Round 4- No words

img_2775I don’t even know how to start this update.
Usually I have words bottled up inside waiting to be shared but these days there aren’t many words.

I feel numb.
I feel lost.
I feel empty and heartbroken.

My thoughts feel so jumbled and unstructured.
My mind won’t shut off but nothing makes sense.
Trying to Process, considering, contemplating, and deliberating. My mind is racing and then just like that it is completely blank.

Anxiety is hovering.
It’s everywhere.
Words are at the tip of my tongue and then they are gone.

There is so much I want to ask but my questions can’t be answered.

Why is this happening again?

Why does Logan have to suffer so much?

Why can’t this be happening to me instead of her?

How will I find the strength to be strong enough for her and for myself?

Will there be enough love and patience to get my family through this one more time?

How come I was not more grateful, more in the moment and more happy about how good things were?

How much time do we have left together?

I feel disengaged, and removed and not myself. I can’t believe that anything ‘normal’ can be happening in the world right now. I can’t contemplate how life just goes on, or moments can continue because all I feel is my family’s world completely crashing down.

Years ago, when Logan was diagnosed for the first time, I felt the same way.

It feels like this is all one big lie, a terrible mistake or a bad dream.

It is almost impossible to accept this as our truth.

Only  this isn’t a lie.

It is cancer.

For the fourth time.

And even though it doesn’t feel possible that this could be happening again, I know how real it is  because I watched as the nurses ‘gloved up’ and Logan took her first dose of chemotherapy.

I cried as they pushed it though her tube.

This journey we are about to embark on once again feels so daunting and inconceivable.

It’s going to be a long haul.

It’s not going to be easy.
Logan is not starting out in a good place. She is not as well or as strong as we would want her to be. Her bone marrow is damaged from all the previous therapy. She has so many issues related to radiation.
We haven’t had surgery to relieve any pressure, no time to get her body ready to take treatment, and not one moment to emotionally prepare for any of this.

It came out of no where and Logan has declined quickly and unexpectedly over the last two months. This past week has been exceptionally tough.

We had a meeting with our oncologist while she was in surgery Tuesday morning and yet another new treatment plan was established.

We decided on a different chemotherapy regimen than we originally discussed.

Apparently this protocol has better overall results for tumour shrinkage. About 50% of patients saw shrinkage on this study versus just the disease stabilizing which  Temodar would likely provide.

As a team we decided  we need more than to just stop this thing from growing. In order for Logan to feel better, we need it to regress.

There will be four drugs in total administered over a 6 week cycle. There will be 8/10 cycles in total depending on what she can tolerate.

Over the first three days (78 hours) she will take three of the chemo drugs every six hours. She cannot eat or drink anything for three hours between each dose. Then at day 14 and day 28 she will receive the fourth drug.
She will have blood and platelets given as needed. The cycles will take as long as her bone marrow needs to recovery. Ideally we hope she won’t be too delayed. Staying on track with the regimen will be key to the overall success of this protocol.

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If all goes well, she tolerate the drugs ok, and the tumour responds, this chemo this will go on for about a year and a half. If anything fails, and it isn’t working or she isn’t tolerating it, we have the Temodar to fall back on. There are also a few other phase 1 trial options but we don’t want to go there just yet.

There will be MRI’s to check for progress which will be preformed every 3 months at minimum.

Dr. Hukin ordered an emergency MRI and angiogram which we had yesterday so now we will have a better handle on if and how much this tumour has progressed in the past couple months and we will also have a proper baseline to start this new chemotherapy.

Happily things don’t look much worse in the past 6 weeks and she isn’t having strokes. Although these results are arbitrary, because really, we know where are at.

Logan’s symptoms are getting worse but we have to celebrate every win and the MRI has given us some hope that we have time to continue to work on getting things under control.

She isn’t eating much and trying to get the three litres of fluids a day into her seems impossible.
She is losing weight, slurring her speech, she is having trouble with her vision, her hands are shaky. She is weak, unbalanced and her blood pressure remains unstable.

