeah, they were helpful.

As the cameras followed Dan clear off the ice, Avalon was watching the jumbotron, "talking" to him. You would have thought he could hear every word. She carried on a full conversation with him, via his image on the jumbotron. In her mind, he even answered. That's when I really "got it". She actually thinks the entire Blue Jacket hockey enterprise exists for her! I don't think she understands that these are professional athletes. She doesn't get that thousands of people watch these players, or want to get autographs. She has no clue that millions of people watch hockey on TV or know Dan's name. All she knows is her "boyfriend" Danny wears a big red white and blue shirt, and skates around - sometimes getting into fights with nasty guys. She has no concept of his celebrity, his job, his life. To her, he's a nice guy who loves her - and sometimes other people want to say hi to him. She doesn't know why - because he's "her" friend. What a gift, to love someone so much - you're completely blind to what they really are.

For we adults, that altered view of reality can lead to poor choices, bad situations. For my tiny person, her "love is blind" approach serves her well. She sees Dan for what he really is, a kind, gentle young man with a heart of gold. She sees past what society looks at - to the real human underneath the uniform. While I do pity my dear hockey friend for being the object of her stalking, I celebrate him greatly for encouraging her delusions. He embraces her affection - and returns it. Every time he takes time to chat with her, walk with her, treat her like a princess - he gives her back a piece of her childhood that cancer stole. Cancer robbed her of innocence, freedom, and often of joy. She's suffered years of chemical torment, and faces a lifetime of pain. She has endured more medical treatments in her 4 years, than most of us in a lifetime. And yet, she is here, she is happy, she loves life, and she can still pitch a fit and threaten life and limb to "protect her man". I can't ask for more than that.

Avalon has won the heart of a stranger, and he has helped fill a part of her heart that was taken by a terrible beast. Its much easier to stand up to a mean hockey player hurting your friend, than it is to yell at your brain for not working right. Its easier to find strength holding onto a friend's hand, than it is to fight your own weak legs. Its easy to get lost in the love of a friend - because they give you support even when they don't know it. They give you hope - and something to look forward to. And sometimes, hope and love are all that get you through the day.

Yes, my daughter is a stalker. But thankfully, she found someone to stalk, that will walk slow enough she can catch up to him. She's a blessed stalker, indeed.

To "our Danny", I send a heartfelt "Thank You". You'll never know what you've given a certain little girl. ;-)

Alicia Hall - losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness of pediatric cancer issues and torments

http://www.crazycancermom.com/

October 26, 2007

2007-10-28T04:47:00.000-07:00

Crazy day here - not exactly perfect for the dieting diva, but full of life for the crazy cancer mom...

Tonight was a Halloween Party with a local "relief" group for children with life threatening illnesses. First of all, let me enlighten you. It takes an enormous leap of faith to have to admit that you have a child with a life-threatening-illness. Maybe some parents make that transition more smoothly than I did. All I know, is that every time I read that qualifier on the group's website, it still makes my heart sink to my knees...

This particular group serves children of all diagnoses. The unifying element is that any of us could lose our children. Its a sobering reality at times. We also belong to a different local group that only serves pediatric cancer families. These two wonderful organizations have been our sole source of family entertainment for the past few years. I am grateful beyond words to them.

Its a fascinating thing to attend an event like tonight. On one hand, I find it extremely life-affirming and positive. Everywhere you look, there are families just like yours. No one bats an eye at a wheelchair, mask, or bald head. We're all in the same boat - just using slightly different oars or life jackets. We're all facing down the same demon - death. But mostly, we're all enjoying the same thing - every minute we get to spend with our kids.

Having a medically fragile child is like getting a daily message from the universe. Every time I see her tire before she should, pause a second going up the stairs, pick up the latest hunk of hair to come out...I hear the whisper in my ear, "Appreciate her. Hug her. You never know." Of course, no child comes with a guarantee (or instructions!). But a medical child reminds you of that constantly. Its something I've come to be grateful for.

The Halloween party was not without its stress, or effects on my diet. I did manage to start the day off well, eating my regular eggs with cheese and onions. (I'm telling you - my breath is just permanently awful...) But, as I spent the day in crazed overdrive, trying to finish sewing two princess fairy costumes, my eating habits degenerated a bit. I didn't dive headfirst into the box of trick or treat M& M's that live in my garage....but I did surrender to peanut butter on some savory saltines. While the protein of the peanut butter would fit the bill for most carb-conscious people, I will politely remind you that peanuts and I do not get along well. Peanuts leave me red-faced, swollen, and generally speaking - less than healthy. Ah....the joys of limited funds, food choices, and time to care about what I ate.

I managed to finish most of the princess fairy costumes. Actually, for the party, they had to become merely princess costumes - the wings were sacrificed to time constraints. They are sparkly and fancy and looked great even w/o wings, so the little ones forgave me. Frankly, we haven't quite figured out how to work the wings with a wheelchair yet, anyway. This bought me some more time to think.

Daughter #1 was also very forgiving about the fact that I haven't even taken her fabric out of the bag yet. She borrowed a skirt from me, and a much-coveted gypsy coin-scarf - so she was able to fancy it up and make her dad nuts from the ringing. The pester factor totally over-rode the feeling-neglected-by-my-sewing-machine issue. Glad to be able to work the system...

Once at the party, I was, again, thrown into my alternate universe of the med-mom. A huge part of me wanted to scream for joy because we don't have to mask Avalon anymore. Problem is, we really should - she's probably as immuno-compromised as before. I think we're going to have to revisit that when we finally narrow down what auto-immune issue she has. For now, we rather blindly chose to be carefree - so my heart walked this odd line between elation and panic.

Then there was the issue of her "chariot". This was the first event she's officially "wheeled" to. She's always been in a stroller, but the chariot was a new twist. On one hand, its fantastic to get to take her without tears. She grinned and enjoyed her way through the entire night. She was able to get out of the chair and twirl and bounce and explore in a few rooms. The chair gives her the freedom to spend her energy where she wants, instead of losing it all just getting there.

On the other hand, this was yet another reminder of how much life she is continuing to lose. Even riding in the chariot, she was exhausted in a few hours - and begging to go home. How devastatingly tired do you have to be to want to go home after riding everywhere? I think she's in far more trouble than what she lets on. That's the hidden beast that plays havoc with my diet resolve.

As for the actual diet, the party didn't help much with that, either. They provided dinner for the families, and it was delicious!! What it was not...was geared to my anti-carb plan. We had our choice of rotini or bow tie pasta, our choice of alfredo or marinara sauce, then our choice of chicken or sausage bits to go on it. I chose bowtie, alfredo, and chicken - and topped it with freshly grated Parmesan. It was literally heaven on a plate! God bless the people who picked the menu - it felt like eating out at an expensive restaurant...for free. Wahoo!

Of course, I could have merely partaken of the pasta and been happy with my rotund self. Oh no, mon ami, I had to go all hog-wild. In addition to the pasta delight, I did, indeed, eat a piece of garlic bread. And if that wasn't insult enough...I also ate the dirt cake complete with gummy worms! Ha!

As my sister, and several of you, keep reminding me - this journey is a lifestyle change. As much as I would love to "take the hill" in a day - the fact is, I'm in for the long haul. Going to events with the entire family, is a rare blessing. Our world isn't what it used to be, and will never, again, be what we had originally dreamed. That's OK. I've decided, its also OK that I choose to live and enjoy the special moments when they come along. Getting to laugh with my kids and experience a place and things we can't normally afford - is a beautiful gift. Watching my girls pick out a new dress-up outfit that was donated by some kind soul, was delightful. Listening to all of the kids laugh, like they have no cares in the world...was PRICELESS. Who am I to pollute these memories with my personal stuff? I didn't, I won't, and I don't regret it.

So like I said, it was a crazy day here. I sewed like a madwoman for hours. I got in and out of the shower in record time. I dressed like a ragtag, colorblind witch because a) it made me laugh, and b) (most importantly) in allowed me to wear a witch's hat with purple hair that camouflaged the fact I didn't have enough time to detangle/brush my own hair! I ate things I shouldn't, and enjoyed every bite. And lastly...I thoroughly enjoyed the glee with which my children embraced their evening.

Thin may be in, but a child's smile wins by a mile.......

Alicia Hall
Losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness for pediatric cancer
www.crazycancermom.com

Please pass on this blog and the website! The more people who visit here - the more kids we can save.

October 25, 2007

2007-10-25T20:22:00.000-07:00

I hate my body. No no, not in the normal my-boobs-hang-to-my-bellybutton, my-rear-end-needs-warning-beepers kind of way. I'm beginning to hate it in new, heretofore un-thought-of ways.

First, I should probably provide you with a smidge of pertinent background info. I'm hypoglycemic. In fact, I'm a stupid over-achiever in the area of insulin-production. I'm so hypo-glycemic that during insulin tolerance tests, I black out from low blood sugar - in record time. Drink the nasty goo - out cold in 20 minutes. By medical standards, I'm rather fascinating. By life standards...this much insulin - stinks.

Insulin helps store fat. Let's see, I produce whoppin' boatloads more insulin than I need. Want to guess about how easy it is for me to store poundage? Oh yeah, like taking candy from a baby...and gluing it to my sitting-down-side. I gain weight so easily, I swear I can smell a sugar cookie candle and gain 1/2 a pound!

Not to mention, that low blood sugar is a self-fulfilling prophecy. It works overtime to keep itself in business. It happens something like this... Put any form of carbohydrate into my body, and it will temporarily raise my blood sugar. In response, my pancreas kicks into high warp gear and produces enough insulin for a third world country. When the insulin is dumped into the system, it eats the sugar from the food, and because I have so much of it - most any free sugar in the system. I immediately (and quickly) lose nearly all blood sugar - making me hungry, tired, shaky, irritable...and in search of more carbohydrates...whereupon the entire cycle will start over again. See the issue?

So, while it has become a bit cliche in the past few years, for me, its true. Carbs beget carbs. The more I eat - the more every cell in my person screams out for them! Its a vicious, mind-altering circle. It sounds so simple. Avoid high carb, high glycemic index foods - and curb the appetite of the beast. Oh yeah, and Rome was a 24 hour project.

On the rare occasion that I've managed to break the choke-hold of the beast, I do feel about 1001 times better. The overwhelming issue is attempting to battle my way free from the half-Nelson hold of carbohydrates. All it takes is one slip-up, one day of stress, one moment of weakness...and my body starts this death spiral straight toward the runway. I'm here to report, I've crashed an entire squadron since I started this Fat-A-Thon.

Today wasn't quite an all-out tailspin day, but I wouldn't have won any airshow awards for free-flight either. I started out like a rookie at Indy, full pedal to the metal, and ready to win. I had two eggs with cheese for breakfast, and coffee with sugar-free creamer (bleck). I felt like a million bucks! Protein tames the hunger beast, the carb-craving Cyborg, and the energy vampires - all in a neat little package. Then...dum dum dum dum.... it was lunch time. And there, the story shifts from triumphant tale, to tragic saga.

The tragedy of lunch speaks to those limitations of life-in-the-real-world that we discussed previously. In the perfect diet-vaccuum of RealityTV or Hollywood Hottie, I would have a house full of healthy, vegetable/protein food choices. In the time and finacial limitations of my world, I found myself staring blankly at carbo-land. Sure, sure, I had planned on having broccoli for lunch. Then I actually saw and smelled the broccoli - and decided that botulism didn't sound too appealing. This left me hungry and desperate, very bad bedfellows for a dieting diva.

Long story long, I caved. I jumped off the deep end of the carb train - right into a vat of tater tots. They were there. They were easy. They were sooooooo goooood.......... Rat tails and bat farts, I doomed myself. I ate the wonder taters, I got sleepy. Damn blood sugar.

Having red-baroned my own bi-plane for the day, I decided to half-way salvage dinner. I did embrace the can o' tuna dinner entree, but I did so with the help of more than a few savory saltines. So yes, the omega-happy, protein-rich tuna was way high on my "Yes!" list, but the vehicles that delivered it to my hanger...were less than ideal. Better some good than none...at least that's what I thought.

Then tonight, it hit. For the second time this week, I wanted to yack my cosmic "cookies" to the moon. As I sat there, contemplating worshiping at the great white porceline alter, I had myself a mighty epiphany. I felt like this two days ago, a few hours after I had an oh-so-healthy lunch of tuna salad. No woogies in between, no other signs of malaise. Just waiting-to-wretch a few sordid hours post-tuna. Fabulous. Now my stupid body has gone and decided to hate something that's actually good for me.

Told you. I'm beginning to hold some contempt for my personal vessel. I'm beginning to hate my body for reasons entirely unrelated to the amount of pudge I own. I think I may have a problem here with person-to-pudge-PR. I need to do a better job at selling myself to me or there could be a full-scale revolt. That might be difficult to mediate...

I suppose I could eat a case or two of Hershey bars, and hope that by the time I come out of the sugar coma, the warring factions will have reached a peace treaty.

Nah, my luck they'd wait for me to arrive, and promptly order lunch.

- Alicia Hall - losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness of pediatric cancer

http://www.crazycancermom.com/

Please feel free to email me at alicia@crazycancermom.com or comment here - all are welcome!

October 23, 2007

2007-10-23T17:32:00.000-07:00

Rat crap and bat farts. The date just jumped up and bit my not-shrunken-enough-for-my-liking bummage. I expected to be approaching feminine and sultry by now - not holding at fat and sassy. Crap on stress and comfort foods!

Well, c'mon. I suppose its not entirely fair to blame my bulge on the stress. After all, the stress didn't bend my elbow, or use the jaws of life to pry my pathetically skinny lips open. (oh yeah, I do have one ridiculously skinny thing - my upper lip. For real, if I dare to smile, the darn thing utterly disappears! Cryin' shame my rear end doesn't disappear if I shake it...) No, no...I have to lay claim to my lack of forward progress.

Basically, its a darn sight easier to be pudgy! This thin-quest is time-consuming. I now understand how those crazy people can lose so much weight on "Biggest Loser" - they're removed from normal life. No kids to interrupt the exercise regimen, no laundry to do, homework to check, meetings to attend, diapers to be changed, floors/toilets/dishes to be washed. They don't have to shop for/pay for/prepare the healthy food. They don't have to cook/dole out/clean up the not-s0-perfect-diet-food that the rest of the family eats. In essence, those brave souls leave the real world, and suffer (oh so publicly) for a brief period of time in a complete diet vaccuum. That is starting to sound rather Eden-esque to me.

The problem with that show is that real people/real lives don't work like that. Same with the celebrity diet stories. Actress Penelope Fluff-N-Stuff looks amazing in her Designer Dudley Do-Right Dress. After gaining 50 pounds during her pregnancy, she's looking fabulous only 7 weeks after the birth. How does she do it? Well, I'll tell you how. She's got money, nothing but time to exercise, money, a personal trainer to keep her on task, money, a cook to shop for and make perfect meals, money, a nanny to allow her time to work out, money, and no real committments. Ask me how many of those categories I can qualify in? I'll give you a pickle if you can figure it out.

Pickles R Us! You guessed it! Zippo, bupkus, nada, zero de hero. I'm fighting the fat while feeding 4 kids & a he-never-gains-weight-hubby, attending hospital meetings and charity events, chasing a diapered hurricane, fighting medical mayhem with a pre-schooler, and helping two kids go to school online. My kingdom for a diet vaccuum! OK, if I had a kingdom, I might have some of the afore-mentioned money. So...how about, "My right boob for a bit of dieting peace and quiet!" (Hey, boobs are the one thing I have an overwhelming abundance of. I may as well get some use out of them.)

Point is, that show is really beginning to burn my over-sized britches. If they really want to impress me, do a reality show in a real situation. Follow real people, taking care of their families, going to work - and see if you can squeeze healthy living into their worlds, without sacrificing too much of the lives they live. I'm here to report, its not nearly as easy as it sounds. Its not as easy as I'd like/wish/hope for.

Of course, nothing worth having ever is.

Bat farts, this whole self-awareness thing really does bite.

Alicia Hall - losing weight, and my mind, raising awareness of pediatric cancer warriors and their issues - www.crazycancermom.com

I'd love to hear from you! Feel free to comment here, or email me at alicia@crazycancermom.com

October 22, 2007

2007-10-22T19:17:00.000-07:00

I'm going to "plagiarize" myself tonight. I belong to an on-line support group for children with A.L.L. (Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia). Earlier this week, a mom posted about her recent bouts of forgetfulness. Below was my answer to her. Bear with me...

_____________

I think forgetting things is totally normal! I have a theory. I developed it during Avalon's heaviest tx, when I realized I was forgetting stupid things on a daily basis. Of course, there's no science to my theory...but I love the "picture" it gives me.

Here's what I postulate:

There is only so much room in our brains. Sometimes, the brain has to decide to "dump" info - in order to make room for the non-negotiable stuff. Our baby's first smile, our wedding day, the last time we hugged a friend...those are non-negotiables. They have permanent real estate in our minds.

"Negotiables" are things like grocery lists, to-do lists, chores, meetings. Normally, we can juggle the negotiables pretty well. We have a large allotment of space and energy for them.

When cancer "came home", there was a fundamental shift in the percentage of my brain that was given to the two categories . Suddenly, things I may not have paid much attention to before, like how my child's hair smells, how sunlight makes her dance...became non-negotiable. I began to hang on to details of my children like I never had before. Then, I created an entirely new category..."super-stuck"...the things that I needed to cling to, to keep my child with me. "Super stuck" holds the medical info that is vital to her survival: medicine info, side effects, warning signs...anything medical that absolutely, cannot be forgotten.

The inherent problem is simple. When I expanded "Non-negotiables" and then added "Super-stuck" - it reduced the amount of room/energy available for "Negotiables". Sometimes, things just fall right out my ears. There's no real estate left.

I suppose, at some point, "Negotiables" will reclaim some territory. Once you're OT, you don't have to remember med schedules anymore. Far enough OT, and you reduce the doctor's appts you have to remember. Eventually,"Negotiables" will be able to have some more of my time and energy. For now, I don't miss them.

The good news is, my ability to care about "losing" "Negotiables" - also fell out of my ears. I simply don't have the mental space to give a fig when I forget something. I suppose there is an inherent beauty to this plan.
-----------------------------

I have a fair reason to "steal" from myself this evening. First, I'm stinkin' sleepy - and probably not terribly witty or entertaining at the moment. Second - this theory is infinitely applicable in my life right now. As Avalon's medical needs have once again stepped forward, they've run squarely into her "social calendar", my other daughters' school schedules, and my own ridiculous list of committments.

Over the last few weeks, I've forgotten more than I've remembered! I can and have remembered every intimate detail of Avalon's medical issues. I've remembered every symptom, vital reading, doctor's statement. I have, however, forgotten nearly everything else. I've forgotten meetings, school assignments, birthday plans, this whole blog. How nutty is that?

Have I forgotten the diet? Hmmm, yes and no. I remember I'm supposed to be dieting - but can't manage to remember to get to the store to get the healthy stuff I need. Basically, I think that in light of the recent stress...my brain has opted to take a mini vacation. My non-essential thoughts didn't fall out of my head...they opted for a bus to Vancouver instead.

Time to re-group, re-focus, and re-energize. This is a whole new week. I've cancelled a few non-essential commitments, and am attempting to re-direct my meandering mind. Tomorrow, I start anew. No more cheating in the name of stress, no more caving to the easy food rather than the more difficult healthy choice.

Ahhh...self awareness. Sometimes, it just sucks.

The "Come-Back" kid, Alicia Hall - losing weight, and my mind, raising awareness for cancer kids www.crazycancermom.com

October 16 - part 2

2007-10-16T20:40:00.001-07:00

OK, so you want to laugh? Fine, fine...I know my place in the world. Suffer humiliation for the greater good.

Well, before hell broke loose and our world was rotated backward...I had been having a good diet week. Saturday was our son's 1st birthday! Short man turned a whopping one year old. Wahoo! Bonus - I finally broke - 15 pounds. Double wahoo! My mother ever-so-lovingly lied her pantaloons off - and told me she could see a difference in my mid-section. Crazy old woman - but I love her for fudging. Truth is, I still can't fasten my "fat pants", and its royally burning my buns.

As I said, that -15 was before the apocalyptic weekend of torment. Saturday pre-party, I was great - didn't have time to eat. During the party, no problem. I only ate a salad (no spaghetti) and a few small pieces of french bread. Not perfect - but not nearly as horrible as I would have liked. Sat evening - diet was still in tact, I was at the hospital, no decadent food available.

Sunday dawned OK (except for the total lack of sleep...), there wasn't any food to be had. My sister (the bad-hair babe) had gone to the ER with Avalon and I, and spent the night on the spa-rific pull-out hospital torture device next to Avalon's bed. As starvation and caffeine-deprivation threatened to paralyze she and I, she offered to go forth and hunt and gather some rations. Of course, we would pick the one hour a day that the cafeteria is closed! Being resourceful, super-aunt/sister managed to scavenge things from a refridgerator unit to ensure our survival. She choked down a turkey sandwich wanna-be, and found a wonderful chef salad for me. (and coffee...a big, beautiful cup of coffee!) Again, not such bad fare for a dieter.

As Sunday wore on, I wore down. By the time hubby and I had our "changing of the guard", my resolve, my heart, my everything was completely trampled/shot/totally stick-a-fork-in-me done. I came home, put the kids in bed, and ate like it was my job. As I told a friend on Monday, I didn't fall off the diet wagon, I held my nose and jumped head-first into the deep end. Ask me if I care.

