Leukemia

For the past month and a half, my beloved brother has been dealing with his leukemia and it's been shitty.  Real shitty.  I don't know how to adequately describe how I've been feeling because my emotions have been all over the place.  I'm sad, angry, sad, heartbroken, super sad, anxious, stressed, burnt out, and super fucking sad.  I want to scream all the time.  I want to scream as loud as I can from the top of a building.  I want to shout, "FUCK!" until my throat is raw.  I want to take a bat to the ground until I don't have the strength to lift it up anymore.  I want to punch the walls.  I want to run.  I want to run so far away.  I want to cry and scream and not wake up until the leukemia is gone.  As I type this, I want to puke.  I want to puke all of my insides out.  This isn't supposed to happen.  It wasn't supposed to happen.  Anyone but my brother.  Why not me?  Not my brother.

From one moment to the next, things can change.  It did here.  Brother's body started resisting his meds for CML and, in a week, it accelerated into ALL, a very aggressive form of leukemia.  It grew so rapidly and my brother was in so much pain that briefly, I feared the worse.  And yet, I didn't cry.  I held it in.  I didn't want to cry like I did last time.  And yet, one day, while I was visiting, I was informed that brother needed a lumbar puncture to check if the leukemia was in his spine, which is bad.  And they wheeled him away and I stood there, holding in those tears, screaming at them from the inside, "Don't you dare fall.  Don't you dare trickle out of my eye because I know you won't be the only tear. You'll bring your friends. DON'T YOU DARE FALL OUT!"  As soon as brother was out of the room and down the hall, I sat down, held my face in the palms of my hands and cried.  I cried puddles of tears into my hands and sobbed.  The BNC, who must have developed ninja skills because I didn't hear him creep up to me, all while holding The Kid, stroked my hair, held his hand on my head and then left.  He knew I didn't want Noah to see me like this.  

The sleepless nights I endured when I was younger have returned.  I lay awake at night, hiding my insomnia from the BNC, and think horrible thoughts.  The Kid never really kept me up but my brother's disease does.  I think of all that he has gone through and all that he will have to go through.  I think about how I need to not cry in his presence.  How I need to keep it together for his sake and for our parents' sake.  I think about The Kid and how he can't see me upset because kids are smart.  Brother was upset one day and Noah came over and stood in front of him and held his knee.  I'm sure he knows something's up and I'm preparing myself should he ever ask me about memories he has from this time.

All the doctor appointments, the special tests, the blood transfusions, the chemo treatments, the dialysis for his blood, the lumbar punctures, the loss of hair, the pneumonia, the biopsies, the bruises on his back and his arms, the port on his chest, the morphine-filled phone calls in the middle of the night because he was so doped up he didn't know what time it was, the special clean room he was in, the move to the ICU because he developed heart arrhythmia, the throat infection, talk of a bone marrow transplant, Sportscenter all day, and my brother laying there, doing it all, fighting back his tears, not wanting to be there, and slowly breaking my heart watching this, this is what we've been through otherwise known as my family's darkest hour.  

I thought a lot about my brother during this time but also of my mom.  Now that I am a mother, I have looked at her in a whole different light and have grown to admire her so much more than I already had.  However, I cannot imagine what she went through, and still is, as her son, her youngest child, battles leukemia.  I prayed for her.  I asked people to pray for her.  I don't know what I would have done had it been my own kid going through all of this, feeling powerless because the one thing you want, enduring this rather than your kid, isn't going to happen.  My momma had already lost a son, born before me, and I know it changed her.  She still thinks of her lost son, mourns for him, wonders what he would have been doing now so watching her 33 year-old son lay there, broke her heart all over again.  My dad, watching all of this, crying, begging God to spare his son, all while my brother shed hair and spoke incoherently to people who were not in the room.  

