Childhood Cancer Speeches - BC Cops for Cancer

My son and I do some volunteer work with the BC Cops for Cancer. I've been asked in the past to say a few words to the team at various times. Thought I'd share a couple of things here.

(This following was something I had written for the team for after they had finished their ride for the year - a "thank you" note)

A Normal Average Day

I remember being in Children’s Hospital with Lucas on a Thursday afternoon at 4:00 p.m. a couple of weeks after he was diagnosed.

I remember this moment because it was the time when it hit me that everything had changed.
4:00 p.m. on a Thursday.

This is the time when I should be thinking about what is for dinner while Lucas’s older brothers have plopped themselves down in front of the T.V. to watch Pokemon, as they did every weekday after school.
Lucas would have pulled all the books from the bookshelf and been building elaborate roads and paths with them stretching from the living room down the hall to the bedrooms; his brothers arguing about which Pokemon would win in a battle and why.
A normal average day.

But on this day, I was in the hospital with Lucas, as I had been the day before, and would be for several days to come. I knew there were many planned days we’d be there; I was anxious about all the other days that we couldn’t plan for that we might be there.

My older boys had been sent to live with relatives. I wanted them to have consistency and stability. I didn’t want them to worry about who would be home for them after school and why.
As a parent, you never think you’d ever have to “let go” of your 8- and 6-year-old children. I knew they’d be safe and loved and really well taken care of. But it’s still not easy to send them off. I am their mother. I am supposed to care for and nurture them. I am the one who is supposed to tuck them into bed, kiss their boo boos, listen to their frustrations of a long day in school and referee their fights (they are brothers after all).

But Thursday afternoon at 4:00 p.m. I was painfully aware that that was all gone. In the blink of an eye, our normal average days had been yanked away from us.
I didn’t know when we’d get them back. Hell, I didn’t know if we’d ever get them back.
We didn’t have it on Thursday at 4:00 p.m., and with nine months of scheduled treatments, we weren’t going to have them back anytime soon.

Oh, how I mourned the loss of normal average days.

One of the many things that I love about the Cops for Cancer team riders over the years is how they “bring the normal back.” (Sounds like a Justin Timberlake song, doesn’t it?)
The team does this by raising money for childhood cancer research so that, one day, no family will have to experience this kind of loss. They do it by raising money for camp so that children get to do something normal like go to camp and meet other kids and just be normal average kids. They do it when they hang out with the juniour riders and talk and joke around with them like the normal average goofy kids that they are.

Sure, there are a lot of people who want to be special and unique and stand out, but there are so many others (children and their families) who would give anything ... ANYTHING ... to be normal for just one day ... even an hour. Like 4:00 p.m. on a Thursday.

“Thank you” doesn’t even begin to describe my gratitude for everything that the Cops for Cancer team riders do.
Maybe “I love you” sums it up better.

(The following is a speech I delivered to the team riders before they set out on their fundraising ride. Some riders have done it in previous years; others are new to the experience)

Why do you ride?

You will probably get asked that question a lot. Some of you, I'm sure, already have your reasons for riding. Others may be asking themselves: What the heck have I got myself into, and why exactly am I doing this? Well, that's what I'm here to talk about. Hopefully, I'll be able to provide you with a few good reasons.

Approximately 1300 children aged 19 and under in Canada are diagnosed with cancer every year. Childhood cancer in Canada boasts of an overall 80% cure rate. Some people think that's pretty darn good.
Let me relate that to the world around you. Tomorrow you'll be starting your ride and going to various schools and meeting very excited children. When you find yourself in that gym, surrounded by those eager faces, take a good look at them. Because an 80% cure rate means that, every year, 260 children will die. That's about the size of a small elementary school. So when you're at Lucas's school tomorrow, for example, that would be the entire population of his school plus another 80 kids gone this year alone.
Picture yourself standing in an empty gymnasium every year.
100% cure rate is the only acceptable cure rate.
A good reason to ride.

Two-thirds of children who survive cancer will go on to have long-term effects from the treatment. A third of them will be serious and potentially life threatening.
Research into finding kinder, more gentle treatments and procedures with less side effects are something you should pedal for.
A good reason to ride.

1300 children every year are diagnosed with cancer. Each one has their own unique story, their own dreams and hopes, their own obstacles and struggles.
That's 1300 good reasons to ride.