Did I know I was eating out of frustration? Fear? Anger? No sh#@ Sherlock! It certainly wasn't for the pure enjoyment of the food! I don't even like cake. Luckily, we'd had a birthday swaree...so I had a ready supply of super-sweet goo to stick my emotions to the moon. I ate, I rested, I ate some more, I fretted, I ate...you get the picture. What you may not get...is the fact that I really don't care! I don't mind one little tiny bit if I gained back 5 pounds. I had to survive that night, and my old friend - sugary, starchy, carb-o-rific pile of calories got me through. Oh well.

I'm sure the thin among you, or some shrink, or the registered dietician divas of the world would have a list of alternative emotional boosts ready and waiting for me. When I'm more highly evolved - I might consider some of them. For now, I'm still new at this Healthy Living game, and I still embrace the notion of "comfort foods". Am I comfortable with the size of my pants? Nope. But I'm not terribly comfy with my daughter's medical life either. Apparantly, one will have to take a little longer to shrink - while I learn to cope with the other.

Another stinking lesson learned. The universe will not bend to my will and leave my family alone long enough for me to become a super-model. How dare it?! I mean, seriously, if Publisher's Clearinghouse would knock on my door, the Fairy of Perfect Health would sprinkle dust over my kids, and everyone who drives while talking on a cell-phone would suddenly lose their car keys...I'd be a size 6 in a month. No stress = no pigging out. Seems simple enough.

Until such time as I can alter the laws of physics and reality, I suppose I'm stuck with stress. Guess I'd better get a bit more adept at dealing with it. It appears, the stars are rather fond of tossing it our direction.

Maybe I can burn a calorie or two if I can learn to lob it back...

Alicia Hall - losing weight, and my mind, raising awareness of Childhood Cancer http://www.crazycancermom.com/

You're always welcome here! Thanks for joining me!

October 16 - part 1

2007-10-16T07:19:00.000-07:00

If you only want to laugh - bypass this update and wait for part 2, later on today. If you want an update about Avalon, my cancer child, then read on!

I won't lie or sugarcoat it. It was a long, exhausting, terrifying few days around here. After some rather heated discussions with a neuro-surgery nurse practitioner yesterday, we were released from the hospital. We had to promise to follow up with Avalon's neuro-opthalmologist - and she was kind enough to squeeze us in. (4 hour wait at her office - my kiddos deserve Nobel Peace Prizes)

Here is what I posted to my online ALL-kids group (Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia). I'll try to explain any shorthand I used. The group are all medical families - so I can "cheat" when I explain things to them.
_________________
Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!!!

First, thank you from the bottom of my exhausted, terrified heart for all of your support. I really do adore all of you. I knew, come what may - I had help.

Second, thank you for your positive, healing thoughts. We had the best possible of all outcomes. We are currently - *At HOME!*

After being released (long story, won't bore you) - we had to go see Avalon's neuro-opthalmologist. Avalon did, indeed, have shunt failure. She was, in the middle of catastrophic shunt failure when we reached the hospital. The neuro-optho verified that when IV morphine has no sedative effect - it means the body has "used" all of it for pain control. Here's the amazing thing - Avalon "cleared" the shunt blockage, on her own.

Apparantly, the protein in her brain must have solidified into "sand". The doc explained - its like "sleepies" you get in your eyes. Those are just hunks of protein. These same grains can form inside CSF (Cerebral Spinal Fluid), if circumstances are right (actually, when they're horribly wrong). The grain can come from really high CSF protein, or as a result of a viral infection. Avalon had a runny nose last week. Her auto-immune disorder makes her as immuno-compromised as if she were still on heavy chemo. The simple runny nose, led her body to producing extra CSF protein, and it all added together to form these granules. The grains then clogged one or more holes in the shunt system. Clogging the holes, caused shunt failure - and incredible pressure built up in her brain. So high - it was causing autonomic failure(the Heart Rate, Respiration abnormalities)

The reason her pupils were different sizes? She blew one up! Yes, you read that right. On the ultrasounds of her optic nerves that we took today, it showed that she has a huge hole in the covering of the optic nerve - directly behind her left eye. The pressure got so high - it actually formed a bubble behind her eye - that exploded! The explosion (which must have happened on the way to ER) relieved some pressure - and must have moved the grains ofprotein enough to get things moving again. The HR/resp/fever/white count problems that we saw - were all fall-out from the blockage. Had she not cleared, they would have escalated - and she would have required shunt revision (new shunt-brain surgery) , with time served in PICU (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit). Avalon's optic nerves were still horribly dilated today - with lots of peripheral vision loss. (normal diameter 10-12, Avalon's were both over 17) There is no doubt the pressure must have been astronomical - past history of optic nerve diameters, shows it had to be more than 4 times normal (normal adult intercranial pressure is 100-120. The last time Avalon had one optic nerve with a diameter of 17 - her pressure was greater than the measuring device which tops out at 420).

When I asked the neuro-optho if I got my miracle...she said, "You bet! And then some."

As of Monday morning, Avalon's WBC (White Blood Cell count) was down to 9.0 (from 17). Her HR (Heart Rate) stabilized to107, and BP (Blood Pressure) normalized to 89/58. Best of all, she started talking! In fact, she didn't quit talking/squealing/bouncing all day. She had been listless, glassy-eyed, and very, very quiet. As with previous times we've quickly lowered her pressure, it kind of leaves her hyper. We've done LP's (lumbar punctures) to check her Intercranial pressure - and to draw off fluid to reduce the pressure. When we've done that - it lowers her pressure quickly. When her brain gets to expand to normal again, it reacts by making her act like she's taken baby "speed". Yesterday, the insanity was very, VERY welcome.

The giant downside to all of this, it can, and most probably will...happen again. Until we get the protein taken care of - she will be at risk of shunt malfunction with every cold she gets. We have to revert back to induction/DI type of germophobia (Induction/DI are very intese phases of chemo - the kids have virtually no immune systems). The slightest virus - can truly kill her. We got LUCKY. Next time, it might be brain surgery, or worse. That kind of pressure is lethal...quickly. Its hard knowing that its lurking, but we figure we can learn to deal. We learned to live with cancer! This is just shades of the same. Avoid germs at all costs, watch her behaviors, listen to what she tells us - respond as quickly as possible. The good news is, next time - I think I'll be able to remove the relapse terror from the table. The WBC were simply responding to her pain and brain malfunction. Nothing more. Whew.

We have clinic this week, so we'll be able to monitor blood values. We'll see the neuro-surgeon within a week or so, and are still waiting to hear from Physical Medicine and Rheumatology (can take up to 6 mo). But, at least we're on the right track. We got our Miracle last night - and I credit a huge part of it to all of you. You all added your energy to Avalon's and helped her fight so hard she popped! There's something to be said for that.

(this last part was for new people on our ALL-list. However, its pertinent to any parent, anyone helping a family member deal with medical issues) One last note. I had rather heated, less-than-friendly discussions with a neuro-surgery nurse practitioner today. I've learned something about myself, that I hope I can empower the newbies with. I no longer give one fig or holler about what some medico thinks about me. I don't care if they don't like me. I don't care if I annoy them. I don't mind calling someone out on a mistake - they need to know when they are wrong, and the consequences their actions can have. I don't have to be nice/friendly/accomodating/a doormat. I am always polite, always patient. HOWEVER, I will no longer tolerate people who don't read charts, don't do what they promise, and don't listen. My only job is to advocate for my child. When you are new at this, its easy to be pushed around. I'm not advocating rudeness or bossiness. I'm simply saying, be empowered to embrace your "Mother Bear" (or Papa Bear - I know we have new dads too) Its OK to stand your ground. Its highly recommended to be informed, aware, and involved. NO ONE will look out for your child like you will. 3 years ago - I may have stayed quiet and my daughter would have been harmed. Now, I made sure I told the NP she was very wrong - and needed to read the chart, the ID bracelet, and here's-a-thought, LISTEN to the parents. I want you to know what I wish someone had told me. Its OK to stand up for your child.

Sorry so long. Its hard to explain Avalon's crazy stuff. Again, I LOVE AND RESPECT my wonderful "List Family". You mean the world to me. Thanks to each of you - and may I someday be able to help you find your miracle.
_______________________________

Similarly, I LOVE AND RESPECT my blog family. I apologize for having to go "all serious" on you the past week. While I am normally pretty light-hearted (OK, a certifiable nut-job), I am also committed to being honest here. Life isn't all pretty and rosey for anyone. Life is about learning to hurdle obstacles, dodge bullets, and still figure out how to enjoy your blessings. If I'm honest with you - hopefully, I can help you honestly appreciate your own blessings.

Thank you for taking time to read my rantings and care about my little person. I am more grateful than words can ever say to have her still. I KNOW that her life is a gift - with no guarantees. I appreciate your help in holding onto my special present.

- Alicia Hall - losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness of Pediatric Cancer www.crazycancermom.com

Stop by and drop me a note! alicia@crazycancermom.com or feel free to comment here. All are welcome!

Alicia - Losing weight, and my mind, raising awareness for cancer kids atwww.crazycancermom.com - mom to Avalon(4) dx 10-9-04/OT 12-28-06 (YAY!)dx pseudo-tumor cerebri 6-06, V-P shunt 1-07, Aurora (12), Ambrosia (6), andAnam ( 1)

October 14, 2007

2007-10-14T18:30:00.000-07:00

Short and sweet, totally unlike my normal ranting. I did conquer my cancer-woes - was feeling up to regaling you with my dietary misfortunes...

Then, my cancer child, Avalon was admitted yesterday, with "suspected shunt failure". Avalon has brain damage from chemo - resulting in pseudo-tumor cerebri (or intercranial hypertension). She has a Ventricular-Peritoneal shunt (VP shunt) in her brain that empties excess fluid from the brain to the abdomen. She currently has an autoimmune disorder that has yet to be completely identified. The auto-immune disorder has led to protein in her Central Spinal Fluid (CSF). Protein in CSF makes the CSF thick - like sludge. (gelatin is protein - think jello) Thick CSF can clog a shunt - causing it to clog.

When Avalon was admitted yesterday, she presentedwith an excrutiating headache, pupils dilated to different sizes, low-grade fever and pain, pain, pain. Gives you any idea, at 1:00 am they gave her IV morphine...and she was still wide awake at 3:30 am. The doc said that indicated the pain was so bad, it "ate" the morphine - not making her sleepy at all. Great.

Shunt study CT scan showed normal function. X rays showed the setting to be OK. WBC came back at 17.5... (normal values are under 15) Yes, I'm getting worried. Today, HR (heart rate)was all over the charts. She's on heart monitors, etc - and making everyone scratch their heads. Oxygen sat has been fine, but she's been constantly setting off alarms for Low/High respirations and High heart rates. HR, will go from105 to 150 to 115 in a few minutes - all while she's perfectly still. She'll be laying watching TV, and she'll be panting like a dog (resp 39+), then suddenly start with long, slow breaths. Its mind-blowing. No question, something is past wonky. She's admitted under Neuro-surgery, but Heme-Onc is considered "consulting" and Neuro is doing anything they request. At least they're all playing nicely together.

If you follow this blog - please think of Avalon tomorrow. We can use any and all positive thoughts. She's on the "add-on" list for a GA-LP (General Anesthesia - Lumbar Puncture (spinal tap) ). They're drawing fluid for protein testing (see how high its gotten), looking for infection, looking for (gulp) leukemia. I'm in no-man's land. One hand - could be shunt failure - meaning brain surgery to replace it - only to face the same issue - until we get the CSF protein under control. Other hand...CNS relapse. What on earth do I hope for? I hope to get through tomorrow.

I HATE cancer.

I LOVE all of you.

Forgive my silence for the next few days. This blog, my mission, and all of you are vitally important to us. But, being 100% mommy to a very, VERY sad little girl is paramount right now. We do not own a laptop - only an ancient desktop PC. Those are a little difficult to transport to and from the hospital when hubby and I do the "changing of the guard". So, my computer time is limited.

Thank you all for understanding. I'll find my humor and assault you with it soon.

- Alicia Hall - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, raising awareness for Childhood Cancer kids. www.crazycancermom.com

*Remember, you can always email me at alicia@crazycancermom.com or comment on this blog.

October 10, 2007

2007-10-10T19:27:00.000-07:00

This blog, my website, are about pediatric cancer. Yes this is about surviving weight loss - but with an underlying purpose. I'm trying to give you a glimpse at surviving the insane world and stress of Childhood Cancer.

I laugh, I muse, I try to look at life as a rare, beautiful gift that is to be cherished each and every day we're given. For the most part, I'm a pretty positive person...but somedays...the Beast claims my heart, my energy, and my resolve.

I know people come here to laugh, to relax. I LOVE you for that! I feed off of your positive energy - I appreciate you. But as I say in my profile, I hope I can teach a thing or two sometimes, as well. Today, I want to teach you all a little bit about living with Childhood Cancer.

For many of you, this is already real. Welcome my sisters and brothers. None of us wanted to join this fraternity - but I hope you've found the hidden beauty that lies within it. I hate the Beast, I abhor the toll the Beast takes on our children and our souls...but I'm not so blind as to ignore the lessons its taught. At least, not on most days. Today, the lessons are very hard to hear.

Today, I received an email about another new ALL angel, three updates from families grieving their lost angels, and the heart wrenching news of the second relapse of an online friend's son. Mothers and fathers who understand that time with our children is "borrowed", but who will live their lives in agony because the loan simply wasn't long enough. That, is life with Childhood Cancer.

Today, I gave in when my own cancer child begged to ride her 'cooter like her big sissy. I gave in when she badgered me that she was strong enough to make it all the way down the block. I also gave in and carried the scooter back to the house, while her biggest sissy held her hand and helped her fight her way home, through pain and exhaustion. And I easily gave in tonight when, after saying it was bed time since 6 pm, she finally let herself go to sleep at 8pm. That, is life with Childhood Cancer.

Today, I came to grips with the reality of what my daughter is left with. Chemo left her with bone damage, brain damage, and now an auto-immune disorder. She is 10 months past her last dose of ritualized poisoning - and yet she faces demons of exhaustion and pain every day. Today, I realized that I thank God each night for those demons...they mean she's still here to fight. That, is life with cancer.

Today, I ate more than I should, accomplished less than I wanted to, and cried more than I like to. Tomorrow, I may do it all again. Or, I may laugh, rejoice, celebrate, and enjoy this crazy life. What makes it a life with cancer? I will do it all with an undercurrent of urgency. If I know nothing else, I know this...you just never really know...

And that is really Life With Cancer.

For today, The Beast took his toll on my heart and the souls of several people I've come to care deeply about. Tonight, I will dwell fully within my sorrow, my grief for what they've lost, for what my daughter has lost. Tomorrow, I will move forward. Tomorrow, I will renew my resolve to effect a change. I have to.

I live a Life with Cancer.

Peace and Grace to all of you.
Alicia Hall - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, to raise awareness for pediatric cancer www.crazycancermom.com

email me your thoughts alicia@crazycancermom.com or feel free to comment, all are welcome here.

Today's menu: Lots of stuff I shouldn't have had: crackers, nachos w/cheese, pudding

October 8, 2007

2007-10-08T19:42:00.000-07:00

Four days?! Have I really not assaulted you with my diet rampage in 96 hours? (Hah! I can still multiply! Maybe my gray matter hasn't completely solidified...)

Well, lest you begin to miss my musings - I will commence my evening escapades.

Oddly enough, I haven't even thought about dieting the past few days. Weird, huh? I mean, isn't that what everyone tells you is preferable...a lifestyle change, instead of a horror-of-horrors-diet? I'm certainly not going to go all platitudes on you and say I've conquered my blubber demons. Oh it is to laugh....

I'm simply saying, that life rather got in the way of the diet the last few days...and it wasn't so bad. I've been diving into vast pools of clutter - desperately searching for some lost paperwork. I've been cutting/sewing/cursing while attempting to assemble two fairy ensembles for two cute, but time-consuming, little cherubs. I've been scaling grand mountains of laundry and conquering foothills of dishes. All in the name of "cleanliness" - which I've been told is akin to "godliness"...but I have my deep seated doubts about that. In all, I've been up to my need-to-be-shorn armpitties in normal household stuff. Hence, not much diet dribble. Who knew?

I did remember my poundage and its limitations on Friday. Rather, I was FORCED to face my weighty problems...as I renewed my Driver's License. Ack. It all started rather innocently. I had to drop off paperwork to my daughter's caseworker. No problem... 3 kids, a car ride - easy enough. However, right before I left, I received a rather pitiful phone call from my dear sister - about her day o' tragic events. Thus began a series of events, that I will get to relive for years...four to be exact.

As the story goes, my frugal sister decided to try to save a few dollars on Thursday evening. She found her locks in need of some love...but her wallet in need of some padding. Putting the two together, she realized she was in a less-than-desirable position. Lo and behold, the universe smiled on her - and she found a coupon - for none-other than the local hairstyling school. For a budget-friendly seven dollars, she could have her hair trimmed and eat her proverbial cake too. Seemed like a win-win idea! After all, she only needed a "trim"...how hard could that be? Let me just say...famous last words....

By all accounts, the quick, penny-pinching trip to the "student stylist" was vastly pricier than anticipated. To be honest, my sister actually ended up paying nothing for her haircut. That is, unless pride and confidence have a monetary value. When the stylist gasps then weeps...it really doesn't bode well for how you will look for the next few months. My sister's own whimpers at least reclaimed her seven dollars - even if her self esteem is temporarily AWOL.

Enter the phone call Friday afternoon. By the time the poor woman got a hold of me, her hair cut was only one chapter in her tale of woe. Turns out, that she had been inadvertantly sent to the wrong hotel to present a very important work speech. By the time she figured it out, tracked down the correct location, and broke land-speed records getting there...she delivered her speech - 45 minutes late, with bad hair. Then there is the issue of the speech itself. The same person who misdirected her location, also failed to give her the handouts associated with the speech...AND the disc containing the powerpoint. So - we have a stressed, late, empty-handed, powerpointless woman trying to do a presentation...with bad hair. I'll let you imagine how our phone call went.

Moving forward, I arranged to go to her house, post-caseworker meeting - to offer my support for the life-altering tress-distress. Its the least any self-respecting sister should do. Show up, listen to the horrors of how you came to look akin to a sheared sheep...and be righteously indignant on your behalf. This is what siblings were created for. (OK, we're often better known for ridicule - but she was far too fragile for that)

As I left the caseworker's office, I had what I now know to be, an ill-fated epiphany. I thought, "Well, I'm driving right through town. I'm sure I can save myself a trip - there has to be a BMV along my route somewhere." You see, we finally received the paperwork for a handicap placard for Avalon. (While my legs work perfectly fine, and I don't mind pushing Avalon from further out in a parking lot - it only took being trapped at the hospital once to convince me to cave to the placard. We had to dismember her chair and hand it over someone's car to get it in a few weeks ago.) I merely needed to stop in, pay my $3.50 and walk out with my little magic card. At least, that's what I thought.

My first mistake was thinking I could save time. I can never save time. Time is my mortal enemy. The harder I try to thwart it - the more it will thwap me between the eyes. This was no exeption. I called my pixie chick sister and garnered the info I needed, the site of the BMV that I, correctly, had presumed was on my route. No problem! Pull in, pay up - back in the car in no time. Right.....

*At this point, I will do one of my temporary diversions, think of it as a "flashback". This particular Friday was not exactly a stellar day for me, aesthetically, that is. Yes, I did have on real clothes. No pajama pants, no gardening clothes. But face it, it was 90 degrees out - in October! I didn't exactly dress to impress. Then there was my hair. In my zeal for zen-in-the-home, I hadn't exactly paid much attention to my personal attributes over the weekend. Long, super curly hair gets a bit wild-man-Jack if left to its own devices for a few hours. Try a few days...and I'm well on my way to dredlocks. As I rushed around like a chicken-on-speed trying to leave for my meeting - my hairstyle of choice had been to skin it back and put a thousand or so bobby pins in, to try to manage a bun that was smaller than the size of my head. I didn't succeed. As for make-up...I own it. I had some left-over smears under my eyes and maybe clumped on a lash or two - but that's about it. I was pretty.....*

So here I was, the picture of matronly mistakes...poorly dressed, makeupless, pudgy, with 3-day-old-tangled/skinhead-hair-a-go-go. Again, I was pretty... I plod this way, with 3 kids in tow - into the lovely brown-stained-smelly land of the BMV. Frankly, I think the carpet and I were in a fair competition for most-bedraggled that day. I smiled at the clerk, gave her my paperwork, and laid my $4.00 on the counter. She politely smiled back, and requested my Driver's License to complete my simple in-and-out transacton. Then Satan, himself, had a laugh at my expense.

BMV "Ma-am?" (I hate ma'am)

Me "Yes?"

BMV "Your driver's license is expired."

Me "Are you serious?! I haven't looked at that thing in years!"

BMV "Well, it expired on your birthday a few weeks ago. You've been driving illegally!" (said with extreme emphasis...as if I've been found guilty of a capital crime against her mother)

Me "OK, I'll stop in a couple of days and get it replaced."

BMV "But Ma-am. You are ILLEGAL. You can be stopped and ticketed. This is very serious." (Said with unmistakable glee - that meant had I left, she'd have called Smokey and rat-finked me out. I'd have had a ticket in 2.2 seconds)

Me "Fine. Just do it. Aww crap, I look awful!"

BMV "That doesn't matter." (oh yeah, that helped my mood)

(at this point, I figured I might as well laugh. I decide to be a smarty pants.)

Me "You know, you're providing quite the public service here."

BMV "Thank you!" (I didn't know what to do with that...)

Me "No, you need to understand. I'm on the way to commiserate with my sister about a bad hair cut. She'll laugh so hard at how bad my license looks - she'll forget to be miserable. Her hair will grow out...I'll be stuck with this for 4 years."

