When do you know when the story is over? When is it okay to let go of the pain and angst and just get over it already? I don't know if I'll ever get over it. I don't know if I'll ever get over the fact that someone close to me made tried to steal my children from me. And, it just wasn't one person. Family members tried to do the same thing to me. When is it okay to forgive those people? How do I forgive those people? I constantly struggle with this. I tell myself that I've forgiven them, but I can't allow them back into my life because I don't want to get hurt again. I tell myself that they are family and I need to open my heart up again, but how can I open my heart to them when I don't trust them?
My grandpa did everything for my mother. From fixing up the house when he and grandma would come and visit, to balancing her check-book. He literally did everything for her that a husband would normally do in many families.(Well, maybe not in today's society.)
When he died, my mother broke down. We were at my grandmother's house I remember she put on bright, red lipstick (which she hardly ever wore,) and bright, red blush. She told us she was getting ready for school. My mother was in a delusional state. She didn't want to admit that grandpa had died. I can see now, how scary that must have been forever. He didn't give her the tools to survive on her own. She was a single mother of four children and although she was a teacher, she had no idea how to manage her own life.
We were never really taught about finances growing up. Grandpa just "handled" it.
So, when I was diagnosed with breast cancer it made sense for my aunt to call my dad and tell him that I needed his help with my own finances, which he graciously accepted. I had to figure out what I was going to do. I had no health insurance or income of any kind and I was going to have to make trips to Kansas City quite frequently.
He didn't just take over my finances though, I felt that he was trying to take over my whole life. He was under the impression by Becky that my husband was an abuser and that I demonstrated battered wife's syndrome, which was not true. My husband was and is a good man.
Every day I constantly was badgered to divorce my husband and I needed to protect myself. I realize my dad was just trying to protect me, but I didn't need him to do any of that. I didn't just hear it from my dad. Becky told me the same thing every day except she would use my children. I'm not a freaking wall-flower. My dad lived with my mom for years and she was diagnosed as bi-polar. She would throw pots and pans at him and then take off in the station wagon. Why was it so hard to believe that I was doing the same thing to my husband? I wasn't throwing pots and pans, but I did threaten to hurt him more than once, and I threatened to hurt myself. Was it so hard to believe that I was turning into my mother? Everyone seems to know about my marriage, yet they only have known my husband for about five minutes.
He didn't want our children to grow up in that type of environment and he took them with him. Yet, he's an asshole for trying to protect his children. I wish my own dad would have done the same thing with us when we were younger. Maybe we wouldn't have turned out so screwed up.

Don't sweat the small stuff, or even the big stuff

There were so many times throughout my life where I felt detached from my friends, my family, the world. I find it difficult to write about the truth. What is life without truth? One of the gifts I've received after my diagnosis was realizing that I hadn't been truthful with myself. I find this blog difficult to write tonight, because I'm still fighting being honest with myself.
If my ex-husband gave me anything besides children, he gave me he family to borrow for a little while. Let me tell you, they know how to enjoy life and have a good time. They give knew meaning to the phrase, "Don't sweat the small stuff." They make the "big stuff" look like small stuff. If you make a mistake, they let you move on from it and try and not judge you from it. "It's water under the bridge," my mother-in-law would say.
It's really sad for me to say the only thing my mother-in-law and I were able to share besides my children, was our cancer diagnosis. I finally had some kind of common ground with her. Sometimes we'd sit and compare notes. I even showed her my scar from my double masectomies.
Last year at my daughter's music program I was in the middle of chemotherapy, and my mother-in-law was done. She shared that she didn't have to go anymore and she was just waiting on one more scan to come back. I secretly hated her for that. I hated the fact that she would get to watch my children grow up and take care of them and I wouldn't.Then, the table turned. A year later, I was clear and her cancer had spread. I was ashamed at how I felt, but sometimes you just can't control your emotions. Cancer takes over any rational thought you might have had left.
My sister and I were out shopping the day after Christmas and I completely lost it after I spilled a soda. My chest got heavy, and I felt like I was literally having a heart attack. I couldn't figure out why I was so stressed out. This wasn't happening to me directly. I felt like I was losing my mother all over again though. After all, three years wasn't that long ago.
How much death is too much. How much are my kids and I suppose to have to go through. Yes, we get the message, cancer sucks!

I believe in Becky's own mind that she believed she was protecting my children from myself and my husband as she did with her own daughter. She created this fantasy that she would have her big family. Of course her husband supported her, but his only information was coming from his wife's twisted version of the truth. They honestly believed I was going to die and they were taking the steps to adopt my children even though their father was alive.
Until last year, their daughter had no idea she had been adopted. It wasn't until Becky took my children to see Doug Hood, a supposed psychologist, that her daughter learned she had been adopted. In this day and age, most children know they are adopted from they time they speak. Adoptive parents are so grateful for their gift of a child, they want their children to know where they came from. It is the right thing to do. Why would Becky and Roger keep this from their daughter unless their was something they didn't want their daughter to know about?
In light of a conversation with my older son, he believed they were seeing Doug to help with the transition of possibly being adopted by Becky and Roger. Grief counseling my ass. In Nick's opinion he described Doug as a "creeper." I can only imagine what my kids thought. Were they telling Nick and Mickaela that I was dying and their dad didn't want them? I believe they were.
"Nick is starting to realize his dad only thinks of himself and doesn't really care what Nick is doing," Becky told me one day.
Is my ex-husband self-absorbed? Maybe. Does he have a difficult time expressing his emotions? Yes. To tell me that Nick thinks his dad doesn't care about what he was doing was ridiculous. Why would you try to get a child to think your parents don't love them other than to take them away from you?
As parents, I think we relate to our kids in their experiences by comparing them to our own. It's really difficult not to and that's what my ex-husband does. If the kids are involved in something he doesn't know much about, then he disengages. I don't believe he does it on purpose by any means.
Becky was very good at what she did. She alienated my Aunt from speaking to the kids and my sister. The only people she would let see or even talk to my children were my dad and my brother and his wife. She wasn't about to do screw up in front of them considering my sister-in-law worked for Parents as Teachers.
They thought she was wonderful and really cared about Nick and Mickaela. It's my own fault really because they wanted to support my choices and decisions and respect whatever it was I wanted to do. I also spoke very highly of Becky and Roger so why wouldn't they like her. I can't fault them for that. However, when things started to get hairy they sided with Becky and Roger and that made me very upset. They had no idea what was going on. They only knew what Becky told them and given the fact she knew my past history and knew how I thought, why wouldn't they believe her?
I realize now that Becky was only nice to them because she wanted my children for herself. She knew I had made my brother and sister-in-law their guardians in the event of my death and in the event that my ex-husband wouldn't be able to care for them. Becky would constantly try to get me to change my mind and list her and Roger as their guardians if I died. I think Becky thought she could persuade my brother and sister-in-law to let the children to continue to live with them if something were to happen to me and that was the only reason she was being nice to them. Becky was very calculating and had a lot of people convinced the kids were better off with her.
I've been trying really hard to let all of this go, but it's difficult at times. The more I think about, the more I'm angry with myself for allowing my children to stay with unstable people. How could I let myself be convinced that this was the best thing for them? How could I let myself fall in love with the fact that these people truly cared about me?

Blog submission to Young Survivor Coalition

Sometimes I wish I could greet my readers and say “Hi, I’m Leslie and living with stage IV breast cancer.” Gee, sounds like I'm speaking at an AA meeting. I almost wish I was. Anything would be better than writing about a cancer diagnosis. I'd at least feel numb if I was drinking. Can you imagine going into a scan with a shot of Tequila awaiting you at the door? Instead, I get a shot of chemo. I was going to submit this entry to Young Survivor Coalition, but I kept asking myself how my words and my journey might help someone else going through the same thing.

