Moms get sick... single Moms get sick, too. Help!

Once again I am here at the cancer center waiting for chemo treatment #3. It's a busy day here. Susan joked that it was "take a number day," and it is... people are waiting, including me. Dr. Johnson said that I am "responding very well," and he wouldn't change a thing we are doing right now. I got this response after I asked when he would do another PET/CT to see how things are doing. He says “maybe in a couple more months.” Notice how I artfully left that dreaded MRI out of the loop? ha. Not doing that again.

The last 3 weeks or so have been a blur of activity for me. Business has been up; things have just been going on and on and on... and I realized I need more help. Lee and Linda have been giving me 110% and that's even with the wedding of the year going on this coming weekend for them. I'm grateful and I still need that 110%. I also need more...

I find that with the exception of the 5 or 6 days right after I get chemo, I can function fairly well with about 2 or 3 really good hours a day in which I can work or play with my son or do whatever else needs to be done. However—I don't want to spend those hours doing the dishes, laundry, etc. And to be honest I haven't been. My house is a maze of Legos, toys, dirty laundry and what-not all over the place. You sort of have to kick things out of your way to make a path where you are walking. It's gotten a clean up now and then but it's getting to me and getting worse all the time.

So, I decided to hire someone to come in a couple hours a day and do housework. Freeing me up to do what I really want to do during those good hours. I started asking around and found that the Cancer Society has a program where they send volunteers out to clean free of charge. They give 24 hours free... sounds wonderful. There is a really long waiting list. So long that they have yet to respond to me since I contacted them 2 weeks ago. Plus, I felt rather bad taking cleaning away from someone potentially worse off than me... not sure I can do it. I would feel bad.

So after checking with friends, family, etc., I resorted to placing a blind ad on Craigslist. I had several responses. Some rather goofy. One woman wanted to put her 14-year-old daughter on the train and then have her bike the rest of the 30 mile journey to my house. I told her that wasn't safe... geez. A few people moving here from there in July etc... about 4 people really seemed like they might fit. I narrowed that down to 2 interviews.

The first woman I interviewed... well... I could not get past the 5 inch stiletto heels and tight skirt she wore to the interview. Ummm... sure she said that she has other clothes to wear but I just could not picture her cleaning my cat box. Lesson—always dress the part for the job you are interviewing for; no matter what.

The second interview was great. I really liked her. She is young, only 17. Her Mom has been through chemotherapy twice. Plus, she is an animal lover, has horses, 7 cats, takes in foster cats, isn't afraid of snakes and even kicked off her shoes before she came in my house. Plus, she said she "loved Legos." She starts Monday.

Needing help has been difficult for me. I have always been insanely independent. I have avoided marriage, live in boyfriends or anyone who tries to tell me what to do, for most all my adult life. If fact, I have gone out of my way to go against the crowd and to defy anyone that tries to tell me how it is... I was a bad employee, fun girlfriend and thought there was nothing I could not do on my own, in my own manner.

I see a cool chiropractor Dr. Corey Sondrup. You have to visit his website, if for no other reason, to see his beauty. He is a pretty man. I have known him for a long time. A lot of my employees have gone to him over the years. All of them have had secret crushes on him. www.optimalhealthdynamics.com. He does a lot of healing techniques that some would say are "out there." I say they are "cool." His finding on my "life lesson" for this disease was to learn how to ask for and accept help. Um... wow... okay. I had lots of interesting reasons why this might be the case. "I hate to give up control... I don't want people to feel taken advantage of... blah, blah, blah,” but, what it came down to according to his ethereal testing was I was "afraid of losing my identity." I had to think about that for a long time.

I have always smacked my "identity" dead center on my intelligence and independence. I would rather people say "she is so smart and independent" than say I was pretty. Why? How had I arrived at the idea that not needing help and being so independent made me "smart?" Ahhh... I see it now. And in doing so it has helped in reaching the conclusion to hire help because I don't want the same thing to happen to my son.

