Awareness Week: Combating Side Effects

Hi blog,

I will continue to commandeer you for Awareness Week until, well...the end of the week I guess. You'll thank me later. Maybe. If not, then you'll have to forgive me, and if you can't, well that's not my problem at that point.

Today I will discuss some of the side effects that come about as a result of cancer and the treatments involved with it. I'll deal with short term effects for this post, and while non-cancer patients might not find this particularly useful (unlike my previous post, which was partially helpful in general), you may know somebody who might find it helpful in one way, shape, or form, so please, do that person a favor and pass this on.

Pass it on!

Many of us know about a couple of the physical side effects of cancer treatments like chemotherapy and radiation: the nausea, hair loss, lack of energy, weakened immune system, stuff like that. However, there are a few other unfortunately common effects that are not as well known that generally do not come to people's attention until they deal with the issues themselves or know somebody close to them who is going through cancer treatments. I shall focus on the two of these that I think are the most important (and another one to cap off Awareness Week that gets its own post because it is THAT significant) and give you (the reader) some useful tips that help to combat and alleviate these issues that will invariably crop up as a results of many treatment plans.

Chemobrain: The first of these problems that you (as the cancer patient) might come across is a little (not so little) something called chemobrain. Essentially, chemobrain is a decrease in mental acuity that generally manifests itself as issues with concentration, memory, and a general sense of not functioning at the same level of mental sharpness as one did before treatment. To put it simply, your brain doesn't work as well as it did. You might lose things easier, forget dates, important bits of information, have difficulty focusing on a task at hand, not do as well on a test, have trouble following a conversation, etc. At the moment there are several theories as to why people go through chemobrain, but none has been definitively proven, and besides, the goal is not to cure the chemobrain, but to find ways of coping and negotiating your way around it. Here's some tips:

• Make lists: As soon as somebody tells you something, write it down! Whether it's groceries you have to pick up, medication you need to take, or movies somebody tells you that you should watch, be sure to write it down as soon as you hear about it, that way you have a visual reminder of what you need to do and can refer back to it if your memory proves to be stubborn and unhelpful. And be sure to cross off any item that you complete as well, you don't want to do it twice. 
• Get a planner or notebook: Similar to the previous tip, a notebook will allow you to jot down any old thing that you may need or want. Somebody tells you a funny joke? Write it down! You need to remember somebody's name or information? Write it down! Have an appointment you need to keep? I'll let you guess what you should do. A notebook basically functions as a paper/electronic  (if you want to use a computer instead) memory bank that you can fill with whatever information you deem worthy of retaining. Don't be shy about writing things down either, even if you aren't sure whether it's important or not, write it down anyway, you never know. Besides, notebooks aren't really that expensive, feel free to fill up as many as you please!
• Keep a journal: Remembering how you feel on certain days can be helpful, especially if you have a problem that has been going on for a few days and you need to keep track of it. Having a detailed account of your physical, emotional, and mental well-being might also make for interesting reading for later as well, when you're telling people about how freaking awesome and brave you are after undergoing your treatments.
• Avoid distractions: When you need to concentrate on a task and have trouble with focus, making sure that you are in an environment where nothing is going to break your train of thought is important. Personally, I have trouble with this (even in quiet environments, I have a weird habit of breaking my own line of thought with excessively random tangents), and I find it incredibly
  
  helpful to be somewhere nice and quiet where I can count on being able to do what needs to be done without having some six-foot noisebox (also called a human) come in and talk about their cat while I'm trying to write a blog post. Don't hesitate to tell your friends or family that you need some time to think while you complete your chore or task, they'll understand. 
• Talk to your nurse or oncology social worker: These people will be able to give you some more useful facts and tips about chemobrain and other problems that you may encounter during the course of your treatment. They are an invaluable resource that you should use often and freely. For more tips on how to combat chemobrain, see CancerCare's article: Combating Chemobrain

Drug dependence: An issue with treatment is that it can cause additional pain. To deal with the pain, narcotics are very commonly used. Based on the nature of this point, you may worry about addiction, but actually addiction is different than physical dependence (which is what this part is about). Addiction is characterized by the compulsive use of drugs (in this case prescription because you will likely have access to a lot of those) for for mood-altering effects rather than pain relief. I went down the road of addiction, but it's not too common to go to that extreme, so don't worry about that. What you do need to concern yourself with is physical dependence, which will show up as you come off of the drugs. You may notice side effects such as: anxiety, paranoia, agitation, sweating, diarrhea, and insomnia. It is possible to notice these signs and work toward ensuring that you come off of your painkillers without suffering too much in the way of withdrawal effects, because you have enough crap to deal with already. 