I'm not really different than anyone else diagnosed with breast cancer. I felt humbled by all the other people waiting with me in the waiting area to have their blood drawn. There were so many of us. All of us were there for the same thing. Yet none of us could look one another in the eye. We had our heads buried in a crossword, or a book, or playing with our phone. We were waiting for a name to be called to be poked and prodded once again.

A frightened woman older than myself noticed my silk scarf and asked me how I felt about losing my hair. She had yellowish, shoulder-length, thick colored hair. You could tell she took pride in her appearance and she was terrified of losing her hair. As if that was the least of our worries. For her though, her hair was her identity. I wasn't prepared to answer her and my aunt came over and sat next to her and visited with her for the next half hour. My own nerves had been shot and I didn't know how to help someone calm their nerves.

There is no way to prepare you to receive chemo. Everyone is so different in how they will handle it emotionally. I was slightly blessed though. I had a semi-private cubicle with cable ready tv and a reclining chair. When I say semi-private, I mean be prepared to overhear conversations. You can't really be too irritated with people holding these conversations, but some of them are just so damn loud you wish you had something to sedate them. This was already a nerve-racking experience. Did this make me a hateful person?

Another annoyance of mine was how many times I had to recite my birth date. When they draw blood, the nurse asks, "Can you tell me your date of birth"? When the nurse checks and double checks the chemo, "Can you tell me your date of birth"? When you are ready to have a ct scan, a pet scan, a bone scan, "Can you tell me your date of birth?" I wonder what would have happened if I gave her the wrong date? Would I be hauled off into a secluded area in the event I might be a terrorist?

Even after all that checking and double checking sometimes they do get it wrong. I remember being told I should be done by a certain time and when it came five o'clock the bag was only half empty. Why wasn't I done yet? Little did I know a mistake had been made. I had terror in my eyes and utter shock. What did this mean? Was this mistake going to affect the response to my chemo?

I wish there was an easy way to prepare you for a breast cancer diagnosis, but there isn't. They say 80 percent of recovery is positive thinking? I don't want to be positive damn it. I didn’t want people around me telling me it was going to be okay and that I needed to fight, because they really had no idea if it was or wasn’t. I didn’t need to hear their sad stories about when something terrible happened to them and they focused on their faith to get them through it. I was allowed to feel self-pity. I was allowed to be mad at the world and mad at God. I was allowed to be hateful. I was allowed to feel all the feelings I was feeling at least for a little while. There is no logic with cancer. There is no rhyme or reason. My dad has an honest approach to chemotherapy and says it’s a crap shoot, and he’s right. It is a crap shoot. 

I sat down and asked myself where I want this blog to go? I asked myself what purpose did I want this blog to serve. Was I really doing this for myself and a documentation of this past year? My husband's opinion means a lot to me and I wanted him to proud of me. I know he thinks I'm intelligent, but I wanted him to read my story and understand the kind of year I'd overcome. I wanted him to realize I wasn't this hateful person, but a person who had so much going on and didn't know where to place her anger. Unfortunately, I placed my anger on him. Every time I turned around I was picking an argument with him.
His favorite word is "fix." Most husbands want to fix a problem. Yet we as wives don't necessarily need them to fix our problems. We need them to listen to us. We need them to tell us everything is going to be okay. Yes, I'm emotional. Yes, my moods are all over the place. Yes, I'm angry. I just need you to hear me. Why is it so important to get validation from our husbands? I know I'm not the only one out there. Why do I need validation from others? Why can't I just validate myself? Sometimes I even find myself turning to my thirteen year old son and asking him, "What do you think"? I ask my sister Melanie all the time what she thinks to the point that she probably wants to slap me.
"Do you really think I should keep writing"? I asked her.
"Yes," she said.
"I wouldn't tell you I liked it if I didn't."
My dad gave me his validation when he said to me that he thought my writings were profound and insightful. You would think that would be enough, but not me. No sir, I wanted the rest of my family to give their opinion, but all I get from them is silence. Was my blog a way for me to get attention?
I suppose on some level yes. However, for me writing about this past year has helped me let things go. I've learned during this time that I have major impulse control issues like many other members of my family. I've always acted before I thought things through.
When I get mad, I 'm so eager to write it down in an email and send it. For example, if my husband and I have an argument, I'm on my email writing my mother-in-law for advice, or to yell at her about her son. She has taken my side in the past, but she tends to stay out of it. However, sometimes I need her to help my husband see my point of view on things, and she's helped me see my husband's point of view. For no training in mediation, she's a gift for it. I think the reason she's so good at it is because she doing it out of a place of love.
"Leslie, if I could be there with you and didn't have to work, I would." She told me. Sometimes I wanted my mother-in-law with me during surgeries and appointments because she doesn't overstep. She sits back and listens and she's just there for me. She doesn't judge me although I know she's been disappointed in my behavior in the past. She's an awesome mother-in-law and has always supported me.
So why can't my husband be like his mom? Why can't he just listen to me instead of trying to fix a problem. I think I resist him so much because he's usually right. He sees something that isn't going to work and has a solution for it.
I've resisted him so much over the years and he shut down on me. I finally pushed him away. In the beginning of our relationship I would tell him, "Please don't leave me," and he'd say, "You have nothing to worry about." I knew though even as patient and understanding as he was over the years that I'd push him over his limit of craziness.