That's a lot of numbers and statistics. It can start to sound a little impersonal. So let me introduce you to one of those 1300 good reasons: my son Lucas.
He was a chubby, happy, inquisitive baby. Just after his first birthday, on August 20th, 1999, at 3:30 p.m. (the date is burned into my memory), a routine ultrasound scan uncovered two masses in his abdomen. He had a cancerous tumour on each of his kidneys. One kidney was completely taken over by cancer and the other kidney had a smaller mass on it. The technical name for this type of cancer is Wilms Tumour. He was treated with chemotherapy, surgery to completely remove one of his kidneys and part of the other one, and radiation to his abdomen. A lot happened in that time; too much to get into now.
There were a lot of ups and downs, a lot of sleepless nights. A few moments of ingenuity (Just how do you get a breastfed 1-year-old, who won't take a bottle, to drink contrast fluid for a CAT scan, or how do you get the liquid out of a gel tablet into his mouth and not get it everywhere?).
There were a few moments of laughter: what kind of bead do they give out for passing gas?
And a few moments of embarrassment. Like the time I was testifying as a witness in the courthouse at Main and Hastings during Lucas's treatment and being asked if I had any needles or weapons in my purse upon entering the building; of course I said no, then proceeded to dump the contents of my purse out which contained over two dozen syringes (with no needles in them), because syringes ended up being the answer to both the contrast issue and the gel medication issue ... as well as every other oral medication issue. I raised a few eyebrows that day, I'm sure.
Cancer affects the entire family in a myriad of different ways. Raising awareness, understanding and compassion is one way to lessen the psycho-social impact.
A good reason to ride.

Lucas finished treatment in March of 2000. Over ten years for him being cancer-free. You'd like to think that, after so many years, it would be very far behind us; we could just forget about it and move on. But we can't. It's not that simple. He's got some side effects from treatment and we also have a genetic component going on in our family. A long and complicated story.
Lucas goes annually for long-term follow-up care, which usually consists of blood work, ultrasound and x-rays, then an examination by the oncologist. Every couple of years and ECG and echo-cardiogram is thrown in to check his heart, because one of the chemo drugs he was given can damage the heart.
The cancer journey doesn't end when treatment ends.
A good reason to ride.

There are so many things related to the cancer experience which are hard to imagine. I remember being in the hospital with my older children before Lucas was diagnosed and seeing the "bald-headed kids" walking along the halls with family members at their side. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to be that parent - but I would, for a brief moment. What would that feel like? Then deciding it's something I could never do, and I didn't know how those parents did it.
We can all imagine what it would feel like to be told that your child has cancer. Of course, it sucks! If you could imagine that, you could come close to what it actually feels like.
But what is hard is all the other things you don't imagine. The things you never think about that you had no idea what it would feel like until you experienced it.
Things like comforting your child while they are given anesthetic to put them to sleep. I was not prepared for that; it's nothing like you'd imagine. One minute, you have a crying, fussy kid squirming in your arms; the next second, they are gone. It's not the gentle, natural drifting off to sleep that you've observed countless times before. Their eyes roll back in their head, and they go instantly limp. It's extremely upsetting to observe. And even knowing this, as I do because we've been through it dozens of times over the years, it never gets easier. It's a punch in the gut every time.
But it helps to have other parents to talk to, to share these experiences and stories, to reassure you that you're not going crazy.
You can draw strength from knowing that you're not in this battle alone.
A good reason to ride.

The hardest part of the entire experience, which still haunts me to this day, is what I heard. No, it's not the doctors and nurses using all those technical terms, it's not stupid comments, nor is it even the sound of your child vomiting.
One day, when Lucas was around six years old, we were riding the bus together, and a baby at the front of the bus was crying. Lucas asked me why the baby was crying, and I responded that sometimes babies cry when they are tired or hungry or bored. Lucas was quiet for a few minutes, staring out the bus window, and I could see a tear running down his cheek. He turned to me finally and said, "That's the sound that the hospital makes. It sounds like children crying."
I knew exactly what he meant. I can still hear the voice of a young child crying to his parents in the hospital hallway that he just wanted to go home, and then followed it up with a whimper of "Please let me go home. I promise I'll be good."
How do you explain to a child that they didn't do anything wrong and aren't being punished when that's exactly how treatment feels to them?
We need to provide them with positive experiences, like going to camp, that allow them to play and be kids ... and don't feel like torture.
Another good reason to ride.

Lucas has Asperger Syndrome, which is a form of autism. Basically what it means is that the world can be an overwhelming and scary place for him; he also has difficulty interacting and socializing with people. It can be terrifying for him. So for him to come and join all of you on tour is akin to being in an airplane getting ready to jump out with a parachute on. Or, in your case, getting ready to do the Tour de Valley ride.
But despite all his anxieties, he will come out. He comes because it's important to him. He wants to help all of you help children diagnosed with cancer. To him, you are all his heroes.
And while part of him wants to help other kids, there is another part of him that is thrilled just to be able to spend time with his real-life superheroes.
One year, I dropped off my shy and trepidatious boy with the Cops for Cancer team in the morning, and I don't know what happened that day, because I wasn't there, but whatever shenanigans that were going on did something to Lucas because that was not the same child I picked up later that afternoon. The boy I got back was a little more outgoing, was willing to take a few more risks, and didn't seem as afraid of the world as he had been before. That effect has lasted years.
One day with all of you had changed him.