• Talk to your doctor if you have concerns about drug dependence and if you notice that you are asking for the drugs even when you don't need them, tell somebody immediately, because addiction is a beast you do not want to tangle with, it can get you killed if you aren't careful.
• Don't be afraid to ask questions about the types and doses of painkillers you are on. If you are in more pain, don't worry about getting "hooked" on your drugs, because your main concern should be staying as comfortable as possible rather than toughing out extra pain due to a fear of becoming reliant on your drugs. 
• The best way to mitigate the effects of withdrawals is to come off of your dose slowly, lowering it a little at a time until finally you can come off it completely. Talk about a plan to wean you off your drugs with your doctor. 

There is one more big effect that is almost taboo to talk about, yet should come as no surprise to anybody. Sadly, I'm a tease, and if you want to learn what this last problem is and learn ways to alleviate it, tune in later this week for the conclusion of Awareness Week.

If you found this post helpful or enjoy this blog as a whole, please subscribe by clicking on the button to the right (of the screen, not in three-dimensional space) and/or leave a comment below. Also, I would appreciate it if you shared this with somebody who might be able to put it to good use, you'll gain a smidgeon of karma if you do and who knows, if you share it with enough people the universe might look kindly enough on you to let you win the lottery! (Doubtful, but you never know!)


Thank for for the repurposing today blog, mucho appreciado, your cliffhanger loving master and commander, Andrew

Awareness Week: Surviving Cancer

Hi blog (and others),

Well I promised today (and the rest of the week) would be the start of Awareness Week. So...without further ado, awareness!

A little introduction though. If you look to your right (on the screen, not actually to your right), you'll see the "About Me" thingamajig. Read that. Then look here. I'll wait...good! So yes, I had leukemia (AML to be specific), and have been in remission for about six years now. Obviously some treatments have changed, however, the methods for actually surviving have not. You see, surviving is actually about 85% mental by my estimates. Maybe less. More. I dunno, I'm not a statistician, but in any event, that's my guess. It also works for life in general when things are tough, but for the sake of argument and because this is, at its core, a cancer blog kinda in a way, we'll focus mostly on surviving cancer. So here are five very helpful tips for surviving cancer (and most crappy things life throws at you).

Yes I made a snazzy poster. With colors and pictures no less! (I'm not a huge color person, you don't want to see me wearing red, it's horrendous) And now, some further comments about the above tips.

1. Positivity: It's what it sounds like, the word positive being a major clue. I've actually read studies backing me up, although I am far too behind with this post to actually go find them right now, so you'll just have to take my word on this. Staying positive and keeping a good attitude even when things get bad or you're in a lot of pain actually helps an enormous amount. Not only will your chances of survival increase by a statistically relevant margin, but people who have a positive outlook actually have less pain than people with a negative outlook. So the tip? Flash that beautiful smile and assume the best, because it might just save your life!

2. Laugh loud and laugh often: Following a similar line to the previous tip, try to find some humor in life. It may seem dreary or bleak, hospitals can be very bland places, but find ways to spice it up! Post funny pictures on your off-white walls (you know they are), watch funny movies, listen to your favorite stand up comic, watch old reruns of good sitcoms (preferably ones you like), read a humorous book, have people send you jokes to put in a scrapbook, play benign practical jokes on your doctors and nurses (pretending you've lost an eye by putting Jell-O between your fingers and holding it up to your eye is perhaps borderline), stuff like that! Just like the statistic of positive thinking increasing your chances, you're more likely to be in a good mood if you've been laughing. It may hurt a little, but a bit of pain is a small price to pay for a few joyful tears and grin.

3. Surround yourself with support: It's always helpful to find people who will be there for you when the going gets tough. Family is a good first choice, most families will be more than willing to offer as much assistance as you need and will continue to give it even when things get really rough. Find some really good friends, ones you can depend on to stick with it. There will inevitably be people who will initially offer their support but soon disappear. Don't worry about them, cancer is an unnerving beast at the best of times, some people have a hard time coping with that and don't know what to do. Try not to get mad at them, it's just humans being humans. Instead, focus on how great the people are who stay! Those are the true gems in your life, treasure them always! And remember, don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it, because the people who really care about you will be there by your side.