(enter new, I-considered-smacking-her BMV clerk)
BMV #2 "You can always come back and pay $19.50 to have a new license made."

Me "Like I said, I'll be stuck with it for four years."

*And the final insult to the whole ordeal?

BMV "Ma-am, do you weigh what your driver's license says you do?"

My sister's gales of laughter are the only reason I didn't go back to that BMV fully armed...

- Alicia Hall - losing weight, and my mind, raising awareness of childhood cancer www.crazycancermom.com

October 4, 2007

2007-10-04T19:31:00.000-07:00

Several random thoughts...40 year old brain...don't expect great literature this evening.

First, my arse hurts. The back of my front, my built-in seat cushion, my truckin' tuckus...my arse...is killing me! Why you may ask? (and don't even go all 20-something porno on me) Because I bent to the winds and caved to the masses. I did conventional exercise today. ...And the day came, and it was done.... And it sucketh.

I may never, truly survive if I have to regularly partake in this insanity. Who, just who in the flippin' Hill of Sam decided that purposeful over-exertion of your gluteus maximus is a joyful event?!! My roundy nether region is powerful sore...and it sucketh!

No, no - I didn't go do one of those you-have-lost-your-marbles super-human lifting weight thingies. I simply walked. Two miles. Wearing a 20+ lb baby in a backpack, while pushing a wiggly 4 yo in an old loaner-model-until-we-get-the-good-one wheelchair. Two miles. Up hills, down hills, over bumps, around skinny, cute, pity-faced-because-my-daughter-is-in-a-"chariot" twits. Two miles. ...And it sucketh.

Worse...and I do mean WORSE of all...I'm not going to lose one god-forsaken ounce!! Why? WHY, you ask? Because I'm a weak-willed simpleton (yeah - don't remind me about yesterday's rant) who cannot control herself in the face of certain temptations. Did I slather myself in double dark chocolate fudge and drown my sorrows in it? No. Did I barricade myself behind a wall of bagels and eat my way out? No. Did I vacuum suck three dozen bags of Hershey products while simultaneously funding the latest Godiva retail venture? NO! (and dang it - now I want to, since I brought it up)

Oh no, nothing that tasty. I've fallen prey to what I thought was a good, healthy chip-alternative for the kids. Peanuts. Damn you Mr. Peanut!! How dare you be so luscious and dreamy... How dare you wink at me from behind those suggestive glasses. How dare you draw me in with your suggestive top hat and cane...beckoning me with elusive dreams of fancy formal occasions. Fie! Fie on you, you tempter of weak-minded dieters!

Brass tacks, I'm allergic to peanuts. While, thankfully, they don't constrict my airways (like sunflower seeds do), they do whole-heartedly hate my person. One spoon of peanut butter is enough to make my cheeks (facial cheeks) bright, flaming red and swollen. Peanut anything raises my blood pressure, and completely destroys anything resembling a metabolism for days. I could eat 12 peanuts a day for a week (nothing but the peanuts) and gain 15 pounds. I'm telling you honest - peanuts and my innards should NEVER meet.

And yet, I purchased them on the fateful shopping trip we discussed yesterday. I figured I could easily avoid them - they hate me. As with so many things the past month...I was wrong. WRONG, wrong, wrong, wrong. Oh no, I have not just not avoided them...I've scarfed them. LOTS of them. Today? Oh...conservatively 1 & 1/2 Cups or more. Oink, oink, oink.....

What demonic, black-hearted force has overtaken my common sense? I KNOW the stupid things are out to get me...and yet, I ate them. My face currently feels like a blast furnace, and my derriere/legs/back feel like the back end of a racehorse after the Kentucky Derby. I could have enjoyed the loss of some fatitude today. (the rest of my day was perfectly acceptable) Instead, I will have eaten little, exercised much, and still likely GAIN WEIGHT. AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!

OK, a primeval scream (or 6) can actually help your mental state. Whew. I suppose I will have to chalk today up to yet another learning experience. Gack. You'd think by my current ripe, old, age - I'd have learned enough by now. Apparently, there is no age limit on stupidity by consumption. Fabulous...I wonder what else is lurking out there, waiting for its chance to take me down...

As for my random thoughts - here are a few of them. Its October 4th, and I'm so OVER breast cancer awareness month - I COULD SCREAM. Please, please - don't get me wrong. As a woman, I am THRILLED that Breast Cancer Awareness Month has become part of our national conscience. I can remember the days of the "whisper". "Did you hear? Mrs. Smith has breast cancer." (all said very hush-hush, and "breast" was barely audible) I'm tickled "pink" that this awful disease has reached a level of acceptance and support that has afforded it the ability to move forward in treatment and survivorship by enormous leaps and bounds. I buy my share of awareness products, vote for awareness issues, and weep for the pain endured by friends in the fight. I GET it. But, WHY does no one "get" our kids?

"30 days hath September..." says the poem. No days, had cancer kids...say I. Why didn't one national talk show focus on our kids? Why did CNN cancel its one 3 minute report on Childhood Cancer Awareness Month? WHY?!!!

Breast cancer is heavily funded by the government - because it affects millions of women. Drug companies trip over themselves to fund research, because they have millions of potential customers and payoffs. Both groups ignore our kids - because there aren't enough of them to "count". The parents of 12,500 children each year, would beg to differ with that.

Enough soapboxing, time for my requests. Please, please, please, consider "helping" our kids. If you think this blog is funny - send it on. Send it to Ellen, Rachel Ray, Oprah, Good Morning America, The Today Show, etc. If I make them laugh...maybe they'll listen! Send it to your friends, your enemies, your family (whichever category they fall in) Maybe they will know the right people to send it to. A few clicks, and one of us may make the difference of a lifetime. Those of us in this horrible fight, are frustrated and desperate. We feel like we're banging our heads against 1000 foot walls, and only denting our heads, not the establishment. If you have any brilliant ideas, amazing contacts, or magic wands of attention - please share! I'm game for anything - as long as I can talk about "my" kids. I believe in the beauty of these special kids - I just want the chance to show everyone else.

OK, apparently, soapboxing is rather equivalent to primeval screaming. It can be quite good for the soul! Forgive my rants - and understand the LOVE they are screamed with. I will literally do anything to thank the people who gave me back my daughter. Its a gift that can never be repaid.

Hugs to ALL of you!! This blog, your eyeballs dragging across it...are keeping me sane and in the "fighting" mood. You rock my world!!!

Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids. http://www.crazycancermom.com/

I love to hear from you! Please feel free to post comments on the blogs - or email me at alicia@crazycancermom.com

Breakfast: one egg, 1/8 C cheddar cheese, 1/4 C mushrooms, 1/4 C onions, 1/2 TBS real bacon bits, 1 C coffee/creamer

Lunch: ditto - I'd made 2 eggs for brkfst - but only ate half then, peanuts, 1 C coffee/creamer

Dinner: peanuts, taco meat, lettuce, cheddar cheese, sour cream, onions, diet Coke, peanuts,

4 glasses water, walked 2 miles!

October 3, 2007

2007-10-03T18:54:00.000-07:00

I've been grocery shopping...and it was a spiritual event.

I want to share with all of you. I had a great epiphany at the grocery store. It's cheaper to be fat.

You know, its a sad thing. We over sized people are never (OK, rarely) portrayed well in the media. On TV shows, we're usually the slothen, hill-jack, never-worked-an-honest-day schmucko who gets bumped off in the first 5 minutes. Or, we get to be the welfare neighbor with 12 kids and bad style. Often, we get to be the mistreated, under-appreciated assistant/secretary/housekeeper who rats out our thin, rich employers to the detective flavor-of-the-hour. Pick your substandard, subservient position...Hollywood whooptie-hoos will generally send anyone with any flabiliciousness straight to that door.

In real life, we don't all fit that particular casting couch...but there are some similarities of note. You just don't normally see well-padded women traipsing around golf courses or country clubs. I've been doing my fair share of elbow-rubbing with the higher-salary set as I speak to raise money for our hospital. I've noticed that I'm usually the "best fed" in the room. Worse, I always feel like my lower income bracket is somehow tattooed across my ample hindquarters.

Why is that? Do higher tax brackets mean higher commitments to healthy lifestyles? Do more zeros in your salary mean more will power in the kitchen? Do larger homes mean more room to store smaller clothes? Horse hockey! Money may be the deciding factor...but its not about will power or commitment. Its about the almighty dollar.

Its dad-blasted pricey to be healthy! I mean it. I'm not talking nickel and dime more pricey...I'm talking double-the-grocery-bill who-needs-lights kind of pricey. Pasta, white bread (whole grain stuff might as well be made of dollar bills), potatoes, rice...are cheap. I can get a package of spaghetti big enough to feed a third world country for dinner - for 5 bucks. OR, I can get three bell peppers to cut up for my morning eggs and maybe evening dinner - for 6 bucks. Even if math isn't your forte...that just doesn't add up. Two loaves of white bread, 1 giant jar of strawberry jam, a double pack of peanut butter...and I have lunch for 4 kids for 7 days - cost = $11.00. Or, I can pay $6.99/pound for 3 pounds of deli turkey, $3.29/ea for 2 loaves of whole grain bread, $5.99/lb for 2 lbs cheese and get 1 week's lunches for approx $40.00. Get friggin' real!

And if you pay attention to my lunch menu - my kids were only getting sandwiches. If I decide to be kind, I can flush out those meals with fresh fruits and veggies...or chips. Would you like to take a flying fart guess at which option is cheaper? Its insane! The deck is stacked against us!

As I fought my way through the local warehouse store, pushing a cart that weighed more than Babar, arguing tooth and nail with two chip-crazed daughters and one carb-crazed tween, all while being pummeled with a pillow attached to the baby's "buggy buddy"....I had a life-changing epiphany. I'm not gluttonous, weak, or simple-minded... (OK, the last one is arguable on some days...but that's for another discussion) I'm merely POOR. The epidemic of obesity in our country isn't caused by television, evil processed food companies, or infiltration of our commerce by terrorism-minded grocers. We're fat because its darned cheaper to be!

Millie St. Rich isn't better at comprehending the carbohydrate/fat/serving size information on food labels. Millie is simply better at figuring out how to pay for that luxurious thing we call "healthy food choices". Low-fat, low-carb, whole-food, organic items aren't merely a mouthful to say, they're a wallet-full to fund. It creates a rather interesting hypothesis. Would we be so overweight, if the "good" stuff was cheaper than the bad? If consumerism forced the choice barometer to swing fresh, whole, healthy...would the illicit foods of the world suddenly move to the price bracket best afforded by affluence?

In days past, that's exactly what happened. Ruben painted round women, because they were the "picture" of health and abundance in his day. Women of bodily substance had to be women of wealth - they were the only ones able to afford empty calorie food and avoid calorie-burning exercise. Now, high calorie foods are abundant and more affordable than their healthy counterparts. Worse, the people who can only afford the cheap, available, unhealthy fair...are often so overworked trying to make ends meet - they can't "afford" the time to squeeze in the kind of calorie-burning activities their bodies need. Talk about your conundrum...

Do I have a grandiose scheme to reverse the socio-economic Fat Trap? Would that I did. (old English - not a typo...I paid attention in Jr. English!) Alas and Alack (OK, just being a smarty pants here...), I have no earthly idea how to bring about an all-stop and 180 reversal. All I do know, is that somehow - my little epiphany removed some of my personal guilt. Am I right to let it go? Hmmm, perhaps that's not mine to determine. If I get a vote, I say, "Yes!" I didn't create the pricing structures...I merely fell prey to their ease of my financial woes. Did those cheaper prices dictate that I eat waaayyyyyy more than the suggested serving size, eat late at night, never attempt any exercise, or never meet at cookie I didn't like? Ummmm, no. So, while I can muse over the reversal of fortunes...I cannot hold that interesting fact culpable for my own tuckus.

Where did all of this ephinanizing leave me? Dirt damn poor, with a cart full of healthy crap, and four convinced-their-mother-is-a-no-fun-toad children.

Oh well, maybe if I buy something sugary and awful...I can hold it up like bait and get them to chase me for exercise....

Hope I gave you some "food" for thought. ;-)

- Alicia - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids. http://www.crazycancermom.com/

Breakfast: 1 C coffee w/creamer, 7 macademia nuts (we were running out the door)

Lunch: 1 C coffee w/creamer, 1 Diet Pepsi, 2 crunchy Kashi pumpkin granola bars (1 pkg)

Dinner: diet coke, fake crabmeat - dipped in butter with lots of garlic! - 1/2 C peanuts (ack I'll pay for that) 8 macademia nuts - yeah yeah, too many calories for dinner, exactly why being gone all day and getting super hungry is stupid...

October 1, 2007

2007-10-01T19:37:00.000-07:00

Happy, Happy, Happy welcome-to-the-beginning-of-the-Hill 30th Birthday to my sister! Welcome to things sagging, and parts crackling. Welcome to Ma'am, no more doors being opened, and the "joy" (NOT) of never being carded again. Welcome to excess in spots you don't want it...and deficits in spots you'd love to see chock full.

Does age affect your keester? In a word...YES! Sure, sure, there are skinnies out there who look dad-blasted fabulous for the miles they've traveled. Then, there are the "real" people. Do we real people have different DNA? Maybe, but I won't be so flippant as to use that as a cop-out. I fully own my roundy shape. I prefer to think we fluffy people have different OOL - Outlooks On Life.

OOL people know that exercise is good for you and sugar is bad. We've read the articles, been terrified by the statistics, and *drooled* over tiny little outfits we'd love to cram our over-sized derrieres in. Problem is, we are perfectly capable of *fooling* ourselves into thinking that "just one" won't really matter in the grand scheme of things.

Also, we OOLs generally have issues with taking time to sweat. Oh, we have more than a bit of sweat in our worlds. We sweat where bill money will come from, if we're raising our families well, if we're affecting global warming, and heck, we even sweat the small stuff. Our problem lies with finding the time and energy to sweat in ways that are deemed "aerobically" satisfying. We OOLs are often lacking the proper *tools* to fully meet our functional sweat requirements.

Of course, a few OOLs may lie in my personal camp. I despise sweat. I mean, take me out and beat me with a jumprope or 12...I can't stand sweat. I don't mind exercising in a *pool* - but those aren't generally accessible in the "tropical" wonderland of Ohio - unless you happen to have an abundance of funds and can join a happy club somewhere. If you are wondering why I haven't done so...see the previous paragraph about why OOLs sweat.

So, my dear sister, beware. If you find yourself in the company of the OOL crowd, you may find your britches shrinking, your baggage growing, and your wallet with a bit of an echo. We are often labeled *fools*, and refuse to follow most *rules*, particularly those bent on curbing fun. We have a tendency to choose a laugh over the grind, and are well known for attempting to leave worries behind. We are irreverent, pudgy, and utterly non-compliant at times.

We might have a radical OOL - but overall, we're pretty *COOL*. Welcome to age and wisdom. Its everything its cracked up to be and more.

Power to the OOLS!

Oh aging...we love to denegrate it...but I'm fighting like hell to make sure my daughter gets to gripe about it... - ALICIA - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids at www.crazycancermom.com

Here's the deal. Our larder is so barren, we can hear the echoes. Today's menu was born of desperation and starvation. These, my friends, are not happy bedmates.

Breakfast: 12 pieces of pepperoni, 2 C coffee w/creamer

Lunch: salsa, sour cream, corn tortilla chips - the crumbs at the bottom of the bag, diet coke

Dinner: 2 or 3 oz deli turkey (Viola! I found a bag in the back of the fridge!) , water

Yep - I'm hungry. Probably won't lose an ounce. Stupid chips. Stupid sensitivity to carbs. Stupid no food. Stupid no time. Stupid no money. OK, stupid rant...I'll go to bed now.

September 30, 2007

2007-09-30T20:19:00.000-07:00

OK, blog...blog like you've never blogged before. I have 10 minutes to the end of the news, and the arrival of a hubby and tiny hungry man to my sanctum sanctorum (better known as my hurricane-regularly-hits-it-bedroom/office/school room) So I may rant slightly off-kilter this evening...I'm on a time crunch.

Well, today is the end of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. How many stories did you see on the news? How much Britney barf were you inundated with? See my point? How many "gold ribbon" products did you find in your local toy stores, children's clothing sections, or school aisles? Oh....you mean you didn't even know that pediatric cancer had a color? Yeah...me neither - until my daughter had been in treatment for over a year! Folks, I believe we have a bit of a PR problem.

I'd been contemplating this crazy Fat-A-Thon idea for months, before taking the sacrificial plunge. I chose to start the insanity this month - for an obvious, close-to-my-heart reason. I want someone, anyone, out there in cyber space to sit up and take notice! Our kids count!!! Our kids are suffering, fighting, and damn-you-cancer dying...and far, far too few people recognize that. I'm rather fed up with that.

Moms in our on-line group created a beautiful, moving, truthful video for this month. 60,000 people have watch it. This video tells the story of every cancer child - with raw honesty. It could change the world - if we could figure out how to get people to watch it. An uber-funny brilliant comedienne has a video with her singing perhaps the best ditty about mothers ever written. Its downright hysterical - no arguments here. Its been viewed over a million times. Do I remotely denigrate her? Nope. She's a hoot. Problem is, getting those same million to give a fig and a holler about our kids.

So here I sit. Eating healthy crap and writing oddball monologues about my masochism. Maybe, just maybe, if I can make people laugh, I can eventually make them sit up and take notice too. I may be the oddest duck diving in the pond...I could care less about publicity for me. I figure, if I can get someone to notice the Fat-A-Thon - then I can sneak in the cancer stuff. Asking directly, begging, and even the pity angle haven't worked a boatload so far. The way I see it, the only avenue left is humor.

Are our kids serious? Hmmm, let's see. Do bears, deer, raccoons, and the occasional eagle fart in the forest? Duh........ Are our *KIDS* also funny? Oh yeah. Have you ever met a 2 year old who wasn't? You haven't laughed until you've heard the shrieks from a 24 yr old nurse who's, again, been scared stiff by an ornery 12 yo patient hiding in a linen closet. 4 year olds may not skateboard well, but they can pole surf at near warp speeds. Our kids are KIDS first - they just happen to be patients in their spare time.

Have I made you laugh this month? Have you seen parts of your own round rear in my posts? Good! That makes me happy. Want to thrill my socks off? Share. Share my Blubber Blog, share my thoughts, share my mission...and maybe, someone new will share my passion. I don't want to weep for the empty arms of another mother. I feel their aching...its almost more than my heart can bear.

I want to feel the joy of end-of-treatment parties. I want to celebrate the glorious work of dedicated researchers - as they find new miracle cures. I want to sing from the highest rooftops and dance on the biggest stage...our kids matter!! Our kids count! If the universe is listening, next September 30, I'll be writing you about what a magical month it was. We'll be discussing last week's story on Good Morning America and last night's story on CBS Evening News. We'll be arguing over which story was better presented, and which network seemed more committed, rather than bemoaning the fact that no one seemed to care at all. We have 11 months, my friends. We can knock on doors, ring phones, and electronically stalk everyone in the media until they hear us.

Listen, if I can starve publicly, how hard can it be for you to share? Write to Oprah, Rachel Ray, Ellen, The Tonight Show, Good Morning America...I don't care who! But email your internet brains out. At least if they think I'm nuts - they'll talk about me or to me...and we can start the real dialogue...the important one...cancer kids.

As for the actual Fat-A-Thon, I've won and lost several battles this month. I started this quest at a whopping 258 pounds. At my lowest, I was 244 pounds. Then, a new medical disaster fell on my beautiful daughter's tiny shoulders - and stress began gnawing at my resolve. Over a weekend get-a-way at a cabin - I gained 3 .5 pounds back. I fought hard, and removed them a second time. Then...well, the news got a little worse AND it was my 40th birthday...and I rather lost my head. This time, I gained 4 pounds back - all the way back up to 248. As of today, September 30, I have solidly lost 3 of those elusive pounds again. For two days now, I've been 245 pounds. I count that as -13 pounds in my first month on the diet. Would I have preferred -20? Are you insane?!!! I would have been ecstatic! But, -13 is nothing to sneeze at - and its even been under an element of duress.

To those of you who are joining me by reading these mind meanderings...THANK YOU. I cling to your warm comments like floating doughnuts in a torrential sea of Koolaid. Knowing that I have to be honest with you...keeps me honest with myself. By the by...the whole "honesty" game is highly over-rated. I am, personally, finding accountability to be a major drag. I look at that lovely, whole-grain loaf of Panera bread in my fridge...and hear you all gasping if I eat it. I don't know how you've managed it...but you're making an honest woman out of a perpetual pudge fabricator. You may very well all be psychics in the making.

Let's use those unnerving powers for good...let's pester the pantaloons off of some media folks until someone caves and listens! Until then, I send you all a fruit-loopy queenly wave and a squishy-seat bummy wiggle.

Pickle lips and frog farts. Stop taking life so darn serious and embrace a smile!

- Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids http://www.crazycancermom.com/

Breakfast: 2 eggs, 1 oz cheddar cheese, 1/2 C onions, 2 TBS real bacon bits, 2 C coffee w/creamer

Lunch: We attended the Survivor's Picnic with our hospital. You will hear this often and repeatedly...I LOVE our hospital staff! I love spending time with them, I love them as humans as much as I do as medical people. They are kind, funny, silly people - and all of them make this happenstance world a better place. I ate chicken fingers covered in delectable bread crispy stuff. I drank water.

Dinner: buttered popcorn and a diet coke. Too busy trying to find my room under mountains of laundry to be bothered to make anything. Hubby's gourmet popcorn had to suffice.