You see my Mother was chronically ill for most of my life. She passed away several years ago due to liver disease. She was an amazing woman. One of those whose depth you don't really comprehend until they are gone. In many ways my Mom was simple. And in many, many more ways she was very complex. Smart, but under-educated. Her parents were homesteaders in North Dakota. She often said the Little House on the Prairie books and TV show where like her childhood had been brought to life. She went to a one room school house and then had to live in another town a few hours away with her older sisters to attend Jr. High and High school. She sort of, graduated high school. She had moved to Seattle and before marrying my father, she proudly was the assistant manager of the lingerie department at Sears and Robuck. A stunning beauty she was named "Sears national sweater girl" and was photographed in tight-fitting sweaters for advertisements. She looked like a movie star from that era. She married my father at a young age and moved with him to Utah from Seattle. Fierce and tough, but never learned how to drive. She was very dependent on others yet could hold her own in a lot of situations.

She survived cancer of the uterus a year or so after I was born. When I was younger—like 6 or 7—my mother had a few health problems here and there; high blood pressure, ulcers, and various things. She made regular doctor visits, but nothing alarming. When I was about 10 or 11—I can't remember exactly when, but it was around that switch from elementary to Jr. High school—she was diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver and told she had 6 months to live. Ironically, my Mom never drank alcohol but had the disease most credited to heavy drinking.

This had a huge impact on my family of course. And by this time our family at home had shrunk. My two older sisters had married, had children, and/or moved away. One lived closer from time to time but had young children and a dissolving marriage. The other was off from state to state searching for her dream. She came home sometimes; like holidays. My brother was off working also... after a less than stellar performance in college, he followed my father into the building trades; a seemingly very good move for him. I don't care how smart you are... you need to do what you like to do and are good at. I have more theory on my family members’ quirky genius... but like my sisters... that deserves its own blog.

The economy in our town was tough at that time. Building had slowed down to a crawl at best. Due to my mother's health concerns, health insurance was tough to come by. My father's trade had been hurt by the downturns and in order to find a company that would provide the drastically expensive insurance for my mother he took jobs out of state. My brother went with him. Sometimes he was closer, like Nevada or Idaho and thus he could come back regularly, like every couple of weeks, but only for a few days at a time. Sometimes he was far away; like Kansas and he could only come back every few months.

So for several years, from the time I was 11 or so until I was 18, it was my mom and me; and for a lot of it I was scared out of my mind. I was frightened that she could die at any moment. That something would happen and I wouldn't know what to do... somehow no one had explained to me how to call for help or which neighbor to go to. I remember watching carefully when riding in the car to see how people drove, in case I had to jump in the car and drive her to the hospital myself when I was 11.

I grew up very fast. I had to.

Granted things were simpler then. We are talking more than 30 years ago. It wasn't a big deal for kids to walk to school on their own. And it was safe to ride the bus to buy groceries or do whatever you needed to do... we lived in a pretty and little town. Nothing much happened.

I spent all of my Jr. High and High School years alone with my mom. Talking care of whatever she needed and pretty much doing the household upkeep as well. I'm not complaining, I think my childhood was just fine. I tend to break it up into two parts. Before Mom got sick and after Mom got sick. It's odd now to talk to my older siblings about it because they had a totally different experience of it than I did... understandably so, they weren't there.

I didn't do a lot of normal kid’s things; didn't vacation in Disneyland; didn't play the days away, like my friends did. I was well taken car of though, and never lacked anything… except for freedom and independence for my mom. Her not being able to drive was a big deal. I know places like New York and other big cities some people never learn how to drive. But this is the West, and a small town. I remember her and I taking 3 different buses so I could get to the orthodontist. Just a tightening of my braces took a whole exhausting day. Grocery shopping on the bus was an adventure... she was a wiz at stocking food away so we didn't have to do that very much. Lots of times other kids at school would be on the bus to go to wherever they went in the cliques and gangs and the next day at school there was either teasing or the kinder gentler query of "why were you and your mom on the bus with groceries???" There were no neighborhood markets; the closest store was miles away. No McDonald's close by, no pizza delivery. People in our neighborhood cooked, went to church and watched TV.