Cancer isn't the only thing that can change a life. You do too! A very good reason to ride.

I've given you more than 1300 good reasons to ride.
So I ask you now: Why will YOU ride?

Parents: Protect the Internet from your kids

I've seen a lot of programs and information geared towards parents to talk to their kids about the dangers of being online. Stalkers, predators, bullies, fakers, hoaxers, et cetera, lurking behind all these various keyboards. But where do people think they come from? Another planet? Aliens have infiltrated the 'Net?
Nope. These are human beings. These are someone's children. Possibly even YOURS.

I have friends who are involved with Warrior Eli is a Hoax and I often read their blog. What caught my attention for a lot of these hoaxes is just how young some of these people were when they started out: 14 years old. These are kids.

What would possess a person to do something like this? Sure, there may be psychological issues at play for some of them, such as Münchausen by Internet. But is it possible that some of them are just bored and don't know any better? They start off thinking that it's just a wee bit of fun and then, before they know it, they are caught up in it?

Parents try and teach their children phone manners and how to interact face to face with others in a polite way, but do they all instruct their offspring on not only the importance of "Internet manners" but how to do it?

I'm sure there are parents who say to themselves, "Of course I've had a conversation with my child. They know how to behave."
Well, anyone who has spent any time around kids knows that just because you explain to them why they can't have a cookie before dinner and they don't have permission to have one, doesn't mean that they won't try and sneak one anyway when you're not looking. Understanding something and doing something are two different things.

And then there's those parents (yeah, we all know some like this) who refuse to believe that their perfect little angel could behave in anything but a perfect way, because their kids are always well behaved around them. Problem is there is no such thing as "perfect" and kids are going to test boundaries (particularly if they think their parents can't see them or won't know) and make mistakes. That doesn't necessarily make them "bad kids"; just makes them human.

Several years ago, I was not pleased to wander into a conversation one of my children was having with someone online. I could hear the other person talking through the speaker getting flustered with what my child was saying on his mic. They were playing some sort of game and my son was saying "What's wrong with you, noob? Are you stooooopid? All you have to do is [insert some technical stuff on how to configure things in the game - all spoken in a very snotty way; think of the Comic Book Store guy from The Simpsons]".
To add insult to injury, I could tell by the voice that the other player was a young 20-something male, and my son was only 8 years old and sounded very much like it. That's gotta hurt.

Yes, I took away my son's mic and explained to him why he shouldn't talk like that online (or anywhere) to anyone. I talked about respect and reputation. He seemed like he understood, but, much like sneaking a cookie, he continued to act like an ass online in text whenever I wasn't around.
Fortunately (and I sincerely mean that), it didn't take long for that particular gaming community to school my son on what they thought about his behaviour and that they weren't going to tolerate it [in much stronger language than what I had used]. At which point he was kicked and banned.
My son was extremely upset. And, yeah, bad mommy that I am, I did use it as an "I told you so" teaching moment. What you put out is what you'll get back.

I'm pleased to report that his online behaviour is much improved. He's not perfect; nobody is. But I was extremely proud of him one day for kicking and banning someone from a game he was running because they were writing derogatory comments and making fun of another player who had English as a second language. My son explained that to them and asked them to stop. He was ignored. Then my son calmly told that player that they were being mean and cruel, and then my son kicked and banned him from the game. He then spent the next four hours using a translate program and chatted and played with the player who'd been attacked, and they had a great time.

That's the kind of reputation you want your kids to foster when they are online. Particularly in this day and age. Everything they do online is potentially saved somewhere. The Internet has a LONG memory. You have no idea who is recording or taking screen shots of your activities to post somewhere else on the Web that you have no control over. In talking with some of the Warrior Eli is a Hoax folks, it's obvious that lots of people don't have a clue how easy it is to track down their identities online [legally]. Even using a pseudonym offers little protection.

So if you don't want to protect the online community from your kids; maybe you'll want to protect your kids from themselves. What seems like harmless fun to them now, may not seem that great 10 years from now when they are trying to explain to a prospective employer (or anyone) how they aren't the jerk that has been logged and splashed on the Internet accessible with an easy search. Or that they're no longer the faker/hoaxer who was just bored and now is memorialized on several websites for what they have done.
No one knows about all the stupid stuff I did as a kid unless I tell them, because there isn't a permanent written and/or pictorial record of it that anyone in the world can access. It's not like that anymore.