PS - I LOVE our Heme-Onc staff!! And this took 1 hour to write, not 10 minutes. Good thing little man was pooped from fun in the sun! ;-)

September 29, 2007

2007-09-29T19:21:00.000-07:00

I have a new idea. Shop-a-robics. This is day bleckity bleck, that I haven't done the skinny-minny picture perfect idea of exercise. ..........

**** We interrupt this regularly scheduled rant-o-blog, for a public service announcement. *************
You see, I started this blog last night, ON Sept 29, like it is labeled. However, my son woke up, needed to be nursed, the bed is comfy...I'm perpetually sleepy....wham, bam, thank you Sam - I'm finishing the blog a day late. This is what I was talking about the other day. I have high hopes and expectations...my children love to confound them. Just thought I'd share.
****We now return you to your previous blathering**********

I did, however, do what I feel is some decently strenuous exercise - and I want to know why-the-Hades it doesn't count?

Have you ever gone shopping with 4 kids? I'm not talking run-of-the-mill in and out of Walmart stuff. I'm talking, 3 girls, one in a wheelchair, one 21 pound boy in a backpack., cramming ourselves up and down the aisles of re-sale shops looking for clothes...for hours....................

In our town we have these wonderful stores, Once Upon a Child, and Plato's closet (for teens). We were on a hunt for Ohio State anything, Blue Jacket anything, some things for a baby who's grown 2 inches this week, and maybe something fun or sparkly that was cheap. The direct translation is, I spent nearly 3 hours - rummaging through over-stuffed stores, in cramped conditions, negotiating a wheelchair, and doing Olympic-worthy gymnastics while wearing a hanger-grabbing, outfit-snatching, 11 month old octopus. I bent over, stepped over, reached for and returned to. I lifted, squatted, balanced, and teetered. I searched, stooped, organized, and carried. And even though I did eventually pay these lovely people for the privilege of leaving...it didn't end there.

Once we reached home, I got to carry it all in - and then the real work began. First, came the monumental struggle with child #3 who wanted to try on, wear, try on, wear, try on...ad nauseum. Then, came the epic battle with child #4...the boy. Trying outfits on a wiggly, squiggly 11 month old boy is roughly equivalent to wrestling a chimpanzee while holding an 8 foot octopus under your left boob. Suffice it to say...it ain't easy.

So, my rather long-winded query is this. Why must I don spandex and jump in time to corny disco music to get credit for "exercising?". I challenge that 20 something perfectly coiffed aerobics instructor to keep up with my brood in a discount clothing zoo. I welcome that well-heeled, park avenue nutritionist to try to survive my "corporate" jungle. I'm telling you, my monkeys would take her down!

So that's it. I've answered my own question. I did exercise today. I broke a sweat, my back and legs ached, and I feel like I've been ridden hard and put away wet. I conquered space, time, and budgetary limitations...and came out the victorious huntress with bargains o' plenty. I did exercise. I exercised my body, my wallet, my virtues, and my patience. I'd better darn well lose an ounce or two today. I do not have enough personal grit to survive another trip to bargainland.

I did exercise. That's my decision and I'm standing by it. I wouldn't suggest arguing with me...I'm sugar-deprived and on the edge...

- Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids. http://www.crazycancermom.com/

Breakfast: 2 eggs, 2 TBS real bacon bits, 1 oz cheese, 1/2 C onions 2 C coffee w/creamer
Lunch: 1 1/2 C fried broccoli with sesame seeds, water
Snack: Diet coke
Dinner: 1/2 C taco-seasoned beef, lettuce, 1 oz cheddar cheese, salsa, 2 Tbs sour cream
Exercise: see above notation...agree with me...or else!

September 28, 2007

2007-09-28T20:25:00.000-07:00

Farts. I had the highest of hopes that I'd be diligently blogging my brains out each evening. I had utterly ill-conceived notions that I'd tuck my angelic children into their perfectly-made beds and sit here, regaling you with my day's dietary conquests.

Pickle farts. The reality is, I normally manage to get the kids into their mis-matched, just-when-did-I-wash-those-things-last? sheeted slumber pits, only to try to catch up on 1001 emails. By the time I've dug myself out of e-communication e-nnihilation...I can barely manage to stitch together 6 intelligible thoughts. Maybe its the calorie deficit, maybe its the new medical stresses...but holy cow, Batman...my brain is starting to melt!

You know, I may be on to something with the brain melt theory. Think about it. As a hefty woman, I enjoyed a life of full fat, sugary goodness. Fat is gel-like, sugar is gooey. What if the fat and sugar have be the glue that held my brain cells together? I mean...my attempt to find my svelte self, may actually be disintegrating the very part of me that cares!

Face it, my thighs have rubbed together so long...they're in no hurry to lose weight. They'll be lonely. And my arse? Oh honey, its so used to dancing its own private jig after the rest of me has quit hearing the music... Why, it may just file a formal protest if I whittle away at its inherent "groove-thing" quality. No no, the brain has to be the only part of me that really wants to be thin. Poor brain, its out-thought itself. In its unrealistic attempt to shave me down to semi-normal size...it may very well be its own undoing... (Hah! I crack myself up. Brain melting, "undoing"...Hah!)

So how on earth am I going to manage to stick my smarts together if I can't sugar-coat them? Hmmm...well, I could run down a skinny minny or two and steal some of their hoo-hah wax. (have you ever gotten that email?) Nah, I might stick something I need. Hmmm...I could borrow some of my under-the-hooter sweat that I'm desperately hoping to someday NOT have... Nah, what happens when I have perky little puppies? My brains would fall apart again. (Stop laughing! I might be able to pick them up off my knees and staple them in place...) Hmmmm...how about I just squeeze the brain juice from the next rat fink who tells me how much trouble they had loosing their whopping 12 pounds... No problems there, they obviously won't miss their brain goo. They couldn't possibly have been using it, if they told a rotund, hungry woman, something so incredibly inane...

Aww fishfarts. I can't go and goo-squeeze all the skinny people. My brain wants to be one. Man, I hope I'm never that self-stuck. I think I may sign my brain up for optional sqeezature just in case I am...

Yep, the best description of the last few days...farts. How's that for high-falootin'?

- Alicia Losing weight, and my mind, for cancer kids. http://www.crazycancermom.com/

Breakfast: 2 eggs, 1 oz cheese, 1/2 C onions, 2 TBS real bacon bits, 2 C coffee w/creamer

Lunch: Broccoli (1 C maybe?) dipped in egg, flour - then fried in Canola oil - 1 TBS sourcream for decadence. 1/4 piece of Panera so-good-you'd-sell-your-mother-for-it whole grain bread.
1 oz turkey

Dinner: 2 oz cheese, 1 apple, Diet A&W rootbeer, 4 fried cheese sticks from King o' de Burgers
(so shoot me over the cheese sticks. I didn't get a burger or fries!)

Aww frog farts. I'm going to have to go back to logging everything that goes into my rather vacuous pie-hole. When I eat it, it seems small. When I see it written down...well, boop boop be doo - it looks whoppin' porcine.

Fart.

September 26 - Avalon medical update

2007-09-26T20:49:00.000-07:00

I'm doing this part separate from the other, so you can choose whether or not to read it. I fully understand that some people coming here are here to relax, laugh, and walk away from their own stress for a bit. I appreciate that. Its why I'm addicted to several mindless shows on cable. Escapism is free and good for the soul.

But, some people coming the site do want to know about my daughter. For you, this is the easiest way to get you up to speed. (particularly, since her website is nearly 2 years out of date)

As of yesterday morning, I still had not heard about Avalon's lab tests from Thurs Sept 20. That's very unusual for our clinic, but I knew they'd run tests that required being sent to labs far and wide, so I wasn't too concerned about the time frame. I called clinic Tues morning, and left a message asking about results and leaving my home and cell number - knowing we'd be gone to my daughter's school. (with the stress they cause me, that stupid school owns at least a barn or two on my fat farm...) I did what I always do, and gave them permission to leave the results on the voicemail - its easier for them, rather than having to track me down.

When I never heard from anyone, I presumed there would be a voice mail waiting. Sure enough, when we got home at 5:45 - there was the hospital number in our caller ID. After threatening the kids to silence, (if there is no threat...people in China can hear them, and I can't hear squat) I called into our voice mail. When I got to the hospital number, I nearly fainted.

Rather than the typical, "Hi Alicia! Its Sue,..." Or, "Hi Alicia! Its Diane..." I heard, "Hi Alicia. Its Dr. R***...." At our hospital Docs don't normally call. I've talked to ours a few times on the phone...but my daughter has had some pretty nasty problems too. As much as I love our doc, his voice was the absolute LAST thing I wanted to hear associated with lab results. Worse, his message just said, "Hey, I'm going to call you on your cell phone." That's it. No results, no "don't worry"s, just a few sentences indicating that he didn't want to leave a message - he really wanted to talk to me himself. Ugh.

Here's where the torture ramped up to super level. I realized my cell phone hadn't rung all day. Then, I thought about the number I gave him, and realized, to my horror, that I'd goofed up the number, again. I don't call myself, and frankly - can't remember my number to save my life. I have absolutely no business ever giving it out - I get it wrong 90% of the time. Yesterday, was no exception. So here it was, 5:45, after clinic hours - with no way of getting a hold of the doctor. For a medical emergency, you can call the Heme-Onc on call. For being a dweeb and giving the wrong cell number - you just have to suck it up until morning.

First thing, I called Nick (hubby) and described the message - hoping he wouldn't think along the same lines. Fat chance on that. We've been together 25 years, we long since gave up having individual thought patterns. He went right to the ugly place I was. After much discussion, we managed to calm ourselves and rule out any cancer relapse scenarios, or life-threatening issues. We knew Dr. R*** would have turned the world upside down to find us if we needed to go to the hospital. That left less-than-stellar lab reports on the table. And basically, our only option was to wait it out. In Nick's case, that meant staying late at the house we're trying to sell, and working himself into a forgetful, exhausted frenzy. For me, that meant eating things I shouldn't. Duh...I'm a stress eater. And this, definitely, qualified as STRESS.

This morning, I called Heme-Onc again, and left a new message. I apologized for having the brain of a frog, and begged for mercy with a return phone call. I outed myself and my burgeoning gray hairs and heart condition as I waited for news... God bless those people - they knew I was a wreck. I got my phone call by 9:30.

Dr. R*** did, indeed, make the return call. Again, I adore this man...but again, his voice made my heart sink to ankle level. The news wasn't all bad, but it couldn't exactly be categorized as good. Quick review: Avalon has a high level of protein in her CSF (cerebral spinal fluid). This is not good. Option #1 - Best case scenario - we would find indicators of general body stress, showing that her body was not happy having some "hardware" in it (her shunt). We would put her on low dose anti-inflammatory drugs - and allow her body time to adjust. Option #2 - Worse case scenario A - we would find high levels of inflammation indicators and other blood values indicating shunt rejection. Avalon would be placed on anti-rejection meds like an organ transplant patient. Option #3 - Worse case scenario B - Avalon would show positive bloodwork for a new disease - and auto-immune disease. Treatment will depend on disease.

Well folks, it appears to be Option #3, Avalon has developed a new disease process. Avalon's neuro-optho had warned me that this was distinctly possible. She said that children with blood/immune system cancers, like lymphoma and leukemia, have a much higher possibility of developing an auto-immune issue. Add to that, we have a horrific family history of auto-immune problems, and this was our main fear. Oddly enough, I had questioned this possibility very strenuously back in Feb of 2007. (a fact that I forgot until my hubby and a close friend reminded me) In Feb, Avalon's CSF was only showing mild elevation in the protein level - still perfectly withing normal range. In Feb, the ANA (anti-nuclear antibodies) titers were normal. Now, she is positive for ANA. Without getting too medico on you, normal people just don't have positive ANA's. Its a definite indicator of auto-immune disease.

Also, she had elevated segs. For cancer people, or medical people - you know what that means. For everyone else, segs are a part of a blood work differential done on white blood cells. High segs can indicate impending relapse. Avalon's were not that high, and the rest of her counts were fine. Elevated segs indicate general body stress - and point to auto-immune disorders. Add that to her increased fatigue in the past few months, and the protein in her CSF - and now we have more than enough ammo to get an appointment with a rheumatologist to try to figure out what it is that's after her.

After checking into the most likely culprits, its also apparant that repeated anesthesia episodes are probably not the culprit for her hair loss. I've been asking for months, why her hair falls out so easily, and in such large clumps. You'd think someone would have put two and two together. Allopecia is also a hallmark sign of auto-immune dysfunction. I'm totally understanding how adults can go years without a diagnosis. This kiddo sees highly trained specialists and is constantly gone over with a fine-toothed comb - and they missed the signs.

On one hand, I'm glad that I pay close enough attention to her that I've been complaining about the fatigue and hair loss for months. I'm glad I know my daughter well enough to know she's been exhausted/in pain. I'm glad I can advocate for her, and I haven't been super paranoid crazy mom all this time.

But good grief, I'm damn sorry to be right. Just once, I wish a doctor would say, "No, its nothing." and actually be right. I've heard that phrase, they've just always been mistaken...

So, it looks like Avalon's chariot will likely be a permanent member of the family, rather than a visitor for a few years. And, we're gaining two new departments for her resume. I could sit and cry, but I don't have time. She's a grinning, happy, ornery 4 year old - who can't be bothered to sit still long enough to be pitied. She's got it going on. And she's kicking my whiny butt into moving on.

Thought you'd all want to know. At the very least, this better explains my recent hurdle off of the diet train...

- Alicia losing weight to raise awareness of pediatric cancer www.crazycancermom.com

September 26, 2007

2007-09-26T20:27:00.000-07:00

The universe is gunning for my gams...and I'm just gonna have to say, "NO!"

That's right...I can hear the faint footsteps (that's a big fat lie. The footfalls are more like an elephant in combat boots) of the Blubber Behemoth. He's an ornery cuss. He gets his jollies from sneaking into unsuspecting bloomers overnight - and depositing his less-than-desirable bubbles of blubber. He's a right sneaky fellow...been pursuing me with a vengence this week.

Can I hear the great BB coming? Oh yeah. Have I, thus far, been successful in evading his evening deposit? That's a negative, good buddy. Mr. Behemoth has, unfortunately, had his way with my tush-ay the past few days. The soul-sucking sourpuss has added back a whopping 3.5 pounds! Argghhhh.................

Not that he didn't have plenty of help. The Birthday Blubber Fairy was more than thrilled to add her daily quota. Then, there's the king of Blubberdom...the master of all of Fattington...the Stress Distress. Damned Stress Distress. What in the Sam Hill did I ever do to him? Cripes. You'd think I'd at least have the joy of whacking someboy upside the head or something. No...I just had to go and reproduce. Kids = stress. And a medical kid? Well a medical kid bumps you into an entirely new stress zipcode. A medical kid with an emerging, and decently serious, issue...and heck, you may as well whip out the checkbook...you're buying yourself a Fat Farm.

Between the three, the Blubber Behemoth, the Birthday Blubber Fairy, and the Stress Distress...I've managed to whittle my weight loss from 14 pounds, down to 10.5 pounds gone. Bat crap! I mean, seriously, when I lose this 3.5 pounds, again, that will make the THIRD stinkin' time I've had to do it! ACK!!!!!!!!!!

And let me tell you, forewarned is forearmed. Anyone foolish enough to say, "Oh, don't worry about it - things happen..." stands the very good chance of being hunted down by the light of the moon - and beaten senseless with a week-old bagel. Not kidding... I'm on the edge here....

So here I go, back to starvation/craving/carb-deprived Super Hades. Bleck. If you have ever been asked if you would jump off a 200 foot suspension bridge, without a bungi, to fall into jagged rocks - coated in salt water and broken glass...then maybe you can appreciate my *excitement* over my next few days. If you haven't...then, lucky you. Kindly don't share your good fortune...I'm going to need exercise - and I'm not above hunting you down for sport.

- Alicia, the miserably-regretting-poor-food-choices Crazy Cancer Mom - suffering to make you laugh - and maybe to make you think about our kids www.crazycancermom.com

September 23, 2007

2007-09-24T19:40:00.000-07:00

Well, the universe conspired against me. I've gained weight back...lots...and it was dad-blasted fun! Hee hee hee.

As you may remember, my dear hubby tried his best for a fantastic 40th birthday. Problem was, he actually chose this year to shop early. (never before, possibly never again after this) Early would normally be commendable - except for the fact that he bought his dieting, carb-deprived wife a gift card to The Cheesecake Factory. Torture, pure unadulterated torture.

Of course, being the frugal femme fa tale I am, I simply had to go and use the fateful card. By arranging to go to lunch today, with my sister, I figured I had armed myself with a portion-limiting timeframe, and a voice-of-reason companion. Nerts on that! The lunch portions at Cheesecake Factory are megalomaniac in nature, and my sister is about the WORST voice-of-reason on the planet. She whole-heartedly embraces positive mental health exercises. Translation, she's an advocate for periodically chucking responsibility out the window and loudly singing Ce La Vie!

In all fairness, she tried to lead by example - and only ate a reasonable one or two pieces of the pre-food bread. However...she also didn't tackle me and threaten to beat me with a sourdough breadstick when I behaved like a carb-crazed basket-case. I embarrassingly scarfed up 6 or 7 butter drenched hunks of yeasty, wheat-laden loaves of death. And it was gooooooood..........

I mean, knowing that the first tiny taste would cause catastrophic diet dismemberment. I felt it was my duty, as a dieting diva, to fully explore the fall from grace. While I know a simple bite can halt any progress, I decided it was scientifically prudent to investigate what a complete annihilation of dieting protocol could do to a body. In that respect, I felt compelled to further my research by ordering a delectable pasta dish with mushrooms, chicken, and tomatoes - all swimming ever so beckoningly - in a white sauce. Being utterly committed to my dissertation, I had no choice but to also order the artichoke/spinach/hot cheese dip with chips as an appetizer. I mean, honestly, I couldn't leave out such an important step in my scientific method. (work with me, I'm on a "roll"...Ah haa haa haa) (yeah, I crack myself up)

There was, however, an enormous flaw in my research protocol. I forgot to factor in a "cheesecake allowance". Yet again, I found myself waddling out of the big CF - more stuffed than the common T-day turkey - and utterly, totally, devoid of cheesecake. I nearly wrote the mission off as a failure , then I remembered the multi-loaf assault at the beginning of the battle. Ultimately, I decided my research methods only ranked a "C", but my willingness to "suffer" for the cause, was undeniably "A" material.

Post Cheescake debacle, my chauffeur and I laboriously worked our stuffed selves through a few stores at the shopping center. We ogled furniture we couldn't afford, and clothing we can't currently fit a single boob in. I'm telling you - I lose this weight, I'm so going to enjoy dressing to embarrass my children! ("Geez, mo'om, do you have to dress like my friends?!) Oh yeah, I plan on making a nuisance of myself...

All too soon, we had to wing our way home to my waiting hubby, and his list of places he had to go. Or so...I'd been told.

In reality, we winged our way home to my 40th birthday Surprise Party! Wahooooo!

We walked in and there stood Daddy and the 4 minions, grinning like a pack of Cheshire cats, surrounded by decorations a go go. Then, one by one, people I love kept appearing from either side of the kitchen, each wearing a bigger grin than the next! Hee hee hee......

What followed was a whopping boatload of FUN! I opened rotten, ornery cards, received thoughtful, generous gifts, and withstood COPIOUS amounts of abuse about my recent arrival on the far side of the Hill. And in the interest of a dieting blog...I also ate cake, chips, nachos and cheese, and several sugar-free mini-cheesecakes. Oh yeah, I took my oath of investigation pretty damned serious. I decided it continued as long as my birthday "celebrations" did. (I know I'm delusional...I'm okay with it...)

In all, I had an absolutely PERFECT day. Friends made special trips to join us, my family turned themselves inside out to make it special and memorable, and my daughter's god-daddy even managed to make me teary by taking a personal day from work on Monday, to be able to come to the party and spend the night with us. I had the most amazing time I could have possibly hoped for, and it was worth every calorie eaten, and every ounce gained.

I suppose that's the lesson I learned today. My sister's refusal to body slam me, shows that my "baby" sister may have a better grip on life than her geriatric sibling. She knew the value of completely letting go and LIVING life today. No one can be perfect all the time. At least, no one should be perfect all the time. Its our flaws that make us human.

I let my metaphorical hair down today - and will inevitably see the scales go "up" as a result of it. But ahh....this time my wagon tipped for fun, instead of fear. I'll take a few bruises in the name of celebration any day.

Fish paste and turtle haste,
Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom - losing weight to raise awareness for pediatric cancer
http://www.crazycancermom.com/

September 22, 2007

2007-09-23T20:35:00.000-07:00

Baby...baby baby baby. I had a baby day...it was kind of fu-un. ;-)

Today was a friend's baby shower. I spent the morning working like a meth-crazed marathon runner, trying to finish my "assignment" for the shower. I should probably pause now to let you in on one of my giant life secrets. I procrastinate. I mean...if I could figure out how to procrastinate breathing...I probably would. I don't ever start anything on time. All billion and three college papers were written the morning they were due. Laundry is done when the skivvies drawer is empty. Floors are swept long after the dust bunnies should have been named. I...procrastinate.

Not that I didn't do the research for the papers. Not that I don't gather, sort, and carry the laundry downstairs. I do the prep work, I'm just really, really bad at the follow through. I tend to "follow" other things...until I'm "through" with any extra time. I...procrastinate.

