heebie-geebie

So we're packing for a ten day trip with Hawaiian Punch. The front half with my family, the back half with Jammies' family.  The back half - his sister's wedding - may feel like a luxury spa. At least, that's what I'm anticipating. There will be tons of adults battling over Hawaiian Punch's time, encouraging us to sleep in and drink beer.  Whereas with my family, there will be four kids under four years old, and a sad undercurrent. It's good the way the trip is set up. Mostly I am flush with emotion that I'll be near Mom.

The one cat nibbles me when I am not paying attention to him. Say, when I'm asleep, or holding fine china or Hawaiian Punch. He nibbles hard enough that I at least jerk away.  (I sleep with a sheet, even when it's super hot, because of him.) Today he bit my back fat, while I was changing Hawaii's diaper. The indignity, dude! Biting me on my pregnancy weight!

I had an awful, awful conversation with Grandma. What on earth do you say? How do a granddaughter and grandmother comfort each other when they're losing the link between them? We just sort of cried and got off the phone.  (Is it crass to gleefully point out that the Good Enough Lecture was absent? Because it was.) (Actually, now when Mom or Dad ask me how I am, I joke "Good enough." Because I can't quite bring myself to answer "Great! How are you?" At least, not with them.)

When talking with Mom and Dad, it's hard for me not to cut-up constantly.  Dad made jokes at his own father's funeral.  I know it's a coping mechanism. And yet, it's so great when I get a chuckle out of them.

We saw Up yesterday. It is not sad. Why does everyone say it's so sad? I was baffled. Jammies said that I am not currently the best judge of what is sad.  Wouldn't that be wild if my overly sentimental temperament is permanently altered by Mom's cancer? That I become a cold robot sneering blogger, who says, "Bah, you lost your lunch money. Cry me a river."  If I could deliver a toast without choking up?

My oldest brother is hot on the case of how to solve Mom's cancer. He's got some renegade doctor that he's in touch with, and he is squabbling with my dad about which drugs should be included in Mom's chemo.  It's hard to talk to him. He says things like, "The only outside chance for a curative treatment is to include this experimental Drug X." I can't stomach the thought of excluding the only outside chance for a curative treatment.  But my brother and dad have kind of alienated each other and are not having productive conversations about Drug X any longer; they are polarized and defensive. 

I haven't actually talked to dad yet about Drug X; this is all my brother's side. But I know how to warm my parents up, and massage them into an idea, and I know my brother didn't necessarily take the time to do so.

I hope my dad, who is a Scientist!, can convince me that Drug X is a terrible idea, and that we're actually optimizing Mom's chances by not using it.  Drug X is apparently more toxic to the patient, and is still in the trials phase. I just want to trust that Mom's getting the best treatment possible; I want to be lied to, if necessary. I do not want to be burdened with hindsight.

I do not feel grim and sad, even though I'm writing about grim and sad things. I am totally excited to see Mom this weekend.