Psychosis

I love my family very much, but sometimes I have to love them from a distance. Sometimes they have so much love to give that it comes off as meddling or controlling. I feel like they see me as that 15 year old girl who needed rescued from her crazy mother. I feel like the little girl that ran to her aunt's house in tears because of my mother's rants and raves. I feel like the screwed up young adult that made a lot of bad choices, and no one will let me overcome those choices.
I had to look at having cancer as a blessing in disguise. I say this because I found things out about me that I may not have otherwise found out. One of those being was my hyperactive thyroid. I was bruising way before my first chemo treatment and doctor's were concerned. My psychologist was concerned that my husband had hit me because I had an unexplainable bruise on my face. Well, it turned out after the blood work was done that I had Grave's Disease, an autoimmune deficiency that with medication can go into remission, and it did. My thyroid issues explained a lot though. It explained why I was so damn irritable all the time and short with my husband and my kids. It explained why I had hand tremors. Here, I thought it was because of all the caffeine I drank, but even without the caffeine I had hand tremors.
I don't know how this accusation started, but Becky told me while my sister was visiting me and taking care of my kids she was looking for alcohol. For one thing, I don't drink. When I do, it's once in a blue moon. After my husband and I separated, I did go to my neighbor's house and did get drunk on tequila. BUT, my children were taken care of and I woke up the next morning and took my son early to his football game. My husband had just left me and I didn't see anything wrong with letting lose.
Becky asked my sister if she had found any empty bottles and of course she had to say no. I have never kept  alcohol in my house except for special occasions.
"We know that Steve hits you," Becky said to me one afternoon.
"What"? I asked.
"We've seen the bruises up and down your arm." She said.
For one thing, my kids and my husband playfully wrestled and I just bruise easily. You could grab my wrists and I would have bruises on it.
"Are you freaking kidding me"? I thought to myself.
Not only was I having to deal with my ex-husband and my sister conspiring, but now this? What part of absolutely no stress did this woman not understand? It was almost as if she was deliberately bringing me stress so that I wouldn't recover from my cancer. She knew that positive thinking was essential in overcoming this, and she was doing everything in her power to bring negativity to my life.
"Leslie, my dad was an alcoholic." Becky said.
"He abused my mother and she refused to leave him."
Why was she telling me this. Did my husband and I argue? Yes. Had he hit me NEVER!. There was one time he came close, but that was only because of an anti-depressant he was on for his migraines. It was so bad that I couldn't wake him up. It was almost like he had Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. He was awake, but he wasn't and he swung his arm at me. When he finally did wake up, he was mortified by his behavior and stopped taking the medication even though his doctor told him to split it in half.
Becky had conversations with my husband on the phone about our marriage and our financial situation. I needed her help. I needed her to convince him that I needed him to come back home.
"He told me that he wished you were dead," Becky revealed to me.
I was in total and utter shock. This did not sound like my husband at all, even when he was at his maddest. He was not the evil son of a bitch that she was making him out to be.
Everyone wanted to know if he was going to divorce me and he said that I needed to focus on my chemo and fighting the cancer. He would not put me through something like that, and he honestly didn't know if he wanted a divorce.
"He just wants to stay married to you because if you do die, he gets everything. You're kids won't get anything," Becky said.
"He can even claim spousal benefits from social security." She said. "He just wants your money."
My husband was not anything like that. My lawyer explained to me that I could have him sign a waiver that would prohibit him from taking anything that was mine, and Steve was willing to do this. My husband was not the asshole she was trying to convince my dad and the rest of my family that he was.
I had lost faith in my marriage, and every time she would bring something to my attention she knew I would be on the phone with him to confront him. I had such chemo fog that I started to believe her. I believed that he wanted me dead. I believed that he didn't give a shit about me when all he wanted was relief and peace from my insanity. I even started to believe that he hit me. Why the hell would I believe that? When someone says something like that over and over again, you start to believe.
In one of my pastoral counseling sessions that Becky sat in on, I revealed I might have been sexually molested. There had been a looming sense of doubt for years hovering and I just could never remember it, but I had this feeling I had been. When I was a teenager, I had entered into a "stress center" and a psychiatrist explained to me during that time period that psychiatrists would plant memories. They wouldn't do this out of malice or to harm the patient, but the questions that would ask raised self-doubt in one's own memories.
Becky knew all of this information and used that to her advantage.

Every day it was something new with Becky. My story seems to read all over the place, but that's only because my life was all over the place. A million little things were going on and literally driving my spirit down.
While this was going on, Becky was making sure my sister had no contact with Nick or Mickaela. In counseling, Nick had said that my sister had asked them even before I got sick if they wanted to come live with her and her husband. Beth did not like at all that I had chosen someone other than her to take care of my children. Why would I leave my children with someone who didn't respect me or my boundaries? Earlier on I had asked Beth to leave me alone, just for a month. She had been calling every day and wouldn't leave me alone. She wanted every little deal about my diagnosis and if I didn't tell her she would look online and then tell people what was going to happen to me. She even told one of my aunts that I had cancer before I had a chance and didn't respect the fact that I needed to tell people in my own time.
Becky would come over to the house and show me emails and texts she received from Beth. One after another sometimes 15-25/day. It was just ridiculous.
In the beginning, Beth said, "I can't believe you let them perform a mammogram on you"? "Really"? I said. Just because she was in nursing school, didn't give her the authority to tell me what to do.
"The levels of radiation are so minute that the benefits outweigh the risks." I said. But as always Beth knew better. Did she really think that in this day and age of breast cancer a mammogram wasn't beneficial? She was a nursing student and I had an aunt tell me that nursing students think they know everything. I wasn't about to listen to a student when I had a team of doctors looking out for my care.The best in the country I might add.
Beth waited to call my children when they went to their dad's on the weekends. When Manning brought them back, you could tell she had talked to them because they acted like there was something they weren't suppose to say.
Becky didn't exactly interrogate them, but Mickaela would voluntarily bring things up. "Beth said not to tell mom that she called," Mickaela said.
This of course came from Becky so I don't know for sure if Mickaela actually said this or not.
Beth and I never got along and Becky knew this and played on this. Becky told Beth all she had to do was respect my boundaries and that Becky would let her see the kids. Instead, Beth pushed, and pushed, and pushed to get what she wanted. To the point that Becky and Roger threatened a no contact order if she didn't stop. Becky had my dad on our side and dad felt that was in the kids' best interest for my sister to leave my children alone for the time being.
My aunt divulged information to Becky that really pissed me off too. My past was for me to tell, not someone else. She told Becky about my parent's divorce, and other instances of my childhood that was really none of Becky's business. I think my aunt thought she was helping, but instead she was just adding fuel to the fire in my opinion. What was the purpose of telling Becky these things? Was she trying to show Becky that I lied and maybe I wasn't being honest with her? The truth is, I didn't have anything to hide. I may have not gone into great detail about my past, but I had shared things with her. I was so sick of the meddling.
Becky knew by pissing me off and telling me about her conversations with my aunt I wouldn't talk to her anymore. That's just how I was. If I felt betrayed in any way, I would just cut them off and not talk to them. I was so sick of the "hamster wheel" as Becky called it. She encouraged me to get off the "hamster wheel" and that's what I was going to do.
After a period of time Becky stopped taking my aunt's phone calls. She wouldn't even let my children talk to her. I didn't really care since my aunt had never really called them before now. No one had.
I felt like I was being pulled in a million directions. On a good day, I wouldn't have been able to decipher everything going on, but I had been going through chemotherapy. I had chemo fog and I became so dependant on Becky, I wasn't even thinking for myself anymore. I let my dad and her think for me. I couldn't help it though. I was desperate to keep my marriage from falling apart and keep my family together. Unfortunately, I felt like everyone was working against me. My aunt would constantly ask me, "Leslie, are you really sure you want to do this"? Who else was going to take care of my children besides someone who I didn't want to leave them with? I resented this question because there wasn't anyone else willing to step up and take my children for me. No one said to me, "Leslie, we'll take them." We were suppose to be this close knit family, but there wasn't anyone that came to me and said they would step in and help me.

Dyslexia or Fetal Alcohol Syndrome??