So when you're thinking about how to protect your kids online, stop and think about how maybe, just maybe, it's the Internet that needs to be protected from your kids.

My Mother is Nuts

I started sharing some stories of things my mother has said with a few friends of mine.  These are a hundred percent true.  Enjoy!

Convo #1 

Mom (to me):  Remember Tracey Vanbeesriech?
Me: No. I don't know that name.
Mom: Sure you do. She was a good friend of yours when you were little.
Me: No, mom. I have never heard that name before in my life. I don't know what you're talking about.
Mom: Don't you remember? She lived the next street over.
Me: I remember being friends with Deb Tedford who lived a block over.
Mom: Oh, that's it. Deb Tedford.
Me: How did you get Tracey Vanbeesriech from Deb Tedford?
Mom: Tracey Vanbeesriech was a friend of mine when I was little.

Convo #2

(My mom and dad are sitting on the couch and my dad starts talking to me.)
Dad: So you'll have to watch that movie I burned off and brought out for you.
Me: I can't wait.
Mom: Oh, when you're done, I want to watch it. You can lend it to me.
Dad: When I burnt it off, I put in the English subtitles when the characters are speaking Spanish, but I didn't put any subtitles in when they are speaking English. Subtitles just take up so much room.
Mom: Why didn't you put in the English subtitles?
Dad: Because we don't need them.
Mom (confused): Then how are we supposed to know what they are saying?
Dad: Um, because we speak and understand English.
Mom (very confused): But you said you only put them in for the Spanish. How are we supposed to know what they are saying when they aren't speaking Spanish?
Dad: Because they are speaking English the rest of the time.
Mom (angry and confused): But there won't be any subtitles!
(Dad and I just look at each other and shrug our shoulders. Not sure how to get this any clearer)
[5 minutes go by and then ...]
Mom: Oh, do you mean subtitles? Why would you have Spanish subtitles and not English ones?
Dad: The subtitles are in English when the characters are speaking Spanish. 
Mom: Oh, you mean subtitles. You're talking about the subtitles.
Dad: Yes.
(Dad and I look at each other again. I nod and smile indicating that I am very well aware of the fact that he's already used the word "subtitles" many, many times)

Convo #3

(cell phone rings)
(Mom answers her cell phone and starts pushing buttons)
Mom: Darn, I couldn't push number 9 fast enough. It cut off.
Me: Who was it?
Mom: I don't know. They say I won a bunch of Airmiles. I just needed to push number 9 on my phone.
Me: Um, mom, you know that's phone spam; right?
Mom: It might not be. Visa called me the other day and said because of a purchase I made that I've won a free trip for two to Florida. Your brother and I are going. It's a week at a hotel in Florida, a week cruise to the Bahamas. It includes car rental and a couple of days at Disney World. I just have to pay for our flight. Oh, and I just have to sit through some presentation for some condo or timeshare or something for an hour.
Me: Mom, that's NOT Visa. You did NOT win a trip from Visa. Visa don't give a shit if you sit through a presentation or not. Tell me you didn't give someone your credit card info over the phone.
Mom (angry with me): They gave me the name of the company and I looked it up. They are a reputable business. I'm not going to discuss this any further with you. Why can't you just be happy that I won something for nothing?

Convo #4

(Keep in mind that my mother invited herself to come with us to the Zombie Walk after I told her last year that she couldn't come with us. It's a public event, so I can't actually stop her from coming.)
Mom: So are you looking forward to the Zombie Walk tomorrow?
Dad: Yes. Never been to one before.
Mom: Are you dressing up as a zombie?
Dad: No.
Mom: I guess I won't be either. Speaking of which, have you made out a living will yet?

Convo #5

[I can't remember this all word for word, but the gist of it is worth it.]
(Mom calls me on the phone out of the blue)
Mom: I'm going to be able to watch movies from the internet on my TV.
Me: Oh, you've got your TV hooked up to your computer, or did you get an Xbox?
Mom: No. 
Me: Well, how are you going to watch movies from the internet on your TV?
Mom: I need one of your boys to come over and help me hook up the keyboard.
Me: What?
Mom: I need them to hook up the keyboard to my TV so I can watch movies from the internet on my TV.
Me: Mom, you do understand that you can't hook up a keyboard to your TV and, even if you could, that does not magically turn your TV into a computer with internet access; right?
Mom: I've got to go.
(click. Dial tone)

Convo #6

Mom: Have you seen the movie Oh Brother Where Art Though?
Me: Yup.
Mom: Did you like it?
Me: Yup. I thought it was very entertaining.
Mom: I didn't like that movie at all.
Me: [I really should know better] How come?
Mom: I didn't like the part where they were killed and eaten by those women.
Me: When in the movie was that?
Mom: I thought you said you saw it?
Me: I did. But I don't know what you're talking about.
Mom: It's about halfway through the movie.
Me: If the main characters were killed and eaten halfway through the movie, who do you think was in the rest of the movie?
Mom: I don't know. That's why I didn't like it.

