not that you asked...

Time (updated)

Sweet baby Emily's fight with cancer is coming to an end. Please continue to keep this beautiful family in your thoughts and prayers. And thank you to everyone whose prayers and support made this family's last year with their daughter such a blessing.

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On Monday, March 30, Emily was eternally healed. Thank you all for your prayers and your support and your love. Emily is now at peace, and passed this morning in the arms of her amazing parents.

Incidentally, I think I'm the only one of us who actually CAUSED a car accident that resulted in injury.*

I am a totally different person in the middle of the night than I am during the day. Sleep deprivation (at least for me) is sort of weird that way – no matter how tired I am, everything seems better in the light of day, and anyway, starting at 9am, Target is open and ready to hold and comfort me with it's orange clearance tags and new summer shoe collection. On the other hand, if I find myself absolutely exhausted in the middle of the night, then SOMEONE IS GOING TO PAY. (It is going to be Dave.) (Sorry for the spoiler.)

Friday night really sucked. Asher and Lucy were both up for an hour around 2am. Dave got up with Asher, and I changed and fed Lucy, and we were both back to bed around 3am. But while Asher stayed asleep, Lucy was up three or four more times before 6am, and finally I just kicked Dave hard enough that he got up and attempted to deal with her so I could get a little more rest. Except she kept screaming, and screaming isn't restful when you can hear it even with the monitor turned down. And I could hear Dave getting frustrated, and I knew he was afraid the screaming was going to wake up Asher, and in his frustration, he slammed Lucy's door closed. (Later he explained that he wasn't so much frustrated with HER, but more with the fact that he was tired, and had a killer headache, and hadn't gotten much sleep.) (Which: OMG THAT IS MY EVERYDAY LIFE, JERKWAD.)

Except I interpreted the slamming of the door as frustration with Lucy, and was angry that the noise might have woken Asher, and suddenly I found myself throwing off the covers and barreling into her room where she's lying in her crib screaming at the top of her lungs, and I'm all squinty-eyed and doing that screamy whisper thing, announcing that I WOULD TAKE THE BABY, GIVE HER TO ME, YOU ARE TOO ANGRY TO DEAL WITH THIS and Dave is whisper-screaming I AM FINE, I CAN HANDLE THIS, GO BACK TO BED EMILY AND LEAVE ME ALONE and would you believe we actually found ourselves having a SHOVING MATCH at 6am in front of our daughter's crib about who would be the privileged one to find a way to end the screaming? When, in reality, neither of us really wanted to be there at all?

See? RIDICULOUS. Sleep deprivation is of the DEVIL.

The good thing about our marriage is that we were both cracking up about it by the time Saturday night rolled around. It still makes me smile a little, remembering how we were trying to shove each other out of the way and deflect each other's flailing arms at the same time and how it eventually evolved into some kind of girly catfight where we were just slapping at each other like high schoolers fighting over some pockmarked, overly-gelled, lacrosse-playing junior with his very own HONDA CIVIC.

And now I'm going to tell you about this other thing my husband does, because your husband does it too I JUST KNOW IT and I need you to tell me I'm right. (I already KNOW I'm right, but it helps my case when some of you can back me up.)

So we're driving on Sunday morning, and there is a modest amount of traffic, and suddenly Dave “applies” the brakes in a firmer manner than usual. I am using this “apply” verbage because Dave insists he did not “slam” on the brakes. (My view is that he doesn't think he slammed on the brakes because he's the one who applied the pressure, so he knew it was coming. To ME, an unsuspecting passenger, it sure seemed like he slammed on the brakes, enough so that I grabbed for the armrest, anticipating impact.) I IMMEDIATELY looked in the side mirror and saw a black SUV following closer than probably was polite. I yell at Dave for this, because in my opinion, slamming on the brakes to get someone to back off your tail is NEVER A GOOD IDEA, mostly because they're probably not paying attention anyway, and could run right into us and also OH YES, WE HAVE TWO CHILDREN IN THE CAR, THIS ISN'T JUST ABOUT YOU AND YOUR (possibly justifiable, but completely unsafe) ROAD RAGE ANYMORE. Dave immediately gives me some crap about how he thought someone in the next lane looked like they were going to come over into our lane, which I also knew was a Big Fat Load, because never in his life has this man SLOWED DOWN to let someone over; that might show WEAKNESS! His natural inclination is to speed up and lay on his horn and then give them one of those WTF? looks through the window.