They decided to admit us to hospital on Tuesday to help support her through this first round of chemo. We weren’t expecting to be admitted and we aren’t sure how long we will have to stay here but we think it’s a good plan to have a team of nurses and doctors working on her.
Honestly, it was becoming too much to manage everything at home.

She also had a feeding tube inserted this week.

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It was unexpected but it was also the right thing to do.
Logan understands why she needs it but is also completely devastated about having to wear it.
She has lost about 17lbs since summer and because her appetite is only going to get worse on chemo our oncologist made the executive decision to have it inserted along with her port during surgery.

The little yellow nose hose also completely breaks my heart.

She is 19.
She doesn’t want to fed through a tube.
She wants independence and freedom.
She cares about how she looks and just wants to be as normal as possible. She wants to make her own choices and this line hanging off her face is just one more visual reminder of how much is being taken away from her, how sick she really is, and how living with this disease traps her.

She’s embarrassed for her friends to see it and it makes me sad.
She doesn’t want to be stared at or seen as any different. Cancer is hard enough to deal with but having a tube run out of your nose is just a magnet for pity.

No one wants pity.

I know that her real friends won’t be phased. In fact, I think they will see her (as we do) as even more beautiful, brave and strong but she also doesn’t care about that.

She is tired of being measured by how much pain she can endure.
For her, it is far more simple.

It is ugly and she hates it.

She hates it because it bothers the back of her throat when she swallows. She hates it because she hasn’t been able to eat enough to avoid getting one and that makes her feel like a failure.
She hates it because they have pasted a giant sticker on her face and she won’t be able to wear proper make-up and she hates that even on her ‘good’ days she will be hooked up to a feed bag for about 10 hours a day.

This is all such a mess. I snapped at the dietician today. My temper is short.

Right now all of us are feeling very deflated, afraid, tired and overwhelmed. There are just so many new things to manage and to think about.

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We’ve already run this marathon three times. We’ve crossed the finish line, or so we thought, and we’ve been out of training for a long time. We feel lost.

But I remember this course, all of it.

It’s hitting me like a ton of bricks and the magnitude of what is really happening is blind siding me with fear and panic. Walking these hallways, seeing the nurses, doctors, social workers and therapists is surreal. The smells, the sounds, making dinner in the patient kitchen, walking to the play room, sitting in the parents lounge, it all seems so unreal. I know where I am but it is almost like I just can’t believe we are living this all over again.

None of us can.

But, we will get there.

It will just take some time to processor it all, to let it all sink in. It will take a while for us to catch our stride again.

But we will.

And I thank you all for giving us the space and support to do so.

We know in time we will find our way through this again, we will find the right words to say, the strength to trudge forward and the will to survive and beat this F’ing cancer once again.

Much Love,

J

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Life according to plan?

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Many of us spend our lives living a life ‘according to’.
‘According to’ means having a plan.

We as human beings seem to live to make plans. We need them. We strive to fill our calendars with them and even when we are not making any plans we are feel like we should be.

I am as guilty of it as the rest of you. No one likes to be stagnant.

Plans however, are often mistaken as goals and as such are often part of what motivates us. Plans to finish college, plans to find the perfect life partner, plans to land the best job, to buy a house, to have kids.

We plan for our future, our retirement, and even our death.

Our lives revolve around our plans and thus we spend a good portion of it in competition with ourselves and with others.
A life ‘according to’ dictates how we behave. It guides us down the natural path of what’s expected  but it also means that we are always in pursuit.
-Of the next big thing
-The next piece of the puzzle
-Of what we think will make us happy, successful, and complete.

The thing is, many of us never get there.

We never ‘arrive’ because plans always fall though, expectations always change, and somehow we always end up feeling like accepting where we are at (if it is not where we want to be) is a bit of a failure.

So what do we do?

We change our focus, readjust our outlook and set our sights on a new plan.

Most of us, including myself, measure our own life ‘according to’ plan by tangible, reachable goals but in doing so, sometimes, I think, we simply miss the point.

Plans don’t always give us purpose and direction.

Sometimes all they do is just complicate things.

Today, we got a plan to deal with Logan’s tumour progression.

I have felt very anxious for past month since we found out her tumour was growing and have desperately wanted a solid plan of action to deal with this problem.