Dannae told me that Becky had invited her over for dinner. Dannae wanted to get Mickaela alone to see how she was doing, but Dannae said that wasn't going to happen. Even though Becky had fired Dannae, Becky assured me that Dannae and Mickaela would get to see each other. I was extremely upset by all of this, but there wasn't much I could do. I started to realize my opinion really didn't count. Becky and Roger were her legal guardians now and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
Becky wanted to get Mickaela re-evaluated because she didn't think Mickaela had dyslexia. Becky had thought I had drank with her while I was pregnant and in fact Mickaela had fetal alcohol syndrome.
My mother was instrumental in helping me figure out that Mickaela might have dyslexia. She had pointed out that my dad was probably dyslexic, even though he had never been tested. Insurance didn't cover testing, but my husband felt it was important and didn't hesitate to put out the $400 to do this. My mother had gone to the Fundamental Learning Center in Wichita, Kansas and took a couple of seminars and was convinced Mickaela was in fact dyslexic. 
We fought our principal to get Mickaela on an Individual Education Plan (IEP). What pissed me off though was that they wanted to lump her in with everyone else. It's not that dyslexics can't learn is that they learn differently. Becky wanted to get rid of the IEP because she said the kids at school made fun of her and called her retard. Well, I guess that's as good as any reason to get rid of something that was helping my daughter.
Becky thought she knew differently though. She had her evaluated by a psychologist in Wichita, KS that supposedly focused only on brain injury. To get into this doctor, was amazing because she only took certain cases. I really felt blessed this doctor was willing to look at Mickaela.
"Leslie, it's okay if you had a couple of drinks while you were pregnant," Becky said.
"Becky, I DID NOT DRINK WHILE I WAS PREGNANT!" I said. God, I was so tired of this accusation. My own family had thought the same thing.
"I did smoke, but I never drank." I said.
"When Mickaela was a baby, she stopped breathing in the middle of the night. Thank God she was at the nurses station. If she hadn't been, she could have died. She spent 14 days hooked up to wires and monitors and had all sorts of tests performed on her to find out why she had stopped breathing. Manning and I couldn't bond with her the way many parents are able to bond with their babies." I explained.
Becky didn't seem too interested in Mickaela's history although I knew a doctor would want to know this information.
"I wouldn't blame you if you had a couple of drinks being married to someone like Manning." Becky said.
"Hell, I would have drank too if I had to put up with someone playing video games all the time and was only interested in himself." She said.
Mickaela had certain physical features that I admit, look like she may have had fetal alcohol syndrome. When I had taken her to her pediatrician, her ped commented on her physical features too, but never accused me.
"Don't you think when Mickaela was a baby and they ran all those tests on her that they would have been able to determine if she had fetal alcohol syndrome"? I asked her.
Becky didn't seem to care what I had to say. I was extremely pissed off by this point, but I didn't go off on her although I wanted to. I had been fighting this doubt for so long now. I didn't give a damn. I knew what to be true. At this point in my life, don't you think I would have admitted to it if I had in fact done what she was accusing me of doing? Wouldn't I want to help my daughter?
Neurologists can actually scan the brain now to see if a child has dyslexia and ADHD. I told Becky to go for it because I knew the psychologist couldn't find anything if she truly knew what she was doing. I wanted them to run a scan of Mickaela's brain so there would be no more doubt.

Becky and Roger respected my dad immensly without knowing any history of our relationship. They posed themselves as the perfect surrogate parents for my children and they did do a good job taking care of their every day needs. I found it extremely puzzling to me that on nice days my kids were never outside playing. They were ALWAYS outside when they could be. In fact, none of the other kids on the block went outside until they were outside. When she finally did let them out of the house they were only able to play in the backyard and she never had done that before with her own child. She just didn't want me to watch them playing.
"Would it be okay if the kids called me mom"? Becky asked me. "I just thought it would make them feel more like a part of our family and there wouldn't be confusion on what to call me."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that, but I remember having women in my life who were like a second mom to me, but I never called them mom.
I felt like shit. I couldn't cook, I couldn't clean. I couldn't get up off my couch. I couldn't even walk across the street to see my children. Becky always kept me in the loop of what was going on with them. She even made daily phone calls to my dad to update him on me.
I figured the kids needed time to settle into their new home so I justified keeping my distance. I didn't want to interfere with Becky and Roger and how they parented. I didn't want my children to come to me and say, "Well, they made me do the dishes." I didn't want them to manipulate me against Becky and Roger, which they had done in the past in other with my ex-husband and myself.
In hindsight, letting them settle in and keeping distance was a huge mistake on my part. Becky didn't just make small changes with what the kids were use to, but she started to make some big changes too. One change I absolutely hated was that she decided Mickaela didn't need to go tutoring.
"Mickaela wants to be normal," Becky said. "She doesn't want to go tutoring anymore and I think 'eye' therapy would be better for her."
"Eye therapy"? I asked.
"Yes. Dr. Clark can work with her and make more progress with her than her tutor has in five years." Becky said.
I disagreed. Eye therapy wasn't going to improve her dyslexia. Children who are dyslexic can learn, they just learn differently than say you or I. Mickaela did wear glasses and may benefit from eye therapy, but to take away her tutoring was just plain irresponsible in my opinion.
Becky disagreed with me and said, "Dannae, is not your friend, she is an employee."
Mickaela may have not liked going to tutoring three days a week, and may in fact have been tired, but her tutoring was more than just instruction. Dannae had been a part of her life from the time she had been in first grade.
She was my friend, but more importantly Dannae was someone Mickaela could talk to and felt comfortable around.

Separation

My husband I separated earlier that summer. I was turning into my mother and he had put up with me for five years. Five years of my battling him constantly, five years of mismanaging our finances, five years of sleep deprivation. My family thought he was an asshole. What I confused me is that they all knew how my  mother was, yet they didn't. My dad left my mom when he had a job opportunity in Indianapolis. She had done the same things to him that I was doing to my husband short of throwing his clothes on the front lawn or taking off for days at a time not knowing where she had gone. My dad couldn't take it anymore. He spent many evenings away from us because he couldn't take her anymore. Why was it such a stretch for them to understand why my husband had in fact done the same thing. The only difference was that he didn't leave his two children alone with a crazy person. He didn't want them to fall into that cycle that I had fallen into. He wanted better for them and he wanted better for me. He wanted better for us, and tried everything in his power to do that. Do I think he did everything right? Absolutely not. I understand though why he did some of the things he did. Deep down I wish my dad had rescued from my crazy mother. I feel in some ways he gave up on us and decided to start a new family.
My husband bought us a house a little over three years ago in a nice, middle-class neighborhood. He wasn't thrilled about the price of the house by any means, but was trying to make me happy once again. He thought if I was happy, then his home life would be better.
He worked overnights at the post office which meant he needed to sleep during the day. There were days when I had such anxiety about taking our two younger children out I would make him run our errands for us. Whether it was taking our two older children to school or going grocery shopping, he would do it. Then, when he would come home I would want his undivided attention. He would be exhausted and I'd want to lay next to him and cuddle with him instead of letting him sleep. If he was about to fall asleep and I needed to go out instead of taking the kids with me, I'd go and see if he would watch them for me so I wouldn't have to take them with me. Of course, he always said yes, that's fine.
When he would call his parents or his sister, I would always want to be around to see what he was saying. I was so paranoid he was saying things about me to make them not like me. He had never said negative things about me before, but in my previous marriage I wasn't my in-law's favorite person. My ex-husband could do no wrong and was the "golden child" much like my 13-year old is now.
When he left, he left the house too with me in it. His name was on the title and the mortgage and because he was responsible for the mortgage he didn't think my name should be on the title. My dad proposed several options for him none of which my husband agreed to. I couldn't get the mortgage in my name and he knew that. He wanted out from under the mortgage and was pissed at me because in the state of Kansas if you are married one spouse can't sell a house without the permission of another spouse.
Every day I was being badgered by my dad and Becky. If either of them had something to say to me, I'd be on the phone with my husband to try and convince him to do it even though I knew he wouldn't. If I was going to stay in the house, all he wanted me to do was keep up with the mortgage payments. When the house was payed off, the title would then be put in my name.
At this point, my dad was my power of attorney and said they wouldn't make anymore mortgage payments until my name was on the title. His name could be on the title as well, but dad was just trying to protect my interests. (My husband and I will never see eye to eye on this even at the present time.)
I couldn't deal with this right now. I was fighting freaking BREAST CANCER. I was trying to stay alive. I couldn't very well figure out another place to live. My husband didn't give a shit about what happened to me in my mind.  I wasn't his problem anymore. Nick and Mickaela weren't his problems anymore.
He's angry at me for everything wrong I did in our marriage. He didn't care if my idea would work, he just wanted something to work and I wouldn't let anything work. I couldn't trust any of his ideas to work. I had to be the one in control.
I wanted to make my dad happy, and I wanted to make my husband happy and I couldn't do either one.

Statistical or Emotional?

My dad asked me the other day what I do all day. My only answer was that I'm spending my days writing. I have done a lot of that recently. This post is semi-inspired by an old episode of Seventh Heaven. God love that show, where Matt has to write a paper for his statistics class on medicine and statistics.

