No One Fights Alone

My life is a walking contradiction.

I am happy and sad.

I am angry and understanding.

I am proud and defeated.

I feel like my brother passed so long ago but it also feels like yesterday.

Grief is suffocating.  I feel so many things.  I feel so many emotions in the blink of an eye.  For example, this morning, memories of my brother popped into my head.  (They always do.)  And I was suddenly overcome with tears and pain.  I begged B to help me, to ask God to help me.  And, just like that, my moment passed.  My brother was hospitalized a year ago.  My baby's birthday is coming up and it reminds me of last year when I wanted to cancel the party but B told me that the "show must go on" so I didn't.  I was so happy that day and so heartbroken that B wasn't there.  I only relented because I told B to get better so he wouldn't miss anymore.  The fact that he won't physically be there breaks my heart all over again.  The reminder that things can change in 1 year is also gut wrenching.  I miss my brother oh so very much and I just still cannot believe, 3 months later, that I have lost my brother.

I want to share this video of Stuart Scott giving his speech at this year's ESPYs.  I never liked to say my brother lost his fight to leukemia but I couldn't find the right words.  Mr. Scott did.

"You beat cancer by how you live, why you live and in the manner in which you live. 
And when you get too tired to fight, then lay down and rest and let someone else fight for you."

Stuart Scott's ESPY Speech

Yes.  That is it.  

I love you, B.  I miss you terribly.  

My Beloved B

My beloved brother passed away on April 20, 2014.  He was surrounded by his family and some friends and it was easy and hard to send him to set him free; to be at peace.

I just don't know how this happened.  How did I get here?  How is this possible?  How did I manage to pick out a casket for my brother and not lose my shit completely?  How?  I had to walk away at the cemetery.  I couldn't see them lower my beloved B into the ground.  I couldn't even pick up his certificate last week.  Too much reality.

How do I go forward?  How do I exist in a world where my brother isn't?  I can't pick him up.  Can't call him. Can't text him.  WTF?  How the fuck did this happen?  How the fuck did I lose the light of my life?  This has always been my worst nightmare and that now I'm living it.  This is some bullshit.  FUCKING BULLSHIT.  I feel like someone broke into my home and robbed me.  Leukemia came in and robbed me of my beloved B.  FUCK YOU, LEUKEMIA!  FUCK YOU!  How dare you think I am going to sit back and allow you to get away with this.  FUCK YOU.  I'm coming for you.  I will work hard to keep you from doing this to someone else.  FUCK YOU.  FUCK YOU.

I miss my brother so much.  I love him so much.  I'm so broken inside.  I'm so lost.  I wait for him to come into my dreams.  I want to tell him once more of how much I love him, how much he means to me.  What is a sister called when she loses her little brother?

I love you, B.  I love you so much.  I'm so sorry I couldn't take this away from you.  I'm sorry.  I tried.  I begged.  I will miss you every day.  I will love you more every day until we are reunited.  Please, give me strength to make it until then.  

All my love always,

Your sister, B.

Liz Lemon!

Everything reminds me of my brother.  Everything.  I see a Liz Lemon quote, I laugh and think, "OMG, I have to call B!" only to quickly remember he's still hospitalized in ICU.  This morning, while watching Sportscenter, it happened again.  I plan on making spaghetti and realize that I can't save him any because he won't be eating it for a while.

God help me if anything happens to my brother....God help me indeed.

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...

Parenthood

What they don't tell you about Parenthood is that 99% of the time you will spend it in fear.  You will live in fear and you will love in fear.  It's an awful way to live but that's Parenthood for you.

The Kid was sick last week and, at first, I thought he had gotten what I had which was the flu.  I had to go to the doctor's because I knew I was not going to be able to beat it on my own.  Sure enough, The Kid developed a fever, puked and got a runny nose.  A doctor's visit cleared him of strep throat as well as the flu so yay.  He had the fever for the next few days until Saturday morning when he woke up with a normal temperature.  Sunday morning is when he woke up with a rash on his belly and back.  Our pediatrician indicated that it wasn't measles and it would go away on its own.  What was it?  Roseola.  You would think that it would have calmed me down but in case you haven't figured this out by now, it didn't.  It broke my heart into a billion little pieces watching The Kid smile at me as his belly was all blotchy.  Fear.  Fear, coupled with anxiety, has taken over my life.  Last night, I drifted in and out of sleep as I thought about The Kid and the illness he was going to get as the years went on.  I thought about how much anxiety it was going to give me and how I was going to keep cool hand Luking it all, as I have since his birth, while my insides caved into themselves and I screamed a billion screams while I watch my son, my beautiful son, cough and cough because he didn't know you have to cough it up and spit it out.  Fear.  Mind you, I'm not talking about making sure his new clothes were washed in Dreft and that his water only came from that endless spring in the mountains because I don't do that.  Nah.  The Kid wears new clothes that I didn't wash first, etc.  I'm not trying to raise a child who only drinks Fiji Water. (Unless I had to.)  My fear comes from the fact that I was a sick kid.  I got the flu about every other month.  My bout with chicken pox (where I was covered in it) overlapped with my bout with the measles.  I was THAT kid.  That kid who got a horrible cough because I went out at night without a jacket.  About the few things giving me any kind of comfort are simple facts such as breastfeeding and thus passing on my immunities to The Kid.  But, that is of little comfort because anything can happen.  I'm hoping and praying that he inherited his dad's knack for avoiding illness since he escaped my flu-demic.  Time will tell what side of the coin The Kid will land on.