And is spite of this awful time, I look to my faith to help me keep it together.  I don't question why or how because it can drive you mad, but rather, I seek strength during these most difficult times and I must be getting it because I've made it this far without cracking.  I do beg.  I beg just like I did that time 4+ years ago.  I beg for my brother and I won't stop begging.  I also have had the BNC, who has been a rock to me and my family.  He's run errands for us and checked in on Brother when we couldn't.  The support of family and friends has been overwhelming.  Just this past Saturday, a benefit was held to help raise some funds for Brother whose short term disability will end soon and, if he's not back at work in January, will have to be let go.  Our goal more than doubled.  It was amazing and so emotional and I wish I could thank everyone who is praying for us.  It was quite the job to handle all the phone calls and texts from people wanting to help.  My brother's friends are amazing.  I started coordinating who could visit and take food otherwise Brother would have had about 10 dinners taken to him each evening.  I'm glad we aren't alone.

I also have my Noah who celebrated his first birthday while B was in the hospital.  He's hit several milestones during this time as well such as walking, drinking milk, dancing, learning to be gentle with the cats, etc.  He's been a joy and part of my salvation.

My beloved B, the light of my life, my growing-up partner in crime, one of my bestest friends, one of my favorite people, how I love thee...

Feliz Dia de las Madres

In Mexico, May 10 is always Mother's Day.  Always.  You can't forget it.  I have yet to speak to my Ama (my grandma) but maybe she is still asleep since she likes to party hard and didn't answer the phone when I tried contacting her at 6a today.  Or, maybe she knows it was me and is letting me sweat because I called so early. 

Anyhow, I took my mom out to lunch today and, since my Old Man tends to be off on Tuesdays, he was more than happy to join in.  May as well since he filled the role of mom when she was off making some paper.

The role of Favorite Daughter is stressful and requires much time but the reward is immeasurable. 

Happy birthday, Mom

My mom, beautiful, wise, optimistic and strong, turns 57 today.  I have sung the praises of the Old Man many times here before so my mom is due up for one.

Let me tell you, she is quite a woman.  She taught me many, many things stemming from cooking some of the specialties my Grandma, her mom, taught her, to never playing second fiddle to anyone.  I enjoy the Saturdays I spend driving her around as she runs her errands, visits friends, looks at every dang thing at Ikea, and, telling me every detail of her week.  Sure, it's tiring but, it's my mom.  She sacrificed so much for her family and it's a small price to pay in my effort to pay her back.  Ah, moms and their soothing touch, the one thing that makes it all better. 

The Good and The Bad Can Equal The Ugly

It looks good, doesn't it? A chocolate cupcake with icing and sprinkles and a little bit of chocolate with a mixer on it. But let me tell you, after deciding to try one after we had some Chuy's mexican food for our male co-worker's baby shower, I quickly regretted the decision. It was bad. They come from Crave Cupcakes, a place so many people on Yelp actually rave about. The cake part had no flavor, no moisty goodness, nothing. I spit it out immediately. The aftertaste was worse. So disappointing. Looks like a boobie to me though.

After visiting a friend Friday evening and coming home to an empty fridge, I stopped by and got us some Popey's chicken. I haven't eaten Popeye's in a really long time so why not? Never disappoints.

Saturday, I clocked in some good quality time with my mom. I usually like to take her to places she hasn't been to before and this time it was 5 Guys Burgers and Fries. I'm not too crazy about it since the cheeseburger is nothing to having sexy dreams about but their fries, both types, are yummy. Personally, Smashburger is so much more better but that's me. Afterwards, we watched the World Cup to see USA lose against Ghana. It was to be expected. Good memorable games, USA. Don't you let them tell you any different.

Buffalo Wild Wild Wings with one of my BFFs before the BNC's show. I think he's using me to drive so he can drink. As long as he picks up the tab then I'm good. We're planning on coming here for UFC this Saturday.

In other news, Mexico lost in their World Cup game yesterday against MFing Maradona and Argentina. Whatever. And with that, all my teams are out. Sigh. Good luck to the remaining teams except Argentina. Just saying.