Convo #7


Me:  So I found out I have a brain tumour.
Mom: A brain tumour?  Where?


Convo #8

(Youngest son and I drop off Christmas present to my mom.)
Me:  They just came out of the freezer. You can pop them straight back into the freezer or leave one out to thaw out if you want.
Mom: Oh, the freezer? Is it food?
Me (smiling): Yes, it is.
Mom: Is it edible?

Brian, is that you?

I've got an appointment to see a neurologist at the beginning of September.  First day of school.  I hope I can remember it.
In the last 30 days I've completely forgotten two appointments that I'd made for various things.  It wasn't until several days later that I was aware that I'd forgotten them.  I knew about them before.  I reminded myself a couple of times leading up to the dates.  And then it was all gone.  I looked at my calendar and noticed that I had something written in for a previous day and thought to myself "I don't remember doing anything that day.  What do I have written on the calendar?"
Oh, damn.  I had an appointment.  I was supposed to go and get a mammogram done.  Shit.
Panic sets in.  I start feeling my body to see if I have clothes on.  Yup, I do.  So, nope, I'm not asleep and having one of those "missed your exam while naked" dreams.  Damn.  This isn't like me.  I don't normally just completely forget appointments.
Brian, is that you?  Are you responsible for this forgetfulness?
My head hurts.  I have a headache.  I get headaches all the time.  I'm talking several times a month.  Thankfully, Advil and Tylenol seem to really help.  T3 helps when those other two aren't enough.  I was told and believed they were hormonal migraines.  But now I'm not so sure.
Brian, is that you?  Are you the reason why my head hurts?
When my head hurts, I feel like I'm only partly connected to this plane of existence.  It's hard to explain or describe.  Best analogy I can come up with involves the term "opacity" like one would use for a paintbrush tool in some Photoshop type of program.  When my head doesn't hurt and I'm not sick, my mind and body have 100% opacity.  I feel completely here.  When my head is hurting, depending on how bad, I start to feel somewhere between 70 and 60% opacity.  Like I'm mostly here, but there is a chunk of me floating off somewhere in the ether.  And it's really exhausting and takes a lot of effort to concentrate and be more here. Which doesn't really work, so I'm still not completely connected and now I'm really tired.
Brian, is that you?  Are you dragging my consciousness away?
And then there are those times where my stomach feels off (comes with the headaches).
I'm nauseous, but I don't feel like I'm going to throw up [and I don't].  My tummy just feels icky.  I have no appetite.
Brian, is that you?  How the hell did you get into my belly?  Why?
My left eye bothers me sometimes.  It gets dry and sore.  It often feels like there is something in it, but I can never ever find anything.  It lasts for about three days and then goes away ... then comes back again about a month later.  No rhyme or reason to it.  I end up pulling out a few eyelashes because it feels like one of them must be poking me in the eye.  But it's only ever the left eye.  Never the right.
Brian, is that you?  Are you messing with my eye?
When I feel good, I don't think about Brian at all.  But now, whenever I have any ache or pain or feel off, I can't help but wonder if it's just some random thing or is Brian responsible for it.
I don't think I've gotten completely ridiculous with it yet.  I was farting away the other night, but I blamed that on the chilli that I ate and not Brian.  He gets a pass on that one.  At least for now.

Suburban Tourist

On Thursday, Bob and I took the youngest boys up to Whistler.  I've been there once before (many, many years ago).  I've gotten it into my head that the boys HAVE to see certain things in this province.  Maybe it's because I've spent a lot of time in various places and haven't bothered to do the "tourist" thing and check out what other people from other places come here to check out.  So I kind of feel like a tool when someone asks me something about BC and I don't have an answer nor do I even have a good excuse for why I don't have an answer.
"Oh, you live near Vancouver.  Have you ever been to Whistler?"
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"Because it's for tourists."
Once upon a time that answer made some kind of sense to me.  It just sounds stupid now.

It really is a beautiful drive from Vancouver up to Whistler.  The sun was out, the weather was hot, and we had the car windows rolled down.  A perfect summer day.
We stopped on the way up to get a few photos at Brandywine Falls.

What's a terribly not cool thing to do?  Well, it's photobombing your own family, of course.

Whistler Village is an interesting place.  I think it's the love child of Disneyland and Las Vegas.  I fully expected to find either a Venetian gondola or a band of colourfully dressed characters singing theme songs from some movie or another to be just around the next corner.