I didn't have a ton of friends, but the ones I had were loyal, and some of them are still in communication with me. The most difficult thing for me was having to wait on my mom. That sounds so negative; but that's what it was... she would sit and watch TV in her chair and I was her caretaker. If she wanted something she asked me to get it for her. I went to school during the day and at night I was a home health worker. The mental stress of it all took a toll on my mom. When I would try to spark up a rebellion of any sort it was usually met with a "you have to be nice to me I could die at any time." That was true. That is what the doctors told her. I'm sure she was scared. This was also something she would tell my fiends, the few dates I had and anyone who tried to involve me in something.

I remember some of the girls from the "ward;" (and this is something you have to be LDS to understand, but I will explain best I can) the "ward" in a Utah neighborhood, especially at that time, is the place your friends come from. Mormons or LDS have church houses in each neighborhood here. Each church house has 3 or so "wards" that meet there. The wards are drawn by proximity to the church. Then each ward has a designated time to meet for their church services. At that time and in my neighborhood I knew of only 1 non-Mormon family. All of our neighbors and 99% of the kids in my school were LDS. If you were not LDS, or chose not to go to church meetings, well... your social life went to hell too.

One day in particular, while I was in 7th grade, the girls from the young women's association of the ward came knocking on the door with the best of intentions. They wanted to know if I could come to their meeting at the church? Wow... did they get an earful. I overheard it from the kitchen as my mom gave them a good "talking to." She told them, among other things, that she was/could die at any moment and "were any of their Mother's like that??" That I had to stay home and take care of her even if it meant "scrubbing the floor..." now at this time I never had to scrub the damn floor. I have no idea what that was about. My older sisters, yes they had to scrub the floor. But, by that time we had "mop and glow." She asked them if any of them "had ever scrubbed a floor?" Aaa... um... silence. Then she said "I know you think you are better than her, but I think she is better than you, because none of you could do that..." "She cooks dinner and cleans too... do any of you?" I was confused and stunned by this. I liked cooking—this didn't bother me, I never scrubbed the floor, I didn't think that much of it... but yeah, I would have wanted to go with these girls. This went on for what seemed like days to me as I was listening. I was frozen. I couldn't move. I just listened. Finally she sent them away... with a "now go on to church and don't bother her." I was mortified.

And no, none of those girls ever bothered me again. Fine. I made great friends with the non-Mormon kids who were pretty great in their own right. Things got more intense for me as I got older.

By High School I really felt the need to go places and do things. So in my adolescent way, I found the solution. Be independent, don't need help, don't need friends... not to mention, don't need boyfriends. I wanted boyfriends—just didn't want to need them. I didn't have a lot of them in my school years. As you may imagine as soon as one got the "glad eye" for me and admitted it, the "church girls" gave him a talking to... I found an answer for that too. I dated guys that were older and didn't date any guy from anywhere near my school system.

I filled my time doing an acceptable activity. By that I mean, one that my mom saw as important enough to be away from her for. I was overactive in scholarly pursuits. This allowed me to stay after school with no one to bother me and work on the school play or debate team. I wasn't sporty much, but I could hold my own with any other high-school debater. And I found a somewhat shaky home with the already other weird drama kids—this lead to a sense of freedom. I had play practices and debates to go to... at times this was a day or more away; if I was good enough to travel to another school far away for a debate. I got to meet smart kids from other schools who didn't know me. And school plays were at night. Great.

I finally found the not-so-holy-grail at 17. I found an older guy that wanted to marry me. I jumped at it. It was a huge mistake; and frankly I don't even remember much about it. It didn't last long, not quite 2 years. I wasn't pregnant but I think the thought that it "could" happen was enough to scare my parents into letting me get married. I didn't think much about how this would impact my mom or dad. I just wanted out, and I was close enough to be there when she needed something right?