How much do statistics really mean to your diagnosis? Does it mean that you only have a 5% chance of surviving after five years? Does it mean a social worker can get their own information and put into a court document that you are in fact dying therefore, shouldn't have custody of your children? Does it mean that your siblings are allowed to converse amongst themselves and determine that you are dying and won't see past your 40th birthday? Does it mean that that your life is over?

The only thing statistics should mean to you is that you are the ONE statistic that might change the other statistics. You might be the one person that the chemo will work on versus all the other people that it doesn't work. You might be the one person that has a successful operation that has never been performed before. Where do the numbers come from? They come from you. You are the one person! You are the one person that will have hope that you don't fall into the "normal" statistical category.

I spent hours online looking and reviewing statistics of metastatic breast cancer patients. The doctors and nurses tell you don't look at the internet. Don't look at the statistics they don't apply to you. That's a nice thought in theory, but the reality is they do apply to you. You could be the changing factor!

My breast cancer had spread into my sternum. This is the one place that chemo absolutely had to work. There is no way to truly tell if the cancer is completely gone out of the bone. My oncologist wanted me to meet with one of the top thoracic surgeons in the field. They were going to perform a sternectomy. What they would do is take out part of my sternum and then reconstruct it with bone from my clavicle and a metal plate. I tried to do research on this and guess what? There wasn't any. There weren't any case studies to read up on because it had never been done before. I'd be the first. What an incredible gift I was going to be able to give the medical community. Yes, this was awful I was going to have to go through this, but I thought about all the people I might be able to help. Once I had my double mastectomies, my breast cancer surgeon said she took too much muscle from my left breast and the new concern was where the blood supply was going to come from. After careful thought by the tumor board, I was no longer a candidate for this invasive procedure. This just goes to show I would have been that ONE statistic that could change the statistics for many others.

Why do we go onto American Cancer Society or Cancer.org? These are sites that have been provided to us as useful tools. However, these sites also focus on the statistics of survival rates. Why do we need to know what the survival rates are? Is it because a statistic is tangible?

Our family members can't hold onto it either. They  need some kind of sense of this wrong that has been done to their spouse, child, sibling, or friend. They need something to focus on and try to "fix" what has been done to you. The truth is there isn't anything they can do. There isn't anything they can do to help. As helpless as they might feel, there simply isn't anything they can do.

Even if they have gone through a similar experience, their experience was theirs. Not yours. Everyone is entirely different. You may have had a metallic taste in your mouth while going through chemo, and another person may not have to go through it. You may have puked all throughout your treatment, and another person may not. You just don't know and you'll drive yourself crazy trying to prepare. Cancer is kind of like parenthood. There is no manual of instruction. You just do the best you can do and keep pluggin away as my husband would say.

Which statistic are you going to be? Are you going to be the statistic that forever changes the way we look at treatment? Are you going to be the statistic that proves a positive attitude absolutely can change the outcome of your prognosis?

What did you do when you were diagnosed with breast cancer or any kind of cancer? Did you look at the statistics? Did your family research? Please comment if you've had a similar experience.

I truly believed she had the best interest of my children at heart. So much so that I started to doubt my own parenting abilities. How could this person love my children more than I did? She started changing little things about their every day life. My son loved to hang out with his friends. I normally dropped him off in the mornings unless he wanted to ride his scooter or bike to school, and then after school I would let him walk home with a couple of friends and hang out until it was time for football practice. I knew these kids. They were his teammates. She assured me that he would get to hang out with his friends once she met their parents. I figured that was fair, after all she was taking extra, special care of my children.

Mickaela was doing awesome from what she told me! She was smiling and coming into her own a little bit. She was having a great time with Riley and Riley referred to Mickaela as her sister. I was happy! My kids were doing great, or so I thought.

"We really think the kids could benefit from grief counseling," Becky said.

I understood why she felt that way. After all, they lost their aunt that summer and their grandmother a year before that. Not to mention their other grandmother had Stage IV lung cancer and now their mother had Stage IV metastatic breast cancer. That's a lot for anyone to have to go through let alone a nine and 12-year old.

I knew my children though, and I knew that Nick would fight them every step of the way. Mickaela just wanted someone to listen to her and make her feel important so she was an easy sell.
"Who are they seeing"? I asked.

"Well, since they have medicaid I couldn't get them into anyone in Salina. So we're going to Ellsworth to take them to see Doug Hood. He is very good with children, in fact that's all he does," she explained to me.

"Sounds good to me," I said. "Let me know how it goes."

Ellsworth is 90 miles from Salina. I thought to myself how invested she was in the kids. Not very many people would drive 90 miles one way for a counseling appointment. She really does want what's best for my kids.

SRS and answered prayers

Because an "anonymous" tip had been filed with Social Rehabilitation Services (SRS), they sent someone to my house within a few days. She looked around and found nothing wrong. I asked Becky to sit with me for support because I was scared. I needed someone there who knew what I was going through and what I was facing.
"There have been concerns the children have not seen a doctor," the social worker said. I laughed and said, "Really"? Explain to me how my son plays for Salvation Army Football without having been to the doctor for a comprehensive physical?" I will not embarrass my son in my blog, but his doctor addressed all the concerns I had, had and that the social worker brought up. I even had evidence to support it.
"Do you have a mouse problem"? She asked.
"Yes," I responded. "However, I have already called an exterminator." Truth be told, the exterminator only caught one and used the wooden traps that I had been using. The only reason I couldn't catch the other one was because I couldn't get into my attic.
"Did they tell you that Leslie found out she had breast cancer last week"? Becky asked the social worker.
"Well, no they didn't." The social worker said. "That is a huge red flag that, that bit of information was left out."
"There is reason that you spent over $50,000 in a short amount of time," the social worker stated. I responded again and said, "How is my spending habits any of your business? My utilities are on, my house payment is made, my children have clothes, they have their needs met. How would that affect whether or not I was an unfit parent?"
As she's writing down my answers she asks, "there is concern that you are bi-polar." How did she want me to respond to that? An hour had passed and she went onto say, "I have spent an hour with you and I see no signs of bi-polar. And, I'm arund a lot of people who have bi-polar. You would definitely show signs of it in a high-stressed situation as this."
"Do you know who Marty Martin is?" she asked. That was all the evidence I needed.
"I don't see anything wrong here." The social worker said, in fact she chuckled. "Usually, we follow up with a parenting plan, but I see no need here. You have a plan in place."
I will admit I failed the kids in taking them to the dentist in the past year. Becky claimed it was four years, but that was an old dentist that we didn't go to anymore.
The social worker still wanted her "I's" dotted and "T's" crossed and wanted the kids to be seen by their doctors and dentists. I was really irritated by this considering they had already been to the doctor a month prior. Becky was hell bent on getting them to the doctors as well. However, she didn't make them appointments with their primary care physicians. She used her family doctor, which I understood at the time because she was able to get them in pretty fast.
"I just want them to be able to close the case as fast as possible," Becky said.
I suppose I understood that, I just didn't like it. Why should I help SRS? I haven't done anything wrong and I'm not guilty of anything. Was I depressed? Yes. Did I have a hard time six months ago and depressed? Yes. Was I stressed out beyond belief? Yes. I still put one foot in front of the other. Even without Becky's help/interference I know I would have been able to handle things. Yes, it would have been difficult, but not impossible. Instead of being dependant on my husband I became dependant on her. She said she loved me and would do anything for me.
Why wouldn't I gravitate towards that? Why was she doing this all for me? People don't do anything out of the kindness of their hearts anymore, but she did. She was my angel and I had even leaned on her more than my sister, Melanie. Becky listened to me and tried to understand what I was going through. She understood why my other sister and I didn't get along, and she knew why I only "tolerated" my ex-husband. She was the answer to my prayers.