We decide to be adventurous and take the Whistler Village Gondola (I knew there'd be a gondola around somewhere) up the mountain.  Really not a good idea for those of us with height issues, passing out issues and anxiety issues.  

Despite our discomfort, Lucas and I manage to get to the top in one piece.  I wasn't feeling all that great when we got to the end of the line, and I was wondering if it was just me and my health issues.  But as we stepped off our gondola, the group from the car in front was on the platform and a young girl of maybe 12 or 13 years of age was emptying the entire contents of her stomach right there.  I was never so happy to see someone vomit as I was then.  Yay, I'm not the only one who feels sick on these things!  Happy dance!
Let's go romp in the snow to celebrate!

 

I know it's hard to tell from the previous photos how deep the snow still is in July, so the next photo is to help with that.  It comes up to Lucas's shoulders.

So what is one to do after spending the afternoon on a mountain top?  Head to the lake and get wet!  We stopped off at Lost Lake, which, despite its name, was really easy to find and get to.

After the sun set, we left for home.  We barely scratched the surface of things to do in Whistler.  Maybe next time we'll either look for a nearby campground or rent a room in Squamish for a few days.  There's a slide and a maze that we might try and get to in a few weeks.  Or there's a whole bunch of hiking trails that we didn't get to go explore.  Or there's a bunch of stores that we just walked past.  So much more to explore.  All in all, it was a really good day.

Seriously?

I have a brain tumour.

I have been saying that to myself over and over for a little while now.  Ever since the doctor called yesterday morning to inform me of my CT scan results.  It looks like something called a meningioma.  Usually they are non malignant (NOT cancer).  I have no reason to believe that mine is cancerous.  It's small.  About the size of a cherry pit, I am told.  On the surface of the brain, high left side.  That's about all I was told in that call.  I mean, next steps were discussed:  trying to push up an appointment date to see a neurologist, go for an EEG, et cetera.
But I have a brain tumour.
I wasn't sure if I was going to say or blog anything about it.  But then I thought, this is a part of my life, a part of my experience, so why the hell not?  I'm not writing it for "prayers" or as part of a "poor me" thing.  I'm just writing about it because it's what I'm going through and it's on my mind (literally - the tumour is in the meninges which is the covering of the brain).
My third son is a cancer survivor.  He had bi-lateral Wilms when he was a year old.  I remember at that time thinking that I wished it was me going through it and not him.  Well, now I do have a tumour.  But it isn't cancer.  Maybe it's because of what I went through with him that I'm not really upset at the moment.
Or maybe it really hasn't sunk in and I'm in denial or in shock.
When I told my second son, he said he had mixed emotions about it.  On the one hand, he thought it was terrible.  But on the other hand, he thought it was cool.  That pretty much sums up nicely how I feel about it.  I feel terrible because I think I'm supposed to feel terrible about it.  But I also find it incredibly fascinating and, dare I say it, even funny.
I must have been away or not paying attention the day the pamphlet on "How to Feel about having a Brain Tumour" was passed around.  I spent a lot of time yesterday saying "I have a brain tumour" to myself and then giggling.  Maybe in time, when we start really getting into the nitty gritty of it and deciding what to do about it, I won't find it so fucking funny then.  But, right now, it amuses me.  And that's okay; isn't it?  There's nothing I can do about it at this very moment.  Being upset, sad, scared or serious isn't going to make it go away.  If it would, I guess I could muster up a good cry.  But it won't.  Life is chaos.  Throws shit at us all the time.  Lots of stuff we simply can't control (no matter how much we lie to ourselves and try and convince ourselves we do).  I can't, at this moment, control the fact that I have a brain tumour.  So if I think it's funny and want to laugh about it, I will.  I'd rather have a tumour and be happy than to have a tumour and be miserable.  
Either way, I still have the tumour.  
Don't get me wrong.  I'll be sad, angry, serious, scared when I have to be or when it just comes naturally on its own.  But I'm not going to force myself to be those things because that's what I think other people think I *should* be feeling.
If other people think I'm having an inappropriate emotional response, I suppose I can always blame it on the tumour.  Yes!  I have an excuse for my insanity now.  I can just be me and do my thing and if anyone has a problem with it, BAM, "I have a brain tumour.  What's your excuse?"