In hindsight; I should have talked to someone about my unhappiness, but I was afraid to do so... I should have stayed there, toughed it out and gone to college rent free... but I was 17. All I could think of was freedom.

So, fast forward to now. I finally became pregnant after years and years of trying... I was overjoyed. I was fully aware that I was doing it at an older age—I would give birth at 41. I knew I was capable of doing it. Never worried much about the risks of birth defects etc., but I promised myself that I would stay fit so that in 10 years I could go to my son’s sporting events and keep up with him riding bikes or whatever he would do... I was going to make certain he did not have my childhood repeated. I never dreamed in my wildest nightmares I would get such a thing like cancer when he was 5.

Now I cringe inside when I hear people say things to him like "you have to take care of your mother... she's sick you have to be good... you will have to teach him to do more things for you and on his own..." No, no, no... Please no! I want him to never take responsibility for me in that way. That to me, is worse than having cancer. I can't let it impede him. My son is already progressed passed his years by virtue of his intelligence. I want and need him to have fun. I don't want him afraid I could die at any moment. I don't want him to not go places and do things because he has to wait on me. It cannot happen. I will not let it.

So thus, I now proudly admit—I need help. I am fortunate enough to hire someone to help. I know there are people out there who are unable to hire someone. There are other single moms who can't afford a go getting a 17-year-old to do dishes. I am so glad that I have Jungle Roses. Thanks to Joan, Rodney and all those that came before that helped it grow and be what it is... you know who you are... thank you.

And while I think it presents its own difficulty—being self employed, I don't have sick leave and a few other oddball things. When I was given my "textbooks" at my big meeting it included some "financial aid" information. At first I thought, "whew... there is help," but my hopes fell quickly when I read through it and found instructions for applying for food stamps, welfare and disability. Damn. I'm betting there are single moms out there with cancer who had to go for this kind of assistance. Talk about a blow on top of a blow. Yes, there are some other programs that assist with medication if you can't afford to pay for your own medicine. I heard rumors about free wigs from the cancer society and a few other tidbits here and there, but my heart goes out to those single moms that also lost their incomes and have to support their families on government assistance.

My mom, btw, went on to live another 20+ years after that "6 months to live" diagnosis. It got so "normal" for all of us that when she got really sick all those years later it was a shock. With her knowledge of the bus system and her neighbors and friends she lived a somewhat independent life after I moved out. My father "retired"... um... not really, but he thought about it for a minute. He started his own business and was able to find employment back here in Utah after the economy turned, doing what he did best. He finished high-end luxury homes and was in great demand. The economy had somehow made a lot of people that could now afford to build huge, luxury homes and he was the best at doing the interior finish work. He did the finish work in my home and I love it so much. I have wonderful hand made wood work, brick fireplace and other extras all built by him.

He and my mother became like newly weds again. They were happy and had many, many more great times together before my mother passed. When he started working back here again he found me an adult. We had very open talks about that in which he apologized for being away and missing so much of my childhood. We talked about why. I already knew why, but he wanted to say it. We vowed to get to know one another again. And we did, as adults we became very close. I also remained close to my mother. We went on many great shopping excursions once I could drive, and had quite a few adventures together, after I divorced and could take her out shopping, for a full day sometimes. She loved going to Salt Lake to Christmas shop... it was a blast.

I have no ill-feelings about what happened. My parents did the best they could at the time... and it was good. I realize in all to vivid clarity now what my mom was going through, and that it could have been much, much worse. I have to give my father huge credit for his loyalty. It would have been easy for him to bail out at many times. But he did not. My mom could have given up, but she did not. And many times she was really fun to be around. She did a lot of goofy, giggly things; and that was great. And the friends I had that got to know her, loved her.

I also have respect for those girls in the ward. They had no idea what was coming that day they knocked. I doubt they remember that lecture they got. But I'm pretty certain they still don't like me, but they can't exactly remember why...