Thanksgiving, mountain dew, and UNO

If you ever get writer's block just hang out with your family a for a few hours. Usually, you don't have to look too terribly hard for comic relief. Just sit back and enjoy the show.

This time last year my children were already adapting to their temporary family while I had, had my third chemo treatment of Adriomycin. It was a quiet Thanksgiving to say the least. Becky made a small ham, green beans, some kind of tasteless corn dish, dinner rolls, and mush, mashed potatoes. My son and I had made our traditional cranberry salad full of sugar, marshmallows, and whip cream. Their favorite dish I might add. Oh, and we didn't have traditional pumpkin or apple pie. We had apple tarts and pumpkin cheesecake purchased from Sam's club.

Don't get me wrong, I was grateful I didn't have to cook a meal and I was able to enjoy dinner with my children. My oldest son said an inspiring blessing that brought tears to my eyes and we all said what we were thankful for. Something I think that should be said at every dinner, not just at Thanksgiving. I think I was missing my mother and spending Thanksgiving with my immediate family. The last thing I wanted to feel like was a "guest." When you visit family and spend holidays with family, yes you are a guest, but you're still family. Everyone participates. If you don't cook, then you help out afterwards with dishes. Then, it's time to look through all the black Friday adds and plan your attack. (No, Kayla, black Friday is not a holiday for blacks.) I was just missing all of that last year I guess.

I felt like Becky and Roger couldn't get me out of their house fast enough. He plopped on the couch playing with his Android, and she plopped on the couch and watched Music Man. They sent my two kids and her daughter to their room so they could have piece and quiet. I'm sorry, but 3rd, 4th, and 6th graders are too old for a freaking nap on THANKSGIVING!!!!

This year I treated myself to a mountain dew. You would have thought I had been drinking all day, but the truth is I was just able to relax and let lose for the first time in a long time. I didn't have to worry about anything.
It's the unexpected behavior of people that makes Thanksgiving so comical I think. My brother, (Mike) comes over and sits next to me on the couch, which he NEVER does. His niece is sitting on the other side of him. He lays his head down on my shoulder and I laugh and tell him, "I don't know what you're looking for because my boobs aren't there anymore. Besides, your wife has enough for the both of us."

Meanwhile, Melanie is having an awesome time being a grandma. MAGIC MARKERS!! Nothing is funnier than watching an 18 month old cover himself in green magic marker and not giving a shit because you don't have to clean him up.

Who would have thunk playing UNO was fun. Yes I said thunk on purpose because thunk rhymes with drunk and we were not drunk. You would have thought we were drunk as much fun as we were having. "Bitch please," as I lay down a draw four card to my sis-in-law Chris. So she lays down a reverse card, and I nail her again with a draw two card.

Now, Melanie suggested UNO because it was a self-explanatory game that EVERYONE either knew how to play or was easy enough for the not-so-witty card players to play. Kayla, you can't lay a green card on top of a red card unless the numbers match up.

If you can't celebrate a holiday on the holiday with your family it shouldn't matter. What matters is that you get to spend some quality time with them and enjoy them. And drink lots of mountain dew to help you through the day.

Like a mother!!!!***** heart attack

I gained another sister later in life. She is my best friend. She is the one I go to when I need someone to talk to, scream at, and cry to. She's been my rock for years and loves me anyway. She has two great kids, grandchildren, an awesome husband and a wonderful family to boot. She is full of positive energy and full of life even when things aren't going her way.
I absolutely hate riding with her when we go places. And I'm a terrible backseat driver. "You know there's someone standing there right?" I'll ask her.
"Yes, I see him," she says as she's whizzing by him.
"It's green," I'll gently say.

"Yes, I know. Let me drive or I'm going to beat you down." She yells at me, followed by a devious smile.

Now, of course I'm a great driver. I'm so good that she has no reason to complain. Except for maybe when I'm weaving in and out of lanes in Kansas City, KS rush hour traffic.

We tease each other relentlessly, but that's just us. Most of the time I'm venting to her and what makes our relationship work is that she just listens to me. She knows when I want advice because I ask for it. If I don't ask for it, she knows I don't want it. She tells me things I don't want to hear, but I tell her things she doesn't want to hear. We have a mutual respect for each others opinions and views and that's what makes our relationship work! We may not always like what we hear, but deep down we know the other person is usually right.
She's come a long way in her life and I'm so proud of her. She survived a divorce with really low points and she survived her children whom she loves very much and would move heaven and earth to help them as long as they want to help themselves and take responsibility for their actions.
You know how if you hang around a person long enough you start talking like them? For me, one of the most annoying things on the face of the earth is the catch phrase, "You know, right"? I thought I had broke myself from this catch phrase, however, being in the car with her five minutes I'm saying it again. What's more is my thirteen-year-old son says it too. Then, they gang up on me because they find this annoyance to me hillarious to them.

Outspoken even at her wedding



She refuses to let anyone walk all over her including the people she works with. Melanie does not play games with anyone. She won't say something behind your back unless she's willing to say it to your face. When she gets tired, you hear her southern accent come out which I tease her about all the time. She has a way of knowing when I'm sad or down and by the end of our conversation she has me rolling laughing.
"You're in a good mood," I said.
"I had a good day at work," she said.
She goes onto tell me the conversation she had with one of her managers and she tells me about their back storage room.
"I told him when we first opened everything was so organized. Trainers and management who have been doing this for years told us where to put things. You could find what you're looking for. Since you've been here it's not so organized. We can't find anything," she said.
Melanie is simply fearless.
"How do you make $50 in that section"? Another employee asked her. This particular section is catered towards truckers so there is an obvious answer. I just won't tell you exactly how she made the $50.

When my mother was alive, she was an extremely passive aggressive person. When she wasn't passive aggressive she was yelling and screaming at us. When my sister ignored my request, I just snapped. I couldn't handle her being passive aggressive towards me. I couldn't handle the fact she showed absolutely no empathy toward the fact that I just found I had breast cancer. I couldn't handle the fact she turned my house upside down. Her intentions were good, but I would have appreciated a heads up. I didn't appreciate the fact she erased my younger children's things without asking me first. I didn't appreciate the fact that I needed to in fact rest, and I couldn't.

While I was gone, I had asked my neighbors to check-in on her and the kids. I just wanted to make sure she had everything she needed. My neighbors and I just became friends earlier that summer and I felt comfortable sharing certain things with them. I hadn't counted on my sister telling them things that were private about my life. I hadn't counted on her taking them through my house.

I should have realized something was wrong when I invited her and my neighbor Emily for lunch that day. Beth was acting extremely off. More off than usual. When Beth is hiding something she has that "fake" smile. You know the ones I'm talking about. The kind where it's more a grimace, head bowed down because they don't want to look you in the eye. The whole lunch felt awkward. But, I thought it would be fun and keep my mind off the fact I had breast cancer.
The following day my neighbors ask to speak with me at Emilie's house. I was curious and a little concerned about why they wanted to have this chat.
"Leslie, we are so sorry." Becky said.
"For what"? I asked.
"I gave your sister the number for Social Rehabilitation Services and she called them," Becky said.
"Leslie, we were concerned about you, we thought she was trying to help you."
They went onto tell me about the conversations they had with my sister while I had been in Kansas City. Beth even eluded that I drank and tried to find alcohol in my house.
I was in utter shock. Then Becky showed me the texts she had received from Beth.
"It's done," Beth texted.