4. Find a hobby: I know you probably won't have a ton of energy to do stuff, so I don't expect you to go out searching for silver in the Andes mountains in your free time or anything like that. But really do consider finding something you truly enjoy a great deal. Ideally something you can do sitting or lying down. It doesn't necessarily matter what, as long as it makes you happy and passes the time. Time is something you have a lot of and it's good to do things that you like so it seems to just fly by! There's not much more dreary than sitting in a hospital room doing absolutely nothing for hours on end, I can testify to that with much gusto. If you can do something enjoyable, learn a new craft or make something awesome, then I guarantee that it'll be time to go to sleep before you can say "Wow look at this perfect scale model of the International Space Station that I made!"

5. Don't be afraid to ask questions: Doctors are (usually) very smart. They know a lot of things. This means that if you have a question about this or that, they can probably answer it. Just because it can be difficult to follow your treatment plan or there's eight quadrillion different drugs that you have to take doesn't mean you have to sit clueless in your hospital bed staring blankly at a droning doctor until your eyes get stuck that way. If you don't understand something, ask! And be sure to do research as well, there's new treatments coming out all the time, there might be something beneficial that hasn't been explored too thoroughly yet. See what your doctor thinks of that. The nurses too are genius, they know all sorts of little tricks for combating all kinda of ailments, see if they have advice for you. I promise that one or two of them will come up with something that might be of use to you. If not, ask someone else. From my experience the nurses in oncology wards are some of the best around, don't be nervous about asking somebody a question or two, they don't bite (and if they do I bet you could make a lot of money off of a lawsuit so it's a win-win really).

Well that concludes part one of Awareness Week. Click the "Subscribe" button off to the right to get a notification of the next edition coming soon to this blog near you!

And blog? Thank you for being so understanding and letting me post a bunch of semi-ridiculous pictures up on you, I know how much you hate pictures. I dunno why, you're kinda weird.

Sincerely, your pictorially-enamored master, Andrew

Nick Hollon: Tracking Success

Hi blog,

You may have noticed a couple changes in your look, I may have done a slight makeover and then had your name changed. Originally, you were named after my book, but that seems like a bit too much like shameless self-promotion, so after some brainstorming with Nick (details to follow shortly), I came up with your NEW title! "Surviving the Cure." Since this is a blog from a cancer survivor who has dealt with numerous issues stemming from his treatments that saved his life, it seemed very appropriate to come up with a title that related to that in some way. Several bad ideas later, I came up with this name and Nick immediately latched onto the idea. So this is your new name (until I think of something better, if I ever do), I hope you like it! Because there isn't a damn thing you can do to change it!

Okay, now I said "details to follow" earlier, so I'll get into that. Nick and I met yesterday for our weekly book-related meeting. I had tasked him with rewriting some of his rough draft and giving me ten pages of his best ever work for me to edit, and I would give him ten pages of my more recent stuff for him to edit. Both of us handed the other our ten pages (Nick gave me fifteen pages, but I only got through about ten of them for the sake of time) and I busted out my Red Pen of Death (people who have suffered my editing know to fear the RPD) and got to work. He finished in about twenty minutes, both of us very quiet as we marked and remarked and scribbled out and circled things on the other's paper. Although he had finished, I was only about halfway through his section, being the horrifically meticulous editor that I am, so he spent the remaining time of my editing working on his book some more. 

He started with my work, pointing out some issues I had using a passive voice at times and correcting me on a few facts when it came to writing about him. The section I had given him consisted of a gruesome story about my neck and then another section talking about Nick's 100-mile run around the high school track to raise money for cancer research. Once he finished, I went and pointed out the single most confusing metaphor I have ever come across in my entire life. I was so confused that I went and showed it to my dad, thinking that I perhaps didn't understand it for one reason or another and that was a personal failing on my part rather than a rambling monstrosity that Nick put in. After a couple minutes, my dad looked to us and said, "Is this supposed to be a metaphor for something?" I busted out laughing, feeling vindicated. Nick had a hard time explaining it himself, so I told him to get rid of it. 