Despite all the worry and fear consuming my life now, it's that 1% that makes it worth while.  I could have an awful day at work and come home to a baby who is all smiles and laughter and my awful day is immediately forgotten.  He's is a complete joy despite waking up at 3a today and deciding he just wanted to hang out.  That was a first.  At least he wasn't up screaming his head off or sick.  It's the little things.

Welcome to Parenthood.

Genetics

Lately I've begun to think about what The Kid may have inherited from me.  I'm not talking about that dimple he seems to have gotten from me or the gorgeous brown, wavy hair he has, which could have come from either one of us.  I'm more concerned about illnesses.  He's already has diabetes to worry about since I was, after all, diabetic and pregnant with him.  But, I'm more concerned about his mental health.  I've battled depression throughout my life and, after many therapy sessions, felt well enough to stop going.  Then, post partum depression hit and I had to resort to medication because no amount of therapy would have helped with what I was going through.  Recently, I've had a few setbacks that need to be addressed so I will have to make an appointment with my therapist soon.  I'm a huge advocate for mental health because I know having everything doesn't mean happiness.  Depression is awful and it's awful for those around you.  It's perfectly described in those commercials for anti-depressants.  It really does hurt all over.  Struggling to come up with a reason to get out of bed is hard if you, a non-depressive person, can understand.  Even if the only reason you have to get out of bed is to quiet a hungry cat then there is your reason.  There should be no shame in needing therapy and/or anti-depressants.  And all of this makes me think about Noah and what he may have inherited from me in this particular area.  I plan on being honest and open about my history in hopes that should he ever need help, that he can talk to me.  Isn't that every parent's wish?  To have their child feel comfortable enough to talk to them about any problems or issues they have?  I hope and pray that my son can and will.

The End Result

I know that I have taken my sweet time with a follow-up post concerning the birth of my son.  My apologies.  In a nutshell, shit happens.  What kind of shit?  Oh, I dunno.  An unscheduled c-section because your son's heart rate is not responding very well to the contractions which led to unbelievable pain afterwards.  That pain prohibited me from rising out of bed to tend to my crying baby.  But how can I soothe my baby when he refused to latch on so I could feed him?  That was just the start.

The Baby Blues came in full force.  I already felt like a failure for not being able to properly birth my son so not being able to tend to him and feed him added to it.  But, the Baby Blues will happen to just about anyone.  It's the Post Partum Depression that one has to be on the lookout for afterwards.  (And here is my warning because I am about to open up more than I am prone to.)  I have battled depression before so I knew very well that I could go back there after giving birth.  I knew what I was supposed to look out for; the thoughts, the pain and the tears.  For a few hours, after the BNC went off to work and before my mom came over to help me as I recuperated, I would cry.  I would cry as I held my son and begged his forgiveness at my inability to be a good mother to him.  I begged that he forget how awful I was being.  It was a dark hole that, at the time, I didn't see any light.  I heard nothing but static in an empty room and I just simply couldn't find the door.  The anxiety was absolutely horrible.  I dreaded stepping out of the house for simple things such as buying bread.  I hated being outside as well as being away from my son.

But then, upon my own realization of the type of hole I found myself in, I visited my doctor and cried to her about it all.  God bless that woman.  She handed me a tissue, put her hand on my shoulder and told me that all was going to be okay.  She gave me Zoloft and kept me from returning back to work for a few more weeks.  I love her.

And, just like that, I got better.  I woke up with energy and a smile.  Yes, it takes a while for the medication to kick in but the simple fact that I was doing something about it made me feel a bit better.  I was on the road to getting better.  A month later and I am calm and happy.  If I am alone all day with my son, I don't panic at all whereas previously, I had a mini-meltdown when my mom was unable to stop by and lend a hand.  Of course, it helps a great deal when you have a very happy baby.

Noah is now 2 months old and I finally able to feel like his mother.  I still marvel at him.  I am amazed that I am a mother to a beautiful and healthy baby.  My diabetes didn't affect him at all.  That makes every sacrifice I did while pregnant worth it.  

