A Use for Willie

September 13, 2007

I forgot to mention something you can do this month to promote Pediatric Cancer Awareness: donate blood. That's what I did this morning. Unplugging a vein and dripping into a bag took 6 minutes and 35 seconds, according to my blood tech. Doing the paperwork took a few minutes longer. Do someone a favor. Save a life. Give blood.

On with the update. . .

Willie resented the start to school more than anyone. Sure, Erin belly-ached about the earlier bedtime, but she more than made up for that inconvenience by getting to hang with her friends and learning all the fifty states. Walter and I might have felt like lounging around for a couple more weeks before we took the plunge into the fast-paced fall, but we appreciate the back-to-work salary that goes with the back-to-work job. Willie appreciates none of it, as demonstrated by the renewed feasting going on at my house in my work-day absence.

In the meantime, I have been pondering the many e-mails and comments prompted by my request for what to say on the radio last Friday. Thank you all for pointing out both the obvious and subtle things that the public ought to know about pediatric cancer. I think we did okay--Dr. Vance invited us to be his guests again next September to celebrate(?) Pediatric Cancer Awareness Month. We agreed, and as everybody knows, once something gets put on my calender, it gets done! But back to the thought I started with (unless it died of loneliness waiting for me to get back to it). I wanted to thank my friend Phyllis Washburn for the following advice:

I think you should stress how your family has tried to maintain a normal life for all of you. I have been so impressed with the upbeat attitude of each member. I believe that your positive outlook on life and your faith has made a real difference in how Erin views her illness.

Now, I'm not sure I know what "normal" is. I have always really considered myself more akin to the brain in the jar presented by Igor (pronounce eye-gore) to Gene Wilder in Young Frankenstein: "Abby somebody, Abby Normal, I think." I do know that whatever we do, we do for love. Cancer has stripped almost everything else that wasn't essential away from our lives.

Beyond love, I have only a few other bits to offer (based on my experience with the stress and tension brought on by approaching scans and the other abbynormalities in our lives).

1. Humor. I rely heavily on humor and constantly look for things, even little things, to laugh at and with. I especially like to share jokes and funny, private moments with Erin.
   
2. Tolerance of Ambiguity. I work very hard at not having to be sure of everything (those who have known me for any length of time realize that this is a real stretch for me, Vickie "Know-it-All" Buenger). I try to look at the positives of fuzziness and remind myself that it is pure hubris to imagine that I have to know/control everything.
3. Valuing Erin. When those two fail and I feel the churn start in my stomach, I just ask myself about how I want to spend my time with Erin. The future holds variations of two scenarios: survival or not. If she's going to survive and grow to adulthood, do I want to waste time in the dark moments of worry and anxiety? Answer: no, that would be counterproductive. If she's going to die, do I want to waste the even more precious time I have with her in the dark moments of worry and anxiety? Answer: definitely no, if I only have her for a short amount of time, I want to squeeze every bit of positive I can out of the time.
   

While these three carry me pretty far, the inevitable dark moments poke their way into my thoughts. Why has Congress kept the Conquer Childhood Cancer Act of 2007 bottled up in committee, while at least eight children I can think of have died since we went to Washington? What will happen if Erin's tumors flare up? What happens to cancer families who can't afford treatment and who lack the support network we have?


Final Solution. Because I have an obnoxious dog who will eat up the house if he doesn't get exercise, I spend the first 25 minutes of every single day walking Willie. I give myself permission to let my mind wander through random thoughts about Erin and her illness and the insidiousness of it all during these mostly pre-dawn walks. Usually, after about ten minutes or so, my mind wanders on to other topics, and by the time I have made it home, I have set aside any negatives and am ready to start the day. If I have any lingering doubts, I look at this (taken at Mark and Alicia's wedding in July) and refer back to #3 above.