She obviously was referring that she had in fact turned me into SRS. Which really didn't make any sense since the house was clean. I was so angry with her, but I had other things I was dealing with too. Seriously? This was her idea of help.

Could I have used help earlier that year? Yes. Was I majorly depressed six months prior, yes. But I had started going to church, getting out more, and enjoying life. My kids never went without. I couldn't buy them the most expensive things in life, but that's not what being a parent is about. They had their basic needs met. Yes, my son needed a new mattress, but the week prior to my going to Kansas City I went shopping with my other sister for just that. I was just still price comparing.

So, that was that. Now, with a stage IV cancer diagnosis my sister was after my children as well. She made it known she wanted them to come and live with her. She insisted that's where they needed to be. It didn't matter what I want, or what I thought was best for my children.

"We should have believed you Leslie and we're so sorry for not believing you," Becky said.

I finally felt validated.

disclaimer..(This next part of the story isn't to hurt anyone and isn't up for discussion of whether or not I should have told it. This is from my point of view and if the parties disagree and are upset I apologize in advance, but this blog is about my entire experience, not just certain parts. I also want to point out that I have no regrets with anything I've been through because I'm a better person today because of it).

Previous to my cancer diagnosis, my sister had visited for the weekend and stayed with my kids so I could go to Kansas City for my appointment where I would learn I did in fact have cancer. Upon my return, I came home to a different house.
My house wasn't a disaster when I had left. Yes, it was cluttered. Yes, I had been fighting a mouse problem that was just about taken care of. No, I hadn't yet cleaned up yet. Keep in mind, I was diagnosed as stage IV breast cancer which means I was probably living with it for quite a while. I was always tired and the energy I did have was spent taking care of my children's needs the best of what I could do. I was also enjoying life. I loved taking my son to his football practices and going to his games. I loved hanging out with Mickaela.
According to Dr. Mcginness's instructions, I was suppose to take it easy for the next couple of days. After all, I had just undergone two biopsies in my left breast and was sore. I had just experienced a trauma and I wasn't ready to talk about it yet with anyone. I just wanted to be left alone. Well, left alone with my children to think about what was going to happen next and where I went from here.
When my husband and I seperated, he took my two youngest with him. At the time, it was the best thing to do and with my cancer diagnosis there was no way I'd be able to take care of them. I still had Sam and Emma's things in their room because I knew they would be returning. This was their home too.
My sister had completely cleaned my older son's room, which he was suppose to have done. I had it cleaned two weeks prior, but he was 12 years old. He knew how to pick up after himself he just chose not to. She took the bunk beds down and rearranged it so it would just be Nick's room. I hadn't overreacted to that. She had also vacummed the mouse droppings up that I hadn't done yet.
That evening went fine as well. Both children had new bedding, which she took credit for as well as getting Nick a new mattress. I was completely shocked by her efforts to make things better. At least, I thought she was trying to make things better. The next day however, was awful.

 She was up and hard at work again. I really appreciated her hard work, but I felt like she was annoyed that I wasn't helping her do anything. I wasn't suppose to push a vacuum, lift, or really do anything. I thought she would have understood this given the fact she was studying to be a nurse. I really thought she would have realized that I needed my rest. I didn't need to hear clanking of totes in the bathrooom tub while I tried to get some sleep.
Later that day, it was time for my son to get ready for football practice. She was out practicing volleyball with my daughter and my son was looking for his "essential" parts of his uniform which he couldn't find and we couldn't leave til he found them.
"Do you know where Nick's cup is?" I asked her.
She ignored me and continued to play volleyball with Mickaela. I asked her again and she still ignored me. Was I nice about it? Probably not because she had rearranged everything in his room and he didn't know where she put it and she wouldn't come into look for it. I don't remember what happened from that point on, but I do know my annoyance with her had escalated to a fight with her which could have been avoided if she would have helped her nephew look for what he needed.
I blew up at her. I was stressed beyond what anyone could imagine and she calmly and sarchastically told my children that I was reacting this way because I was bipolar. (A story for another time). I told the kids to get in the van and I wanted her to leave my house if she was going to behave that way towards me. Upon my return, she was standing outside across the street talking to my neighbor, which I found incredibly annoying.
My sister and I have never seen eye to eye on anything. I may not be perfect, but I am the mother. I am the one who takes care of my children on a day in and day out basis. I am the one who fixes their meals, takes them to school and picks them up, takes them to the doctor, and everything else a mother does. I try and make decisions based on their well-being and she has never respected me as a mother. She can disagree with me, but she has to respect me as a sister and as a mother.

guardianship

The universe has a funny way of working when it comes to making decisions. My dad, my aunt, and others asked me if I was sure I wanted to sign this guardianship and I explicitly said yes. The cost of guardianship would be $900 and I said to Becky and Karen that I didn't have that kind of money. Of course, once again Becky said, "Don't worry about it, Roger and I will figure it out." That seemed to be alright with Karen and I said okay. Now, it was just a matter of getting my ex-husband to agree to it as well.
The kids were already staying across the stret without the guardianship and when Manning would drop the kids off for the weekend Becky and Roger invited him in to try and make him feel comfortable with the arrangement. Sometimes he would stay three hours at a time.
Once he left, Becky would come over and tell me about their conversations.
"All he does is talk about himself," she said. "You would think he'd ask how the kids are handling everything, or he would ask questions about us."
I sat their and listened every time. I kind of smiled to myself and thought, haha now you understand why he drives me nuts sometimes.
The weekend before the hearing Becky came over frantically spouting out in her Arkansas accent.
"He won't sign the guardianship papers," she said.
"He went over it with us and had problems with it."
At the time, I didn't understand why she was so upset. I thought she was upset for me because I wouldn't get the healthcare I needed if this didn't go through. I now think she was upset because my ex-husband wasn't about to give his children away to perfect strangers. I believe now she was upset because my ex-husband put a kink in her twisted plan to take my children away by using God to manipulate me.

Every time she had a problem with Manning, she would come over and tell me about it. I was suppose to be recovering from my chemotherapy treatments and she was causing me undue stress. I finally had to tell her I couldn't handle it anymore. There wasn't anyting I could do about it. In her own words, she was "on the hamster wheel." I believed she enjoyed being on the hamster wheel and enjoyed having the drama in her life. She presented herself in a fashion she was helping you, but in all reality she was helping herself. Hiding behind God once again and in it for her own agenda.
My ex-husband has never been one to express himself openly. I didn't know if he approved of my decision, if he wanted to take the kids, or if he really knew what to do. I was angry because he wouldn't talk to me openly about it. He wouldn't tell me, "I want my children to come and live with us."
My dad said I needed to have a conversation with my ex-husband, but I knew he wouldn't talk to me or give me an opinion one way or the other. If he had an opinion, he wouldn't have backed it up. I felt that I was on my own.
My husband and I had seperated earlier that year, before I found out my cancer diagnosis. I couldn't depend on him to take care of me or the kids, which I'll get into later. He was down in Texas and legally he couldn't take Nick or Mickaela even though he offered to. I knew that wouldn't fly with my ex-husband though.