19

19 weeks so far.  Aside from a few painful leg cramps and the inability to eat whatever I want, things have gone rather smoothly.  Tomorrow marks the halfway mark.  Still 4 months to go.

Great Expectations

  

Yup, good old Margie went and got herself knocked up and on purpose too! Today marks the 14th week and, so far, so good.  Both the BNC and I are very happy and scared and excited and just happy.  It was a very planned pregnancy and surprisingly, we conceived a few months after officially trying. 

It hasn't been without its worries.  I'm 35 years old and diabetic so I'm a high risk pregnancy already.  But, my A1c is sitting beautifully at 5.9 which, according to my endo, means that I may not have to take insulin at any point during the pregnancy.  It's quite the surprise since pregnant diabetics most likely will have to at one point.  My diet is even more strict though.  No aspartame, no diet drinks or foods, no caffeine, no yummy bologna or hot dogs or soft cheeses.   Ouch.  But, it's for the greater good.  I've been a walking fool as well.  With all these restrictions though, I've managed to lose 11 pounds and yet The Astronaut, as we've dubbed him/her, is growing and looking good.  

Given all this, I've never felt dumber in my entire life than I do right now mostly because I haven't really experienced any pregnancy symptoms such as morning sickness.  It gets me worried that I haven't but, my doctor says it's ok.  Everything going on with me is normal, and that eases my worries.  Thank goodness for books and understanding doctors.  

So, here I am.  All knocked up and scared to death.  It's going to be a good trip.

Merry New Year!

And just like that, 2011 is over.  My 2011 New Year's Resolution was to make a list of places to eat at that either I had never been to or it'd been a while.  

As you can see, I didn't make it.  It sucks but oh well.  Perhaps in the new year I can finally make there but in Houston, many new and yummy restaurants open up and well, may as well add them to The List.  I'm not going to make a new list though.  If I make it, I make it.

My New Year's Resolution for 2012 though is to focus more on my own health.  According to my own doctor's, I'm doing very well.  But, with diabetes, I want to get better.  I always want to get better.

A much better update to follow detailing how I spent my summer and fall and the beginning oh winter.  

Beef jerky time.

The Summer of Margie

I had cousins, the naughty ones that always got you in trouble kind, that, even if they passed the school year, were forced to attend summer school.  It wasn't a strategic move in order for my aunt to get her kids ahead on their education (cause 2 of them turned out to be high school dropouts) but rather, it was just a move to get them out of her hair.  It was brilliant because they were unruly.  I used to be jealous of such an opportunity not because I loved school (well a little since they had books and toys and crayons and my friends) but shit, you try keeping your cool in hot ass Mexico where an air conditioning unit was for the rich.  AC units aren't pricey but as hot as Mexico was, that meant the unit would be on 24/7 leading to a high electricity bill.  Just thinking about it and I can feel myself getting itchy and sweaty. 

I should mention that we got shipped out to Grandma's house in Mexico every damn summer.

What's my point?  I'm going to severely cut back on my blogging posts this summer.  With my recent book store visits lately, I've amassed several books that are in desperate need of being loved.  Today I will finally receive the next book in the series I am reading.  After trying to find it at the used bookstores, I had to use Amazon and order it.   It cost me $2 and it is tattered and I love it.  I'm super excited about it afterall, reading is FUNdamental.

I'll continue to tackle My List of Places to eat in 2011, Netflix love, cooking with Bitty but I'll also be reading more, which means less TV, and I'll be rejoining a bowling league on Friday nights.  Side Note: The first night I joined a bowling league, 10 years ago, Tropical Storm Allison hit and we spent the night in the bowling alley.  Sometimes you can't make this shit up.  And we're back.

I'm calling this summer, The Summer of Margie, just like George except I'll continue to work.  There are several books to read, movies to watch (HP, Green Lantern, Captain America), parks to visit, trips to plan, friends to hang out with, new food to eat and, let's not forget,  I'll be turning 35 at the end of the summer.  And while I have no plans to cease stumping for Harry, sleeping with Buster or watching Jem and the Holograms, it's a big number.  Basically, I have a pre-35 bucket list.  I have several things I'm working on that, as much as I want to, I cannot share with you at the moment.  But, trust me, I will.  So, I'm going to have fun this summer.  I'm going to try and do so many things, most of which are going to be new adventures for me, but, at the same time, I'm planning on chilling a lot with the cats and my books.  Posting is going to be erratic and, since I won't be trying to make proper posts for you, I've started a tumblr where posting a single picture is more than enough.  Feel free to follow me there. 

Lastly, share with me your summer reading, or whatever it is you have going on this summer.  Maybe I'll join you. 

