My friends and I always talk about this.  I’m sure many reading this think you know what c-word I am talking about.  Cancer?  COVID? No, children.  When my friends and I get together, we talk incessantly about our children.  For as long as I can remember...or 12 years at least...we always joke about “what did we have to talk about before we had children?”  

Children.  I’m honestly not sure what we talked about before them.  They change your life and become the single most important part of you.  Your role as a parent becomes your most challenging yet rewarding “job” you’ve ever had.  And unlike other jobs, it doesn’t ever seem to get easier.  Once you feel confident that you’ve “mastered” a stage, they start sleeping through the night, the terrible twos, they start school...there’s the next stage that hits you square in the face and you’re back to square one.  It feels like the first day on the job and you’re not sure you’re cut out for it.  You question your abilities.  Then, as if it needed to get worse, you get on Facebook or Instagram or another social media platform and after scrolling through your feed, you’re certain that you’re even worse at your job than you thought.  

It’s a vicious cycle.  

That’s kind of what got me to thinking about children, cancer, COVID...all of it.  Social media.  You see, I often ask myself, what did we talk about before any of these things?  It’s kind of like the next stage of childhood.  First we had children.  Then we had cancer.  Now we have COVID.

Cancer.  As many of you know, when Palmer was diagnosed in September 2018, our world was forever changed.  So many can empathize, but I’m not sure many understand.  My blog and the doctor’s office are probably the only places I talk about that c-word constantly.  I know that it makes people uncomfortable and quite honestly, sometimes it makes me uncomfortable.  I don’t like to talk about it, but I know sometimes you have to talk about the things that make you uncomfortable, but….the people pleaser part of me, never wants to make someone else uncomfortable, doesn't want to be a burden, doesn’t want to ask for help...it’s just not who I am.  Maybe it’s the farm girl in me. Maybe it’s the Barneveld Eagle in me.  Maybe it's the Pointer in me.  It’s how I was raised.  Life throws you curveballs, but it’s life.  That’s what it does.  You just find a way and you get through it.

That’s what I’ve always tried to do.  

So once Palmer’s treatments came to an end and she had a clear PET scan, I made a choice...for my children...for Palmer’s health...for me.  I took a new job.  Did it come with obstacles?  One hundred percent.  Was it manageable?  Of course, everything is.   I thought, this is it.  This is the time for things to return to some sort of “normalcy”.

COVID. Well, three weeks into my new job COVID hit and took the country by storm.  At first no one knew what to think.  In April, I think Portage County had nine cases and people didn’t feel comfortable leaving home to get groceries...grocery pick up and Zoom meetings overcame people’s lives.  I literally feel like we have meetings on meetings about COVID.  How to protect our student-athletes, our vulnerable population, which includes Palmer.  There have been no easy discussions.  I feel like we work tirelessly with the best interest of our student-athletes and coaches in mind day-in and day-out, yet continually have to deliver bad news.  We’ve never made so many plans that we never seen come to fruition because it changes daily...hourly.  There are no right answers because this is new to everyone.

I’ll be honest, I’ve been unsure what to think about the pandemic many times since March.  We take risks every day by getting in a car, or getting on a plane, going to the movies or a shopping mall.  Living in a bubble is no real way to live.  I know this because to a point I feel like I’ve lived that way for the last two and a half years.  We try to be smart about it.  To protect ourselves and others whenever possible, but have not locked ourselves in our home since March either.

I don’t know what’s right or wrong and I don’t judge others for their choices.  It’s their choice.  Not mine.  And like Shirley used to tell us, “we all make choices, make choices you can live with.”  

Stay at home?  Get together with a small group of friends?    I don’t care, do what’s best for you. 

In-person school?  Virtual school?  I don’t care, do what’s best for you.

What I do care about is people’s inability to see things from someone else’s perspective.  To truly understand why they may make choices or feel the way they do.    

Palmer is nine-months post chemo and radiation treatments, which means this week is scan week.  Every time we get closer to scans, my anxiety heightens.  I’m on edge.  I stop sleeping.  I either overeat or can’t eat anything at all.  I don’t feel like getting out of bed or I work on projects obsessively to not think about reality.  

There are multiple appointments and planning that go into scans.  A history and physical because she has to be put under anesthesia.  A COVID test.  Labs and appointments with her oncology team.  Follow ups with the radiation team.

Last Wednesday, I woke up at 5:00 AM sweating because I had forgotten about her history and physical.  It was “easier” when she was getting chemo because we were in the doctor weekly and it wasn’t something I had to think about.  She had one every week.

Luckily I called at 8:00 AM, and being from a small town, we were able to get her an appointment for that afternoon.  By then I would be home from Stevens Point to celebrate Thanksgiving and everything we had to be grateful for.  I couldn’t believe I had forgotten, but no harm done I suppose.  We got her in, just a little hiccup.  

Then a mere two hours later,  I got a call that Palmer had been exposed at school. Normally, even with her being immunosuppressed, this wouldn’t rattle me.  I mean she’s defied all odds and beat cancer so far, so it wasn’t that she had been exposed, it was that this now meant she had to quarantine.  My heart immediately sunk.  I fought off tears as I thanked Principal Sturmer for all he and the teachers have done to keep our children in school.  I truly believe they are heroes.  It’s good for my kids mental well-being.  This had been the first “normal” school year for Palmer since Kindergarten.  I am grateful for that.

I immediately began making calls.  Could she still have scans?  Could she still have a history and physical?  Did she have to have multiple COVID tests to be able to move forward.  I spent the better part of my drive trying to work out the logistics.  And to be honest, although I was sweating and anxious, it all ended up working out.  Just another hiccup.  Her oncology team recognized that she was in school and masked and following proper protocols, not to mention she would need a negative COVID test before Thursday anyway.  Grant Regional worked with me and her team and we were able to move forward with her history and physical.  

So while normally this wouldn’t have been a big deal, the timing was.  It wasn’t COVID that scared me.  It was the fear that we may have to postpone scans because she’s been experiencing some headaches over the past month, which gives me heightened anxiety.  I worry.  I think anyone in my shoes..my heels...would.  Her primary tumor was in her face, her diagnosis has a high rate of relapse, parents in my support group have children relapsing often.  How could a parent not worry?

“It’s probably nothing.”  

“Maybe she just needs to get her eyes checked.”  

“We all get headaches.”  

When I’ve shared my anxiousness with others, this is what I’ve heard.  Deep down, I know they’re right.  I know they’re trying to be supportive...trying to ease my worried mind.  What it really does though,  is diminishes my feelings.  Making me feel weak.  Making me feel like I’m a pessimist.  Making me feel like I shouldn’t be worried.  That I’m doing this wrong.

What they may not understand is that for a whole summer I was told it was nothing...by numerous medical professionals.  I was told it was a benign cyst that could be removed.  It wasn’t.  It was cancer.  And after I heard those words, a long, lonely 71 weeks ensued, that changed me forever. 

I guess what I’m trying to say is, if someone wants to wear a mask, let them.  If someone wants to vote for a certain president, who cares?  If someone feels the way they do, they’re entitled to that.  Try to be empathetic to why they may choose to wear a mask, vote a certain way or feel the way they do.  Don’t tell them they’re wrong.  Don’t judge.      

I don’t want to be the person I was before the c-words...children...cancer...COVID.  These battles have made me who I am.  I am proud of who I am.  I’m not perfect, but my scars tell my story.  And more importantly by battles are why I feel the way I do and no one decides that but me.