It actually took me 30 minutes to get ready…

I got home Valentines night and couldn’t quit worrying about Jeff and Laura. I texted Laura pretty late about IG posts and got a response at 1:22 am. So I texted back and said “Do you want me to drive to Utah with you both? I’m worried about you. I can pack in 15 minutes and be ready to go in the morning any time.”

At 1:32am she said “Oh my goodness that you would even be willing to. Sleep and we’ll talk in the morning. I feel like your lil family could use a break from this and their mama all to themselves for the days we’re gone.”

In the morning we compromised and I came with them bringing Lincoln with me. 

A few minutes in to the trip I inwardly panicked a little. Felt suddenly very scary to be driving away from my home, not in my own car, without Doug and without control of my movements.

I told myself “I have Xanax in my travel pill box if necessary.” And then I told myself I wouldn’t be able to help Jeff drive if I took it. But it turns out it only had to serve it’s regular function: Telling my brain it would be there just in case without actually being ingested. (Also, Jeff never did let me drive.)

The trip took allllll day. But Linc was so so great in the car. Happy to read his book and play games on the iPad.

We got to stop in St George and meet the woman who sells the “Salty.” sweatshirts Michelle W. sent us. We bought a bunch more from her and got back on the road. It was emotional for Laura and things started to go down hill a little after that. Laura started feeling uncomfortable and was getting pretty sick the last hour and a half. But we made it to Julie’s and got Laura squared away and Ruth and Scott picked me up and took me to their house and I was so so glad I got in the car. It seems I need to keep Laura close but it turns out I also need some Ruth time.

Glad I came.

Swedish Death Cleaning on Valentines Day

Good news! I did a load of laundry! Well actually, Grayson started the load but did it wrong somehow (Delicate cycle I think) so when I went to switch it none of the soap was dissolved. So I re-washed it and then I guess at some point Doug switched it to the dryer and the point is…I have my Vuori joggers back.

Soft, clean, stretchy, low maintenance. No self-respecting Social Media Manager of a person with glioblastoma grade 4 wants to lounge on the couch all day eating brownies and…wearing jeans. That would be insane. 

I thought things were off to a great start today because 1. V-day 2. Doug made me Avocado toast for breakfast 3. I had a free morning while Karie and Laura ran errands. (And don’t forget 4. Clean pants) 

But it turns out I don’t know how to be a normal, functional human anymore. Or at least, I can’t snap back into the role all that quickly. The ADHD has been severely ramped up. 

I got a call from Max. He was making a Flourless Chocolate Cake and asked a question about the recipe. All of a sudden I thought, since I had some spare time, maybe *I* should make one too! (I have cooked exactly once in 4 weeks.) I got out the pan, found the Crisco and greased the pan, went to look for the almond flour, couldn’t find it, cleaned some old food out of the freezer, looked in the cupboard, organized the cupboard but still couldn’t find it, got distracted and answered a few texts, looked at Laura’s MealTrain, used the restroom, aaaannnddd…then went back to Laura’s house. Leaving a greased spring form pan for Doug to clean up. Sorry Doug.

During the afternoon, Karie and I—with Laura directing—did a lot of cleaning and organizing. We cleaned out a lot of stuff from the upstairs rooms and organized some of it into the Laundry Room/Office downstairs. All part of Laura’s continued effort to Swedish Death Clean (which started weeks before all this chaos started) and get her house in order.

Later, the six of us (Karie/Todd, Laura/Jeff, Doug/I) had Cardiff Crack Sandwiches after several different iterations of Valentines Dinner Out didn’t happen. This option ended up being easy and delicious but half way through the meal, Jeff broke down and started crying. That set Laura off and she ended up full on sobbing. So basically, there were a lot of tears today. But not from me. I kept mine shoved down.

The first rule of Cancer Club: Everyone can’t cry at the same time.

Happy Valentines Day

Self-Care in a Time of Cholera

Er, Cancer. Not mine, Laura’s.

Every single day lately somebody asks me how I’m doing. (Sometimes a lot of somebodies ask.) And I usually answer that I’m actually doing pretty well!

And it’s true! There are moments (minutes) of staring into the proverbial void and screaming (in my mind), and moments (minutes) of sobbing uncontrollably, but that constitutes only about 2% of my waking hours.

I’m mostly doing pretty dang good all things considered (brag) and I think it’s 

1. Because a million people are praying for me and I’ve begun internalizing that fear doesn’t come from God (My New Years resolution was to memorize 2 Tim 1:7. Coincidence? I don’t think so.) and 

2. Because I’m doing a few things to care for myself. 

I don’t super love the term “self care” because I think it’s mostly a modern buzzword and justification for selfishness. But maybe that’s because I see it as a social media trend of over-indulgence.

Turns out “Self-care” doesn’t have to be complicated, or expensive, or selfish. (Though it frequently turns into that in IG posts). It can be very very simple. It my case it means a few things:

Every morning, since the first morning I knew my sister had a mass in her brain, I’ve gotten in the shower. Every. Single. Morning. Resisting a very real impulse to roll out of bed and rush out the door. I don’t wash my hair every day—I ain’t got that kinda time. (2-3 times/week only) But I’ve made myself take a shower 7 days a week instead of taking days off and staying in sweats all day. While I’m in the shower, I listen to some scriptures and I pray frantic and semi-distracted prayers. Boom! Self care!