I guess this is the point when I should backtrack a bit and talk about how I got to here.  I mean, how did I find out I had a tumour.
Two weeks ago I had an "episode."  I've had similar episodes over the last, oh, four or five years, but I just poo-pooed them.  Basically, I was fainting in my sleep.  Although, three of the five episodes I was up and in the bathroom going pee.  All five episodes happened in the middle of the night, wee hours of the morning.
First two episodes, I'd gotten up to go and empty my bladder.  After I'd done my business, I felt "funny," so I laid on the bathroom floor and passed out.  I'd had a couple of drinks the night before and since I don't often drink alcohol, I blamed it on that.  I'm older; I don't drink much; my body must have changed and I can't handle it.  Those two episodes were over a year apart.  I pretty much avoided alcohol after that and things were going good.  Until last year.
Last fall, I got up in the middle of the night because I had cramps.  Actually, I was sick.  I had some kind of noro-type virus.  I went to the bathroom, had terrible runs.  I remember sitting on the toilet.  Next thing I remember is lying on the bathroom floor with my husband standing over me asking me if I'm okay.  I couldn't move and I couldn't speak.  Body fluids are coming out both ends:  vomit and diarrhea.  Hubby calls 911 and gets an ambulance to come for me.  He says I got up off the toilet, hit the floor, then got up again and fell again.  I hit my head on something on one of the ways down.  I do NOT remember doing it twice.
Anyways, I do remember asking hubby to help me clean up and put something on.  I was more worried about having strangers come into my home and find me naked covered in "stuff" lying on the bathroom floor than if I was sick or not.  Stupid vanity.
I'm taken to the hospital.  They do a finger prick and determine I'm not diabetic.  Give me fluids and Gravol intravenously.  Everyone figures I just passed out because I was dehydrated.  I didn't argue because it made sense to me.  Alcohol dehydrates, stomach virus dehydrates.  I wrote off those episodes as my body not liking to be dehydrated.  
The fact that I've had alcohol and noro-type viruses in the past and NOT had any episodes just wasn't that strong in my mind.
Then a few months later, on Christmas Eve, it happens again.  This time I hadn't had any alcohol and I didn't have a stomach bug.  But I did have a cold.  
What was weird about this time, though, was that I didn't make it to the bathroom.  I didn't make it out of bed.  I was sound asleep and woke up because I just felt wrong.  I don't know how else to explain it.  I just felt wrong and woke up just in time to pass out.  While I am still in bed.  
I have a needle/blood phobia.  I am prone to fainting at the sight of blood or when I have to get a blood test or get an IV put in.  That's happened all my life.  I'm not a stranger to "fainting."
The episode on Christmas Eve felt different than a normal faint.  When I faint, I remember what I was doing before, and then my memory picks up when I'm coming to.  I don't have any memories of anything in between.  But the episode on Christmas Eve, I do have memories of the "in between."  I remember seeing flashes of bright colours and weird shapes; I remember hearing a sound that I can only describe as a loud roar that sounded like a thousand people all speaking at once.  I couldn't make out what they were saying or even if they were speaking the same language as me.  And that terrified me.  I remember feeling absolutely terrified because there was all this sensory input that made no sense.  I was struggling to make any sense of it, and I couldn't.  
The colours and shapes faded to black.  The roar dulled into silence.  I remember being aware of sweat covering my body.  It felt good.  It was the FIRST thing that made sense.  I was aware of my body and aware of being in it.  It was a huge relief, and it felt really good.  So good that I felt like I was in a state of bliss.  I didn't want to move or speak.  I just wanted to stay in the bliss.  So I fell back asleep.  Next day is Christmas Day.  I feel weak and tired, but I'm sick with a cold.  I let it go as just another "sick" thing.
Until two weeks ago.  The same thing that happened on Christmas Eve happened again.  Except this time, I'm not sick.  I am aware in the morning that I feel tired and weak.  I'm weepy.  I'm crying for no reason.  I'm not sad; I'm not scared.  Tears just coming out of nowhere.  At this point I'm now wondering if I am actually fainting or am I having a seizure.  And then I'm not sure if I'd know the difference.  I'm not outside of myself when this is happening, so I don't know what I look like when it does happen.
I'm thinking about "connections."  These episodes all happen in the middle of the night.  All five episodes happened within 24 hours of me starting my menstrual cycle.  For the past five or six years, I've had horrible migraines associated with my menstrual cycle.  I'm at an age where being pre-menopausal is not out of the question.  Is this a hormonal thing?  
I figure I better call my doctor and get a medical opinion.  So I call, make an appointment to go in that day.  Doctor wants me to see a neurologist, but in the meantime sends me for blood work and schedules me to get a head CT scan done.  I get the blood work done and it comes back normal.  I expected that it would.  

