When I was diagnosed with my brain tumor, I was four days away from a trip to Poland with my father to visit my Polish family. Obviously, the trip never happened. Once I was diagnosed, I was wrapped up in doctor's appointments, planning for surgery, having surgeries, and then working on the long road of recovery. I honestly wondered if I would ever get the chance to reschedule. In fact, at the beginning, I didn't even know if I would survive everything.
Fortunately, my Mom cashed in some frequent flyer miles recently and my father and I are headed out in the morning! Woo hoo!
Over a decade ago, my dad was at a hemp symposium in Poland (it was for work - our company sells hemp twine, cord and yarn, among other products) and had the opportunity to track down our relatives over there. They embraced my dad, with open arms, and ever since we've been in contact. On the second trip, my dad returned with my mother, and on the third trip it was my father and my older brother. Now, as the youngest member of the family, it's my turn to go with my dad and meet the family. Several years ago, my Polish cousin Kasia came to stay with my parents for a summer. Now, several years later, I get to see her again and hug the rest of the family. I'm so excited I can hardly stand it!
I remember my parents telling me, while I was at the hospital just before the first brain surgery, that the entire family in Poland, and their congregation were praying for me at a special mass. I was so touched! There's something about prayer, whether or not you believe in God, that warms you from the bottom of your heart. I think it has to do with the love that's being sent.
Now, I finally have the chance to visit the church where they prayed for me. The Priest has actually opened the guest quarters for my Dad and I, which is where we'll be staying. I'm so excited to hug my Polish family, and be in the place where I feel so loved. I know I'm going to be overwhelmed, I get tears in my eyes just thinking about it.
I can barely wait for the time with my Polish family, I'm incredibly grateful for everything they've done. This is going to be an unbelievable trip!
I probably won't be blogging while I'm gone, but I'll be sure to share photos when I get back!
Sorry this post has been all over the place, it's definitely choppy writing, but I'm running around like crazy, packing and doing last minute details. I've also had so much coffee that I feel like a bumble bee, buzzing around everywhere...I should have avoided coffee, I have enough adrenaline surging through my body in the first place. Oh well! Good luck sleeping tonight!
Have a great several days! I'll check in when I get back after the 4th of July! Happy days to everyone! (my grandma's favorite quote)
Jun 23, 2011
Jun 20, 2011
Love For The Childless Fathers
Yesterday, as I was driving home from Portland, I started thinking about all of the men that never get the chance to be fathers. I'm not talking about the men that don't want children, I'm talking about the men that yearn to find the right woman, or right mate, who due to lack of fertility or life circumstance, are childless.
Before I was diagnosed, Danny and I had talked about the concept of having children. Not a talk about getting started quickly, but in the way you joke about it. I have a mini puffed-up-arm-muscle-flexing caricature that I do whenever we mention children. I've always teased him about what a little Danny would look and sound like (the cutest imaginary boy in all of the land), but when you're not expected to live much longer than five years, your life choices and dreams change. Life becomes fluid, in fact, you become fluid.
Expectations change and your definition of happiness evolves. Instead of figuring out when to start a family, you wonder if you should start a family or if you will ever be able to have children. It's not a simple choice. Danny constantly tells me that his number one goal is to keep me healthy and alive as long as possible. He has reassured me that he's not worried about the lack of children, but I know he grieves for the alternative future, one that wouldn't include the brain tumor.
It's scary to think about getting pregnant. What if the tumor grows and doctors want to administer radiation, but can't because I'm pregnant, leading to an earlier death. What if I die and leave a child behind. What if I'm unable to care for the child because I deteriorate. How could I care for a child if I have to do another craniotomy and relearn things. All those thoughts swirl around our conversations when we talk about children. There's a lot of joy that comes with parenting, and yet there's insurmountable sacrifice and both physical and emotional exhaustion.
If anything goes wrong with my health, how could I expect Danny to care for me, and children. He's only one man. Whenever this tumor monster grows, I would have to be selfish and take care of myself first, but, how could I choose my heath over my child? I don't think I could. Other than a healthy diet and exercise, the doctors continuously remind me to rest, sleep as much as possible, and avoid stress. I think you can read between the lines.