For this particular shower, I was dad-blasted proud of myself. I not only purchased the first part of the gift two months ago, I quickly followed through with buying the parts I would be making. Then, to the shock and utter disbelief of my family, I actually immediately made the gifts I had purchased material for. You see, I am definitely in the running for the She-Who-Has-The-Most-Material-Wins award. I have a rather bad habit of buying fabric with grandiose notions of what it will become...and then looking at it, folded, for years. Oh yeah, did I happen to mention? I...procrastinate.

For once, I had conquered my procrastinating proclivity. I actually had the gift done, ready to go, weeks ahead of time. Sounds great, but the story doesn't end there. Rats. As one of many women who love this family, I was on a long list of people willing to help. As the only one on the list with 4 kids, they were kind and gave me the simple assignment of nametags. "Bee" nametags, to be exact. Something creative and fun. Not a problem, unless - you...procrastinate.

I came up with a killer idea (no bee pun intended there). I designed polar fleece bees, with the intention of embroidering guests names on them. Then, post shower, I would applique the bees onto a blanket as a shower memory quilt. Cute, huh? Fat chance. Did you somehow miss my previous paragraphs? I...procrastinate!

Back to today. Here I was, scissor-wielding wack-a-doo, cutting bee parts like a mass murderess. I cut, I glued, I swore from the third degree hot-glue burn on my middle finger, I cut, repeat... You get the general idea. With the exception of my damaged digit, all was going rather well - until I attempted to use the $65 hand-held embroidery machine purchased for said bees. In a word? Failure. Dismal, gut-wrenching, I-felt-like-a-giant-walking-boob failure. Fantastic.

Now my dreams of cutsie beedom, became nightmares of no-faced, no-named scary bee zombie thingies. Great. I caved and decided the only viable option was fabric paint. Easy enough - if your paint isn't from a former presidency and therefore about as easy to obtain as sucking an elephant through a garden hose. Not pretty. Thanks to Herculean efforts of Mondo the Super Hubby - we did finally manage to create some funky lookin' bees with names on their bellies. Problem was - paint said 72 hours to cure, we had 90 minutes. Stupid procrastination.

Super Hubby to the rescue! As I water blasted my frustrated self, he lovingly hair-dryered the offending bees. I stressed, he blew. I freaked when I couldn't find shoes and began winging things with no regard to life or limb - and he aired some more. I railed at myself and my short-comings, he heated with gusto. I lost my mind...he fixed my bees. Mondo scored MAJOR points. He saved my bees! Mondo does NOT procrastinate. Can't figure out how he hasn't killed me.

In my frenzy, I hadn't bothered to eat breakfast. No time, no interest in smelly eggs when heading into a hen-fest. As for lunch - torture, torture, torture. There were bowls of candy, bee-hive shaped cakes that reportedly tasted even better than they looked (and they were stinkin' CUTE), and be still my heart...Panera bagels. Sure, sure, there was pasta salad and chips and dip to torment me too - but they couldn't begin to compare. I mean...bagels.... Oh, and did I mention? There was cream cheese too, three kinds. Uh huh...it was there. Strawberry cream cheese. Oh, the agony................. (look at previous posts, you'll find the answer to what you're wondering)

To be fair, there were veggies and three separate fantastic salads that I could eat. I actually did fine diet-wise, I just wasn't happy about it. Stupid diet. Stupid strawberry cream cheese winking at me from between the stupid bagels.

Man, I wish I could find a way to procrastinate FAT.

Fishfarts.

- Alicia - your gonna-be-dreamin'-bagels-again Crazy Cancer Mom
www.crazycancermom.com

September 21, 2007 - part 2

2007-09-22T19:25:00.000-07:00

End of my birthday...ah well. Thank you to those of you who emailed and posted here. You made my day. I wish...oh I wish there would have been 200 notes from strangers saying that I've touched someone I don't know. But I am very happy with the two or three people I have heard from. Each person who thinks about our kids even once...is a victory to me!

I'd love to tell you I painted the town red, ate like it was my job, and still lost 5 lbs. I'd love to tell you that...but I'd be the fattest liar this side of the Mississippi! No...ate a sensible and typically stinky breakfast - and indulged more than I should have at dinner. Afraid to see what my nemesis, the scale, will say the next few days...

One of my admitted food-passions in life is take-out Chinese. OOOOOOHHHHH...the smell and crunch of a good crab rangoon.....OOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I'm telling you - its nearly an out-of-body experience for me. Figure in my abiding love for Sesame Chicken, Hunan Beef, General Tso and his army of tasty tidbits...and you can imagine why the local Chinese place at our old house knew us by name. (seriously, we probably financed at least one of their cars) I tell myself that, in the grand scheme of things, Chinese isn't as bad as other options. I know, I'm delusional. But its soooooooo gooood.

Well, my deluded, dieting, decrepitly old self let go of the reins a bit too far tonight, I'm afraid. I did sidestep the rice, but I oh-so-didn't remotely attempt to bypass the rangoon. You have to understand...rangoon doesn't just call my name. It walks across the table, pries my lips open, and leaps to its delicious demise. Its not my fault! (work with me, its my birthday rant)

In the interest of full disclosure - I also had more than a dalliance with some Sesame Chicken and some delectable veggies that had been stir-fried in what could only be described as heaven's sauce. Translation - I ate chicken and veggies that were so coated in ooey good crap - I'm sure their nutritional value reached negative status. Fishfarts.

On a more positive note, I was gifted rather amazingly. My 3 girls all made me jewelry. Number 1 daughter made me a fabulous red glass bead and bali silver necklace with an amazing glass pendant. Daughter 2 went crazy with purple beads and made me another wonderful necklace - complete with a "big girl" glass focus bead that her sister gave her. Daughter 3 was not to be outdone, and made her first "grown up" bracelet, complete with a real clasp fastened on by big sissy. No mom has ever been fancier. Even though there is overly ample amounts of me to go around, extra chins cannot function as extra necks. I'm actually short in the neck department. I could use 2 or 3 more to be able to wear all of my finery at once.

Then there's my poor mis-guided hubby. After years of not shopping until the last day, he finally listened to more than two decades of tirades. He went and shopped early. He not only purchased early...he made thoughtful, meaningful choices - taking my personal loves and interests to heart. He bought a gift card to a favorite restaurant - that I haven't been to in over two years (we have 4 kids - one with health issues - going "out" is not an expression we can wrap our brains around!), and a gift card to my favorite self-indulgence - Jo-Ann fabric. Sounds like a weary wife's dream-come-true, doesn't it?

Yes, yes, it would have been...if it weren't for this damned diet. Here I sat, eating my smelly onion eggs that my oldest daughter suffered horribly to make - and admiring my new finery. Then my wonderful, thoughtful, hubby presents me with his mushy, beautiful card and his oh-so-planned-out gift. I'm nearly a puddle of appreciation just reading the front of the card. Then...I opened it. Mind you, I'm hungry. I'm cranky. And thanks to my weekend of stress-induced debauchery...I'm still in anti-carb fueled cravings from Hades. So, what do I see as I open my flowery, poetic birthday card? A gift card to...(wait for it)........
the CHEESECAKE FACTORY!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't remember much of the rest of the day. My brain imploded and I blacked out.

Better luck next year.

- Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom who aged to the area called "Middle" today. Ack.

September 21, 2007 - part 1

2007-09-21T06:33:00.001-07:00

Happy Birthday to Me!
Happy Birthday to Me!
Happy Birthday, I'm 40 and decrepid....
Happy Birthday to me........................

Hello there, tubby-watchers! I will be posting twice today - because I was too stinking sleepy last night to do the Sept 20th post. So, this will be a backtrack blog - and a birthday plea!

Thursday, Sept 20.
________________________________________________________
**First - Avalon update. Feel free to skip ahead - if you're only here for my sugar-deprived rantings...**

Avalon had clinic today - and I had a wow-I-can't-believe-I-dorked-that doctor's appointment to make up - so we were at Children's Hospital from 10:30 am until 4:30 pm. Ugh.

Clinic was OK. The neuro-optho had ordered so much bloodwork, that they actually took out more blood that they would give her in a transfusion. In three years, its the first time she's mentioned "I can kind of feel the blood you're taking..." She actually got a smidge woozey. Little bit of juice, and she was good to go. Of course, could they have apple juice? Oh no - had to be grape juice...dark purple permanence just waiting to hit her rainbow-embroidered white shirt (incapable of being bleached...). She thought I was a loon treating the juice like toxic waste. She doesn't do the laundry.

As for tackling Avalon's CSF issues, its the first time I've ever felt "bumped" at our clinic. Our attending seemed to have little to offer and is bumping the referral process back to the neuro-optho. The neuro-optho had sent her referral request with me, because I have always said how helpful our clinic is. Neat. Now I get to crawl back to her - and beg her to jump the hoops. Not to mention, she's not a "Children's" doctor - everything moves more slowly coming from her. Our attending's one concern was proceeding slowly - not subjecting Avalon to loads of testing - which might ultimately not show anything. While I completely agree with that, the fact is, all the neuro-optho is asking is for a physical/rehab doctor to evaluate her muscle function - looking for indicators of auto-immune disease - to explain the de-mylenating process going on. We have more hints that things are not going well...this is the second month in a row, and people 3 and 4 who have not been able to find any reflexes in Avalon. Two months ago, she still had reflexes. Last month..none. Monday - none. Today, none in any joints, with two doctors trying. Something has to be up.

The mountains of bloodwork they leached her for - were so extensive, that several of the tests aren't even performed at our hospital. The blood has to be sent out-of-state. Wonder how long that will take? Heck, the lab had never even heard of one of the tests...our doctor had to interpret it for them. Sadly, the blood for the difficult test had been put into the wrong type of vial. That meant they had to re-draw Avalon. Since it was too much for a finger stick - we had to re-access her port and take it that way. My kiddo is a trooper! She and her "bestest bud" sissy - went tromping back to the infusion room, had her blood taken, and came out victorious - all without me! I just got the I-don't-need-you-I'm-big hand. Too funny! Of course, the nurses thought they were amazing...so the two appeared with beanie babies and pretty hats as a reward. You've never seen bigger smiles...

Then, there's my you-have-to-be-kidding screw up. Wednesday, I was supposed to be in a meeting with Avalon's neuro-psychologist - to go over her test results. Would you like to ask me what I was doing? Hmmm, can you guess I wasn't sitting next to him? Yep. I was sitting next to a 6 year old, in front of her school computer, discussing differences in your body from the time you are a baby until you're six. Talk about your dork-up. When the doctor called - I wanted to crawl under my seat. Here I am, 40 (ack - that hurts to write!) and I "lost my homework" so to speak. I was mortified.

Thankfully, Dr. Glazier has a wonderful sense of humor - and couldn't have been kinder about it. He even gently teased me today when he graciously agreed to see me after clinic. The good news is, he actually gave me good news! Wahooooo! I threatened to kiss him for being the only medico in recent months to give me good news. I probably should have followed through on my threat...he's young and cute. The only "bad" news wasn't really bad - just affirming. The tests showed a loss of speed/motor function with Avalon's right hand. She is definitely right hand preferential - but it doesn't work right. Perfectly in line with Left frontal brain damage that we've been suspicious of. So - not really bad - just more evidence to get us in to see the latest set of docs we need to see.

So - other than being embarrassed by my own stress-fueled shortcomings - it was a pretty good hospital day!
____________________________________________________

OK, on to a few Fat-A-Thon ravings.

I did OK today. Not great...OK. I didn't have time to make breakfast as I ran around tossing children into clothes and scrambling to find the list of bloodwork Avalon needed. In my less-than-composed life this week, I had lost the stupid piece of paper. As I single-handedly destroyed my bedroom and half the house searching for it...making my smelly onion eggs somehow got lost. Probably wasn't a bad thing...at least I didn't have dragon breath for the 6 hour hospital tour.

By lunch, I was ready to start sucking IV's I was so hungry. (for those "in the know", I was going to say ready to suck TPN, but most people would wonder why I wanted to lick a television network...) Thankfully, some brilliant human installed a "good" food court in the basement of our hospital. Its the overly priced cousin to the regular cafeteria - but at least the food is actually tasty. While I watched my short people eat what could possibly be the best looking chicken tenders ever, I did manage to stay healthy and eat a huge chef salad. And...I only used one of the dressing pkts. (a whopping 180 calories! Ack!)

Here's the problem. By the time we got home, I was pooped. Pooped, up-to-my-eyeballs in my to-do list, and in a pre-birthday funk. I didn't manage to carve time to eat until about 10pm. Yeah, yeah, I know I should have just sucked it up and gone to bed...but then I could hear the diet gurus screaming in my ears about "needing to eat enough" blah blah blah. OK, so maybe they weren't actually screaming...at least they were a good excuse. I ate a healthy, small taco salad - right on track, no issues. That is, until my own onion breath nearly asphyxiated me. I gotta admit...I have been one dragon-breathed dieter these past two weeks. I am downright disgusting! Onions, pepper, garlic...they make boring taste better...but at a nasty price. What in the Hades is it going to matter if I'm thin and sexy...if my hubby can't stand to be in the same zipcode with my breath?!

Anyway, I was doing well, until I stunk myself out. Then, I had the unfortunate memory that I had a multi-pack of peppermint lifesavers stashed in a cupboard. Up until now, they've been totally safe. I loathe peppermint. Heck - I'm equal opportunity - I despise anything remotely mint. Ah so...that is, until you make me a carb-crazed lunatic. I innocently brought a few packs of lifesavers upstairs with me. My thought was to be kind to my 6 year old, and have lifesavers handy for school hours - so she doesn't have to smell my "icky breath". Nice thought - if you're not a 244 lb glutton! (yes, you read that right...I've lost 14 pounds!) I sat here, reading emails, and ate two entire rolls of peppermint lifesavers. I've decided, I'm now officially brain-damaged. Dieting has apparently destroyed all common sense and good taste - I ate mint. Lots of it. Bleck.

So, for most of the day - I was perfectly respectable. I ate rabbit food sprinkled with fair amounts of protein, and even drank some water to wash down my Diet Coke. I didn't cave to the fried wonderland that beckoned me in the food court. I didn't worship at the alter of the vending machine - even though it sang my name. No no - I suffered like any respectable dieter should...until. Until the siren song of the carbs led me down the path of destruction...to mints. Lots and lots of mints. Yuck.

Face it, its amazing how far you will go when you're desperate. Mints. What the heck was I thinking?!
___________________________________________________________
Final thoughts: Its my Birthday! Yahoo! (no, this is blogspot...maybe I should have said Bloghoo!) How about sending me a birthday wish...so I know more than two people are reading this? You can comment on this post, email me at alicia@crazycancermom.com or best of all - send in a pledge for the Fat-A-Thon. I'm dong all of this to remind you how much cancer kids need you. My bestest best birthday wish would be to learn that someone I don't know is reading this, and thinking a bit about our kids.

Thanks!!!!

LOVE from an officially OVER THE HILL Crazy Cancer Mom - Alicia
www.crazycancermom.com

September 19, 2007

2007-09-19T20:21:00.000-07:00

I had a fork day.

Funny thing forks. They're useful, but can be painful. They're often quite decorative, while truly meant to be merely functional. Forks, or a version thereof, are used by all cultures, all races, in all corners of the world - but some people may never have seen some kinds of them. There are shrimp forks, salad forks, dinner forks, and cheese forks. There are silver ones, pewter ones, gold ones, and tin ones. They can be large, small, 4 pronged or two. They can match, contrast, compliment or distract. The fork - you never knew how many forms it can come in.

Forks can describe stress, "Stick a fork in me, I'm done." They can describe the level of frustration you are reaching, "One more minute of this, and I'm going to stick a fork in my eye!" They can even be a suggestion to a certain individual who may be causing you undue stress, "Oh go fork yourself!"

Forks can deliver life-giving nutrition to an elderly patient in the hand of a loving caregiver. They can bring waves of pleasure as they offer a decadent 4 tier chocolate-mousse cake to the lips of a hormonal woman. Forks can bring comfort in the kitchen of your best friend, and spark wonderful memories at your mother's table. They can be your ally or your sworn enemy, depending on what they carry your way.

Then, there is the proverbial "fork" in the road. A "fork" brings with it imminent prospects. You can choose to go this way, or that. A "fork" in a road suggests possibilities begging to be taken. You can veer one way to bliss, or another way to torment. Even if you know your direction ahead of time, at the least - a "fork" provides a chance to pause and reflect. As a kitchen fork brings food for life, a "fork" in the road, can bring a chance to feed your soul.

I had a fork day.

On the diet front, my fork was rather kind to me today. It fed me eggs and onions for breakfast, and a healthy taco salad for lunch. Dinner was grabbed at a meeting. Even the plastic fork was kind to me today; it fed me a small and perfect-for-weight-loss salad, rather than the delicious, diet-crushing pizza my fingers were gunning for. You see, I've had a bit of an epiphany. My fingers like fattening foods! Cookies, chips, candy, bagels...they are definitely devotees of the digit. Salads and steaks, those are the food of the fork. All these years, I didn't have a problem with my eating habits...I had a habit of eating with the wrong delivery system! Hah!

Then, there's that most fascinating of forks, the kind you find right in the middle of your path. As I told you earlier, my path has been a bit strewn with Rocks these past few days. A Rock isn't like a fork. A Rock stands in your way, and forces you from your desired path. A fork, gives you a choice - a reason to consider the path you're on.

Today, I ran into a fork... My fork was in the form of a friend I've lost touch with in recent months. This friend has had a year of unbelievable heartache and loss. This friend has had a Rock dropped on her, and yet, she is moving down her path. My friend gave me a gift tonight, and she never knew she did it. She gave me a giant fork.

Yesterday, as I arrived at a meeting at our Children's Hospital, I was once again forced to pay to valet park. It seems small, but its more than a mild irritation. I volunteer my time on several hospital committees, speak often for the hospital's foundation, and spend more than enough days visiting the hospital for my daughter's medical needs. While I don't mind paying to park for normal hospital trips, it seriously rubs me wrong that I have been paying a tremendous amount of money for the privilage of volunteering my time to help the hospital. Never mind the 90 minute round trip to get to the hospital to attend the meeting, or the obnoxious amount of money we feed into our van's gas guzzling engine. Those are my fault for moving to the suburbs and having a brood that requires a van. But paying to park so I can serve the hospital...ooh, it irritates me.

So here I am, fuming, as I burst into my meeting. I was more than a bit rash, and I'm embarrassed to admit, more than a bit boisterous about my frustration. I did apologize later for my ranting, but the fact is, I did pretty good stress-fueled monologue. I rather beat the messengers, and it certainly wasn't any of their faults that I'm worried about Avalon or feel like I'm drowning in a list of financial, housekeeping, and school issues.

Enter, my fork. Tonight, I was, again, at the hospital for a meeting. (different committee) After the meeting, I shared a lovely conversation with my Fork friend. She was at yesterday's meeting, as well as today's. As we sat and tried to shorthand our lives from the past few months, she began to show me how narrow my path had become. In the midst of the heartache of losing a child, she has still managed to work, tend her other child, and continuously reach out to other medical families in need. She's helped other grieving families as they cross the threshold no parent wants to imagine. She's moving forward and reaching out - through the stress. Wow...she really started cutting those trees down for my road.

Then, she went and really did it. As we climbed in her car so she could ferry me to mine, she explained that after the fateful meeting yesterday, she had stayed late to work on solving my parking dilemma. Wham! She tossed a fork in my path.

The fork she created for me gave me two options, continue being a self-absorbed twit while ranting and raving...or walk the other way, and think about someone else. With a gift like that, I could barely even pause to reflect - I had to sprint down the good side. To do anything else, would have been an insult to her kindness. She gave me a whopper of a fork, and had no idea she'd done it.

Interesting, that a fork can help you destroy a Rock. Apparantly, finding the Fork, can sometimes shorten the path around life's Rocks. I've had giant Rocks tossed my way this week. It was nice to run into a Fork for a change.

I had a fork day.

And it was good.

- Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom

September 18, 2007

2007-09-18T19:04:00.001-07:00

Back to semi-normalcy. I'm actually writing this on the day it describes. That means I must be slowly dragging myself out of my cabin/stress stupor, nearly ready to re-join the rat races. Wonder if running in the rat races burns any calories?

The scale is still showing the burdens of my weekend excess - still at -10 pounds. You'd think I'd be ecstatic. -10 pounds in 18 days really isn't bad. It just feels bad because I know I "lost" ground over the weekend. Funny expression that. How does "gaining" weight turn into "losing" ground? Kind of describes life in the middle of a massive attempted change. Down becomes up, and forward is better described as back. Like learning to go "back to basics", or moving "down the corporate ladder to move up your happiness quotient". Its all a bit twisted. A reminder that just when you thought you had it all figured out - you learn how little you really know.

Today I can report I learned two new things. One, once you have fallen off of (or been knocked off of) the dietary trail - it totally sucks trying to claw your way back onto it. The cravings, wants, and mind-numbing food fetishes rear their ugly heads, bigger than ever! Its like they get together and decide to extract revenge for temporarily leaving them. If you dare to give them the tiniest in-road to your psyche - they attempt to grab your conscience mind with both hands and hold on with hurricane-prowess. I have battled craving demons today that would have brought lesser beasts to their knees. Thankfully, my knees are weak because my keester is so big - I wasn't able to cave in to their demands easily...

And the second thing I learned? Learning to admit you're in over your head - helps. I am unabashedly admitting that I'm currently drowning in to-do lists, deadlines, and things people need from me. By wallowing in a bit of self-pity and whining to my hubby, I've been trying to release a few of those all-I-want-is-Calgon-and-dark-chocolate demons. Every time I feel like I've let someone or some deadline down - I feel the pull of the PayDay (candybar, that is). But several times today, when I honestly said to someone, I'm out. I'm over-done, I'm in-too-deep..it let me close that 'fridge door with nothing (or something healthy) in my hand.