The last thing we did was talk about blog management (hence the name change). We went over some ideas for putting stuff up on our blogs, which I shall begin instituting next week, so stay tuned to find some amusing and possibly interesting facts and posts. The session ended with my idea of posting up part of our memoirs that we've been working on so you get a sense of what we've been doing. I'll be putting up my section about Nick doing his 100-mile run around the track. Here's an article written about Nick's monster run: Nick Hollon piles up miles to buoy leukemia-stricken pal

Nick is at the front of the pack, my dad center frame

Enjoy this little blurb from the book! Your (mostly) benevolent overlord, Andrew

Excerpt from Life Has No Title (working title):

Nick and I were both running our own races. I was fighting for my life, and he was running to live his. Our starting lines were separated by time and distance, but at some point our routes merged and led us to the same path. We ran together, sometimes one of us a little ahead of the other, sometimes a little farther behind, but we were on the same track, always ready to rejoin with the other when they needed it. And while time is the great separator and destroyer of connections, and while there were many different routes for either of us to take that would split us asunder, we never ventured onto them. When you find someone like Nick, the last thing you want to do is diverge from their path, you want to run with them as long as your legs can carry you. A guy like Nick is one in fifty million, nay, fifty billion. In all of human history there may have been only one other like him, and I think I know who: the Greek soldier who ran from Athens to Sparta before the Battle of Marathon to ask for the help of the Spartans. The man ran 140 miles straight and arrived the day after he set off. That man's name? Nickademus Hollon the Elder. And it would be two and a half thousand years before Nickademus Hollon the Younger would walk this Earth, only to outdo his valiant predecessor in spectacular fashion.

I mentioned early on in this book that at our school we have a thing called the Senior Project, which involves a bunch of work that causes a great deal of resentment amongst the senior class, since we’re really the only school in the area that does it. For mine, I wrote a play. Nick decided he had to do one better than me, because he’s a competitive son of a bitch if nothing else.

When I was first diagnosed, Nick hadn’t yet decided on a project. He racked his brain, thinking, thinking, but nothing happened. After he came to visit me he felt like he needed to do something more. Like me, he sought purpose. It took him a little while before an idea planted itself in his mind and took hold like a beautiful weed, tenacious but wonderful, striking but stubborn. His love of running had been growing over the last few years, and the advice given to everyone on what to do for their Senior Projects was always: “Pick something you love.” Well, Nick loved running, so why not do something with that?

From there, it took him no time at all to work through the ideas. A 10k? For him, that was just an appetizer, a snack on the way to a larger goal. It wasn’t in his DNA to do something so insubstantial. We both liked acting, he thought about my own senior project and wondered if he could do a student written play and raise money that way. But his heart was leaving drama and shifting more and more into this primal desire to run and push himself. He had to do something with that.

What distance to do though? His original thought was 5000 miles, but breaking that up into a ten month period gave him an average of eighteen miles a day. He just had too much going on to do something so insane. After a bit of brainstorming with his mom, he came upon the magic number 3000. Nick liked that, he even came up with a name for himself. “Mr. 3000.” Catchy, clever, it might just work. With his running goal set, he now needed a monetary goal to aspire to. $10,000. Yes, that would do.

So while I was going through treatment and fighting to stay awake while bobbing along on the gentle waves of hardcore narcotics, Nick was pushing his body every day while riding a wave of endorphins, his own version of a high. Personally, I like his better. However, both of them are addicting in their own way. I tried to keep apprised of his situation, find out how he was doing, but I had become absorbed in my own issues and lost tabs on just about everyone around me, including the kid putting his body through hellish extremes on my account. He still came to visit, and I would ask him how the running was going and he would smile awkwardly and say it was fine. But as he left I always noticed that little limp, a stiff walk, a wince, something to belie the true pain he was enduring.

As great a kid as he was, as mature as he was, he was still a kid. Like just about everyone else who came to visit, he was uncomfortable with my situation. Who could blame him? It’s such an expected thing to be struck down out of nowhere, even worse when it’s somebody you know. I’d dealt with it a couple times in my short life already and it’s never easy. Yet despite his obvious discomfort, he would stay for hours at a time and talk and laugh and I could forget for a while just how shitty life truly was. Nick wasn’t ever one for letting people down, never has been, never will be.