After These Messages

Doing some spring cleaning at home and at work.  Please pardon the mess.

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. 

Flashback Friday (Thursday)

One day, my phantom children will look at these pictures and giggle about how old they look.  They'll notice the wood paneling, the orange couch, the fluffy carpeting but not before they notice that I was wearing socks with sandals before Kevin Federline did it. 

They'll notice that I sucked my thumb and I will tell the story of how old I was when my mom traumatized me into getting off the pacifier for good.  (It involved a roach.)

But it's the clothes that we'll talk about more than anything else.  My cute little dress, despite my underwear showing, even if it matched my dress and my cute, pink long sleeved tee with my brown plaid pants. 

The 70's were a grand time (for the 3 years and some months in which I was alive).  I was 3 years old in these photos and I remember most of the moments as they were captured on film.

Blah Again

I have a cold.  Another cold.  Just wonderful.  Even Logan is like, "Dude, shut up.  Can't you see my stories are on.  While you're up, can I get a treat?"

Elizabeth Taylor

By now I'm sure you've learned that Dame Elizabeth Tayor is gone.  I'm completely saddened about it.  This woman was amazing.  UH-MAZING.  She was beautiful beyond anyone's comprehension and yet she was just as equally, if not more, known for her compassion to HIV/AIDS and those living with the disease.  I, like many others, I'm certain of it, enjoyed her films, her perfume and her honest approach to all subjects.  She was even the voice of Maggie Simpson even if she uttered the one word, "Daddy" referencing Homer.  What a unique woman, the last great movie star.  I cried when Gregory Peck died and tonight, I'll go home, watch one of her many movies, the standard retrospective on the news, and shed a tear for a woman I admired from afar. 

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. 

Thanks Dad

I bought a car this past weekend and, with a bit of a broken heart, I had to return it on the advice of the Old Man.  I'm almost certain now that a catastrophe was looming underneath the hood and, luckily, it was averted thanks to him.  I've been thinking about him since, and how he views me.  Does he still see me as a child, like the one pictured above where I was trying to pose just like him, or does he see me as the 34 year-old that I am?  I'm okay with the former and I get it.  I'm his daughter, his only daughter, and I asked for advice and he gave it to me straight.  I've asked for help perhaps a handful of times, as a last resort because my thinking was, and always has been, I'm an adult, I can handle this.  I don't need your help.  But, I get it now wherein I never did before.  They want to help.  They want you to be safe and happy.  They won't be mad or annoyed that you bothered them.  So, here I am, ready to be treated as a kid, so to speak, by my dad, the man who loves me like no other man will.  Thanks, dad, for always being there for me.  I'm sorry that I'm a stubborn mule.  I got it from mom so go yell at her.  $20 on mom.  ;) 

Lent

After last year's, too high potassium readings from some blood work done on Good Friday, I'm not participating in the No-Meat Fridays thing.  Also, I'm not giving up a certain food, etc.  Instead, I will focus on my baseball catching skills, still under construction, mind  you, as well as my awesome kite flying skills.  Skills, I gots 'em, yo.  In other words, I will hit up the park as much I can, a park only 3 blocks from my home.  The park where I flew kites when I was a wee little one. 

The only thing the BNC and I are giving up is going to our beloved House of Pies for our Sunday breakfast.  Instead we will save that money to either give to charity or purchase something for us.  It will be a little hard since they know us there but it's Lent.  However, you know what will be hard?  Cooking.  The BNC will be fasting while I won't so what to make for dinner will be a little tricky.  I will try to fast when I can but I have a date with the Lab soon with a visit to the endo 2 weeks after.  I'm afraid that what happened last year will happen again if I do abstain for the whole meat thing on Fridays, including the 3 days before Easter, the toughest time of all.  So, I'm prepared to make some potato patties, eggplant lasagna, lentils with shallots, green beans with tomatoes and that stuff the BNC loves while I sneak in some protein on the side at dinner time. 

By and by, I made chicken fried chicken yesterday because I hit a roadblock on what to make with chicken breasts.  I had Panko but no egg and had to settle for whole wheat flour.  It tasted good but it was still a fail.


Yup, the flour, without the egg as a binder, didn't really stay on.  A yummy failure nonetheless.

1979

According to the back of these photos, and Billy Corgan, the year was 1979.  The wood paneling should give it away.  It's the coat that really cements it though. 

I remember this photo being taken.  I also remember this house.  Absolutely some of the best times there.  B would be born later that year, in November. 

I'm so hood.

 

Tummy teaser. 

My parents are giving me all of the family photos.  There's so many but it's awesome to look back and remember.  It's going to be quite a chore to scan them.  But, after I do, I am going to display them on one of the two streaming photo albums I have.