We fought about this. I am of the mindset that teaching Driving Lessons to people we don't even know through anger and hostility while possibly risking the lives of our children is a Big Fat No. I trust Dave's driving. I don't trust the person we're teaching the lesson to, though. I mean, what if they're just following too close because they're talking on the phone and aren't paying attention? (Quite likely.) Or following too close because they lost a contact lens and are just trying to get to the ophthalmologist's office with poor depth perception? (Maybe unlikely, but definitely possible.) Or maybe they're following too close because their beloved aunt just died and they're weeping behind the wheel and their eyes are blurry and clouded with tears and maybe it's just me, but if you're mourning a great and tragic loss, YOU DON'T NEED A DRIVING LESSON FROM DAVE. My view is: Why risk being rear-ended? Suck it up and MERGE INTO THE OTHER LANE. Avoid confrontation and save your children's lives. AND YOUR WIFE'S, TOO, even if she is of the variety of wife who slap-fights you next to your infant daughter's crib in the wee small hours of the morning. Dave, however, feels justified in his brake-slamming. Ahem, I mean, the way he applies pressure FIRMLY but SUDDENLY.

*I'll have to scan and post the pictures of me post-car accident. The airbag? IT TOOK ALL THE SKIN OFF MY FACE. And I had a really interestingly shaped scab on my forehead, which earned me the nickname Gorbechev. (How flattering.)

Running for Emily

It's been almost a year since I posted this, and since the Internet at-large overwhelmed me by selflessly giving more than $30,000 to a family in need; a family that the majority of you have never even met. It has been a long year and a tough road for the Mandells, and especially for two-year-old Emily, who was diagnosed with an extremely large and aggressive brain tumor in March of 2008.

The good news is that Emily is fighting hard and defying expectations and winning battles along the way. There have been setbacks and there have been challenges, and there have been some awfully scary moments that tied our stomachs in knots and kept our eyes squeezed tightly shut in prayer. But Emily's last MRI, at the end of February, showed no new tumor growth and no malignant cells in her spinal fluid. On March 30, exactly one year after a seizure led to the discovery of a baseball-sized AT/RT tumor in her brain, Emily will begin the next phase of her treatment, which will include more high-dose chemo as well as stem cell transplant. The next few months are going to be critical to Emily's chances for long-term survival.

Emily's parents, Katie and Brian, secured an apartment close to the hospital in Boston, and Katie is there with Emily around the clock. Brian teaches middle school during the week here in Virginia, and flies back every weekend to be with Katie and Emily. With all that travel and a full-time job and oh, that minor thing about parenting a toddler with BRAIN CANCER, you wouldn't think that Brian had the energy or desire to add anything else to the mix.

But he was selected to run the Boston Marathon as part of the 2009 Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge, so he's training for that, as well. As part of Team Dana-Farber, Brian will be raising money for the Claudia Adams Barr Program in Innovative Basic Cancer Research in addition to enjoying 26.1 miles of Punishment by Asphalt. One hundred percent of the funds he raises goes directly towards helping the doctors at Dana-Farber Cancer Center and its affiliates (including Children's Hospital Boston, where Emily is currently being treated) find ways to make cancer treatment less toxic and more effective.

Brian has never even RUN a marathon before. But I guess, you know, he'd never parented a kid with cancer before, either, and he's doing a damn fine job of that. The cool part is that his best friend (also conveniently named Brian; we'll call him Brian S. for purposes related to this post) will be running alongside him on April 20. Brian S. and Brian have been friends since elementary school, and last fall, Brian S. (and his girlfriend! Hi Cathryn!) actually ran the Marine Corps Marathon to raise money for the American Cancer Society, in honor of Emily:

  

(IS THAT NOT THE SWEETEST THING YOU'VE EVER SEEN?) (Confidential to Cathryn: He's TOTALLY a keeper.)