I didn’t find out until the day of the event, May 17^th, what Nick had planned to do. I had been a bet preoccupied with my own situation, the outside world didn’t exist too much except where it affected me. I had given up trying to make an effort to think about others, I just didn’t have the strength anymore. Hell, I barely had the strength to think about myself at that point. But Nick…man, I talk about him like he’s a saint, and in some ways he is. It may look like I’m playing up his good qualities, but in truth there’s no way to quantify someone like him, he’s above words, descriptions, metaphors, all of it. All you need to know about Nick is that he’s a runner second and a good person first.

It turned out that Nick had been struggling with his fundraising goal. It was hard for him to balance out everything and also talk to a hundred different people to get small donations that would take him a thousand years and change to hit his goal. He would need to do something big and brash, something to really grip everyone’s attention and draw them in to raise more money. A big run would do it. How big though? A marathon’s worth? Naw, not Nick. Twice that? Nope. A nice, even number to really blow people’s minds. A hundred miles around the school’s track would do it. It would be easy to watch, people could run with him, and the news would eat it up for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

I had no idea what Nick would be doing that, day, I was just going about my life as usual, being miserable and trying not to think about it, being drugged up, not breathing very well, all those fun things I’d come to completely despise with a hateful passion in the hospital. Then, that afternoon, my mom asked me if I wanted to talk to Nick. I was confused, why would I want to talk to Nick? It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to him, but my mom had never really asked me if I wanted to talk to someone before, normally either that person called or I did. She explained to me what Nick was doing, a hundred mile run around the Poway High track. I was stunned, that seemed freakishly long, almost the distance from Poway to City of Hope. In my mind, I imagined Nick running all the way here to visit me, and a little smile played upon my lips.

“Sure. I’d love to talk to him.” I figured that she would hand me my phone, but instead she grabbed my computer and opened up a video call to Nick. My dad was holding up his computer and running beside Nick when he answered.

“Hey man,” Nick said breathlessly, his eyes only occasionally darting toward the screen. He was in the zone, breaking his concentration just long enough to come up with a response. “How ya doin?”

“Oh you know,” I said vaguely. I had swapped out my full face mask for a nasal cannula, which consists of a thin hose and two hollow prongs that sit in your nostrils to deliver oxygen in that way. It seemed better that way, I didn’t want Nick to see me with the full setup. I didn’t want to depress him at all, he had more important things to focus on. It was ironic to think that, because here he was, running to raise money for leukemia research, and I didn’t want him to see how bad it could truly get. We’re funny creatures. “I’m all right,” I lied. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” he said, a little exhale puffing out with each step. “It’s damn hot out though.”

“How hot is it?” I asked.

“Over 100. Hot.”

“Hell that’s pretty hot. You holding up all right?”

“Yea fine. I’m at mile…” He stopped talking for a minute until he passed some off-screen marker. “Just got to mile 80. Need to go. Gotta focus. Take care.” His last jumbled words to me faded away as my dad came to a stop and walked off the side of the track to catch his breath.

I waited for dad to hold up the screen again and he showed me what Nick was doing. I couldn’t actually make him out, there was a large group of people running with him. “Looks like he’s doing pretty well,” I mentioned.

My dad turned the computer back around and nodded. “Yep. He’s really kicking ass. I’m going to try and run some more with him. Love you buddy. Love you sweetie pie,” he said to my mom, and hung up.

“Well that was nice to get to see him run,” mom said.

I was tired just from watching Nick run, I had no idea how he could still be on two feet, or even alive. 100 degree weather? The kid was nuts, and he was only eighteen. There was someone going onto much bigger and better things, a flair for the dramatic, enraptured with the grandiose, never willing to give in and always willing to give something a try. “Yea it was.”

Nick ran through the day, well past nightfall before he finally completed his 100 miles. He could barely walk the next day, his legs were jelly, his body aching almost as bad as mine, but he felt an immense pride and self-satisfaction at completing his almost insurmountable goal. I was proud of him, he had fought his fight and won it. I still wasn’t through mine though, and my opponent still had one trick left up his nasty sleeve. 

Return of the Chadi

Hey blog!

My brother Chad is home for spring break! It's a pretty funny story actually, so buckle up! (I don't think you have a seat belt, or a physical body for that matter, but it's just a figure of speech so don't spend too much time thinking about it, aigh?)

