“Ah, the English and their stupid sense of fair play.”

Friday finally dawned. Today was the day. My Rock, my parents and I arrived at Dr. K’s Office in the late afternoon. The nurse took me to an exam room. Dr. K came in and shared what he knew with me. (It took years for me to let people know that Dr. K told me first. He wanted me to try and grasp what was happening before explaining the situation to my family, in the purple room. This was a gift. It truly was.)

After Dr. K spoke with me, we met my family in the purple room. This moment is frozen, in slow motion, in my mind. I saw my Rock, mom and dad in a different light. I could feel time.

Dr. K sat in one of the chairs. The four of us sat on the couch. Dennis had his Franklin Planner and was ready to take notes. My parents looked nervous. Dr. K told us that I had leukemia. My Rock began to write. My mom said, “Not my baby!” My Dad started to cry. The WW hit me repeatedly. With every gasp. With every stroke of the pen. With every tear. Honestly, it wasn’t because I was sad. It was because I was causing this grief. One of the first thoughts I had was that my entire family would have to change how they fill out paperwork. They all now had an immediate family member who had cancer. We’d never had that before. We come from a very healthy gene pool.

Dr. K continued. The specific type of leukemia was not known, but the results would be in on Tuesday. He described what the possibilities were by saying that on Tuesday he would let me know if I had a house fire and the house could be saved. OR (I heard this word quite clearly). Or, that the fire had spread throughout the walls and there was little that could be done.

Dr. K answered our questions. He was extremely patient, kind and direct. He was exactly what I needed in a doctor. He offered two bites of wisdom that I took to heart:

1. Cancer is the only word we hear in all caps and bold. Don’t give it that weight. (True nugget of wisdom here!)

2. Final results wouldn’t be in until Tuesday. Take these three days to make memories with your kiddos. Get your affairs in order. Come back on Tuesday, with your bags packed and ready to be admitted into the hospital. Dr. K promised that he would fight for me just as hard as I would fight. Together.

Things I learned in those moments that remain tattooed on my heart:

1. Time is a gift.

2. It is… unnerving to be in the body that is trying to kill you.

3. Time is a gift.

4. The Uninvited Guest was clearer, but I still couldn’t see his face. That’s not how this was supposed to work. I should know him and begin fighting him immediately. He was duplicitous, this UG. “Oh, we English and our STUPID sense of fair play.”

The Unexpected Guest remained with me as I finished out my teaching duties and packed up my desk. His presence was keenly felt. It wasn’t sorrow as I didn’t know what was before me. It wasn’t fear. The best way I can describe him is uncertainty with a hint of dread.

Tuesday evening my parents arrived. I helped Victoria and Matthew with their homework. My Core Four stayed with our routine of homework, dinner, downtime, pick out clothes for the next day, pack lunches and ready the backpacks. We were happy to be together, and having Grandma and Grandpa there was a gift!

Wednesday dawned. We drove the kids to school and made sure they were ok. GA Debbie would check in on them for us. My parents joined Dennis and I and we headed to The Alice Gustafson Cancer Center. The car ride was quiet. I remember pulling into the parking lot and seeing “Cancer Center” and I thought, “There’s a Center just for Cancer. How sad.”

We all took the elevator to the second floor. Dr. K’s Office. Dr. K’s specialty was dealing with female-related cancer, but he was known for being a researcher and was willing to see me on such short notice. The waiting room was large. Scattered around the room were baskets of beautiful hats and scarves. They were free for whoever needed them. I can still see those baskets…

After getting my vitals taken and blood drawn, the nurse took me to an exam room. Enter my next GA – Dr. K came in and introduced himself. He was straightforward and kind. Exactly what I needed. Dr. K always told it like it was, with metaphors. He asked lots of questions and then started his physical exam. He taught me about bruise progression: how the colors morph and in which order. He taught me about petechia: those pesky red dots I was covered in.

The nurse brought in my blood counts. My platelets were so low the machine couldn’t read them, they had to be checked by microscope. Dr. K said that he would meet with me and my family in a few minutes.

