Thursday, May 7, 2015

Burnt bunting and baggage

 We have baggage. Heavy, hormonal baggage. Ironically, whilst I'm on drugs to suppress mine, I've particularly noticed the proliferation of grunty, teenage hormones that are charming and chatty one minute, then snarly and monosyllabic the next. At least our three he-teens generally like to rotate the foulness between them. When they get a little tired of being grouchy they pass the baton of beastliness to another brother from the same mother and have a little lie down in a scratchy bed of angst. It's harder for the she-teen for she must carry the banner of flouncy, high pitched she hormones nobly aloft on her roller coaster mood ride though. Tres dramatique!!!

The one below (see fig. 1) doesn't usually carry much "baggage" although, like most students of today, she does need to carry a ridiculous number of bags. For Year One there is the swimming bag, the library bag, the homework folder and the big bag for anything else you might need. Remember when you took a "port" with a pencil case, a sandwich and an apple allowing us to grow up with healthy backs and undamaged spines except for the fact that we have to carry their bags!

figure 1
Due to the excessive number of bags required to deliver a six year old party to the park, the Short One was told quite clearly that we would not be playing musical chairs and carting 15+ chairs or  cushions to her party. (I never did know exactly how many children came to that event.)

It was the one game she wanted and she would even forego the tedious parcel passing if the chair game was permitted. So we compromised and played musical paper plates. They stood in a line and passed the plates along so they had one each and stood on their plates in a row. Lala's friend played the Gruffalo's Child on the portable Barbie CD player and they all flitted about being fairies and elves and butterflies and mosquitoes. (see fig.2a) We just took a plate away each time till it was over. Much more fun than a line of hard furniture. Each child that was out got to run up for a lolly and a pat of the dog with the father of the birthday girl and there was no prize for last man standing- just another lolly and pat of the dog. You could even recycle the plates and serve deconstructed rainbow cake on them (see fig. 2b) but I didn't - people were watching.

figure 2a
figure 2b
As it turns out I could have though because they were distracted by the beautiful Japanese paper bunting on the cake which is apparently highly flammable. Who knew? (see fig. 3) I cheered and blew out the bunting before throwing it on the table and patting it out. They all looked up and paused and cheered too. She will always remember the birthday where there was hot flung bunting (not to be confused with hot flung chicken from the boys' parties) and they danced on the mock crockery. Hopefully it will be a good memory and not something she will consider "baggage".

figure 3
Luckily the big boys were there to take photos....

Go figure

Sunday, March 29, 2015


Hello my lovelies. It's been so long but a lot happened since that last post.

I wonder where that mug got to...

I've wondered about continuing here and would like to keep the record of our life happening for the childers. I have been guilty of climbing on the Instagram express because it is just so easy and quick and you don't have to be at a computer. Not that there's anything wrong with that it is just not as nourishing sometimes- a Macca's snack as opposed to a balanced full bloggy meal It just feels like time to reconnect and get some thoughts down and out of my head.

The very evening I wrote the last happy post in the cubby, we got a call that something nasty had been found in the excised breast reduction tissue. There I was all happy and chilled on my cloud 9 drugs thinking it was all done and dusted. Finally I had symmetry, new perkier ladies that were mine, all mine and they tell me it's all about to start again??? That was a whole three days of thinking we could maybe get back to being normal again.

Must get back to the cubby this holiday for R and R.

So it was a bit of a shock. When I mentioned this to the doctor who had performed the operation he commented that he was "a bit surprised" too. Of course he was, as he had not bothered to mark the tissue or request  tumour margins or mentioned that I had a tiny bit of breast cancer history on his pathology request forms. So the pathology told us nothing- just that it was there. We don't know if there was more or if it was contained or if there were safe margins because he didn't ask for them in the most routine of tests usually done for that procedure. To make matters worse, the wee beasty lump had not shown up in the $500 non-rebatable MRI weeks before- or the ultrasound or the mammogram earlier in the year. I have rather lost faith in these ridiculously expensive tests. Anyhoo, the surgeon said he was a little surprised as he gazed out the window, giving me no eye contact and no apology. I would prefer not to see him again.

The annoying doctor Tweedle with his poking fingers.

So the option was another mastectomy which could be followed by months of reconstructive surgery with expanders and implant to follow or a more conservative course of radium again. I opted for the latter. There was just one person who thought I should just be off with it's head to be sure to be sure, but I am still at more risk from the original B.C. and really could not face more surgery and hospitalisation after last year. The possibility of another muffinectomy to rebuild a breast was impossible as they had used it all up. If only they could do a buttockectomy- but alas.  Maybe I'll regret it later but my mind just could not accept another major amputation and surgical recovery. My family simply wasn't up to it either.

Part of a graffiti piece from work that reminds me of radium treatment...

The radium was much easier than last time as it wasn't as deep or ferocious. I kept working and going for the daily treatments but it got tiring toward the end as much from the daily drive to the hospital as from the radiation. It all wound up on Christmas Eve as a rather lovely present. The staff and doctor at the Wesley unit made it infinitely more tolerable and were like the gentlest family to me. To be honest the tiredness from the radium only hit me in the back to school weeks as it was the first time I had stopped and been without the offspring for a few hours. Oh yes. Did I mention I had to leave the most wonderful job in the world as it just didn't pay enough to cover the medical bills and children's expenses.
The view from my old desk- sigh
This is all a bit of a tirade. There was a lot to explain and a lot to get off my chest. (excuse the pun!)
I have the time for a brief window to regroup and reconnect with you all if anyone is still out there. It seems many of us have gone over to the instagram side and I have caught up with a couple of you there but it did not feel like the way to share this wee story. Hopefully this clears up a few of the questions and kind enquiries from you gentle souls. Your support was always beyond imaginable when this began in 2012.

Sometimes it feels easier to be open to people outside the immediate family and friend circle  where so much is clouded by emotion and angst and a misguided compulsion to try to help in all the wrong ways.
a "foxy-moron": when love stings

Thanks for the past and for the now and, hopefully, for the future if I can get my blogojo back and there is somebody still reading out in the cyber wilderness.


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