About a month ago my mom asked if Chad was coming home for spring break. His girlfriend (Erica) would be coming down, but Chad told her that he decided he was going to stay up in Humboldt (where he goes to school obviously) instead of coming back. Mom was bothered by this, she missed Chad and wanted him back, but in their Skype call she put on a brave face and told him in a not-at-all convincing tone that she hoped he had fun and would see him over the summer. In a resigned tone she said goodnight and almost immediately after hanging up sighed and said to us, "He's not coming home. I wish he would."

For the next couple weeks my mom didn't mention it, but then she got a strange message from Chad's girlfriend's mom saying that she was looking forward to seeing both Chad and Erica that spring break. Confused, my mom called Chad and asked him why Erica's mom thought he would be coming down for spring break. "Oh, must be some kind of mix-up," he said, shooting down the rising star of hope that mom had gathered up about Chad's return. "I'll be sure to text her and let her know that I'm not coming back. Thanks for letting me know." The conversation didn't last much longer and my mom was once again dejected that her son would not be coming to see her near the end of March as she wanted.

I got a call from Chad a couple days later, in which he spoke for no real reason in a hushed tone. "Hey Andrew. I decided I'm coming down for spring break. But it's a surprise, so don't tell mom. I'll need your help though when I get there."

"Sure thing," I told him, grinning ear to ear. I loved having Chad back home, it was nice to have somebody to actually hang out with rather than sit by myself most of the day and work on my book and relive old memories. "What do you need from me?"

"I'll probably be getting in late, so I'll need some help getting in." I assured him that I would do my part when the time came and hung up just a moment before I realized I had no idea when he was coming back. Oh well, he'll call me a couple days before and then I'll be able to let him in, easy peasy, I told myself.

Over the next couple weeks, my mom would intermittently bring up the fact that Chad had decided to stay at Humboldt, but it really became a daily topic a few days before his spring break was supposed to start. "I just can't believe he would stay up here. I mean Erica's down here."

"Maybe he just wants some time to himself," I said, my face deadpan so I wouldn't give away the secret of the year.

On Saturday I got a text from Chad saying he would be there at around 10:30 pm. When I asked him what day he meant, I didn't get anything for several hours, but eventually I got a response saying "Tonight." I looked at my phone. It read 8 pm. Well at least I got some head's up anyway.

My mom went to bed at 10:30 that night and I considered trying to find a way to keep her awake for a bit longer until Chad got home, but that might seem too suspicious so I wished her goodnight and went to watch TV until my little brother got home.

At 11 pm I got the text. "Here." Brief, to the point, informative, perfect. I headed out to the garage to let him in and winced as the metal grated against metal and let out a horrific squeal, so I stopped immediately and gestured that Chad should crouch underneath it, just barely clearing the bottom of the door. I closed it again and this time we both grimaced as the agonizing noise scraped against our eardrums. "That's loud. Do you think that woke them up?" Chad asked as I shut the latch.

"Naw. Should be fine." I opened the door to the house and locked it behind us. He was holding two plates. "What are those for?"

"I'm bringing them back."

Chad snuck past mom and dad's room and I waited in the hall as he put his stuff away. He came back out with the dishes and came over to me. "Do you think I should just go to bed and let them find me there? Or should I wake them up?"

"What do you think?"

"Might be nice to surprise them. Your choice."

Chad nodded and disappeared into the dark room. I followed behind him and watched with amusement as he shook mom quietly. "Hey mom? I brought your dishes back?"

"Hm?" she muttered as she turned to look up at Chad. I switched on the lights and mom blinked slowly several times as Chad held out the dishes to her. Confusion danced across her face for a moment, and then the whole thing lit up like a hundred-foot Christmas tree. "Chad!!" she sighed happily. "Oh Chad you're home! Bill! Chad's home!" she mewed joyfully. She aww'd and ooh'd repeatedly as she hugged my brother and I sat down in the chair in the corner and watched as the three of them talked and my mom continued to make high-pitched noise of happiness.

Mom has been overjoyed that Chad is home and I'm quite happy as well. We've all been having a great time. Luckily mom decided not to go up to surprise Chad at Humboldt like she planned, that would have been funny though. The family goes up, the other comes home. It was good Chad told me so I could have nixed that plan should mom had decided to go through with it. He'll be home until Saturday night, and we'll be doing as much as we can as a family. Unfortunately Chad has a cold now, great timing right?

Just thought I would share that story with you blog, I can tell you were absolutely enraptured by that roller coaster of sorrow and joy.

Your yarnspinning master, Andrew