Anyway, I haven't said much about Emily here in months and months (although I try to keep updates current here) but so many of you showed such an interest in her story that I thought I'd give you an opportunity to do something awesome for this sweet family again, if you felt led to do so. Brian and Brian S. need to raise a certain amount of money to participate in the Boston Marathon. I think Brian has already raised the appropriate amount, but Brian S. seems to be lagging a little behind. Understandably so, as I think people are going to naturally gravitate towards donating money in the name of someone who has a child with cancer, rather than his running partner, even though all the money donated goes to the same wonderful foundation for the same purpose.

But I think about how sad it would be if Brian S. was unable to run because he hadn't raised enough money, and what a downer that would be for Brian. When your kid is sick with a terrifying and often terminal disease, I can imagine that you need to cling to every little ray of sunshine you can. I know Brian is probably looking forward to the race in April for a lot of reasons, but at the top of his list is probably just getting to do something awesome and inspiring and fulfilling with his very best friend, in honor of his beautiful daughter.

From Brian S.'s donation page:

“I grew up with Brian Mandell, and was so happy for him to meet and marry Katie, and to bring the beautiful Emily into this world. Brian and Katie, and as well as their community of friends and family, were devastated when Emily was diagnosed with a cancer known as ATRT. Her little head has since survived numerous surgeries and her family too many scares to count.

Emily is now at Boston Children's Hospital, where she is receiving world class treatment and has defied expectations as well as that goddamn tumor in her head, I am happy to report.

When Brian asked me to train for and run this marathon with him, I didn't hesitate for a second. I am honored to run the Boston Marathon, and I am humbled to be doing it for a cause so near to my heart and to that of so many people I love.”

(PEOPLE, HOW CAN YOU NOT TEAR UP WHEN GROWN MEN WRITE SUCH BEAUTIFUL AND MOVING THINGS?)

If you want to donate in the name of Brian Mandell or Brian Stickel, you can do so here or here. I know, tough economic times and all that, blah blah blah, but I also know that I would be willing to do and give more if I was just presented with a good reason to do so and an easy way to do it. Give what you would have spent on a latte or give what you would have spent on a stamp, it all adds up. And if you don't have anything to give at all, you can still offer up your prayers because Emily and her family still need those desperately. Thanks, everyone.

My Big Fat Bungled Gynecologist Visit

Warning: This story isn't particularly graphic, but it does contain some mental images that could make you feel VERY AWKWARD if you are of the male persuasion and happen to know me in person. So you can either NOT READ IT, or read it and laugh (dude, it IS funny) and pretend you totally didn't when you next see me. WHATEVER WORKS FOR YOU.  

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When I was 17 or 18, my mom decided it was time for me to have my very first Annual Gynecological Checkup.

Frankly, this was no big surprise. I knew it was time, too. And not because I was sexually active or having any kind of Problematic Lady Part Issues. Mostly because those brochures they gave us in Health class said that girls should have that kind of checkup by the time they're 18 and if I knew anything when I was 18, it was how to follow rules; even rules that were really just suggestions printed inside glossy Family Planning brochures that nobody else but me ever read anyway, and especially not on the bus ride home. Well, nobody except me, that is. Well, and my mom. (OBVIOUSLY.) (Except she did not read them on the bus.)

“I made you a gynecologist appointment,” my mom told me one afternoon. “But I just made it at the family practice, so you can have your hearing and cholesterol checked, too.”

That should have been my first clue, an appointment for three of the most unrelated medical issues ever in the history of the world. My hearing? My vagina? MY CHOLESTEROL? In my mom's defense, I understand that she was just trying to make it as easy as possible: one appointment to get it all out of the way. Also: only one $10 co-pay (CHEAPSKATE). However, should you happen to have one of these “daughters” who need their reproductive system checked out for the very first time, might I suggest you make sure they're seeing someone who SPECIALIZES IN THIS TYPE OF PLUMBING?