If I am guilty of any indulgence today, it was watermelon. After a fascinating, but horribly inconveniant, meeting today - I let myself eat several pieces of sugary sweet, incredible watermelon. It may possibly be enough to keep me from losing any weight today - but I consider it a victory over what I would have done last month. My normal m.o. would have been a trip to Wendy's for a frosty friend for the ride home. I think watermelon is a fair-enough substitute. I long for the day I need no substitute - but I'm a reasonably honest woman, that day may be millenia away...

For now, I go to bed secure in the knowledge that my worst enemy today was watermelon. Considering I dreamed about eating a giant chocolate bar in my daughter's doctor's office last night - I'd say watermelon ranks as a Victory! Listen, when your rear-end is the size of mine - you take victories where you can find them...

Onward and upward! Or, forward and downward - as the case may be. May I march on, and the scale trend down. Oh puh-leasee, may it trend down again....

- Alicia - the Crazy Cancer Mom

September 17 - evening

2007-09-18T18:03:00.000-07:00

I'm baaack! I figured it was easiest to divide this day into two parts - A) Before the big doctor's appointment, and B) After the big appt. Welcome to part B) The After. (see previous post for description of the weekend and what led up to this)

Today was a re-check with Avalon's neuro-opthalmologist. This appointment is the reason Avalon had the LP (lumbar puncture) on Thursday Sept 13. I wanted the neuro-optho to know exactly what Avalon's spinal pressure was when she looked at her eyes - no guessing this time.

The good news - Avalon's eyes are fantastic! The doctor said they look better than she ever thought they could. Wahoo! The better news is that it appears we have finally "beaten" the brain at the fluid game. We have finally reached a point with the shunt that its keeping up with the brain enough to allow her optic nerves to return to normal. Double wahoo! Bad news - the protein in the CSF could be as bad as I feared. Quadruple Boo Hoo...

As I wrote previously, normal protein levels in CSF are 14-45, Avalon had 89. High protein can indicate shunt infection (Avalon has a shunt in her brain), de-mylenation of nerves (think like in MS), auto-immune disease, and a few other ickies. Protein in CSF makes the CSF like "sludge" - very thick. If the protein level gets too high, it can clog her shunt - causing shunt failure (which can quickly kill her). So, the neuro-optho is not happy and being very pro-active. The neuro-optho thinks that Avalon's protein is from inflammation. Most probably, because Avalon's body is "angry" that it has a foreign object in it. The other most likely thing is that Avalon may have developed an auto-immune disorder. (EX: rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, etc).

For now, the neuro-optho has ordered an enormous bloodpanel to look for blood indicators of generalized inflammation - and to look for indicators of pretty much any auto-immune disease she could dream up. She ordered tests for several diseases that "only adults" are supposed to be able to get - because Avalon's pseudo-tumor is supposed to be only in adults too. Best case scenario: no evidence of auto-immune disease, positive presence of inflammation indicators in blood, and we treat with low doses of non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (Dapsone). Worst case #1: auto-immune disease and we have a whole new batch of crud to deal with. Worst case #2: her body is rejecting the shunt - and she would have to go on anti-rejection meds like a transplant patient.

Craziest part? We can't test to see what's going on in the CSF. Each LP"stirs up" the CSF. Any trauma from the LP can introduce blood into the spinal fluid, thereby adding extra protein to it and making the whole problem worse. So, we now have to avoid LP's and hope we can solve the problem - with no way to see if we have. ACK!

And just how does all of this medical mumbo jumbo translate to my diet? Hmmm, let me try to figure out how to explain it. I guess the best description would be rocks. Big, ugly, really heavy - Rocks. I'm trying hard to stay on the diet path, and I feel like I keep running into rocks. I didn't put the rocks there, but I can't move them out of my path either. I keep having to go around them, and its making staying on-course more than a tad bit difficult.

Before the doctor's appointment, I had already seen the misery of the scales. I already knew my weekend of debauchery had brought me home with 3 pounds more than I left with. This was Rock #1, the I've-already-gained-wieght-back-so-I-might-as-well-give-up-Rock. I ran smack into Rock #1, and lost the fight. I couldn't help but eat that last bite of the forbidden brownie that had been lurking in my pantry.

Running into Rock #1 and losing the fight, threw me headlong into Rock #2, the I-just-screwed-up-and-ate-something-bad-so-I-might-as-well-eat-more-Rock. While I did run headfirst into Rock #2, I was able to soften the blow a bit with a previous semi-intelligent food purchase. Rock #2 rattled my brain convincing me that I needed carbs, carbs, carbs! (another weakness to my stress sirens). The call of the carbs was so LOUD, I gave in and ate this god-forsaken allergy-free, wheat-free, dirt-tasting cereal I'd bought for the weekend trip. I mean, I was desperate. This stuff was AWFUL, but I just had to have cereal. Criminy - stress has a life all its own.

After reeling from Rocks #1 and #2, I headed off to the fated doctor's appointment. Suffice it to say, her news brought the biggest boulder yet, ROCK #3. Depending on how long I look at Rock #3, it can sometimes seem to shrink, and sometimes look 20 stories tall, and three leagues wide. Funny though, I seem to be handling Rock #3 the best. Maybe its the head injuries I sustained from Rocks #1 and #2, but over all - I'm starting to forge a path around #3. Believe me, its SLLOOOWWW going. Every inch I make it around Rock #3, there is a hideous stress scream that is begging me over to the dark side. The screams have made me open and shut the 'fridge 1001 times this evening, but at least I haven't been removing things from it - just wasting electricity looking into it wistfully.

I believe, if I can make it around Rock #3 in one piece, with some semblance of sanity in place, I may actually have a chance at surviving this path. Maybe, someday, I'll learn how to dynamite those stupid rocks and avoid them altogether...

Wow, wouldn't that be lovely?

Crazier than normal, Cancer Mom, Alicia

September 17, 2007

2007-09-18T17:18:00.000-07:00

Wow! Has it actually been 3days since I've pestered you?! Whew...worlds can blow apart in 3 days... I suppose I have some back-tracking to do. Sit back, get comfy - this may take a while.

First of all, when last we met, I was giddy as a 6 year old on Christmas morning. We were packing like crazed chickens, trying to get to a cabin to meet the owner at the correct time. The cabin was the brainchild and heart wish of an amazing man, whom sadly - we will never have the opportunity to thank. Larry Joseph lost his battle with colon cancer nearly three years ago...and the world lost a living angel. After facing cancer himself, Larry couldn't stop thinking of children with cancer - and how their families cope with the stress. He dreamed up Chapel Hill House. And in the few short years he managed to fight to stay here - he made his dream a reality. Chapel Hill House is a restored 1835 log cabin that sits on 70 acres of prairies and woods. It welcomes pediatric cancer families for a weekend of family bonding and soul-filling respite. Larry's wife, Annie, welcomes you to this magical retreat with all the love of a grandmother, and the understanding of your best friend. I will write at length about our stay at some other time - but for now, you just needed to know where we were headed last Friday. (http://chapelhillhouse.org/Chapel%20Hill%20House/Main.html)

What I didn't know as I typed my quick we're-off-to-have-fun note to you, is that within minutes, I would find a piece of paper that could potentially change our world, again. As I ransacked a plastic bag from Thursday's hospital visit, I found a lab print-out from Avalon's procedure. When I had asked the nurse to print lab results for me, I had really only been looking for white blood cell counts - and hadn't paid any attention to other numbers. Friday, as I unfolded the lab sheets, I realized there were three papers, instead of the customary two. The third paper had the beginning of the lab results for Avalon's Cerebral Spinal Fluid (CSF). While most results were "Pending" - a few were already in. Avalon's CSF contained nearly twice the highest "normal" amount of protein. Blood values are given in ranges. CSF protein content is considered "normal" if its between 15-45. Avalon's was 89.

Once I saw the results, I ran upstairs, booted up the computer and did quick searches for elevated protein in CSF. The options for explanations were not pleasant. I put a call in to our nurse practitioner, and asked her to please phone us and, in effect, "pat me on the hand" and tell me I was a worry wart. No dice. She did call back - but she said she was also concerned. We settled on the plan to have the NP talk to our attending oncologist on Monday, and I would consult with Avalon's neuro-opthalmologist at her appointment on Monday.

To say I headed off for my weekend of "relaxation" in anything but a "relaxed" mood, would rather be like saying the Titanic got a bit wet. I was a certifiable basket case. Poor Annie, as she greeted us and walked around the grounds teaching us about her beautiful gift to cancer families, she made the collasal mistake of asking how Avalon is doing. Blip - flood gates opened. I managed to rein it in, and blame it on the ragweed - but I nearly burst several gaskets trying to pretend everything was OK.

That's the thing about Chapel Hill House, though. As the weekend wore on, the house really did work its magic on me. I was able to let go of the panic, and find my resolve again. There really was a deep, mystifying presence there. I left ready to fight - not fighting to breathe.

I do, however, need to admit a few shortcomings. In my last post, I shared my "Declaration of War". I must now admit, that in every war...there are a few casualties. I took a pretty major hit at Chapel Hill.... While the Battle of the Bulge is far from over - you might say I "lost a hill" on the Hill. Or rather, I gained a bit more to battle with. Shockingly, Friday morning, the scales tipped at a whopping -13 pounds! How's that for amazing? Don't be too impressed...this morning showed the full extent of my battle fatigue...back to only -10. Apparantly, my previous rantings about stress were dead on - it does, indeed, tend to affect my "bottom" line.

Odd thing is, I didn't really overeat at Chapel Hill. I just made poor food choices. I know no one probably believes me that I've lost so much weight so quickly by simply avoiding the foods I'm allergic too. I was beginning to doubt myself. I even questioned my hubby about potentially sabotaging the scales to "boost" my ego! Nope. Chapel Hill was the proof in the pudding. I gained those 3 pounds in 3 days, by eating (you won't believe this) 4 sugar cookies, 2 pieces of sourdough bread, 1 piece of seeded rye bread, 1 hot dog bun, and 3 s'mores. How insane is that?! The rest of what I ate: tacos, eggs for breakfast, etc - were the same things I'd been eating at home, while the weight was falling off. But my body hates wheat and sugar so much - that those few indulgences grabbed calories like a sailor grabs whiskey - and held on for dear life.

Am I disappointed about the pounds? Well, duh - it stinks to see the numbers go higher! Am I going to beat myself with a wet noodle over it? Heck no! First of all, noodles have wheat and my ridiculous body would figure out how to grab calories from the lashing. Second of all, I'm human! I managed to control myself and not go hog-wild - and for that, I'm proud. What I wanted to do was hole up in a corner, suck down all the chocolate in the 'fridge and every homemade cookie in the container, and sugar myself into a stress-free-stupor. What I did was enjoy a few decadent things and allow myself only a small amount of time to worry - while finding that special place of pure joy being with my family.

OK, so a few cookies isn't nirvana to most people. And a few extra pounds to lose (AGAIN) is a bit of a pain. The truth is, I think the weekend taught me everything Larry had envisioned it could. It taught me to enjoy every second of life, and learn to accept the bad as well as the good - for they both mean Life.

In the next post for Sept 17 - I'll finish filling in some cracks in the story...

Hang in there, I'm mentally and bloggerly getting caught up...

Hugs!
Crazy Cancer Mom

I Declare War

2007-09-14T11:44:00.000-07:00

***It's Friday, September 14th. My hardworking hubby, 4 tax deductions and myself are running around like crazed circus clowns throwing miscellaneous items into mismatched bags. We are heading out the door for a weekend stay at a remote cabin that is donated to a local ped cancer charity. We've NEVER gone away like this as a family. Not once. Since Avalon's diagnosis, we've gone two places, Disney for her Make A Wish trip, and two weeks ago - to a group camp with other cancer families. We are actually going away...just us...just to be together. I CAN'T WAIT!!!!!! I'm downright giddy....

Since I won't be able to pester you all for a few days....I'm going to share something I've been saving. I wrote the following essay, the last time I lost a tremendous amount of weight (40 lbs). BTW, the last time, was right before Avalon was diagnosed.... Hmm..wonder why I gained it back?

Anyway, here is my little offering, "Declaration of War". I hope you get a giggle or two.

DECLARATION OF WAR
By Alicia Hall

OK, that's it. I've officially declared war on my thighs.

I passed a store window today and turned to see who the fat lady behind me was, only to find she was me. Something's got to give when you can follow yourself and not know it. It's dad-blasted amazing how in my mirror at home, I'm still 17 and svelte. Snow White's step mom must have really had something after all.

The problem with this declaration, is the length of time required for victory. I know I lost my territory slowly and gradually. But let's face it, we all want to take the hill on the first day of battle. The person who could invent a one-day nonstop anti-fat device, would own the world. We wouldn't have to be greedy. The device could be a one shot deal. You pork up again, it's up to you, babe. But gee, don't we all deserve the chance to be stupid at least once in our life?

The way I see it, I'm really not overweight. I'm just 3 feet too short. Vertically challenged, so to speak. If I were 10’ 6" tall, I’d be darn svelte. Yea, that's it. I’d be a 10’ 6" bikini model...

Fine, you got me. My malfunctioning gland is my brain. Truth is; I love food! I adore food. High fat, low fat, who cares? It's food and therefore worthy of my adoration. Chocolate, of course, is in a category of its own. Chocolate transcends classification as mere food. It assumes more of a godlike stature. Chocolate is to be revered, celebrated. As such, it must be partaken of regularly to ensure spiritual well being. Chocolate consumption is not frivolous, it's satisfying a basic biological need. Ask any woman.

I suppose my second failing would be exercise. I hate sweat. I hate thinking about sweat. I hate producing sweat. I hate cleaning up after sweat. I hate being around other people who are sweating. It's all pretty simple; if the choice came down to death or sweat, I'd choose daisy dirt.

This aversion wreaks havoc with an exercise regime. When the point is to elevate your heart rate, sweat is an indisputable side effect…so much for my activity level. Let's see, no exercise, lots o' chocolate. Hmmm… Wonder why the fat lady walking behind me was so darn close?

Well, now I've gone and done it. I've taken a blood oath to burn my fat lady clothes. Since the whole Joan of Arc thing holds little attraction for me, I guess I've got to shrink. I must break up with food. We're going to have to cool it off to just a friendly relationship. I hope the grocer doesn't take it too hard. His stocks are going to plummet.

Then there's the sweat issue...conquering this one may kill me.

I've got to give in and join the world of the weight-conscious. Not that I wasn't conscious of it before. I always knew I had a weight, I just didn't know how much it was.

Never fear, I won't go too far. I've made my husband promise to lock me up if I ever turn into one of those size six skinny minnies, who gripes about her thighs. I guess my days of threatening to sit on those ladies are soon to be over.

Maybe I still have time to track down a few...for exercise.

www.crazycancermom.com

Have a great weekend!

September 13, 2007

2007-09-13T18:50:00.000-07:00

So, it turns out, stress may be a bit of a food cue for me. Not that I didn't kind of *know it* before...but today it kind of jumped up and whacked me upside the head. My epiphanal ego says, "Yay! I'm so smart, I've recognized a huge issue!" My throbbing skull says, "Man, I wish the ego wasn't so dense that I have to get walloped so hard." And my rear says, "Damn. I bet I just found a few of those pounds I lost."

As of this morning, I nearly fell off of the scale when it read 246 pounds. (*If you happen to be tuning in late...that would be 246 pounds DOWN from 258 pounds, a mere 13 days ago.*) If you gathered the convoluted confession from the preceding paragraph, you may be surmising that my "net losses" may have been affected today.

Today was a long-anticipated and dreaded medical benchmark for my daughter. I suppose its about time I ante up some basic info about her. The beautiful little baldy you see covering most pages on www.crazycancermom.com is my own baldy, Avalon. Avalon (or daughter #3 as I usually call her here) was diagnosed with Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia when she was 17 months old. She is currently in long term remission and has been off of chemotherapy since Dec 2006.

As a result of chemo, Avalon has been left with osteoporosis, painful, grinding joints, and brain damage. Avalon has a condition called intercranial hypertension (IH), or pseudotumor cerebri (PTC). The English translation is that she has too much spinal fluid surrounding her brain, spinal cord, and optic nerves. In fact, she has been recorded at having nearly 4 times more than the average adult. Skipping forward through years of symptoms, months of treatments, and 3 dozen trips to the OR - I'll do my best to shorthand for you.

Avalon has had a surgery to put holes in the covering of her optic nerve to allow fluid to leak out - thus reducing pressure on the optic nerve and hopefully saving her vision. Avalon now has a V-P (ventricular-peritoneal) shunt that has a tube that runs into the center of her brain to drain fluid through a resevoir and tubing to eventually dump the excess fluid into her abdomen. Avalon's shunt is what they call a "smart" shunt. We can change how much fluid it sends out by holding up a remote control behind her ear. Its pretty cool - she's actually a remote-controlled robot! (although she steadfastly refuses to make bee bop boop beep sounds for me! Killjoy)

Whew! You're almost caught up. The mystery of Avalon's PTC is that no one knew what was damaged, the mechanism that drains the fluid - or the one that decides how much to produce in the first place. I believe we have probably reached the conclusion that its her production center. Every time we give the fluid more room to leave, her brain seems to catch up by making more. Its a lose-lose proposition.

Six weeks ago, we discovered that she was, again, losing vision and that her pressure was up. We opened the shunt further and have been waiting. Today was the follow-up lumbar puncture (LP) to see what effect we had. What I haven't been telling you is that the past week as I've been jumping one diet hurdle after another...I've actually been leaping a giant chasm. As today got closer, my stress has been increasing rather exponentially. My hubby, my sister, and a close friend were all right. They all counseled me to stop focusing, stop worrying - we'll deal with it and move forward. No sense borrowing trouble. But...from a dieting perspective, it was rather like having God's biggest Hershey bar outside my window, screaming my name. The higher the level of stress, the louder Hershey yells. Its a viscious cycle.

Moving into the present, we had the LP today. For Avalon, LP's mean a long, torturous, hungry day. The procedure is done under general anesthesia, so she has to go without food after midnight, the night before. Our house rule is that anyone going to the hospital on procedure days, also goes without food until she can have it. (baby was exempted from that!) A) its downright inhumane to eat in front of a hungry short person, and B) it makes anyone with her, appreciate how she is feeling. While this all sounds noble and such, it did make for a rather cranky bunch o' kids today - since I got stuck taking all of them.

Long story short, (well, that ship appears to have already sailed...) the results were not as good as we would have wanted. Yes, her pressure is better, but its still twice normal. The problem is, we're running her shunt at nearly full capacity already. It may not be possible to outdistance the brain with just the shunt and the previous eye surgery. From here, the options get...interesting. (I'll leave it at that, for now) The news wasn't horrible, just disappointing. And now part two of the wait begins. We see her neuro-opthalmologist on Monday. What we find there, will be the true deciding factor. So my stress-fest will have to trudge on through the weekend.

Post surgery, we took our morphine-goofy, hungry-bunny to a lobby of the hospital where they were broadcasting a fundraising radiothon. We've participated in this radio-thon in years past, and only missed being interviewed this time because I forgot to return the phone call. So, we went to see if we could help out, visit our hospital friends, and bribe my brood with some catered goodies.

At the radio event, I was able to relax a bit and enjoy good conversation and warm smiles from wonderful employees that have long since crossed over to "friends". I even managed to eat healthy, choosing just one spinach chicken wrap. A wrap, by the way, that was so stinking good-for-me AND tasty that I nearly was convinced I had nodded off and dreamed the whole thing... At the event, I fed my woozy 4 year old ooey gooey brownies and chips (she gets anything she wants for her first "meal" post-op), all without a second thought to tasting them myself. And then...I came home.

Right about now you're thinking, "What in the Sam-hill does any of this have to do with dieting? And geez, I thought this Blubber Blog was supposed to be funny?" Well, the BB is usually going to be humorous - I am usually pretty light-hearted. Its a darn sight easier to laugh about life than drown in the serious. (see Bruhnhilda's Blog of Absurdity) But, I would rather keep the BB honest than fakely funny - so today...maybe its a bit more real than real funny.

Don't get me wrong, our day at the hospital was one giant grin. We LOVE the wonderful, giving, warm, loving, supportive, amazing humans that work in our hospital. We laugh, hug, tease, and enjoy the time we share with them. It may sound rather insane, but a hospital day is not a negative event for our family. We enjoy "catching up" with the friends we've made along the way. I think that's the interesting thing I learned today - I wasn't even interested in the "bad stuff" while I was standing there facing piles of gourmet cookies, pans of brownies or the chip buffet. As long as I was distracted and laughing, I could have cared less.

It was the fateful drive home that gave me time to really start *thinking* about what could potentially be coming...that I began to unravel. Am I a teary, bleary mess? No. We've handled far worse. However, did I over eat in the comfort of my own 4 walls? Oh yeah. Uh-huh. Affirmative. Yep-a-roonie. Guilty as charged.

The good news is, I must be making some sort of mental progress, I didn't exactly "pig out" to even a fraction of the extent I would have 3 weeks ago. Days past, I would have finished off the container of brownies still in my cupboard, followed by probably ordering pizza for dinner. I did manage to rein myself in to two 1 inch squares of the dreaded brownies. However, to chase away my Brownie Blues, I chased my sensible portion, with a bowl of cereal. OK, so the cereal was organic, and was mostly oats. It also has a good amount of wheat - which can be entirely responsible for sinking my dieting battleship. Then there was my dinner... a giant bowl of butter-dripping popcorn. Since the battleship was already gone - I went ahead and sunk the coast guard's boat too...

