Thrive

I’m officially saying goodbye to winter.  Everyone else can do what they want but I’m done.  I’m so used to being cold that I brace myself just to open the door.  Now that Downton Abbey’s season is over, I just have no use for it.  For the first time this week, I opened my front door and my core body temperature remained the same.  So, that’s it.  I’m done.  Winter’s over.  Be gone, coat.  

I got a little glimpse of the sun last week, and it felt good.  Not the actual sun, because when the snow leaves, the rain surely comes, but there was at least one ray shining down on me at Vanderbilt Ingram Cancer Center and I was warm and toasty, on the inside anyway.  As routine for my life as this process is, I still find it unnerving and uncomfortable, and downright exhausting.  I have resolved myself to the fact that I can change nothing about what is or will be there from one scan to the next but still have a hard time lying still inside the magnetic tortilla knowing that someone on the other side of the window is looking inside my brain.  One of the nurse practitioners who saw me said, “Yeah, people tend to get a little more freaked out when they have scans.”  Clearly she’s never had even one cancer or one scan one so I shot back with, “yeah, well if you’ve had scans that looked like mine have, you would too.”  (I was hungry.  She left quickly.) The scans are still unremarkable, but remarkable is the only way to describe this.  

  

As we rounded the corner on 21st Avenue, I heard the words to this song, “We know we were made for so much more than ordinary lives.  It’s time for us to more than just survive.  We were made to thrive.” (“Thrive” by Casting Crowns).  I’m sure what I derived from that is completely out of context but how true it is that we were put on this earth not just to live it, but to thrive in whatever situation comes our way.  I remember a time when all I wanted was a smidgen of ordinary in my life.  The same ordinary that people were living where you drive kids places and complain about it being too hot or too cold outside.  I now get to live that in four month increments.    

Our last month has been highlighted with ice, snow days, flu, more snow, viruses and none were simultaneous.  It has been a pattern of wake up and figure out who will work, not work, and who will or will not go to school.  We have done this type of chaos before, but it was because we were really surviving.  As exhausted as I was over this unpredictability, so was everyone else in the free world.  The laundry and wet clothes, constant cycle of feeding, cleaning up the mess and then feeding again, the fever, the children arguing, schedule rearranging, and incessant requesting was exhausting but the beauty of it is that every other mother in this town was doing very same thing. We were all sitting in the midst of dirty laundry, dirty dishes, and sick kids dreaming of being in a hotel.  This is exactly what I asked for.  This is thriving, people.  So, rather than wallow in my self pity over lack of sunshine and free time, I played in the snow, gave out a lot of tylenol, and did a lot of laundry.  Well, I might have wallowed a little but then I thought back to the snow that hit four years ago when I was anxiously awaiting genetic tumor results to determine what treatment options I had.  This year, between working and sledding, I awaited the next time somebody says, “I’m hungry.”  I’ll take it, scans and all.  

2011

2015

Yes sir, we are thriving at our house.  Every Saturday morning I drink coffee in my pajamas until my kids wake up and the noise starts.  I’ve watched them round the corner from the staircase every week since they didn’t wake us up first and every week they look taller and older.  The pajamas that fit last year are too short and the baby cheeks are chiseling away at their little grown up faces.  They still grin and walk to the same spot - right on top of me, and wrap their snaky long legs all over mine.  His sense of humor is growing almost at the same rate as his legs and her legs will never catch her imagination.  Thriving.  

A few weeks ago when their school raised money for childhood leukemia, Kate was gathering her change and giving me facts about “lukenia.”  I said to her, “You know, mommy has that too.”  Her face twisted up and her mouth gaped open, “YOU DO? YOU DO NOT HAVE LUKENIA!”  In walks older wiser brother who then starts an argument complete with elbowing and eye rolling about the fact that it’s “LU-KEE-MEE-UH” and of course she has it.  Poor thing, I guess she was just as confused about the melanoma word and that word as the rest of us but it left me giggling that they were throwing cancer terms out just as easy as “pass the butter.”  Thriving, I guess you’d say.

If the sun ever dries up the fields, we will be spending over half of our week at the baseball park. 
Even though I barely know the difference in a touchdown and a home run and never know who’s playing in the Super Bowl or what a bracket is, I will suddenly become the biggest Yankees fan this side of the Mississippi, complete with visor.  Bailey will be playing, Stephen will be coaching and I will be thriving it up in the stands.

And, Martha Kate - well, she may not be running for president of anything but rest assured she will continue to beat her own drum.  She won’t give math facts the time of day but she gets compliments on how attentive she is in dance class.  She starts lining up her social calendar the moment she wakes up, is becoming an expert at matching my jewelry to my clothes, and looks forward to warmer weather for two reasons: too short shorts and the absence of shoes.  She’s convinced that fairies are real and maybe she’s convinced me too.  She never stops thriving.  

Apparently my doctor thinks I’m thriving too as he has asked me to speak at his cancer retreat next month.  This was more of a topic of conversation at my last appointment than the scans and I think I’m actually more concerned about this than the scans.  Speaking is not writing and I’m much better on someone’s living room sofa than standing in the spotlight, but I said yes.  Because, if my mama taught me one thing it’s that when someone who helps you (or helps save your life) asks for a favor, you do it.  I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say to a bunch of research doctors other than thank you but maybe I’ll start with how hard I’ve worked at being ordinary.  After all, “perhaps the greatest risk any of us will ever take (is) to be seen as we really are” (the Fairy Godmother).  Either way, I hope I do it justice. 

1998

And, speaking of research, Stephen is working on a project of his own that will bring more melanoma awareness to Memphis and hopefully raise money to support melanoma research.  I could not be more proud of his efforts because a) this will give us yet another chance to give back and b) if we needed any more evidence, it’s all because he loves his wife.  More on this to come, but you might want to go dig out those pink shirts.  

So here we are, living this ordinary life and it has taken extraordinary acts of kindness, love, prayer, friendship, and patience.  I get the opportunity to watch my children learn, grow, and thrive and that makes ordinary seem priceless.  Sometimes I don’t get why people remain interested because as someone told me last week, “it feels like you’ve been doing this a long time.”  No kidding, buddy, this gets old and I plan to do this a lot longer.  But, you are still there, cheering us on and we are grateful.  I continue to be amazed at what God chooses to do with these cancers.  I look forward to spring where sunshine brings sidewalk chalk, bike riding, baseball games, tulips, and Reese's peanut butter eggs.  

"Spring is Alsome"

“Joy unthinkable, faith unsinkable, love unstoppable, anything is possible.”  - Thrive.

Love, 

KJ

thriving snow people

thriving to hold up a rock

thriving smarty pants

thriving musicians 

the thriving pooches