I showed up to the appointment and was sent to the lab for bloodwork and the hearing test. Here I would like you to know that I passed the hearing test and was not suffering from high cholesterol, despite family history and my mother's paranoia. Then I was led back to an exam room where I was told to undress completely, put on the paper shirt and drape the paper sheet over my legs. The doctor would be with me shortly, so I was left alone to panic about the fact that very, very soon, I was going to have to hoist my naked legs in the air and place my naked feet into stirrups and expose something VERY PRIVATE and also VERY NAKED to someone I had NEVER MET BEFORE. And because Google did not exist back in 1995, I had no idea what else to expect. I certainly wasn't going to ask a REAL LIVE PERSON what was going to happen to me during that appointment. OH HECK NO.

The doctor eventually came in, after I'd shivered in my paper outfit for 15 minutes or so. I was willing to be compliant with everything she asked me to do in the hopes that she would let me put my clothes back on ASAP and thaw out. I remember that she was relatively young; probably in her early 30s, and I could tell, despite being only 17 or 18 years old myself, that she was kind of nervous about doing a gyn exam. Probably because she was a general practitioner, and hadn't seen a vagina on purpose since her residency rotations and she probably only did it then WITH SOMEONE LOOKING DIRECTLY OVER HER SHOULDER and giving her instructions on how to do whatever she was doing CORRECTLY. (You: Hey! I sense foreshadowing!)

I don't remember a lot of small talk or instruction. I have probably blocked it out. What I do remember is that I got into the right position with a lot of coaching, and blushing, and then the doctor showed me the speculum and told me what she was going to do with it. I do remember thinking that she had to be kidding me; this procedure required a METAL SHOEHORN? And then she said something about it being metal, and therefore cold to the touch, and that it would probably be a lot more comfortable for me if she warmed it up with some warm water first.

I know what you're thinking, and what you're thinking is, “Now, that's a nice touch!” And I know she MEANT well, but that does not excuse the fact that what ended up happening was that she didn't pay attention to the water temperature and therefore put a SCALDING HOT SPECULUM up my hoo-ha. It was... rather uncomfortable. I sucked in my breath because OMG THE PAIN but I think the doctor just thought it was General First-Time Speculum Fright and continued on with her doctoring business. Except that her business wasn't going so well either.

She adjusted that little poky metal shoehorn about 15 times, twisting it this way and that; pulling it out and apologizing and asking me to try to hold still (IMPOSSIBLE) while she inserted it again. It sucked. ROYALLY. And finally she decided it just wasn't happening and told me that she needed to find a different speculum; that the one she had wasn't giving her the right angle, and she needed to get a new one.

And I swear, as God as my witness, I did not make up what happened next. Remember, I am lying on a table, with my feet in the stirrups, covered by what generally amounts to an oversized KLEENEX, while my doctor opens the exam room door, stands in the doorway, and shouts into the hallway, “Does anybody know if they make a bigger speculum?”

SHOUTING. INTO THE HALLWAY. Not “where IS the bigger speculum,” or “could someone bring me the bigger speculum.” DO THEY MAKE A BIGGER SPECULUM. Does it even EXIST. There is a MEDICAL ANOMALY LYING ON MY TABLE, EVERYBODY, and I CANNOT FIND HER CERVIX.

Bedside manner EPIC FAIL.

Eventually, she ended up going and searching for one herself, leaving me there on the table, all shivery and still very naked. (I didn't even leave my socks on because the nurse specified “naked from the waist down” and I don't know if you were paying attention at the beginning of this entry but HELLO, AM MAJOR RULE FOLLOWER, “naked” means NO SOCKS.) And when she returned, she finished the exam (no warming of the new, possibly-larger-although-she-never-actually-told-me speculum this time, it was as cold as ice), and after telling me everything looked just fine, also told me that the next time I had one of these appointments to tell the doctor that, AND I QUOTE, “Your cervix is waaaaaayyy up in there.” Guess what? I mentioned that the next time, YEARS AND YEARS LATER, when I had an appointment with an actual board-certified vagina doctor and she told me my cervix was exactly where she expected it to be. In other words? The person who told you that was completely incompetent and should be doing something like checking your hearing or your cholesterol and NOTHING ELSE.

The End.