When everything's up in the air, it's impossible to plan or know the right decision. I could die in two years or fifteen. My expected survival is a crap shoot, but at the same time I can't disregard it.
Danny and I are constantly weighing our choices. We're playing the guessing game of outsmarting this tumor. There are genes involved, and fate, there's food choices and exercise, there's rest and relaxation, and there's also the unknown.
On Danny and my first date, we were driving across the I5 bridge, the University of Washington in the distance. I remember looking over at him, and I thought to myself, "Wow. Danny, huh? Here I am with a guy I've known my whole life. How did I not see it. Now this is a man that I would actually love to have little babies with, and grow old together." It was a shocking thought for me. It hit like an epiphany. So simple, yet so profound.
I know that things will unfold and work out. I'm not going to guess what will happen, I'm not even going to wish one way or another. Everything in my life has genuinely worked out perfectly. Definitely not what I imagined, but it's more than I could have ever hoped for! I'm grateful for an earth shattering, move mountains kind of love, and although I wonder about normal things like children, I'm happy to have Danny. If my whole life remains just as it is with a magnificent man, a fantastic family, and truly the most amazing friends available, I will say that my life was fulfilling and happy. That's a very powerful thing.
Before I was diagnosed, Danny and I had talked about the concept of having children. Not a talk about getting started quickly, but in the way you joke about it. I have a mini puffed-up-arm-muscle-flexing caricature that I do whenever we mention children. I've always teased him about what a little Danny would look and sound like (the cutest imaginary boy in all of the land), but when you're not expected to live much longer than five years, your life choices and dreams change. Life becomes fluid, in fact, you become fluid.
Expectations change and your definition of happiness evolves. Instead of figuring out when to start a family, you wonder if you should start a family or if you will ever be able to have children. It's not a simple choice. Danny constantly tells me that his number one goal is to keep me healthy and alive as long as possible. He has reassured me that he's not worried about the lack of children, but I know he grieves for the alternative future, one that wouldn't include the brain tumor.
It's scary to think about getting pregnant. What if the tumor grows and doctors want to administer radiation, but can't because I'm pregnant, leading to an earlier death. What if I die and leave a child behind. What if I'm unable to care for the child because I deteriorate. How could I care for a child if I have to do another craniotomy and relearn things. All those thoughts swirl around our conversations when we talk about children. There's a lot of joy that comes with parenting, and yet there's insurmountable sacrifice and both physical and emotional exhaustion.
If anything goes wrong with my health, how could I expect Danny to care for me, and children. He's only one man. Whenever this tumor monster grows, I would have to be selfish and take care of myself first, but, how could I choose my heath over my child? I don't think I could. Other than a healthy diet and exercise, the doctors continuously remind me to rest, sleep as much as possible, and avoid stress. I think you can read between the lines.
When everything's up in the air, it's impossible to plan or know the right decision. I could die in two years or fifteen. My expected survival is a crap shoot, but at the same time I can't disregard it.
Danny and I are constantly weighing our choices. We're playing the guessing game of outsmarting this tumor. There are genes involved, and fate, there's food choices and exercise, there's rest and relaxation, and there's also the unknown.
On Danny and my first date, we were driving across the I5 bridge, the University of Washington in the distance. I remember looking over at him, and I thought to myself, "Wow. Danny, huh? Here I am with a guy I've known my whole life. How did I not see it. Now this is a man that I would actually love to have little babies with, and grow old together." It was a shocking thought for me. It hit like an epiphany. So simple, yet so profound.
I know that things will unfold and work out. I'm not going to guess what will happen, I'm not even going to wish one way or another. Everything in my life has genuinely worked out perfectly. Definitely not what I imagined, but it's more than I could have ever hoped for! I'm grateful for an earth shattering, move mountains kind of love, and although I wonder about normal things like children, I'm happy to have Danny. If my whole life remains just as it is with a magnificent man, a fantastic family, and truly the most amazing friends available, I will say that my life was fulfilling and happy. That's a very powerful thing.
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