The nurse took us back to the purple room. I grew to hate the purple room. It was a small room painted in a beautiful and calming purple color. There was a couch and two chairs. Nothing good happened in that room. I had told myself that I could handle anything but a bone marrow biopsy.

Dr. K said he wasn’t sure what was going on. I could have anything from a blood disorder, bone marrow issue, or a worse disease. The quickest way for us to find the answer was to have the following tests done tomorrow: CT scan to check for Lymphoma and a bone marrow biopsy (BMB). He had already scheduled the BMB, it would be first thing the next morning. Dr. K stressed the importance of a positive outlook.

We drove home. We made dinner. Helped the kids with their homework and continued our normal, with the addition of explaining to them what I would be doing the next day. Here is when it gets fuzzy again. The WW comes out. The hits were being felt now. A BMB? That’s the only thing I didn’t want to do. My kids were quiet. My husband was being a Rock. My parents were going to let my siblings know what was going on.

That Unexpected Guest morphed into the background at times, but he was always there. I could see him a tad clearer now. Honestly, I still didn’t know what I was feeling. Looking back I still don’t know, but it’s embedded into my DNA.

Time stood still. The Unexpected Guest brought a companion. Endless Night came softly. So softly I didn’t notice right away.

Moments. They each matter. We each see them from a different perspective. I saw them through the eyes of the patient who was also a wife, mother, daughter, sibling, Aunt, friend and teacher. I brought each of those roles into every experience. Every test. Every result. Every update to the people in my life. Still do.

BMB was in a surgery unit at the hospital. Juan, my pastor, came to see Dennis and me before the procedure. I can still see him there so clearly. The IV was in, all pre-op meetings done, and the nurse had me say goodbye and I walked to the surgery room. The WW stayed quiet. That walk was a gift! I walked into that cold surgery room on my own two feet. Little did I know that in some of the darker days ahead that walk would be an inspiration!

BMB done. We all got home a couple hours later. A hospital staff member called to say they have an opening with the CT imaging and I needed to come back. Dennis and I head back to the hospital. Mom and Dad picked up the kids from school. Dennis and I finally arrived back home. We tried the routine as best we could , but that pesky UG reminds us that the results will be in the next afternoon. This may be our last night of “normal”. No one says it out loud but we all see him. He’s there.

Endless Night is a peculiar thing. I know time is constant. I believe that. But when Endless Night came he distorted that fact. Sometime during that night I knew – and clung to the fact that one positive thing would happen tomorrow: the Unexpected Guest would have a face. I would know who he was.

Denial. Shock. Grace. Everyone has a different name for it. “It” being the way one deals with difficult circumstances. At this point in my story I honestly believe I was experiencing me… how I would respond.

Funny thing about difficult circumstances: people think they know how they would respond, therefore they know how you should respond. Curious.

Resuming our story from Monday. I taught my classes and headed off to the doctor in the afternoon. Yes, mildly irritated that I had to go in for an appointment. I had things to do. Children to love. Husband to adore. Students to help. Naps to be taken. Anywho, at the doctor’s office the receptionists were incredibly sweet. They usually were. The nurse, who I knew by name, was very sweet. She usually was. My doctor, who I had a great relationship with, sat down beside me. That was new.

The Whomping Willow is out in force now, folks. She (yes, my WW is a she) is delivering blows right and left. It’s a little foggy for me. I’ll just share those moments frozen in time.

Doctor tells me my labs showed an issue. My counts are low. I asked if there was a vitamin shot or something we could do. Doctor takes my hand and says ALL of my counts are low. My white count, my red count and my platelets are all well below normal. They are all dangerously low. At this point I feel like a cartoon character who just sits there and blinks while sound effects point out the blinking. This is the first definitive hit of my WW… I was thrown into a new place so quickly I didn’t know what was happening.

Doctor tells me we need to draw more blood to find out if counts have changed since Thursday. He asks if I’ve done anything to cause possible bruising. Ummm… I played volleyball on Friday. He looks at my arms and just closes his eyes. Doctor then proceeds to tell me I have an appointment with a specialist on Wednesday and they both strongly advise I stay home and take it easy until then. Sorry, I teach block classes on Tuesday so I’ll be at work. Wednesday I can stay home.