I thought having a strategy was going to make us all feel stronger, more in control, and more empowered.

What I didn’t expect was receiving a plan and feeling more at a loss than ever.

Yesterday, I learned execution doesn’t always make you feel better.
Sometimes having a plan just makes you feel really, really, really afraid.

None the less, here is ours.

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Logan will start chemotherapy for the 4th time.

It will likely begin next week.

She will have surgery to put her port in as soon as possible. They are thinking Monday. She has been taking aspirin to lower her risk of a vascular stroke and she needs to be off the blood thinning medication for a week before they will risk putting her under the knife.

Chemo will likely start the next day.

To begin, we will take 5 days of an oral chemotherapy called Temodar.
The side effects are mainly the same as IV chemo except she shouldn’t lose all her hair and she will be able to take this medication in the comfort of her own home.
Her counts will drop, she will feel sick, and because she’s had so much chemo in the past she will likely need platelets and/or blood to help her bone marrow recover- hence the port.

There is a possibility of adding up to 3 additional chemotherapies to this oral regimen if we need them. Our oncologist said she open to doing so if Logan’s symptoms continue to progress during the first cycle of Temodar.

I have spent the last twenty four hours researching and reading studies and success rates on both options, temodar alone or temodar in combination with CCNU lomustine and vincristine.

There are two schools of thought. Ease her into this slowly and see how much toxicity she can handle or just go gangbusters and try to attack this thing with a more intense treatment. None of us know the right answer, I am not sure there is one.

Both are risky.

Of course the overall hope is the oral chemo will be strong enough to stabilize her tumour but soft enough it won’t totally damage her bone marrow any further. Which means she could take it longer. We just don’t know if it will work. The results are not outstanding but it is also a fairly new drug as far as chemotherapies go and information is fairly limited for Log’s type of tumour.

Truthfully, our options are all very limited and it will be a delicate balance between treating her cancer and maintaining a good quality of life.

We have been told that this oral chemo (or the combination of both) will likely not get rid of her tumour. The goal will be to stop it from growing any further and the absolute hope will be to see a little bit of shrinkage but probably nothing more.

Don’t get me wrong, this does not mean we are giving up- but it does mean we are being realists. It’s been 11 years, and we know where we are at. Each time this news is getting harder and harder to swallow. (Pardon the brain tumour pun)

Time is now our priority but a cure is still our hope.

If we can stabilize things with the oral chemo then we have more time to get her symptoms under control and hopefully she can feel better and enjoy more experiences with people she loves. Maybe we can book another trip, have some fun together and forget about all of this for a while longer. This is the goal.

Where things stand right now, we are basically swimming against the current.

Her symptoms are getting worse, likely because her tumour is progressing slightly as the weeks tick by.
We are all in agreement that it is time to treat the tumour because despite our efforts over the past two months nothing is working and she is steadily declining.

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We are now in a time crunch.

Our oncologist broke down and cried. She told us how sorry she was that we were ‘here’ again and she sobbed feeling responsible for not curing her. She reassured us that she was staying strong in her quest to help Logan get better. My heart broke for her along side of my own.
Its been a long road. She’s an amazingly smart, diligent and optimistic doctor yet she’s an incredibly tough nut to crack. Her communication and bedside manner has not always married up to what we needed in the moment but today when we saw her raw emotion we felt how deeply she cares about Logan and our whole family.
It was also in this moment I also realized with absolute truth that having her on our side is Logan’s best chance at survival.

No more fighting her.

No need for a new oncologist, we are and always have been, in this together.

We also met with her surgeon Dr. Steinbok.
He wholeheartedly agrees with the plan to try chemo first.
He thinks the risk of surgery far outweighs the benefit at this point.
His perspective is the damage and tumour are intertwined and are progressing systematically by blanketing normal and healthy brain tissue.
Her tumour is not growing like it did before, there is not a bulk or solid lump for him to deflate or take out and his attempt to help may cause her more harm than good.

He did suggest that because he’s turning 70 and is winding down in his career, we meet the neurosurgical team at VGH. Apparently he’s referred us to the ‘go to’ brain tumour guy over there.