After recovering from my naval assault, I realized how I'd been seeking my ammo with no thought to what it would do to my body. I was only looking for how things would taste. That's about the time I had my great epiphany that stress really does make me do things. Here I thought I was so highly evolved and junk. Hah! I'm a complete simpleton. When it comes to why I eat what I eat and when, I've barely been surviving at amoeba level. Wow. Who knew?

I guess what I'm trying to share, is that I think I bumped up an evolutionary notch, or two, to at least paramecium today. I have finally recognized that no matter how much in control I think I am...there are times I completely surrender to the call of the sirens, the stress sirens. For today, I figure I may have surrendered a pound or two to them. The trick is to find my earplugs. I need to learn to ignore that call and divert my attention. Hopefully, finally knowing there is a call, will be a giant step toward immunity to it. I don't really know, I'm just musing and sharing...honestly.

Ack, this open heart, open life stuff can totally blow some days.

To keep you all from thinking I've gone totally serious on you...I'm posting my first tidbit on Bruhnhilda's Blog of Absurdity. Click on the link in the Links section upper right hand corner of the page, it will take you there. For my ALL-list, my local friends and family - you will recognize the story. For everyone else, this started as an email to a few people, and has morphed into the BBOA. Salute my on-line friends! You are keeping me sane.

- Alicia - the crazy cancer mom!

September 12, 2007

2007-09-12T20:59:00.001-07:00

Oh cripes. Just how much trouble am I in for not posting yesterday? Would pitiful and overly-mascaraed batting eyelashes get me out of dutch? Puh-lease...?

How about some rockin' news? Hold onto your horses, your britches and your brother's balls (his basketballs - get your mind out of the gutter!)...I've lost 10 pounds!!!!!! Wahooooooooo

**We now take a blog identification break to allow for author bummy-shaking and proud-proud dancing.**

We may now resume our regularly scheduled rantings....

Yep, you read that right. teno poundaroonies! hee hee hee So apparantly, it may indeed be worth learning to merely wave at the chocolate bar, rather than offering to marry it. There may atually be something to the theory of "moderation". Well, who'd have thunk it?

But I do come here this evening with a smidge of a heavy heart. (OK, so we know definitively, that no part of me is a "smidge heavy" - c'mon - go with it...) I fear, I must confess something to you. As I dance and hoot, I admit that in doing so, I'm committing a bit of a falsehood....

Oh don't you worry, I really did start this ordeal by weighing myself on Thursday Aug 30. The scales really did horrify me with the chart-topping 258 pounds. Those same scales really did read 248 pounds, three times in row this morning. No kidding, no bluffing.

The problem is, I'm not exactly sure how much they would have read before I planned this Fat-A-Thon. You see, I've been living the last few months like Dead Man Walking. Only, you can morph it into Fat-Lady-NOT-Walking!

I dreamed up this idea of a Fat-A-Thon several months ago. I thought long and hard about the "Why" , the "How", the actual brass tacks of pulling this off. Then, I even went so far as to have a grown-up type meeting with some people who run a local pediatric cancer charity - to pick their un-child-drained brains for ideas and feedback. We all agreed on a plan of attack, and the beast of burden was left to me to start the sight and the weightloss.

Here's where the road gets a little twisty. Now, if you knew it was your last chance to ever see a dear friend, how would you choose to bid them adieu? Would you do the bandaid method - saying a lightening fast good-bye and then ripping your heart out with several hairs and burning skin cells attached? OR Would you take the romantic movie approach - gently caressing your friend's hand as you took long, thoughtful walks together on the beach, tirelessly recanting your years of enjoying each others' company?

Being the committed romantic that I am...I felt that too rapid of a farewell to food would simply not do our relationship justice. I decided to honor my long-time friend with a series of heartfelt get togethers and tasty trists. I began a several-month long effort to make sure that food - particularly that of high calorie and fat count - knew that it had been well-loved and would be missed.

Thus began the Summer of my Content. I can now fully divulge the divinity that was my Summer. I ate as if it was my job....and it was gooood..........................

I ate cookies and cake and brownies and pie. I ate chips and dip and spinach on rye. I ate french fries and pizza and cream of the ice. And damn it all, man - it surely was nice!

Get real. I didn't get to be this size by not liking food. I got here because food tastes good. I like it. A good hunk o- chocolate is nearly a religious event. Somewhere, in the deep dark recesses of my twisted mind, I think I decided I needed to eat everything I ever would want to eat ever again - and pack it into a few weeks. I would be driving past a set of Arches or the home of the King and think, "You know, in a few weeks, I'll never be able to have a *&%^$ again. I really should stop and get one so I can remember what it tastes like." OR I'd see the ice cream store on the corner and think, "Oh, the kids will really enjoy that on a hot day like this. Since I won't ever eat ice cream again, I think I'll get the large (which should really be called the Gargantuan)" Here's the real fruit-loopy part to that one - I don't even like ice cream!

Somewhere in the last few weeks leading up to this diet-death-trek of mine, all of my insanity began to work. I would think about pulling into a dwelling of the Mac - and think, "Bleck. That doesn't even sound good." I would drive past our favorite soft-serve center and think, "I'll really get a headache from that." I think I actually managed to out eat myself. You know those stories you used to hear about a parent catching a kid with a cigarette and then making him smoke until he threw up, to make the child hate the taste/smell of cigs? Well, I'm here to report that you can, indeed, over-junkify yourself. I ate until I abhorred, I dined until I despised.

I actually managed to overeat myself into eating sensibly. Just how insane is that?! It is with this knowledge, that I must confess that probably 4 or 5 of the pounds I've parted company with this week, may very well have come from my oh-so-questionable "preparation" for my pledge quest. Yes, yes, I may truly be certifiable.

Funny thing though. As I "fattened" the goose with my long, romantic, goodbye, it never quite occurred to me that I was merely setting myself up for extra band-aid days of losing my gander-padding. Perhaps, I need to re-think my methods of departure.

Rip! Ow...... Rip! OW! RIP!!! Ow!!!!!! Oh yeah, hindsight is definitely 20-20. Rats.

- Alicia www.crazycancermom.com
And now Bruhnhildas Blog of Absurdity see the link above

Breakfast: 2 eggs, onions, tomatoes, no cheese! (if I don't go to the store soon - I may begin licking cardboard) 2 C coffee with creamer

Lunch: Forgot it! Doing school with one child, dressing others, leaving with all 4 for a meeting at the hospital...Oops!

Dinner: 1/3 - 1/2 lb ground chuck with taco seasoning, salad greens, tomatoes, diet coke
(again, no cheese - criminal, I tell you!)

September 10, 2007

2007-09-10T20:04:00.000-07:00

Temptation, thy name is pizza.

I want you to know, I faced a demon today...and won! I'm going to make you all dance a happy jig for me. Nope, you may have to take out full page ads in the New York Times.... Nah, I'll settle for a little "Wahoo!" and get on with my life. Gotcha interested, don't I?

It all started with a special evening out for our family. We were invited to a private party at local place, Magic Mountain, with a group that serves families with life-threatening illnesses, Adventures for Wish Kids. Magic Mountain has video games, go karts, mini-golf, laser tag, and climbing tunnels. Basically, its a little kids' shangri la.

Problem is, Magic Mountain also had a den of eeeevil.... It had a free BUFFET dinner...with pizza. Pizza!! Wheat and yeast filled, carbohydrate-laden, ooey gooey circles of heaven.... Hmmmm...how good it smelled... I mean, you need to understand - it smelled good enough to climb inside of and set up housekeeping. This was not normal pizza smell. This was pizza-smell of the Gods.

So how do I happen to arrive at the lovely mountain of magic? Starving. All out, over-the-top, seriously-considering-gnawing-on-a-child famished. Rather large mistake on my part.

In all fairness though, I just plain didn't have time to eat today. This stupid healthy habit stuff is time consuming! I made my egg/onion concoction this morning, but I could never eek out the time to find a healthy lunch option. I had kids to get clean, dishes, Mt Fujiyama of laundry to start sorting, 2 kids in online school to work with, my 10 month old time-bandit...you get the idea. I had a typical mom's morning. By the time mom's morning morphed into mom's afternoon - we were aiming down the road for speech therapy. As we ran pell mell out the door of speech, we were zooming down several highways to pick up my daughter's loaner wheelchair. From there, I broke land speed records in a grocery store to get the way-past-the-point-of-necessity baby formula. Post formula? On our way to meet Daddy at the infamous Magic Mountain torture chamber. Whew! I suppose I did do a few things today. Who knew?

See my point though? In the process of running hither and thither - it would have been stinkin' easy to slide my van right through any of the 5 (yes I counted them!) Golden Arches I passed. Truth be told, I had to restrain the car with the might of Paul Bunyan. Its passed through so many Golden Arches, its magnetically attracted to them. (hmmm, wonder if that has anything to do with those 100 pounds I have to offer up?) But no, I fought the good fight - and waved fondly as I passed each of my former Meccas. Poor Ronald, he may fall into deep dispair without my patronage.

So much for my dogged perserverence. It landed me right in the middle of Temptation Island - at a free buffet - surrounded by one of my most fiendish foes...pizza. Curses!

However, I am THRILLED to report that I "just said no". I didn't say it nicely, I didn't say it kindly. I said it with a plethera of whines, complaints, whimpers, and bitter rantings. I said it through gritted teeth and quite the pained expression - but I said it! Hah!

I hope one of my cyber friends will forgive me sharing something she emailed me, but this would appear to be the perfect time for it. Last week, as I began this insane quest, my friend Brenda sent me the following note:

"Maybe your dieting could take on an additional anti-cancer theme: For every fat cell you're shrinking, imagine the demise of a cancer cell. For every calorie or cell you're not taking in, imagine a cloning process of cells that could've turned into a mutant cancer cell but the process of control took over and eliminated cancerous activity in favor of healthy multiplication. I hope this tiny tidbit helps you stay the course and not feel as if you're deprived without a justifiable cause!!"

Brenda, I want you to know, you are a certified genius. Just as the smell nearly had me down for the count, I began thinking of all those cancer cells that I could theoretically deny "food" to. I managed to not only get the pizza for my children, but get it for them - and walk away from it, and load up on salad instead. Again, I want to make it clear. Passing on the pizza was not some emotional nirvana. There was no great "inner peace" achieved tonight. It totally stunk more than the keesters of a thousand skunks. But I did it! Hah!

Lest you think I have become some great diety of dieting...I do have a major confession. I may have walked away from the pizza and lasgna (oh, did I forget to mention they had lasagna too?), but I indulged myself by trying a bite of each of the three dessert pizzas. Truly, it was only one small bite of each, but I regretted them as soon as I took them. I mean, crud. Not one of them was worth the calories that were no doubt packed into that one tiny bite. What a waste! Oooh - I was so irritated with myself for being so weak. My hubby jumped to the rescue, though.

First, he completely "got it" . When I griped about the bites not being worth the calories, he said "If you'd have waited - I could have tasted them and warned you they weren't worth the effort". Before I had a chance to whack him senseless with a carrot stick, he immediately redeemed himself by saying, "But I know that it wouldn't have mattered. You needed to taste them for yourself. "

Arguably, he still was in jeopardy of being whalloped at this point. Then, he became my knight in shining cotton - and offered up this bit of wisdom. "Honey, don't look at it as a failure. You didn't eat even one bite of pizza. You got it for the girls, you sat here while we ate it - but you never touched it. That's a HUGE victory! You had to take those tastes. Because next time, you won't even want to - you'll know they're not worth it. This wasn't a failure - it was a lesson. You passed!"

Wow, who knew you could fall in love with your spouse all over again...over a few lousy dessert pizzas? I guess it goes to show you, love really isn't blind - it just pretends to be when it cares enough. When its needs to see - sometimes love has superhuman vision and focus.

Thanks to my hubby tonight for his encouragement. I'm putting a few extra points in his husband account for the next time he forgets my birthday...

Breakfast: 2 eggs, mountains of onions, 1 tomato, 2 C coffee with 2 TBS creamer each

Lunch: - nope, no time

Dinner: Huge salad to distract me from pizza purgatory, salad had hard-boiled eggs, cheese, pepperoni (which I pretended was cooked and on a green pizza) 2 diet cokes, 3 small bites of 3 different dessert pizzas. (remember - not a weak moment...a lesson. A lesson. A lesson. Keep repeating that - I am)

Alicia - www.crazycancermom.com

September 9, 2007

2007-09-09T20:15:00.000-07:00

Doooooode. (yeah, I know its spelled "dude" - I'm going for an expressive feeling here)

Anyway, doooooode. I'm actually blogging on the day I'm talking about - two nights in a row! Cooooool....

Sorry, feeling rather frisky at the moment. I'm thinking its a mixture of starvation, fat cells croaking off and releasing god-forsaken toxins into my brain, and computer brain-drain, from staring at a screen for waaaayy too many hours today. Whatever the reason, I'm a bit woozey.

Hmmm, I'm supposed to be telling you about my Conquering O' the Pudge, aren't I? OK, on with it.

As far as food and temptation today - little of either. I'm so stinking limited on what I can eat, I'm being horribly repetitive. This leads me to discuss what is going to have to become a page of my website eventually. Frequently Asked Questions. How about if I tackle just a few tonight?

Ques #1: How do we know you're really losing weight?
Answ: Very fair question, indeed. I plan on posting pictures on the website www.crazycancermom.com However, I have so many things to put there about cancer kids, cancer charities, why I'm doing this, etc... My incredible bulge pics have just taken a back seat.

Ques #2: So, just how huge are you?
Answ: Again, very fair question. Obviously, I'm rather zaftig. (how's that for a vocabulary word?) If I were normal size - I wouldn't have 100 pounds to offer up. The I-may-die-as-I-type-this truth is I started this quest at a whopping 258 pounds. I have a photo of me next to the number and Day 1. I'll take a new picture this week. I honestly just haven't made the time to do it. (all pics in the same outfit - no hiding behind fashion!)

Ques #3: What are you doing to lose weight so fast?
Answ: Truth? Not eating the foods I'm allergic too. I'm allergic to wheat, gluten, yeast, and peanuts. I'm also really, REALLY hypoglycemic (low blood sugar). I should never eat starches, sugar, or even much natural sugar like fruit. I've been tested for these things, I know it. However, its way, WAY WAY easier (and tremendously more fun) to live life eating these things than not. If you peruse the list I'm not "supposed" to have, you'll notice that basically only veggies and meat are left. I hate most meat. I'm a terrible carnivore. I have to mask meat with onions, garlic, peppers, etc to be able to tolerate it. So, I've been eating healthy for me this week - but cripes do I smell!

Ques#4: What exercise are you doing?
Answ: Paltry little so far. Yeah, yeah - I know exercise is as important as diet - if not more so. I'll get to it. May I please get past the bagel dreams before you toss me screaming into total healthdom?!

There you go - the start of my FAQ page. Hope that answered some burning inquiries for you.

I'm off to by lumpy, bumpy bed now. I'm thoroughly sick of computers and typing. So long!

Breakfast: 2 eggs, 1/4 C cheddar cheese, enough onions to choke a horse, 1 large C coffee - 3 tbs creamer

Lunch: 1 pitifully small hamburger, mountains of onions again (see why I smell?) 1 diet coke

Dinner: 1 huge pile of weed-looking greens, 1/2 C Cheddar cheese, 6 pepperonis, 2 TBS or less of dressing. water, C of coffee with creamer

Night!
Alicia www.crazycancermom.com

September 8, 2007

2007-09-08T19:47:00.000-07:00

Not quite "feelin'" it tonight. Ever had those days?

Truthfully, I should be bouncing off the walls. I've lost 8 pounds! Eight pounds in 8 days - not too bad. Frankly, darned worth the restrictions. Problem is, I'm kind of in the what-does-it-really-matter mode. I'm frustrated. I'm also utterly, totally convinced that I'm not reaching a single human. I know, I'm at the beginning, taking baby steps. I guess, its the complete round of "ignoring" my friends and family have drowned me in.

In all fairness, I did try to do a Fat-A-Thon while my daughter was on treatment. My motives were pure, I wanted to donate the money to a charity we started in her name. (giving back to kids at our local hospital) But, get real, I didn't get to be this size by having great will power. Let's see, if I eat when I'm stressed...do you think trying to lose weight when your baby is going through chemo is wise? Duhhhhh.... Yeah, not necessarily my brightest idea. So, you see, I'm sure people who know me figure I'm going to fail again this time. Problem is, if they really knew me, they'd know how much my heart has changed.

I guess my case of the blahs is due to a common phenomenon we often discuss in my on-line pediatric cancer parents' list. We're a group of ALL (Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia) parents who share news, concerns, celebrations, and most of all...heart. These amazing people are responsible for not only bringing me out of a self-induced depression and isolation; but they have given me the strength and the commitment to do this insanity - for all of "our" kids. Anyway, the phenomenon I referred to could perhaps be described as "time sensitive apathy". With ALL, chemotherapy lasts a minimum of 2 years 2 months (girls) and in some recent studies for boys - up to nearly 4 years! Yes, you read that right - 4 years.

What I've come to find out, is that pretty much all of us have endured the loss of support due to t.s.a. . Even those of us lucky enough to have people rally around us in the beginning, are usually flying solo by the time we reach the big OT (off treatment) day. And post treatment? Are you kidding?! My daughter has brain damage requiring a permanent shunt in her brain, osteoporosis, joint damage, is awaiting her wheelchair, memory issues, is losing her eyesight again, and faces an uncertain future. But, ask me how often anyone wants to listen about a procedure, a test, or therapy. A few people cordially ask - but most look bored to tears if I try to tell them the truth. I can pretty much count on one hand the people who can tell you what all she deals with on a daily basis. Basically, once our kids aren't "news" anymore, they're not nearly as interesting to hear about. If people only knew how much that hurts some days...

Do I blame people? Not really. The fact is, we live with the doctors' appointments, side affects, whining, pain, and daily struggles - they don't. After all, the first thing everyone says is, "She looks so good". She does, unless you look at her x-rays, blood work, or test scores. Sure, she looks happy when they see her - its usually at a happy event. What they don't see is the daily struggle with pain or the frustration we face as she "loses" even the smallest pieces of information some days. She, and all other cancer kids, are the perfect examples of "Don't judge a book by its cover." In the thick of treatment, a pale, bald, emaciated child may look horrible - but still manage to find joy each day and live life with fervor and meaning. Conversely, an off treatment child may have hair, be nice and filled out (look good)- and fight issues that only their parents and doctors can "see". Both are poorly served by people too willing to walk quickly in and out of their lives.

I guess I'm particularly cranky this evening because my feelings are bruised. Two ladies that are part of my online group created a masterpiece last weekend. They recruited pictures of children from our group, and made what may come to be known in our world, as one of the most beautiful, honest, and touching video tributes to pediatric cancer warriors. The video is as real as it gets - and truly conveys our reality - in a mere few minutes. If you are willing to expand your heart - watch it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AGS4yE5v9rM

My daughter and husband are part of the video - with a very powerful message on their slide. And the ladies honored me deeply by using a quote from my site, "One child lost is too many, One child saved...Can change the world." As I dreamed up crazycancermom.com, I wanted a way to convey my feelings for the children I've met during this journey I remembered how the death of one special little girl truly devastated our family and changed our perspective so much. I also remembered what I would hold onto, during the worst nights of fear, as I watched my daughter breathe in her sleep. I survived by reminding myself that we'd been told by a sensitive, that my daughter would grow up to have a "great voice. She will affect many people and do great things." I clung to that for life - I couldn't lose my daughter - she had to grow up to change the world for the better. There you have it, the quote for the site.

So, here is this video - so terribly personal and meaningful to me. While it does make me cry, it makes my heart sing too. As my friends released it for the world, grand, explosive things began to happen. The video quickly raced through our "cancer community". Its been posted on national websites and countless children's web pages. Its being made into a DVD so charities and hospitals can use it for awareness seminars and presentations. Its been sent to congress to convince politicians to pay attention to the children it portrays. The video, and these women have made a difference, and its amazing.

I, of course, wanted to do my best to pass it along. I immediately linked it to my crazycancermom site and spent two days drafting the perfect letter to accompany it to my friends and family. I poured my heart out about Childhood Cancer Awareness Month and its dire importance this year. I thanked people for their past support and described how personal this video was for us. I finished the letter by inviting everyone to this adventure, my most personal of personal endeavors... 50 people I sent it to...two responded. Some people had to send the video home to view it - and then never did. Some people were too busy that day. Some people were irritated it was to support research instead of their own charity of choice. (entirely missing the point, by the way) But mostly, people were just too in-their-own-lives to take the time to peek into ours.

And if you think they were too busy for the video - oh let me clue you in about the fat-a-thon festival! Hah! I have personally had the unfortunate opportunity to ask several of my recipients what they thought about the new website. My invisibility is proof positive they never even bothered to open the email. Yeah, I admit it, I'm bruised and a tad bitter tonight.

But, as any cancer child would tell me - get over it. I can't change what is - I can only change how I react to it. My former self would have said "What the heck, nobody cares - so eat the stupid brownies. It doesn't matter anyway." You know what? My former self would have been wrong! It does matter. These kids MATTER. I'm basically experiencing exactly what the whole cause of pediatric cancer is facing. I'm being ignored because it takes concerted effort to be involved in something.

Its easier for people to go about their own days and not open themselves up for a minute to something else. Its easier to read a note, maybe watch a video, then push it out of your mind without so much as a "Thank you - that was touching.", or "Good luck! I'll be rooting for you!". Its easier to not check in on a blog - because ooohh - maybe one day the author will have a bad day and be honest about it. It is easier - I don't deny it.

