Baldies' Blog began originally in the UK by a 26 year old journalist with a blood cancer on a mission to inform the world about bone marrow donation.

He has since died, and I took on the cause of making cancer care more transparent for everybody.

Cancer is a disease that will touch everybody through diagnosis or affiliation: 1 in 2 men will be diagnosed and 1 in 3 woman will hear those words, "You Have Cancer."

I invite you to read how I feel along my journey and
how I am continuing to live a full life alongside my Hodgkin's lymphoma, with me controlling my cancer, not my cancer controlling me.

I hope that "Baldies' Blog" will prepare you to handle whatever life sends you, but especially if it's the message, "You Have Cancer."

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Wednesday, August 26, 2009

First Day of First Grade

I’ve been tossing and turning the past couple nights trying to figure out how to finally oust my gigantic child from our bed.

He almost had me reconsidering taking a tougher stance when he crawls up in the middle of the night yesterday when he woke up, snuggling.

He had me reconsidering until I whispered, “Hey, you start school tomorrow.”

“WHAT?! NO!!!! I don’t want to start school. Noooooo!!!”

Okay, kid. You’re getting ousted for disturbing the peace.

Thank goodness I was finally starting to feel better.

I decided to change my medications up a little bit and stop hitting the ativan in the morning when I wake up ready to throw up.

I’m wondering if my nausea is just a conditioned effect from the years of chemo that I get alongside the fatigue.

My body just associates the two symptoms going hand and hand.

But the ativan has been knocking me out.

At least I hope that’s what has been the cause of all the fatigue.

I really hope it’s not going to be the story of my treatment that I am sick for a week and a half and good for four days.

Luckily, I was able to think, and realize, that I hadn’t prepped X at all for school.

His “new school” is less than a mile away, but I had never brought him. He had no idea what would happen today.

I dragged him out to check out the playgrounds.

It didn’t take much arm twisting. He was psyched.

Then, as luck would have it, who did we see when we were checking out the playground, arms full of goodies with the door open to her classroom? Mrs. B, X’s teacher.


We first met Mrs. B, randomly, playing in Claremont. Mrs. B. and I get the same fun mom ideas and I would bring X out to play and she would have her daughter there too.

We just like to do the same fun mom things.

We ran into each other at the ice rink and playground more than once, hung out, but never really got acquainted.

We were surprised to see each other when we were planning X’s year this year.

Then again, fate intervened, and we hung out all summer because her daughter was on our soccer team.

We’re good. X knows his teacher. She is awesome.

He also got to check out the new class, where he was sitting, who he knew and who he didn’t.

I could see his anxiety melt.

Then last night, when reading X the introductory letter to the kids from his teacher, his fear came back after reading 1. Find your cubby and 2. Say hello to a friend and 3. Read the introduction letter.

Shock and terror registered across his face, clearly expressing the thought, “I’m going to have to READ on the first day of school!!!”

He has been stressing about the fact he will have to learn to read this year for a while now.

I am excited that he feels secure enough to freak out about learning to read.

That is so normal. That means he is not so preoccupied with being anxious about me that he can worry about normal child things.


I think we’re looking forward to a good year.

He wasn’t cooperating with my pictures this morning. He must have forgotten the tradition that I get serious first day of school pictures. He is trying to make it clear that he is “big time” this year.

I am excited that I’ve been able to participate in these first days of his first years of school.

No matter how much we prepare, there is still that moment when we drop him off and I leave him at his desk, and our eyes lock.

We both know we just want to stay together but he’s growing up.

These moments, the simple, normal everyday moments are what makes all the pain worth it.

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