I go to get my blood drawn in the lab at the doctor’s office. Everyone is being extra sweet. I appreciate it, but I am still lost. That WW hit sent me far away. Enter another guardian angel, Debbie. She was at the doctor’s office and heard me talking. She gave me a big hug. That hug helped bring me back. Debbie, I’m sure that day is burned into your memory as well. Thank you is inadequate to express all that seeing your face did for me in that moment… ❤️

As I left the doctor’s office I knew I needed to talk to my Rock immediately, but not at school. I looked at the business card of the specialist I was to see on Wednesday. It was an oncologist. So, I did what any grown adult would do. I drove to my first GA (guardian angel), Lisa, and called Dennis and asked him to meet me there. Lisa, you opened your heart and Home during my foggiest moments… you are a treasure!

Dennis came and we discussed what my doctor had said. We agreed to tell Victoria and Matthew what was going on so they were not in the dark. We went home. Told our children and called our parents. My mom and dad prepared to leave the next morning for the 7 hour drive so they could be with us at the Oncologist visit.

Tuesday. I prepared for a full day of classes and office work. My first class started around 10 am. My doctor called around 9 am. My counts were even lower, which was not good. He told me if I got a paper cut I could bleed out. WW hit: I knew – I KNEW this would be my last day in the classroom for quite awhile.

I enter Keyboarding and my students give me a wonderful gift of a button that says “World’s Best Teacher”. WW hit: my students were so sweet and thoughtful but all I could think was that if I put the button on and poked myself I could bleed out right there, and that wasn’t going to happen.

This Keyboarding class, I loved these students. It’s no surprise to anyone that among them were some of my favorites. 😊 This group stayed with me through thick and thin. Still do. You know who you are and I love you.

I thanked them for my gift and told them that today we were going to have a fun day. Lots of games to hone our skills. I started them on one game and then walked over to look out of the window. I looked back at my students. One student looked right back and I could tell he knew something was wrong. David, you have always been wise beyond your years!

I looked back outside. There was an unexpected guest here. One I didn’t know. One I was afraid to know. One I knew I had to face.

March is a crazy month. It is the month my world changed. It is the month when the Whomping Willow comes out of hibernation and prepares to, well, whomp.

March 2004. Michigan. My Core Four were involved in: weekly bowling league (Matthew and Victoria) and tournaments (Matthew), volleyball games with the Sr. Varsity Ladies (coached by my Rock), speech practice (I had 14 students gearing up for a competition), AWANA, choir practice, I had just finished writing a play for the elementary and was gearing up for rehearsals, kids’ homework, regular life stuff, etc. Crazy. Practically perfect.

March. I was tired. What working mom isn’t?

March, the third week. I had noticed some bruising. Not surprising. My parents and siblings will tell you I always was covered in bruises. Graceful I am not. Then small, red, pin prick looking spots started appearing everywhere on my skin. Not surprising. My Irish skin only has two shades: white and red. Then on Wednesday something happened I couldn’t ignore.

Wednesday was a particularly crazy day. We stayed in town from 7:30 am until 9:30 pm. School, dinner, choir practice, AWANA. A full but good day. On this Wednesday I ran back home because I needed a nap. I ran back to town but by the time choir practice was to start I had to go home, the fatigue was brutal. Back home, not an hour from my earlier trip, I found a bruise the size of my hand… not my fist, but my entire hand. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t there an hour ago.

This was my first indication that something was “off”.

Thursday. The next day I asked my friend, and school nurse, what she thought. Lisa (one of my guardian angels) was more concerned with those tiny red dots. She suggested I call my doctor and make an appointment. They were able to get me in that day. The doctor took some blood and said he would call me when the results came in.

Friday. Competition day. Spent 10 hours with my students either observing their acting or judging other students. This competition had over 1,000 students. Super crazy and amazing day. We returned to the school where my husband’s volleyball team challenged the faculty to a volleyball game. It was a blast! My arms and hands were turning all kinds of interesting colors – that silly Irish skin, or so I thought.

Saturday. The Core Four stayed home and recovered from a busy week, prepared for the next week. I sewed costumes for my two for the play that I had written, as practices were about to start.