I go in last week for my head CT.  I had a blast. It was so much fun.
Technician was a good looking young guy who was really nice and made me laugh (as well as I think I made him laugh).
When I got in, I explained the whole needle fainting thing, and he said I didn't have to worry because I'd be lying down when he put the needle in for IV contrast. So I'm climbing on the table and trying to get in position, and I ask him if I'm in the right place or do I need to move up further. 
He says, "No, you're perfect." Pauses a couple of seconds and follows up with "But I bet you're used to hearing that several times a day every day."
I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so I immediately started telling him about how I caught a big ass frog last week and frightened my boys with it.
Then I asked him if the contrast was radioactive. He told me it wasn't. I said I was disappointed because I was hoping to be able to get some kind of super power from the experience. He laughs.
He gets the IV in, gets me in position, starts the contrast going and the test begins. I had my eyes open at first, but then closed them because I could see the spinning thing and it made me a little dizzy. It was fun sliding back and forth on the table with my eyes closed ... felt like I was on a theme park ride.
So then the technician comes and takes out the IV. He asks the other tech in the booth if they turned off the contrast pump. Then he turns to me and says, "I think you broke the pump."
Other tech comes around and says all the screens just suddenly went blank and now everything is flashing and they'd never seen anything like that. Technician says to me, "You definitely broke it."
I smile and say, "See, I did get a super power! Yay for me!"

I have a really, really good relationship with my doctor.  We've known each other for over 20 years.  
I appreciate the fact that she called me on the phone with the results and didn't make me come in for an appointment to tell me.  She was there through my son's diagnosis and treatment.  She knows I can handle this.

So that's where I'm at currently.
I have decided to name my tumour "Brian."  If it's going to be living in my head for a little while, it might as well have a name.  "Meningioma" isn't a very good name.

Sorry, what the hell is a Scoper anyway?

In my spare time, I proof and scope court and discovery transcripts. Okay; proofing is easy to figure out, but what is scoping? Scoping is when the rough transcript comes and you have an audio file and you listen along while going through the transcript correcting any spelling mistakes and filling in any words that were missed. Once the transcript has been scoped, it's then sent on to a proofer who makes sure the whole thing is squeaky clean and sparkly.
Basically, proofing and scoping are fancy ways of saying "a court reporter's assistant." And by "assistant," think Igor to Dr. Frankenstein. "Yes, Master. Right away, Master."
So what's it like to be a court reporter's assistant?  It's a fun, exciting and glamourous job.  I get to dress up and travel the world.
I think I can almost hear all the court reporters, scopers and proofers laughing their asses off right now.  All right.  So the truth is I'm actually wearing my pyjamas and daydreaming about other places I could be and other things I could be doing.  But that counts, doesn't it?
Yes, sometimes - most times - the transcripts can be excruciatingly boring.  Anyone up for six hours of expert accountant testimony?  Yeah?  Great!  Let's turn that into a week.
But most of the time I learn stuff I didn't know I didn't know.  For example, I know about "shy distance" and how to build a log cabin.  Two things that aren't related to each other, by the way, unless you're attempting to build a log cabin while driving down the road.  Now there's a transcript I look forward to working on!
Everyone I know who does this job - and who doesn't run away screaming right at the beginning - is a little strange.  We can talk with each other for hours about how people speak versus how it comes out on the printed page.  And it actually interests us!

For example, it amuses me that the stereotype of Canadians is that they say the word "eh" a lot.  I actually very rarely encounter that word in a transcript.  The word "sorry," however, will pop up several times on every page.
I am endlessly fascinated by how Canadians use the word "sorry."  I've heard some folks from other geographical locations comment on how polite Canadians are and how they're always apologizing for things.  Fact is that there is no actual apology being given 95% of the time the word "sorry" is used.  At least not in a nice way.  "Sorry, I disagree," translates to the insult "I'm sorry you're such a moron, but my opinion is educated and superior to yours."
Canadians will use "sorry" as an interjection:  "Sorry, I was here first."  Means the same as "Hey, I was here first," but also means "Sorry you're such a moron, but I was here first."  So it can do double duty as an attention getter as well as an insult.
But Canadians will often say it without thinking at all.  It becomes just a fluff word like "like."  "Like, I was going, like, up the road when, like, this guy, like, waved at me," in Canadian comes out as "Sorry, I was going, sorry, up the road when, sorry, this guy, like, waved at me."  Canadians will use the word "like" too.
"Sorry?"  That's the same as "Pardon me?"  If it's spoken softly and the inflection goes quite high at the end, it means "Excuse me, I couldn't hear you.  Please say that again."  If it's spoken loudly and the inflection doesn't go quite that high, it means "What the fuck did you just say to me?"
Quick test.  You bump into a Canadian and they say "Sorry," what are they actually saying?
a)  I'm sorry I was in your way.
b)  I'm sorry you're such a moron and couldn't see me standing here.
For a more scholarly analysis on the Canadian usage of "Sorry" go here.  See?  I wasn't kidding when I said this kind of stuff intrigues me.