Dr. Toyota will be our contact ‘just in case.’

We don’t know for sure but there may be a place for surgery down the line. Maybe a biopsy for further molecular studies, maybe a new technique will be discovered and if so we can be reassured we have one of the top brain surgeons in Vancouver at our finger tips.
Dr. Steinbok comforted us by telling us he’s not passing us off and assured us he will follow up on Logan’s case. He also pacified us by saying if it ever did come down to surgery and we wanted him to be in the OR, as long as he still had a license he’d happily assist.

Our endocrinologist stopped Logan’s growth hormone injection for obvious reasons, and the cardiology team hooked her up to two separate monitors so they can get a better picture of what’s going on inside her twenty four hours a day. We reviewed some test results, and were told Logan’s frozen tissue samples from previous surgeries had been sent back to pathology to double check for genetic mutations and certain changes.

And that was it.

We left with a new plan.

It’s not a plan we like. It is not where we want to be and it is definitely not fitting into our ‘life according to’ but it’s where we are at and in the words of Logan herself  “We are going to have to figure out a way to roll with it.”

And that is just what we will do.

Again, for the fourth time.

We will add more chemo beads to her already long necklace and we will readjust, refocus and remain hopeful that this is just one more of the many detours rerouting us in this life that is all over the f’ing map.

Here we go again……

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Storm watch

Apparently, there is a storm coming in tonight and we’ve been advised to get ready.

I, however, feel like the storm already hit us months ago. It is relentless and just won’t let up.

We’ve tried to be prepared- we’ve lived through this before- but even amidst the worst of storms we’ve learned no one can ever predict what the force of nature will be.

What started out as minor symptoms we hoped to get under control quickly, have proved to be much more daunting and complex than we first thought.

I forgot. This is how the storm known as cancer usually hits.

Fast, hard, unpredictable and without notice. This time it also hit us from behind.

We weren’t expecting it.

Logan’s blood pressure is not getting better and she has not responded to the now 14 NEW pills a day she takes.

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We thought maybe we could help fix things by addressing her heart, flooding her kidneys with fluid, and overdosing her on sodium.

It didn’t work.

Obviously, her heart is not the problem.

It is, once again, her brain.

She is now experiencing vascular dysfunction.

Basically, the vessels aren’t carrying enough blood to her brain and therefore her vessels and arteries aren’t maintaining enough pressure.

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The reason?

A combination of problems.

Yes, number one- the one we fear the most.

There is tumour progression and the main tumour in her brainstem is slightly enlarged.

Go ahead- say it, we have said it a million times already.

“Shit!”

Ultimately, what that means is we only bought time since the last round of chemo and radiation and  her tumour was only ever ‘stable’ and not completely destroyed as we hoped it was.

For some reason the word stable never sat right with me. I dared not to say the words out loud but I always had this gut feeling this day would come again.

Yes, we are devastated, completely fucking shocked, and even though this is the fourth time we’ve heard the words ‘tumour growth’ and we shouldn’t be, we are unexpectedly and deeply angry.

However, now the tumour is not Log’s only problem. She has had so much damage since radiation that the new growth of the tumour really just complicates an already nasty situation.

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It also means the blame and anguish is spread around. Her cancer is not any less devastating, it is just that we don’t know which problem is worse or what to hope for.

“Why?”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Why is this fucking happening again???”

My mind won’t shut off. Sleep is becoming elusive. The pit in the bottom my stomach feels twisted and painfully unbearable. All. The. Time.

It is so hard to comprehend this new news because I feel like we’ve done everything right.

I feel like we have learned so many lessons, adjusted so many expectations, listened so carefully and done everything the doctors have told us to do. We’ve learned to accept so many unacceptable circumstances and move the goal post and for some reason I thought that would be enough. That maybe we’d get lucky, get a pass, that god or the universe or who ever would side with us and that the cancer wouldn’t come back.

That is what karma is isn’t it?

Be good, do good and good will come back to you?

Hasn’t Log been good enough? through enough? Hasn’t she tried hard enough? Taught us all enough? And shown enough courage? Haven’t each of us?

Plus, eleven is supposed to be our number. It’s just not fair….why would she relapse at eleven years?

