Recovery is a b....

I still can't believe it's been over a week since I last posted. The days in between have flown by and if it wasn't for my nanny showing up in all red, I would have forgotten all together it was Valentine's Day. First to anyone who is reading this, thank you, thank you, thank you! The support I received after posting my blog about Tom's cancer was unimaginable. I never thought it would reach so many of you and your gifts, emails, messages, texts, phone calls and letters will forever be a reminder of the love and support we are so lucky to have.  I wish I could personally thank each one of you for reaching out to me but please know hearing from you brought a huge (and much needed) smile to my face. I'm happy to report Tom is home from the hospital and on the road to recovery. Thanks to Tom's sheer will and determination he was up and moving on the same day of his surgery and while there were a few minor setbacks in the hospital he was out of the hospital in a week! I couldn't believe the strength he showed through those first few days post surgery and I'm still in awe of him as we have this very windy road ahead.  

I picked him up from the hospital last Wednesday night with the same nervousness I dropped him off with. I had no idea what lay ahead and I have never been very good at playing nurse. I blame my mother for this lack of bedside manner - she was definitely in the school of "if you REALLY are sick than you can stay in bed all day, no TV!" - this harsh sentence led me to go to school more times than stay home but being in school sick wasn't much fun either. Before leaving the hospital we met with all the appropriate people and got way too many instructions, too many dietary restrictions and way too many unknowns. We met with the doctors, we met with the nutritionists and then the nurses...and then we were off. Tom kept pulling me aside to calm me down but for some reason my nerves, lack of sleep and pure adrenalin had taken over my body and I was acting more like hired help than a wife who was concerned and scared.  If someone had seen me they would have thought I was in an episode of The Amazing Race and we had just received our next task.  I packed Tom up in five minutes flat, got the cart for his belongings and rushed him out the door. Looking back now, I realize he also had that same look of sheer panic on his face because he also had no idea what he was coming home to and knowing the security of 24 hour care was now gone and nurse Ratched was taking over certainly didn't help!  

The first night home was hard, everyone treaded lightly and I was grateful the girls were already in bed. While I was happy he was home, the reality of the situation was settling in and I couldn't help but cry. Every day has gotten easier and we have definitely all adjusted to our new home life.  I know Finley is in her glory with Tom around 24/7 and I only wish I could explain to her that this too won't last. For now I will allow her to live in the moment and in truth, I'm jealous of it.  I keep telling everyone day by day...because if I think about next week or next month it would be too much.  I am trying to live in the moment and really, take care of the moment.  I'm a mom of three now and should just be grateful at least one of them is potty trained. The nights are the toughest, Frankie down at 7pm, Finley down at 7:30pm, dinner made for Tom (strict diet of less than 5% fat, UGH?) and the whole house is in bed at 10:30pm and then begins the rounds.  Every three hours Tom needs his pain medicine and every four hours Frankie likes to get up just to remind me she's lost her pacifier! Rise and shine begins around 6am when Frankie girl needs to be fed and the moment she's settling down back to sleep, Finley is screaming from her room "Mommy OPEN the DOOR!" - and groundhog day continues. 

I know when this is all over and we look back at this time it will be a mere blimp on the map of signifiant moments in our lives, and I know I will eventually look back at this time and be grateful. Grateful for the people I was able to reconnect with and the amount of time we have been able to have Tom at home.  I know in the blink of an eye and in the space of a moment he will be back in his suit and walking out the door before 8am only to return way after the kids and I have gone to bed. I will be grateful that at the ripe old age of 33 (the Jesus year) I am able to truly understand the words "in sickness and in health" and was faced to challenge my own demons around the word commitment. I'm grateful for my friends and family who have shown me the true meanings of being both a friend and part of a family. My mom said to me last week while we were sitting in Tom's hospital room waiting for him to finish his rounds with Peter, you still needed to learn something Chiara, God throws things are way so we can learn from them. She was right...but in all honesty, I'm still learning. 

Tom is going to be great. In fact, he's going to be better than great.  He's up and moving, he's eating and do I dare say, he's pooping?! We meet with the Dr's this week to find out the real results and the next steps but we both know now with a positive attitude and positive vibes being sent our way, we are going to be just fine. 

Happy Valentine's Day! 

C is cancer and it's scary enough for me......

Before he strolled into the room, I said "Tom? Is it OK if I blog about today..." his response "of course" - funny when you don't have a therapist to pay or a pill to pop what really will help you get through the tough times. I have never blogged before a few weeks ago and always made fun of it but now it's my hour at the therapy office. I've  avoided the topic for as long as I can and in the mix of everything going on, I can ignore it no longer (is that proper English). I should already put warning out there that this blog will lack any sort of formality. It will be somber and probably the last thing anyone needs to read on a day like today (if you live on the east coast). No need to give background on what I'm blogging about...the subject lines says enough.  The day started at 3am - time to feed Frankie, time to print the Will, time to get ready to go to the hospital.  We moved slowly, methodically,  as we got ready to head out in the ice storm for Tom's surgery. His second one in two months...I remarked we were becoming old pros but we both are scared of the same thing....this might not be his last. We spoke only a few times saying the same thing - "you OK?" "yeah, you?" We cried. We laughed. We sat in silence on our way down the road. In the darkness of the morning we were sluggish and worried - both of us for different things.  I can't speak for him but I imagine it was the fact that he was going to have his chest cut open, his organs removed and his lymph nodes scraped out. I imagine he was scared about the recovery, two weeks in the hospital which sounds like an eternity. I am worried because I am a mom and we are raising two beautiful little girls.  They are still babies in the big book of life and they only know the world we allow them to see. When Tom told us we were moving to NYC I thought OK fine...not happy but we will deal. When Tom told me it was in August, I nearly fainted...UMM I'm due in OCTOBER!! So I stayed in Boston and we lived two very different lives. When I delivered Frankie, he missed it, when I had labor pains, he wasn't there. So maybe staying in Boston wasn't such a great idea but it's done. Then came November new baby, and trips back and forth to NYC for Fin's nursery schools, all the while searching for apartments and nursing Frankie who was only a few weeks old while Tom was in California....new school for Finley, new job for Tom, new baby for me.  White girl problems...yes I know - minuscule to so many other things out there but to me it was exhausting.  I stopped asking how people were doing and started just chewing there ear off about all things me. "Who cares" now that I look back on it! I wish one of my many amazing friends just said "we get it Chiara but get over it!" See all the moving around, the sleepless nights, the raising of a very cranky two year old pales in comparison to the hear and now.  When Tom dropped the C bomb on me, my world froze. I went through the stages, doesn't everybody? Anger, denial, acceptance....I've never looked them up but those were the stages I went through. Angry because after so many months of being apart and so many months of doing EVERYTHING I was going to move to NYC and maybe get some time for myself....and then you go and get CANCER?! I know, sounds nuts, right? Mean? Insincere? You're right but it's how I felt.  Then denial. Life still needs to go on, I still have a baby to nurse, and a two year who won't poop. I have a new apartment to turn into a home and new mom friends to make....can't be bothered with your cancer now. Then acceptance and with that word came a whole host of emotions. He has cancer and the rode is going to be long. Death isn't our worry - with a 97% survival rate how could it be? So we slip on the yellow bands again. Yup, those same yellow bands I thought were so cool and only wore because everyone else did is now my reality. I think about my children first - to Finley he walks on water and now she will see him barely walking at all.  To Frankie she barely knows his scent, his touch and how much longer until she gets the father Finley had at this age? This won't be my last post about Tom's cancer...I feel better already and I have barely skimmed the surface. He's strong and he will be OK it's just that it's the C word and it's scary enough for me.