Sunday. Church day. I stayed home. That brutal fatigue would not let up. Plus those pesky red dots… a few started to bleed and wouldn’t stop very easily. Strange.

Monday. A new week. I was excited to see my students – go over their performances from Friday as well as normal classroom lessons. I taught computers, keyboarding and speech. My students were the BEST. They were family. Many still are. ❤️

9 am. My phone rings. My doctor wants me to come in as soon as possible. I ask if it can wait as I had classes to teach. Maybe Wednesday or Thursday? No. It had to be today. (Insert Whomping Willow here. Not at that exact moment in time. It comes any time I reflect back on that time. At the time I had no idea. None. Now I know better.)

This is the beginning. My prelude. My introduction. The first paragraph in my playbill.

In theatre “notes” are given after a practice or performance. They give the director an opportunity to speak to the actors and crew regarding all aspects of the production. Periodically, I will be using notes to talk about different aspects of my story. They may not be in chronological order. But they are important.

Moving to Greenville was not an easy move for me. I love Denver. Many wonderful friends there. An excellent medical team. Beautiful mountains, fresh air and mild weather. (Seriously, it’s not covered in snow all of the time!) However, as much as I love Denver I love my husband far more. I will always be where he goes. ❤️

There’s a true gem here in Greenville. One I honestly didn’t see coming. Greenville Little Theatre – the people there – have been a tremendous blessing. They have shown love to my son and nurtured his love of acting. They have helped heal parts of my heart… These people are real, honest, caring and others-focused. Matthew is at home there. At GLT I feel a sense of peace I rarely feel elsewhere.

Their current production, “Ragtime the Musical” is superb. The cast works together seamlessly to tell a story that moves the audience. If you are near Greenville you do not want to miss this. (There’s a handsome man in the chorus who plays several characters…. he’s amazing.)

Ragtime also represents a first for me. The first opening night I’ve missed. Matthew has had 8 performances and I saw it for the first time today. That’s unheard of for me…. I am his biggest fan. (Plus I adore the cast, crew, director and choreographer.) Opening night I cried… not being there was awful.

However, Matthew had family there. He had Mark, Suzanne, Allen, Kimberly, Jon, Carter… the list goes on. These people may not know what a blessing they are… I hope they do.

So here are my notes:

* no man is an island. YOU, WE, ME – we do impact the lives of others. Let’s be mindful of that.

* live authentically. Life is short. Trust me!

* listen to understand and not to respond. I learned this when I was thrown into the new world of cancer. It’s like entering a foreign country and trying to learn the language, social cues and society structure while making life-saving decisions. A tad overwhelming! The more I live the more I realize that we do this every day! (That sounded very “Yentl”) We never know if the person we are talking with is fighting a battle we know nothing about. I try to stop and listen. Understand. It’s not always easy but it’s always worth it.

* it’s okay to laugh and have fun. I used to feel guilty about this. Now I cherish it!

* moments matter. I LOVE theatre. Every aspect. The costumes, the staging, the acting choices, how the actors exit, sound, lights…. It may not be your thing. That’s okay. Enjoy what you love. We don’t have to love all of the same things to connect.

That’s it for tonight. 😇 It’s been a good day. Spent with my Core Four, watching a Broadway quality show filled with people I adore. Two weeks ago life looked quite scary. It may look scary again. So I choose to enjoy this day. Am thankful or it.

My story was written before I was born. My cast was divinely selected. While I cannot say that I would choose cancer to be a part of my story, I can whole heatedly say that these people – my humans – are the best part of me and my story. They are woven into every scene, every act. They are not just supporting players, they are principle. Their stars shine brightly. They continue to give me motivation, hope, encouragement, love, laughter and life.

Dennis:  my leading man, my soulmate, my best friend, my rock, my everything. We met in 1986. I honestly thought he was the biggest jerk that I had ever met. I met him at a college soccer game where I was a cheerleader for his opposing team. He proceeded to tell me why cheerleaders were “totally worthless” to the players on the field. NOT a great first impression. Time, and help from our friends, created a wonderful friendship which turned into love. Dennis continues to sweep me off of my feet. He brings me flowers for no particular reason. He brings my favorite candy because he was thinking of me at the store. He still takes my breath away!