The following week, Becky and Roger went to court and Judge Johnson signed off on the guardianship. It was a done deal now. I was happy my children were getting taken care of and that I was going to be able to get the healthcare and help I needed. Now, Manning was out of the way. Little did I know Becky moved onto my sister.

decisions

Whenever you have that sinking feeling or self-doubt in your gut, LISTEN TO IT! There were so many times while my supposed "caregiver" was taking care of me that I felt that she was after my children. I even confronted her on it a couple of different times.
A lawyer who makes house calls? Karen came to the house with guardianship papers in hand for me to sign. Even though I had three chemo's behind me, I felt I was able to make a sound decision. The wording in the document said, "temporary." I thought the word "temporary" in the document meant I was signing a "temporary" guardianship. Later I would find out this guardianship was anything but temporary.
"This is just a piece of paper," Becky said.
They invited me into their home and made me feel comfortable with how they were raising their own daughter. They invited me to dinners and always updated me on the children.
"Leslie, I'm doing this for you!" she said. "We just want the best for your children." Words I clearly wanted to hear, because after she said these words I let it go.
Every time I turned around, she would say, "This is just a piece of paper so we can make decisions for them, take them to doctor's appointments etc. One other reason for the guardianship is that I needed medicaid. As it was, I was receiving child support from my ex-husband and I needed to figure out how to get that out of my name. $650 put me way over the limit to qualify for anything, and I didn't have health insurance or any other income. I was scared that I wouldn't be able to be treated for my cancer if I couldn't get the health care I so desperately needed.

The Truth Is....

The truth is, cancer sucks!
The truth is, surgeries because of the cancer suck!
The truth is, missing out on my children's lives because I'm too sick to be a mom suck!
The truth is, looking down and having no boobs suck!
The truth is, laying on your bathroom floor Christmas day sucks!
The truth is, not being able to lift up a plate, or take out the trash sucks!
The truth is, realizing the all the people waiting with you to have blood drawn all have cancer too sucks!
The truth is, having to apply for social security benefits and medicaid suck!

The truth is, the receptionsists of Westwood Women's Center are amazing!
The truth is, the doctors and nursing staff are amazing!
The truth is, KU social worker Lizzy Linder is amazing!
The truth is, my dad lent a helping hand and is amazing!
The truth is feeling good enough to attend my sister's wedding and take pictures was amazing!
The truth is, I have survived a year of chemotherapy and surgery!
The truth is, there will be a cure one day!

My seventh grader and his friends post on facebook all the time, "the truth is." It's their way of communicating their honest feelings about one another whether it be how they met, what they think of that person, how they feel about their siblings or parents. There are so many uncertainties with a cancer diagnosis, but there are also truths. These are mine.

Unanswered questions

I look back at a counseling appointment with my psychiatrist and he asks, "Do you have any suicidal thoughts."
I replied, "Well, not so much anymore, but yes I have in the past."
As he's jotting in his notebook he says jokingly, "Suicide seems unimportant when you have death staring at you in the eyes."
I mean if I really wanted to die, I'd just stop going to chemo, right? This is a perfect excuse. I don't have to think of ways to do it like taking pills or slitting my wrists. I don't have to think of ways to hurt myself because either I fight the cancer or I die.Point blank.
There were so many times throughout my chemo treatments that I said I can't do this. A little over half-way through I was ready to stop. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't take the person I had become. Wham am I fighting for if my quality of life sucks?
While I was fighting cancer, I was fighting my family, I was fighting people who wanted to keep my children away from me, I was fighting social security, I was fighting medicaid, I was simply in a state of fighting. What is the point of living if all you're doing is fighting to survive? Living shouldn't be this difficult.
I will say it again, 80 percent of surviving any kind of cancer is positive thinking. How can I be positive when I'm having to deal with all of this stress?
And, where was God through all of this? Am I such a bad judge in character that I brought unintentional, emotional harm to my children? Yes, I had free will, but I was out of options. Or at least the options in front of me weren't beneficial to anyone least of all them. God gave us the ability to have free will and make choices. Why do people use God to manipulate us into their way of thinking? Why do people call themselves Christian and then turn around and try to prove you an unfit parent because they can't have children of their own? Why do Christians try and look for fault in people to make themselves appear better? Why did God bless me with four children and only bless her with one? Why, as a Christian does she still prey on unsuspecting women thinking she loves them and she's their for them. How do you fight a person hiding behind God? Why were my family so ready to believe her and her rants about me and my home life instead of taking a chance on me?

A helping hand

10. How are you feeling? Really?? How am I feeling?? How would you feel after being shot up with poison for eight hours.

9.  If you're a caretaker, do not, I repeat do not give the cancer patient hot tomales for their dinner. I had a neighbor think I might actually like these.

8.  If you've had cancer and are trying to console a friend who has cancer, do not constantly compare your experience to theirs. Everytime I had a conversation with a particular individual the conversation always started out, "When I had cancer," or "your tastebuds are never going to be the same." Everyone is different and reacts differently to chemotherapy. Don't make the converstion about you. Cancer patients really just need someone there. Sometimes no conversation is the best conversation. Just knowing you are thinking about them and are there for them is enough.

7.  Overprotective family...Don't get me wrong. Family is an important support system. However, family should not try and "police" the cancer patient. We know our limitations and what is good for us. We know what we should be doing. Just because you think a patient should be doing something, doesn't mean they will. If you disagree with them, keep it to yourself. Isolation isn't the answer in keeping away germs.

6.  Again, if you're a caretaker, ask your friend or relative how involved they want you to be. If you're there for support at a doctor's visit be ready to take down information, but sit quietly in the background. Oncologists only want to deal with the patient, not the entire family. This is their illness, not yours. They have had their life turned upside down and no longer have control over their bodies. The last thing they need is for someone to take over an appointment.

5.  Be that person available to call at midnight or two in the morning.

4.  Don't make the cancer patient feel guilty for sleeping more. Fatigue is an understatement with chemotherapy.

3.  Be prepared for mood swings. You may be doing everything you can for the person your taken care of, but when there is noone else to lash out at, you may be the only person left. Understand this isn't them. They are facing mortality. They are scared. Just take it.

2.  Know that we love you and couldn't go through this without you. You can' t expect a pat on the back for attending an appointment or being their for surgery. If you make that choice, don't expect gratitude right away. The cancer patient has more things on his/her mind than saying thank you.

1. Just be there. Be there when noone else will be. Don't tell them they need to fight. We know we need to fight. There are days though you don't want to fight. There are days where you're angry with God, with your spouse, with the person taking care of you. There are days where you think this will never be over. There are days when encouragement just isn't enough.

Level lab 3

Soft, warm lighting, copies of crossword puzzles and word finds, and artwork filled the waiting room of level lab three. We all knew why we were being sent there. Our platelets were too low to receive chemo, but in one last, ditch effort they would draw blood again in a special tube to see if your numbers would come up.
An aid brought an elderly woman in a wheelchair to await her fears. She was argumentative in a comical way. "I'm going to eat ice-cream whether she wants me to or not," the woman told her caregiver. I sat there thumbing through my magazine, not really paying attention to the pages and I just couldn't help but smile.
"Dr. Chapman is your doctor, isn't she?" I asked.
"Why, yes how did you know?"
"Because my mother said the same thing after one of her appointments," I said. The foods my mother once enjoyed were now being taken away from her little by little.
At that moment though, I knew my mother was with me. I felt her so strongly in that room, holding my hand telling me it was all going to be okay.
This was my first roadblock I had to overcome. Something I didn't have control over. My platelets were too low and I hadn't even started chemo yet. How could this be? Hence, why I was sitting in level lab three. I was so scared my chemo was going to be delayed.
One woman, trying to smile while she told whoever was on the other end of her cell phone, said she wouldn't be receiving chemo that day. You couldn't help but overhear her. You couldn't help but notice her hands trembling, her voice shaky, her spirit defeated. Her husband held her hand as she gathered her things to leave for the day.
Being told your platelets are too low not only means your not able to receive chemo, but it also means this ugly disease has a chance to grow and spread until you get treatment. Every day counts.