Fuck, none of this is fair and even though logically I know none of the above questions matter or even make any sense, I am still asking them over and over again because deep down I still feel like I need an answer.

Our oncologist is being optimistic.

She has pacified us with her knowledge and expertise. She has told us she is not 100% certain the new growth tumour is big enough to be responsible for all of this.
We hope she is right because Logan’s decline has been so sudden. To think it could be tumour all on its own is very scary.

She thinks something else must also be contributing. Something we are missing and she’s looking. We are doing all the tests she asks us to do.

But what could it be? We have no idea.

We are just clinging to this theory as a little bit of hope at this point.

Apparently, in addition to the main tumour there is a small spot in another very sensitive area (right obex ) and signal abnormality extending into the pons.

We are trying not worry but couldn’t help and ask what exactly the new signal abnormality could be?

Could it all be tumour?

Yes, we were told it could but it could also be brain damage from treatment. We won’t know without a biopsy but there is possible further radiation atrophy.

Neither sounds good.

One just sounds more treatable than the other.

We don’t know for sure and won’t until we see how things progress but we’ve been told it’s likely combination of both damage and tumour and it’s a bloody mess.

Now, we don’t know what to wish for….

And we really don’t understand what this all means?

Logan feels terrible and it seems like we are once again paddling up shit creek.

Juliette (our oncologist) called tonight and briefed us on the current plan of action. We angrily walked out on her last week and hadn’t spoken since then.
It’s not her fault, and we know we need her help.
We know we need to let go of all this anger and our emotions are just bubbling from a place of fear but we are scared and hearing all of this seems like too much to process.

I apologized to her tonight for my anger and she apologized for not listening to us the way we needed her to and then we let it go and talked  about a plan.

First off, she said we need to get Logan’s vomiting, blood pressure and symptoms stabilized and we need to do so as quickly as possible.

Second, we need a plan to address the growing cancer and if possible the damaged parts in the brain causing all this trouble.

She referred us to a cardiologist and on the weekend we started yet another new medication. It is used for vascular dysfunction as a ‘rescue’ to tighten the muscles around Logan’s veins and keep her blood pressure up.

We are also giving her three to four litres of fluids a day to help increase the pressure. She’s taking sodium tablets, additional blood pressure meds, wearing compression stockings and we are trying to get her out for a couple hours each day for a bit of exercise.

An angiogram of the brain has been ordered to rule out the possibility of a stroke.
Logan’s face has recently started drooping and at times she has been unbalanced when she is walking.
The fear is she could be having ischemic attacks (precursors to a stroke)
Our oncologist thought it would be a good idea to start giving her a preventative dose of aspirin until we know for sure.

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Next, she WILL be presented at the adult tumour board at the BC Cancer Agency this Friday.
After a gentle nudge, Dr. Hukin agrees it would be a good idea to get a second opinion on treatment options. The idea of fresh set of eyes gives us some comfort.

She will also request to see if Logan’s previously frozen pathology samples could be looked at on a molecular level. Her tumour may have changed since radiation but it will be a start to find out if Logan could be eligible for any of the new genetic research that is rapidly unfolding including that in which Dr.Sorenson/ Dr. Rod (the Dr. from the video below) have been working on.

We have a referral with a new neurosurgeon at VGH and although this initially worried us, we now understand it. Loggie is getting too old for all her of procedures to continue to happen at Children’s Hospital. Apparently, her surgeon Dr. Steinbok, is also getting too old.
He is operating less as retirement approaches and thus decided it might be a good idea to add a new member to our team.

We will meet with this new surgeon in the next couple weeks to get his thoughts, and then discuss the plan with Dr. Steinbok to see what he thinks. It’s not a big rush, as we’ve been reminded surgery is not currently a viable option that is ‘on the table’ right now.

Nothing, realistically, is a viable treatment option until we get her stabilized and feeling better and stronger.

She isn’t strong enough for much these days and is getting weaker as the days go by. She has lost about 15lbs. She is taking between 3 and 5 doses of anti-nausea meds a day. She’s not eating much. She’s slurring some words, having more trouble swallowing, more intense headaches and is just so darn tired that every day small tasks are taking an obscene amount of effort.