That's the entire issue our children face. Its easier for Congress to ignore them - there aren't as many of us fighting for them as their are lobbyists for breast cancer or heart disease. Its easier to ignore kids with cancer, because their numbers don't represent enough revenue to make them attractive to pharmaceutical companies. Its easier to ignore our children, remark that they "look good" and convince yourself that everything will/has worked out just fine...because its easier than admitting children with cancer suffer, children with cancer die. Its easier to act like it could never happen to you...because that's what we all thought - until we heard the fateful words, "It's Cancer."

No question its easier - but that will NEVER make it right. Take a moment, make a stand...make the effort to take the time. A child and the mother who will do anything to keep that child...will appreciate you.

Comment or not - I'm OK. I'm going to keep fighting and I'm going to keep losing (weight). Its NOT easier - but its worth it.
-Alicia - proud mom to 4 beautiful children - one of whom is the bravest girl I know.

Daily menu - did fine today, but don't feel like sharing. So there.

September 7, 2007

2007-09-08T07:20:00.000-07:00

**You may notice that the dates in my Blubber Blog title sometimes don't match the posting dates. That's because, I'm trying to be 100% honest in my food diary. I don't post until nighttime, and frankly, I'm ancient! Some nights I'm too damn tired (or calorie deficient) to activate enough brain cells to post the blog entry. I suppose you'll either have to get over the discrepancy, or send and angry mob my direction...**

Wow - today has been quite the day for heartfelt reflecting and dietary suffering. There's so much to say - I'm not sure how to tackle it.

The day started with complete insanity like any normal house with 4 kids, too much crap, school to do - and too little time. We spent the morning running like crazy people - tossing random children in and out of showers, searching for matching outfits (yes, I'm one of those geeky people), and trying to squeeze in a moment or two of education. Having failed in most areas of attempt this morning, I gave up any thoughts of accomplishment and loaded the brood into the car for the first round of cancer-family-dom.

We belong to a local pediatric cancer charity http://www.kidsnkamp.org/. Kids N Kamp provides "relief" activities for families battling pediatric cancer. There are moms' night outs, dads' night outs, family camp, quilting weekend, a huge Christmas party...the list is quite long. Anyway, yesterday, the A-gang and I went to downtown Columbus to join KNK for a Childhood Cancer Awareness Rally on the statehouse lawn. Our governor's wife was there, a few doctors from Columbus Children's hospital, and several speakers.

The two hours we spent with the group were a mixture of hilarity and heartache. First, I need to back up a bit. In the midst of the morning mayhem - I had been unable to find a pair of *clean* respectable shorts. So, I pulled out a fancy print cotton skirt and matching shirt. The skirt is one of those respectable mom skirts, great pattern - just to the knee - would make the "What Not To Wear" people quite proud. Here's the issue though. I had, in my I-don't-hardly-have-time-to-fart morning haste, neglected to watch the weather forecast. I'm not a complete loser - I had logged on and checked out temperatures, I just hadn't watched the full broadcast on local TV. Seemingly harmless omission, right?

Wrong! OH, wrong, wrong, wrong..... What I had failed to learn was that Columbus was going to be experiencing gale force winds at the precise time I would be attempting to walk several blocks to and from my car, wearing that cute, lighter-than-air skirt. Suffice it to say, there's a darn good possibility you may see my over-sized keester in one of those "Why You Should Own a Camera Phone" emails. Yep, I might as well have gone to the rally in nothing but my old lady undies. I virtually did anyway.

The rally itself brought on the heartache. Kids N Kamp is proud to boast that its the only local group that continues to include families who have lost children to cancer. As such, they take time each year at this rally to ask grieving families to come forward, while they have a moment of silence, followed by a beautiful song to memorialize the children. Its so real for me, its tangible. This is not a fraternity anyone wants to imagine themselves in - but here I am. My child can die. Of course, anyone's child can die - they don't come with little guarantees. Its just that...cancer children do die - often. Standing up front was a family I met at Christmas last year. Their son died less than two weeks after diagnosis - their shock was so great, I'm not sure how long until the grieving could begin. Today was torturous for them - by sheer chance, the rally fell on the one year anniversary of their son's death. Pure Agony.

Also up front, I was shocked to see a mother I've know for 2 years. Our children played together at clinic, they participated together in an awareness event two years ago. Then, when they called for parents who had lost children...she walked forward. My heart stopped. There "I" was....it could so easily be me. Its a difficult thing to process.

As of the end of the ceremony - I determined I would not post anything comical tonight - just a brief description of the event, and a few poignant thoughts. Done. By day's end, I changed my mind. If our children have taught me anything, its that life must continue to go on. You have to laugh and enjoy yourself - you cannot surrender to the Beast. If you surrender your humor and joy - the Beast wins. I will not let the Beast win. Cancer cannot take joy from my life - I won't give it that much power.

As sad as the ceremony left me, I soon had to snap back to reality. I had to find the handi-capped entrance into the statehouse to get my gang and two strollers into the reception. The Tibetan death hike around the building hunting for a tiny little sign (apparantly, the statehouse decorators think handicapped people are 6 inches tall and have superhuman vision) - led to 100 more opportunities to have my derriere exposed by high winds. By the time we made it inside, the wind had managed to lift my spirits, along with my skirt.

The reception became my first super-hero event for the day. Dum dum DUM! (sing superhero triumphant noises in your head) I managed to weave my way through a reception that was a sugar wonderland - and squeak out a healthy, albeit tiny lunch. Before attempting to shrink myself for the kids, I would have used my sad heart as an excuse to try each and every delectable kind of gourmet cookie. Today? Nope. I stayed the course and drank water, and had a few small pieces of cheese and three tiny chicken nuggets. Woo hoo! I can stay on track! I was mighty pleased with myself, even if I did catch my salivary glands giving me away by nearly making me drool as I walked past the table-of-wonder.

Post reception, I got to subject myself to the mighty winds again and fight my way to the car. The A-gang and I choogled on home and got to rest and regroup for about 90 minutes before we had to head back out.

Tonight was another Pediatric Cancer event. This one was through Hats for Heroes - the charity branch of our local NHL team, The Columbus Blue Jackets (http://bluejackets.nhl.com/). A lovely couple invited some cancer families to join them at the local harness racing track and watch a charity race they had organized. What sweet humans! Not only did we fall head over heels in love with Doug and Lori, but the kids and I had so much fun. Daughter 3, my cancer child, had been feeling horrible most of the afternoon. She'd been laying down, insisting on having a "puke bowl" (her colorful terms) at her side constantly, and been whining like the world was ending. We held some serious negotiations to get her to attend - and even she had the time of her life! Funny, how enjoying yourself can sometimes make the "Mookies" go away.

The girls got to cheer for the horse that belonged to our hosts, pose for pictures with the winner of the charity race, catch up with a wonderful family we met earlier in the year, and hug on one of our favorite hockey players. My cancer daughter is a full-out stalker of one young player. Thankfully, its a mutual admiration - so he doesn't mind her being glued to him at events. Her older sister, daughter #2, in typical little-kid fashion, couldn't possibly share her crush. Therefore, daughter #2 picked a different player to stalk. Lucky for her, he was at the race last night. I clued his wife in on the "crush" - so he made an extra effort to spend time with her. She blushed all the way to a deep shade of magenta - but enjoyed the attention.

I'm also proud to report, that I managed to stay the dietary course tonight! Wahoo! And let me tell you - I'm going to toot my own horn to Mt. Everest for this one. First, I admit to complete starvation thanks to my meager lunchtime munchings. But then, oh then, I came face to face with one of my giant nemeses...pizza. Oooooh - and this pizza looked goooood. But yes, I managed to "just say No" and ordered a Caesar salad instead. And since my kids get some kind of devilish delight in stealing my croutons - I didn't even have very many of those to contend with. Add to it, I was far too busy running my mouth to actually pause and insert food...and I actually only ate about 1/2 of the salad. Victory! Victory - thy name is distraction. I'm thinking I need to line up consistent social occasions to distract me from ever eating again. ...just a thought.

There you go - one very long...very exhausting day. Hence the "retro-posting" thing.

Breakfast: 2 eggs, 1/2 C cheese (yes I splurged), 1/2 C onions, 1 tomato, 1C coffee w/ 2 TBS creamer

Lunch: 3 tiny chicken nuggets, approx 2 oz cheese (tiny, TINY pieces of 6 different cheeses), water

Dinner: 1/2 Caesar salad, 2 diet Cokes

Exercise: - walked several blocks through gale-force winds trying to hide my keester, walked/stood for hours holding a squirming, disagreeable baby

September 6, 2007

2007-09-06T19:53:00.000-07:00

Day 4 - and the torment reaches a here-to-fore unheard of level.

First of all, let me share a rather personal tidbit. I had a dream last night...a moist, squishy, sweet and lovely dream. I dreamed of a dancing bagel.

Get your mind out of the gutter! It wasn't a man named B. Agel. It wasn't a pastry perched on a personal part. It was a LARGE, luscious, fresh and squishy Panera "everything" bagel -dripping in enough strawberry cream cheese to smother a mid-sized Toyota. Hmmmm....

No, it wasn't dancing the samba, don't be silly. It was simply swaying back and forth - and gently gliding closer...then farther...then closer... then farther...then close enough to smell the strawberry.... Hmmmmmmmmm. How could you even think foxtrot? I mean really, that would be ridiculous...

So here I was this morning, all wrapped up in my warm thoughts of Bagel-land...when my tiny and good-for-him-he's-so-cute son had to start the morning shriek fest. He went and robbed me of my bagel, just as I was ready to lick the cheese... I know suffering is Mother's job, but honestly, this was taking it a little too far.

So, downstairs I head for my meager morning offering of coffee and organic oats. (woooo.... I'm so thrilled) And just what do I find? Well, I'll tell you. I found proof positive that my mother is the devil. OK, maybe not the actual devil...but she's at least skilled in the art of torture.

You see, my hubby spent the last few days at my parents' house working at an out-of-town job. Because the kids were sick, my sainted mother decided to cook extra and send them some of their favorite comfort foods, noodles, mashed potatoes, meatloaf and potatoes. No question that having to avoid noodles and potatoes is a difficult enough task for a starvin' Marvin - but nooooooo, that wasn't apparantly "good enough" for the she-high Mistress of Mayhem. Oh no. Miss Mayhem the Maniacal had to go and send the children Brownies and Chocolate Chip Cookies!!!!!

Now I ask you, how can that be considered anything short of criminal?! I'm just beginning to hit the major withdrawal/craving portion of the torture-fest, and Mistress Malificent goes and sends chocolate confections to my dieting domicile. Foul! Foul Play I say!! I mean, c'mon...one would have been bad enough, but two? She sent two instruments of destruction to me?! The only possible answer: she made a deal with the devil to live longer if she makes sure she thoroughly stomps on my psyche periodically. Its the only possibility....

So that's how I spent my day, avoiding the pitfall of my pudge-fest. I even had to suffer the insult of opening the containers and handing the delicacies to my eager progeny. I tried not to whimper too much. The next door neighbor assured me it wasn't too loud....most of the day.

Breakfast: Oh whoa is me, I ate a whole cup of the organic oat puff stuff. Woo hoo. I'm living on the edge... 1 C coffee with 2 TBS creamer

Lunch: 6 oz meatloaf (thanks mom for sending one thing I could eat) with 8 oz of mushrooms dumped on it to pretend to be potatoes, 1 diet Coke, small salad - few drips of dressing, 1/4 C cheddar cheese, nothing fun on it.

Dinner: Huge, elephant-sized bowl of assorted weed-looking green stuff. 1 TBS salad dressing, 12 pepperonis, 1/4 C cheese, 1 C coffee w/ creamer.*

*Yes, I know darned good and well I shouldn't be drinking coffee. See earlier post, re: Bite me. I'm a bit bitter and cranky at the moment. In the interest of my children's well-being - I am not surrendering any form of caffeinated beverage at the moment. Wanna challenge the decision?!

Exercise: Utilizing EXTREME will power in not even licking a chocolate temptation today. I deserve high praise and a statue in my honor...

September 5, 2007

2007-09-06T06:48:00.000-07:00

Day 3 of the Fat-A-Thon. At this point, I can truly say...let the torture begin!! Oh yeah, it hit today - the cravings, the restless I-could-eat-maggots-if-they-were-chocolate-coated, the misery...

It all started lovely enough. I woke up bright and early, ready to get computers together and start online school with the kids. But nooooo, the universe had other ideas. 3, yes THREE of the kids had raging fevers, headaches, body cramps and all-over "mookies". Fan-friggin'-tastic. The good news is, no barfing, no rashes, no ooky fluids coming out anywhere - just fevers and icks. The double good news, they slept off and on all day - giving me some lovely time periods to add info to the crazycancermom site.

The bad news? Are you kidding me?! Anybody thinking it doesn't sound so bad....has obviously not lived with a 4 or 6 yo who doesn't feel good. Lady Whines-A-Lot and Lady Lots-of-Gripes were pure joy in motion. Then there was Sir Yells-So-Much. He was an interesting mixture of pitiful and velcro-him-to-a-wall-able. Truth is, they all looked really pathetic. While they napped most of the afternoon, Daughter #1 stood guard and immersed herself in the Discovery show "How Its Made." Frankly, she saw enough episodes yesterday - she probably earned the equivalent of a few dozen college engineering credits...

Later in the afternoon, I joined the mob for an extended tour of duty. Yes, I still have 100's of things to add to the website. Yes, I'm still trying desperately to avoid the maniacal germ that's flattening my kids. (seriously, I kind of feel like "Dead Woman Walking....I know its out there - just waiting to get me...) But, even self-preservation can be over-ridden by maternal guilt. I gave up my progress and my future health - and joined the bleck bunch.

Who knew my act of selfless surrender would nearly be my dietary undoing? I figured I was just setting myself up for future fevers and aches...not setting myself up to dream about licking bagels. Here's the thing. As you sit quietly on the couch, holding a sleeping baby, you have time to stare at the kitchen... You have time to imagine what butter-laden popcorn would taste like. You have time to mentally squish the bananan and grind the frozen strawberries and peaches into a caloric wonderland of fruit smoothie. You have time dream the forbidden dream....of strawberry cream cheese bagel-land. Ahhhhh...................

Oops, I seem to have gotten a bit off course... The point is, the longer I sat there, the more I began having irrational thoughts of 1001 things I wanted to eat but really didn't need. Funny thing this mind/body of ours. While I've always wistfully looked at the svelte, hard-bodied, fitness gurus - I've never minded tossing those dreams aside for the glorious taste of melting chocolate on my tongue. The mind may tell me I don't need it, but the body screams so LOUDLY that I WANT it, it overshadows the mind in a mere microsecond.

While my body and mind joined forces to declare war on my psyche, I found a new ally...my heart. Was I a walking lunatic? Oh yeah. I opened the 'fridge 50 or so times. I looked in our pantry - easily several dozen times, and I walked aimlessly through the kitchen several dozen more. Daughter #1 won several mommy-points by literally standing nose-to-nose with me and reminding me of my mission. Even the bleck bunch did their best to remind me in feeble little voices that I couldn't cheat. But most of all, my cancer daughter stopped me cold in my tracks. She looked a lot like she did on treatment - tired, pale, miserable. For over two years she felt like she did yesterday, but played, loved, and embraced life. Now, she can act like she feels awful...because now she knows what its like to feel good. That's a blessing I don't take lightly.

I'm starving so more kids have a chance to recognize they're sick - because they have come to again know what "good" is. This may all sound odd to a family not touched by cancer. To families in the fight - the first cold post-treatment is terrifying. But a few colds in - you'll realize, the fact that your child knows they feel awful for a day or two is glorious....because it means they know how it feels to be HEALTHY.

Breakfast: 1/2 C organic oat cereal 1C coffee - 2 TBS creamer

Lunch: 1 hamburger, 1 & 1/2 C sauteed mushrooms, 1/4 C sauteed onions, 1 diet Coke, 1 C coffee with creamer

Dinner: huge multi-greens salad, 2 TBS dressing, 6 pepperoni slices (on salad), 1/2 C cheddar cheese, 1 diet Coke

Exercise: - not much. 20 or 30 trips up and down the stairs - but nothing outside or organized. Thinking this is my major downfall!

September 4, 2007

2007-09-04T21:09:00.000-07:00

Day 2 of my starvation quest, and I'm already having to admit to pathetic weakness.

No, I didn't scarf down an entire box of Girlscout Do-si-does or anything. But rats in fratz, having 4 kids and being "good" blows rather large goats! Sure, sure...mega stars with mega incomes can afford cooks, organic chutney, and separate dining rooms from their progeny. Middle-aged Super Moms don't fair nearly as well.

First there's breakfast.
Kid #3, "Mo-om!" Can I have grapes?" "Yes, sure."
Kid #2, "Mo-om! Can I have cereal?" (sugary cereal - purchased by her father)"Yeah, OK."
Kid #3 - again, "Mo-om!!! I want grapes." "I know, I'm coming."
Enter Kid #1 - who proceeds to get cereal for herself - completely ignoring that she even has siblings - much less starving ones.
Kid #4, "Aaaaahhhhh, Wahhhhhh" - translation, "I need food NOW!" (Kid #4 is 10 months old. )
Kid #3 - again..."Mo-om!!!!! I NEED grapes!!!"

Doesn't this sound conducive to a healthy, cooked and measured repast for mom? Yep, welcome to my world.

As for lunch:
Well, lunch was yet another Festival O' Children. My oldest daughter had a 5 hour long class at her computer school. Said school is over an hour away from home, so that meant that after my "restful" morning of feeding the masses, I got to clean the masses, then load them up for a road trip. While Child #1 nearly croaked of terminal boredom (just ask her, she's convinced), I got to entertain a 6 yo, 4 yo, and 10 mo old by walking endlessly through Halloween aisles and a pet store. Now the well-heeled, well-prepared suburban mom would have packed nutritous snacks in matching food luggage and eaten a balanced meal al fresco, surrounded by joyful progeny. Nope. We ate McDonalds, hiding in an air-conditioned car - dodging Heat Advisory September sweat and battling about whose Chicken McNuggets looked like a boot and whose were just blobby.

Then there's dinner: After a 1+ hour trip to the School of Torment, 5 hours spent milling through retail purgatory, a repeat visit to the pet store to re-ogle pudgy puppies, and 1+ trip home... Well, let's just say that when Kid #3 broached cereal as a dinner food, she quickly moved to Most Favored Child status. Oh yeah, this diet-with-a-family thing is going to be soooo easy.... (read thick, dripping sarcasm here)

Now that you have my list of excuses, here's my attempt at dieting for today.

Breakfast: 2 eggs, 1/4 C Cheddar cheese, 1/4 C onion, 1/4 C tomato, 1 mushroom, 1 huge C coffee - w/3 TBS creamer

Lunch: 2 McDonalds chicken wraps (OK, so a diet should never say Qty = 2. Bite me! You'll notice there is no Big Mac or fries listed here. Trust me, I was hungry and bitter about it!) 1 Diet Coke

Dinner: 4 oz imitation crabmeat, 1 Diet Coke, 1/2 C organic oat cereal (1/2 C - 140 cal w/o milk! Argghhhh)

Post dinner: Pure misery. Starvation. Bitter, bitter rantings about the size of my keester and how I got myself into this. Rantings promptly followed by Giant Cup of Coffee #2 for the day - to fuel my late night griping....

Exercise: Did you not read the actual post?! I shopped for 4 hours straight with a 20 lb baby in a backpack, lifting a 4yo in and out of the cart, hiking 200 miles through rough retail terrain. Should have been on a treadmill? Should have ridden a stationary bike? Lifted weights?

Bite me.

September 3, 2007

2007-09-04T20:38:00.000-07:00

Well, its been a ridiculously long time coming…but Ta Da!!! Dum dum dum dum… (that’s meant to be the musical forboding Dum dums - not a synonym for me) It’s Fat-A-Thon time!

Hopefully, I’ve answered the “Why” on the home page for the Fat-A-Thon. This blog is for the day-to-day “How” and well, frankly, my calorie-restricted-rantings. I mean, hello….I didn’t get to be this size by hating food. I will be experiencing stupid amounts of stress, withdrawal, and if the past is any indication - hallucinations of talking bagels begging to be my “friend”. So, this is where I will attempt to exorcise my dark chocolate demons and purge my perils of pudge.

Every now and again I have decided to assault you with my Rubenesque self. I figure, how can I truly convince you that I’m committed to the cause and actually losing weight - if I don’t show you? Admittedly, large parts of me think I probably should be committed for doing this…but in for a penny, in for a pound - they say. Or in my case…in for 100 pounds!

The other part of this daily blog is to share what I’ve done to work toward my goal that day - or how I’ve dismally failed, if that’s the case. I’ll end each day with a list of what I’ve eaten and how I’ve exercised. Could I cheat and lie? Sure! But good grief, how many fat-lady pics do you think I want to publish? I’m nuts, but not completely insane!

So, for tonight, I’ll sign off. The Fat-A-Thon has officially begun. May God, Richard Simmons, and the Hershey Chocolate Company have mercy on my soul….

Breakfast: 2 eggs, 1/4 C cheddar cheese, 1/4 C tomato, 1/4 C onion, 1 C coffee w/2 TBS creamer

Lunch: 6 oz imitation crabmeat, 2 pieces of nectarine, 1 piece of red plum, 8 oz water, 1 Diet Coke

Dinner: 8 oz water, 1 Diet Coke, 2 Apple Crisp Crunchy granola bars (2 bars/pks = 1 serving)
Exercise: Walked in the “blazing sun” (according to my short people) for 1 & 1/4 miles. Strained every brain cell I’ve ever owned getting the site up and running.