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.