We spend a lot of time in our jammies.

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It really sucks. We’d rather be on a beach, or at least planning a trip to a beach.

We are angry and we are trying not to be angry all at the same time.
We know this is no ones fault and at the same time having no one to blame is one of the hardest parts.

We have been so lucky, and we know it.

We had so much progression free time- travelled the world, celebrated milestones, but somehow….

it just doesn’t feel like enough.

Logan is doing her best to plug along and stay strong but mostly she is just sad and frustrated with her lack of freedom. She hates being held back and is discouraged with her attempts to go out for a couple hours per day. These excursions make her so exhausted she usually needs an afternoon nap just to recover.

She’s tired of Netflix, of colouring in her swear word colouring book, spending all day with her mom and she is so damn tired of sending snap chats to her friends while laying in her bed.

She desperately wants to feel ‘normal’ again.

I am thankful to her friends Dani and Taylor for getting her out today and for coming last week as well.

You guys are exactly what she needs- friends, love, and a solid medical plan.

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We know it, and we are working on it.

A plan to feel better is our only focus.

All other plans are on hold. There are currently no big trips planned- no amazing adventures on the horizon. No getting up early or staying out late. The calendar is not full of highlighted commitments and we aren’t saying yes to many activities.

For us, right now, it is about hunkering down. It is about the mundane, every day, repetitive, same ole’ routine of trying to get these cancer symptoms under control.

That is it. Nothing more. Our circle is small and we aren’t feeling very social. I apologize if you want to help and we don’t respond. Quite frankly, we don’t know what to do either. We just need some time, and when we finally regroup we know you will be there for us. You always have been, we love you and it is not lost on us.

But, for now, we just need down time to regroup because even with our reduced schedule, lack of activities and our 11 years of practice this ‘life all over the map‘ just doesn’t seem very easy to manage these days.

Basically, we are just barely holding it together, grasping, and trying to keep the blood pressure up, the puke down and the hope alive that this storm will pass very soon.
❤️

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WTF ‘What the FORTY!!!!’

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I imagine as people get older almost everyone wishes they could turn back time.
Tonight, on the eve of turning 40 as I sit here with my glass of wine and the latest iPhone scribbling down my thoughts, I can’t help but wonder about every single decision I’ve ever made and how I’ve ended up here.

In this moment, with all these damn thoughts.

I’d be lying if I said turning 40 was easy.

The truth is I am not ready.

Not in a shallow, ‘I need more botox or a better bikini body’ kind of way, but more in a ‘I want a do over’ way.

I do want a ‘do over’.

It seems like yesterday (but it was 20 years ago) I was the age of my oldest child.
I thought I knew everything.

I thought I was ready and I thought I could handle being an adult.

The truth is, I didn’t really know what being an adult even was.

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Yes, I was ready.
Ready to take on the world. Ready to parent a child on my own (for a while), Ready to move to the big city, work my way up the career ladder and the food chain.

I was ready to balance budgets and cheque books, ready to get married, buy a home, and start a family.

I could handle PTA meetings, early morning conference calls, and late night parties.

I finally didn’t have to ask anyone for permission and I felt proud about affording the genuine leather shoes.

My twenties were great.

Despite starting out as a teenage mother I knew I wasn’t going to let myself become the typical small town stereotype. Not that I truly buy into any of that crap but I did work hard, I achieved what I set out to do and I felt confident my thirties were going to be amazing and over the top.

Then at 29- my kid got cancer.img_2574

But, that was just an obstacle. I had no intention of letting it stop me or hurt my family in any way.
I was totally in control. Like an adult, right?

Cancer was just another challenge and I was up for any challenge.

My kid would be the one who beat cancer.

It would only make all of us stronger. I would continue to work and we would continue to build our future. Cancer would simply be the vessel that taught us valuable life lessons and in the end we’d be better and stronger because of it.

We’d give back.
These important life lessons wouldn’t ever be lost on us.
We’d speak out for high profile organizations and raise awareness. We’d pay our dues- and pay it forward and would be grateful for our good fortune as survivors.