A Wee Little Margie

Even as a kid I knew. I knew I looked different. I knew I was of the paler persuasion. The comments, even if they were meant as compliments, drove a little dagger into my heart. Even the treatment was different than what my brothers got. It was that extra special favorite treatment and while others may welcome it, I loathed it. It just put a spotlight on how different I looked from everyone else. I thought I was adopted until I met my Grandpa and noticed we shared the same colored eyes (brown but just a tad on the light side and let's not even get into the light brown and curly hair) as well as some birthmarks and the dimple on the right cheek. However, those differences with my family are much more noticeable now. For instance, everyone is darker than me and my youngest brother, B, is 6' 3" tall. I'm 5' 1". I know that I am my parent's daughter, that's not the issue. The issue, with me, is that so many people find it hard to believe that my brothers and I are related directly. But, I get it. Look at how much more different I am from my mom when I was a wee little baby.

It got to the point that when my parents would take me to the zoo, or other public places, people would ask how much they charged for babysitting. Get it? My parents are Mexican, as am I. It solicits laughs but ugh, I just wanted to fit it. Being a girl didn't help. It added to the complex I already had. For Easter lunch last month, B and I were reminiscing about our younger days and the year other kids moved onto our block. KIDS! It was awesome. It was the year Transformers the animated movie came out. A 3D movie also premiered on network TV and you could get the glasses at the convenience store. Sleepovers were involved as well. Then, they moved away. There were sleepovers involved afterwards. However, who didn't go? Me. Why? Because I was a girl despite B being younger than me by a whole 3 years and my older brother beging 4 years older than me. At this point, there is nothing I can do about that. But, boy, it hurt bad. Which is why, whenever I could, I did what I wanted and with the boys. Damnit if I was going to be the only left out cause I didn't have a twig and berries between my legs. So back to the Easter lunch, B asks me why I never went with him and our older brother to these excursions with our neighbors. I told him to ask his mom. When he asked her, the reply was, "I didn't know you wanted to go." I almost fell over. It was then when I said to my mom, "Should I ever have children and one of them is a girl, I will tell her she can do whatever she wants. No gender rules holding her back." Bitty Girl is a cat but damnit if I don't get a kick out of her taking Logan or Apolo on. She's tiny compared to them and she will hold her own.

But, I still look different and I cannot describe how much of a sore spot it is for me. Sigh, big sigh. I know I imposed this on myself and I have no one to blame for how I feel about the color issue but, as far as the gender issue, my mom has a little to do with it. But, like I said, not much I can do about the past.

On a semi-related note, and belated, Happy Cinco de Mayo! I, in usual fashion, hung out with the loud Mexicans at my company's industry party for an unrelated issue. Orale, pinches!

My Mom Talks Too Much

It's true. I just dialed her up and this is kinda-sorta how it went:

(Translated on her part. My part is a mixture of english and spanish.)

"Hi mom."

"Hi mija! How are you?"

"I'm ok. I'm just working."

"I have to go to Reliant later for a meeting. I have to be at Jack-in-the-Box at 3p so we can all caravan over. I already made your dad his dinner. Nopales (cactus) and I am cooking the beans right now. They should be done soon. Also, some broccoli with cheese and rice. I'm sorry I missed your call earlier. I was talking to one of my friends about the meeting. And then I was outside messing with my plants because it's gorgeous out there but too cold in the house so much so that I had to have the heat on. I spoke to your aunt and her and the kids are doing better. She missed 2 days of work but everyone is better now. She went to visit your Grandma in Mexico a few weeks ago, did I tell you that? So, we're thinking about going over there for Easter but I'm not sure. Your dad says that it's up to me but we might just go but I don't know. How was your doctor's appointment?"

"It went well. I don't have to go back until September."

"Oh, that is great news! I need to go to the doctor because I'm running low on medications. And.."

"Hey mom, I have to go. Call you later?"

"Sure. I didn't call you earlier cause I know you're at work and I don't want to bother you. Love you. Bye."

"Ok mom."

/end

Even I'm tired.