Most days I do a few crunches too! I haven’t had time to go to the gym so the crunches will have to do. What else? Oh yeah, Vitamins. I don’t know if they work. Honestly. Every article on the efficacy of vitamins contradicts the one from the week before. But I bought gummy fiber and gummy multi-vitamins and they don’t make me sick, and they don’t make me gag, so I take them every morning. I should say, I eat them every morning and I feel like a weird toddler trapped in a middle-aged body starting my day by eating fruit snacks. And maybe all it means is I have more expensive pee. I don’t know, but I’m going to keep it up because it makes my brain think I’m taking care of my body. Probably. (Insert shrugging emoji)

Obviously, once you’ve taken a shower, you are basically forced to put on clean clothes and deodorant. (It’s okay if the clean clothes are stretchy joggers, a wireless bra and a comfy sweatshirt—obviously.) I’m trying hard to transition to aluminum free deodorant full time. I’m pretty nervous about it and there have been a few times with Laura I’ve broken into a full panic sweat. But I don’t *think* I stink while wearing it. I think it works pretty well. (Am I nose blind at this point?) Maybe you’ll have to be the judge of that next time you hug me. (There have been lots of hugs lately. More than normal. Will you tell me if I have deodorant fade out? Please?)

Okay, moving on: Pre-Cancer, I was trying very VERY weak intermittent fasting at my Drs recommendation. This meant no food after 7pm and no eating breakfast until after 10am. That doesn’t work when you are rushing to the hospital first thing and may or may not get fed until kind friends bring dinner. Obviously I need to eat and I don’t have time to over-think seed oils and sugar content in breakfast cereals like I did P.C. Since I’m a middle-aged woman, I need fiber (even more fiber than I got fifteen minutes earlier from the fiber gummies) and Raisin Bran is the quickest, least disgusting way to get it. Boom. One bowl of cereal equals self care.

Then I rush off and the day isn’t about me anymore. But GO ME because I’m clean, hopefully I smell okay, I have a little make-up on so people don’t mistake my normal allergy eyes for abject despair, and I have food in my stomach. And OH YEAH—I filled my water bottle before I left and added Pina Colada ReLyte because it may or may not help my low blood pressure and mostly because it tastes good which makes it so I actually drink the water, and YAY HYDRATION and whatnot.

After the entire day and sometimes the entire night. Eventually I find my way home aaaand…more self care.

If the boys are all in bed, and they usually are, I have some time to think un-cancer-related thoughts. Maybe I take a quick walk to get a few steps in. Maybe not. If not, just a few more things are absolutely required to take care of myself, so I can take care of Laura: I wash my face. Every night. I’ll admit I was pretty hit or miss with face-washing for years 12-46. But now…I take off the mascara I put on less than 24-hours ago. (The absurdity! Honestly, who came up with this?) Every dang night. Knowing full well I’m just going to put it on again tomorrow—the tubing kind that doesn’t run when you cry—(Oh yeah, I wear mascara every day now not just Sunday and date night) and I do it because it feels important even though it’s not. But it’s self care. 

Obviously I brush my teeth but I was already doing that. And then I dock my phone across the room. This one is very important. No doom scrolling Insta in bed when your sister has cancer. It’s a dumb way to get exhausted and depressed in one fell swoop. Nope, the phone has got to stay away. Want to listen to audio books or music or white noise to fall asleep? Too bad. Read a book.

Sometimes I journal just to clear my mind. And then I sleep. No problems there. Being cancer-adjacent can make people lose sleep but not me. It’s made me so tired by 11pm every night that I simply can’t stay awake to overthink.

And that’s about it. That’s self-care!

No spa days required. 

Don’t over think it.

Just take a dang shower every morning.

And turn off your dang phone every night.

Life in Ireland

Thursday, Jan. 30, 2025

Don’t ask me the right question at the wrong time.

Sunday, February 2, 2025 

Groundhog Day

I think I'm starting to understand why people believe in reincarnation. When someone you love is maybe close to death you naturally start to examine your own life. What if this is all the time I get? What if I never do all the things I wanted or expected to do. After dropping a sister at the airport I was listening to a book to keep my mind busy. I was suddenly completely overwhelmed with sadness that I will never live in Ireland. Could I move there right now? Would I find something there that I don't have here? Or would it just be a different location with the same thoughts and experiences…?

Later:

Laura said “you are the only one who can do this for me Emily. God told me you need to do it. 

Just a few weeks ago I was thinking about my life. What am I doing with my life? What should I do? Am I messing it all up? My kids are my biggest “job” right now. But I question on a twice daily basis if I’m messing up Lincoln by homeschooling him. Am I messing up Gray? Did I already completely blow it with the oldest three? 

Either way I wonder what else, and what next at this time when my life seems almost empty of children with only three left at home, only two who need me and only one who still craves my constant attention. And I love that and honor that but I know it’s fleeting. And so again: What am I doing now? What do I do next?

So I prayed and asked God, to tell me, and I always use qualifiers like “Tell me loudly!” Or “Tell me so I really hear!!” Tell me…what should I do and where should I put my time. When Linc is at the home school co-op, or at night, or when I’m not actively teaching him…where should I be putting my time and attention and talents?

”Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”

I was hoping God would tell me. And then my sister got sick. And she woke up post surgery and told me she needed me for a job. And it’s no exaggeration for me to say that never in the history of the universe has my sister Laura ever told me she needs me for anything. She is too competent. Too independent. Too self sufficient. And yet now she needs me. She has so many ideas and I can’t execute them fast enough to satisfy her. And I keep thinking about the line from the song in Hamilton “Why do you write like you’re running out of time…?” And I worry that she’s running out of time. She can’t run out of time.