And then, when it was all said and done and we put cancer behind us and we’d move on.

More evolved, happier, more focused and more connected with ourselves and each other.

The problem is my thirties didn’t really go that way.
Instead, they slowly spiralled in the complete opposite direction.

We didn’t beat cancer during this decade. We fought it. Tooth and nail.

We spent nearly seven and a half years in treatment at BC Children’s Hospital and we struggled. Log got sicker and then she got better. The side effects of treatment were unexpected and they took their toll on all of us.

My heart shattered into a million pieces for my daughter.
I lost my job. We remortgaged our house (instead of paying it off as planned) and somewhere in it all I gave up thinking of the way things ‘should’ have been and forgot about moving on and instead just tried to inch forward.

Yes, my thirties have been some of the best and worst days of my life

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On one hand I am so proud of what I have accomplished. I am proud of who I have become and the people around me.

I have realized that time is more important than money, yet it makes me happy to know I can balance both. I am grateful my husband and I have had the same goals. Together we have been able to grow (two steps forward, one step back) as a couple and as individuals, take crazy risks, have fun, laugh and not kill each other in the process.

I am happy to have traveled the world with my kids. It truly has been my life’s greatest gift. Had life been ‘status quo’ I know we would have never ventured out, spent our retirement fund, or had these experiences and I wouldn’t  give back one second we’ve shared together in any third world country for all the money I could have had.

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I am grateful for the strength I have seen in so many around me over the years and I am also grateful for the strength I have found within myself.

My thirties have been a filter.

I am pretty sure I have far less people who like me, it’s been excruciatingly hard to come to terms with all that has changed over this decade, but I just can’t dwell on it or torment myself over any of it anymore.
The people I do have (a hodgepodge of sorts) are genuine and dependable and each teach me something different and valuable about life and about myself. I am grateful for that.

Today, I don’t take friendships for granted and I’ve learned to say I love you with out feeling weird.
I have learned who I can count on and who I can’t. I have learned how to ask for help. (Ok- 😜 at least I have started- kind of)

I have a sense self worth and confidence I didn’t have in my twenties.
I also have a higher tolerance to alcohol and I drink better wine, so my thirties weren’t all bad.

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They brought forth authenticity.

It was a decade that connected me and tore me apart all at the same time.

It was a time that helped me finally work up the courage to face some brutally raw emotions buried deep down inside for far too long.

My thirties have been extreme in contradiction.

My inside voice is almost always on repeat.

“You’ve got this Jenny!!!!”

And then in the next breath I hear myself whispering…

“You’re totally fucked!!!”

And so it goes.

The days have been long and the years have been short.

My ‘baby’ is now the age I was when I had her. My second baby will be a teenager soon. I’ve been with my partner for almost half of my entire adult life and I now feel like when I when talk about home it isn’t any longer the town I grew up in.

I have changed.

And although I may not be ready for forty,
here it is.

I assume it is ready for me.

In some ways, I feel like I’ve lived so much longer than a mere four decades and yet I still long to hit the reset button. I have so much more to learn.

I want to re-evaluate this ‘adult thing’ and actually listen to the people who tried to give me solid concrete details on what it all entails.
I want to go back and make an informed decision about whether or not I could actually do this or not.

But wait- No one does that right?

No one has any idea about all of this grown up stuff, do they?

I think most of us just pretend or at least I hope so because it is the last day of my 30’s and I still don’t have a fucking clue.

I haven’t beaten cancer, I haven’t saved my child’s life, or moved on (or even forward sometimes). I don’t have a job and I am no
longer even sure of what I want to do when I ‘grow up’.
I feel like it has all gone too fast.

Life has been too harsh on one hand and then far too gracious to me on another.

I fear yet anticipate what is about to come my way and even though I am second guessing my ability, forty now feels like I am ‘all in’.

All in- with no road map and a life that is all over the map.
I have no plan, and no idea where I am headed. Just a shit load of hope that won’t burn out, a super rad cheering section that keeps on chanting, a half stocked wine cellar, a kick ass shrink (who just raised her rates), and a pre-approved line of credit.

I mean, how bad can it really be?

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