Victoria: my daughter, my friend, my personal assistant, my confidante. Dennis and I were told we would not have children. God knew better. He sent Victoria to us and she came into our lives with a might roar. She filled our days with sleepless nights, laughter and lots of love. She had her own health crisis at age 5. That’s her story and hers to tell. We have watched Victoria become a woman of compassion, love, intelligence, and wisdom. She is passionate about education. Her memory is amazing. She fills my life with laughter, love, Starbucks, reminders and encouragement. I am quite proud of her and would be lost without her!

Matthew:  my son, my friend, my encourager, my premie, my spirit animal. Dennis and I tease Matthew that he should have been a multiple. We were going through fertility treatments and I was on a medication that typically resulted in multiples. My doctor was quite shocked when there was one tiny baby. Matthew has the love and empathy of multiples all on his own. He is the “go to” guy for many people who need encouragement or a great hug. (He is an amazing hugger.) He feels things on a deeper level than anyone realizes. Matthew has become a man who pursues his love of acting, singing and dancing. He is gracious, kind, and honest. He fills my life with laughter, love, thoughtfulness and a listening ear. I am quite proud of him and my life is richer because of him!

That’s my main cast. My “core four.” The four Q’s. My humans.

I was 36 when I was diagnosed. Victoria was in 6th grade, Matthew was in 3rd grade. Victoria had already lived through a health crisis. Matthew had recently lost a friend to cancer.

My husband and I lived a very full and crazy life. He was a school administrator. I was a teacher and worked in the school office. Here is a glimpse of our life leading up to diagnosis: we both taught, he coached the senior ladies’ volleyball, I coached the speech and drama teams, I worked in a ladies counseling ministry, Dennis taught Sunday School, sang in the church choir, I drove the kids to all of their activities. Our children grew up in the school building. They were as comfortable there as they were at home. We had a very full and crazy life. It was practically perfect.

Some life changes come so slowly – they creep up unawares. Some life changes show up and take over. Mine just showed up. Very little warning. In a matter of literal days I went from “normal crazy life” to “get your affairs in order.” Some times I am asked, “How did you wrap your head around that?” My answer, I still haven’t.

Some days it feels like I’m Hermione and am trying to balance being beaten by the Whomping Willow while I’m trying to grab on and hold on to its branches because I need to go through them in order to proceed on my path.

Have you ever felt like that?

The past two weeks have been a wild, dizzy, uncertain, bruise-acquiring tussle with a Whomping Willow in my life.  Not long ago I would have hidden this part of my life. I would put on my “brave” or “happy” face (or the dreaded “I’m fine” face) and dealt with this in private. Opening the door to this part of my life isn’t easy.

Almost two weeks ago I passed out and fell while I was walking outside. I certainly felt like I had been thrown around by the Willow. I’m not sure who was more shaken, me or the nice young man who tried to help me. The main memory I have is seeing him run towards me and then seeing that I had fallen on some worms and they were embedded into my sweater… panic and laughter at the same time. Interesting experience. I wanted to say, “I’m fine but look at these poor worms,” but thought that would make me sound slightly crazy.

A trip to the doctor brought more concerns. My reflexes weren’t working correctly. The doctor said it’s either my heart or I’m having seizures, but go on home and they will let me know when we can run some tests. What?!?!!! So, I did what any mature adult would do, I went to Starbucks and called my husband. (You will meet my man, my leading man, my Rock, in a future post. I would be lost without him!)

Since my fall I have had constant dizzy spells, nausea, blah, blah, blah. I’ve met with a new doctor who has ordered several tests, which start tomorrow. Here comes another hit from the Willow: the sinking feeling of upcoming tests. I thought that would diminish with time. It has not.

Not fear. Not dread. It’s indescribable.

Life may sometimes feel like the Whomping Willow is going to be raging all of the time. Time has taught me that isn’t so. Tomorrow will be a day of testing. The rest of the week I will try and take you back to the beginning of my story. It has a great cast of characters, exciting plot twists, loads of humor, and some nuggets of wisdom. ‘Till then…