red shoes

Initially, and even beyond initially, treatment wasn't really an option. Mom isn't a good candidate for surgery because her tumors are substantial in size. And chemo is a brutal battle she has fought before and isn't willing to fight again, at least not the same way, given the recurrence rates of ovarian cancer. So she's almost a week into what I am calling 'chemo-light'. It's a very small dose of a very toxic drug. This is a trial period to see if she can tolerate it. If it doesn't make her sick, if her body doesn't revolt in response to the pill that she's not even supposed to touch with her skin (but put in her mouth?!?!) then the doctor will double the dosage. This is one of six oncologists she has seen for opinions. But this guy is also a palliative care doctor. And he's willing to work with her. He understands here paralyzing fear of chemo again, he knows the cards are stacked against us, but he's willing to try. And use baby st...

It's been a month. It seems like an eternity and a blink all at once. A month ago our lives were changed, forever. It sounds dramatic. Uber dramatic actually. But it's true. None of us will ever be the same from this journey. Wherever it leads will change each of us. I've learned that my Mom is more stunning than ever. She's always been pretty. She's got a Carly Simon-esque smile that has always lit up a room. The years have been kind to her and she's aged gracefully. But lately when I look at pictures we take, she looks absolutely gorgeous. It's like I can see her spirit shining through. It warms me. Brings me peace. I love seeing her happy. I've learned that none of us can do this alone. There have been serious sob-fests in the last month. Ones where your legs buckle underneath you and you can't breathe. Those kinds.  They take 'ugly crying' to the next level. If you're alone when one of those hits, it's even worse. Misery loves...

I'm pretty sure I just graduated from high school or maybe college. Either way, I'm not old enough for this sometimes. This is the shit grown ups deal with. I can't possibly be a grown up. I'm 35. And a half. Been married for almost 12 years and have three kids. And a dog. Somehow though, my Mom being sick reduces me to 10 years old some days (mostly on days that end in Y). Today is one of those days. It's ovarian cancer. Still stage IV. Doesn't matter how many times I hear that, it still stops me dead in my tracks. Makes my arms and legs feel numb. My Mom is not going to survive this. This isn't one of those cancer battles where we wear ribbons and walk around a track and cheer her on and then celebrate and use words like remission. This one is different from that. And I can't change it, fix it, control it. There's literally NOTHING I can do. I mentioned before that Mom changed her diet when she learned more about what cancer feeds on, what he...

It's horrible and gut wrenchingly terrible and wonderful at at once. My brother is here. The original four were together last night. The OG, Original Gangsters. It was like we were whole again. We need to be whole so badly right now.  There was some news from doctors yesterday. None of it good, none of it that we didn't already know, but every time you hear it it's like being mowed down by a boulder. The cancer is rare and aggressive and it could be coming from a few places. We knew all of that. And the surgery is rough and it comes with chemo. And if it's all successful, that gets her 5 years, maybe . 50% of people get 5 years after enduring the surgery and the poisoning. Then it comes back. And you die. The other 50% don't make it 5 years. So first you have a horribly invasive surgery where they basically scrub your organs, then they poison you. You lose your hair, throw up constantly, have mouth sores and steroids and all of these horrific side effects she...

Kind and brave. That's what I tell my kids every morning before school. Be kind and be brave. Lately I've been on the receiving end of the 'be kind' portion of that mantra. "Be kind to yourself, Corey". I'm trying. We have these amazing kids. But along with being amazing and smart and adorable and funny and pretty much perfect, they're kids. And they can be assholes on occasion. Usually I can take those moments in stride. Usually when someone rolls their eyes when I request that the let the dog, who has been outside barking for five minutes, inside I give them the look and they know. The Mom look. It's a furrowing of the brow and a pursing of the lips that says 'don't mess with me, I am one step away from losing IT'.   I learned that look from my Mom, by the way. Usually if one of them wants to argue about helping with the trash or doing homework before they play iPad, it's an easy fix, there's no yelling and no one loses ...

My Mom taught me to always write thank you notes. Hand write them. Consider this handwritten. Dear Hurricane Matthew, We owe you a thank you, for a lot of reasons. We now know how to prepare for a massive hurricane. For four days we were warned of your impending arrival, a gig I know well having spent a decade in television news. Comparisons were made to Andrew. "Matthew will be the largest hurricane to hit Florida in 10 years". Even the natives were restless. But we were ready dammit. When you see video of lines at the gas station, or empty grocery shelves, it's real. It was so real in our suburban oasis in South Florida. But thanks to you Matt, we know how to close our hurricane shutters. We know when the lines start at the gas station and when the grocery stores run out of water. We now have the things we need should a hurricane hit next week. Provided we don't drink the bottles of water or spend the cash. So that's cool, thank you. Also, thank you fo...

Every morning I wake up and for a half a second I hope this was all just a horrible nightmare. It's not. But that half a second of hope is nice. We don't have a lot of hope right now. We have a lot of hurt.  We have three kids. Three different times we have welcomed miracles into the world. And each time there's this wonderful sensation that the world stops turning. That it's just me and this new, delicious smelling, beautiful creature we created, and Dan. The three of us inside this magical bubble where nothing can hurt us or bother us. Each time we are able to forget that life is going on outside of our little magic bubble, just for a little while. It's this wonderful respite and time to reflect on how lucky we are. Then the bubble pops, you realize life hasn't stopped for the rest of the world and you've got poop on your hands. But you still have this amazing creature to get to know and love and nurture.  10 days ago my family moved into a bubble. It...

I didn't write yesterday. I wasn't feeling it. I wasn't really feeling anything. I was just numb. Emotionally and physically. I cried a lot less than I had in the week prior. I think maybe it was my body's way of giving me a reprieve from the searing pain we have all been in for the last 7 days. There's no manual for this. For coping with a death sentence. I want to pretty much spend every waking moment with my Mom. I want to soak all of her in, savor every second, hang on every word. I want her to share every bit of knowledge and experience and wisdom she's been holding back (although if you know  her, there's probably not much she's held back.). I want to eat big meals and drink bottles of wine and dance and sing and laugh. I want my brother to be here with us. I want us to all sit around a table and laugh until we cry about the tube socks he wore when he was 4 or about me pooping in the bed after my spinal fusion because Dad couldn't get me up o...

I love to write. But I hate why I'm writing.  What follows is the running journal I've been keeping since my Mom was given a devastating diagnosis on September 23, 2016. I plan to use the blog as a platform to share information but mostly to share our journey.  September 23, 2016 It's Friday. I live for Fridays. We just moved. Three kids, a dog. Husband too.  It wasn't a far move but it might as well be Africa. Everything is new. New people, new streets, new grocery store, new gym, new school, new life. And I left behind my people. MY people. So I live for Fridays because my person, my lobster, my main man is home from work for a couple solid days. There's another set of hands, more adult conversation, I live for Fridays. Started off like any other. The book fair at the new school is next week. I volunteered to set up, do some heavy lifting, get to know some other moms. Scholastic Books has it down. They ship these giant containers on wheels and you open t...