Overdue Mum Update and Some Boring Knitting

First up, a mum update.

She's doing really well. My mum's last chemo treatment was the Wednesday after Mother's Day, a few days before her birthday. We had a little party that weekend to celebrate the end of chemo, and the passing of another birthday - this one that we weren't sure would come at all.

Mum had another CT scan last week, and, in this case, no news is good news. They will only call if they find any problems. No call means that we can assume that all is well. Personally, I don't like this system at all. How long until you can know that you won't get a call? But that's me - Mum is okay with it. And the last CT scan, a couple of months ago, showed that the cancer was almost gone.

Mum's a little disappointed that she's not bouncing back as quickly as she'd hoped. She's still feeling tired and sore, and her fingers are still very sore and swollen, keeping her from doing many things. It seems that I spend most of my time on the phone with her scolding her for doing too much, too soon. Really, is now the only time to clean out the basement and paint the spare bedroom? Really? But overall, she's just happy that the meds are over with for now and she can look forward to putting her rings back on and growing some hair.

And now some knitting content.

There are times when my knitting projects are too boring even for this blog. Such is the case with recent projects.

The most interesting thing on my needles has become a slog. I'm working on a semi-secret blanket project. And, like all blanket projects, as it nears the end, it has evolved from something interesting and different and cute into something large and unwieldy and please-just-let-me-be-finished-already. I will share real photos once it's been gifted, but there's a lot to do before then. I'm going to try very hard to get the knitting part of the gift done over the next couple of days, since we're expecting a couple of rainy, cool days before another wave of hot and sticky weather. A lap full of wool is no fun in such weather.

Another set of needles is carrying a much smaller (and therefore less suffocating) project. I'm working to finish off the second feather and fan sock. I have no pics, but, really - it's the second in a pair, so just look back a couple of posts, and, since all is going fairly well, that's what this one looks like. This one I'm determined to finish off quickly, because there is a ball of a more fun sock yarn sitting on my shelf, calling my name and making fun of the darker, more sombre colours trailing from my dpns.

I've hit a problem that I've never heard anyone else talk about. This makes me worry that I'm doing this 'knitting' thing all wrong. When I use teensy needles, like the 2.5 mm ones I'm using for my socks, I always poke my left index finger over and over, until I get a crack in the skin, and it really, really hurts to continue knitting. It's then that I have to switch over to something on big, chunky needles for day or two. I keep hoping that I'll develop a callous, and stop being such a wuss, but in the meantime, I just pout about it and go back to my blanket.

But the most boring of my projects has been the one with a deadline. My friend Jen is the maid of honour for her friend Nicole. On Saturday, Jen hosted Nicole's bridal shower. A few weeks ago, Jen happened to mention (not so casually at all) that she thought it would be sooo nice if she could give all the guests hand-knitted dishcloths as gifts to take away after the shower. Now, Jen is a good friend, and she is also my cat sitter, which means she dares to go where many, many fear to tread. So I offered to start knitting. Knitting for 21 people. I agreed to give it a shot, with the condition that Jen learn to knit, so that she could help out with a few cloths.

Here are just a few of the dishcloths all done. I did a big chunk of them, but we were worried about not having enough at the last minute, so a few were knit up by Jen's mum and aunt.



We threaded them with ribbon and made them into little bags full of scented soap. I hear they were a big hit.



Jen may now have a mild addiction. I have encouraged this with Yarn Harlot books and intend to follow up with some cute baby patterns and fun yarns.

Knitters Doing Good. Again. Some More.

Kirsty of So Many Yarns is running a half-marathon to raise money for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. She's looking to reach a goal of $4200, and has already got up to $2500. I had no idea there was such a thing as the leukemia and lymphoma society.

I will definitely be helping to reach that goal. I can't afford much, but, as Stephanie Pearl-McPhee points out, there's nothing like knitters to understand that one small action repeated many times gives big results.

As you probably know, my mum is currently battling lymphoma. You probably don't know that I've lost one dear friend to lymphoma in the past, and my cousin lost her husband to a terribly fast and brutally timed bout of leukemia that left her with a baby only two weeks old. I'm going to continue supporting the Canadian Cancer Society as much as I can, but any chance to encourage more people to get behind the fight, and to spread the word when people are taking big steps in that direction is a good opportunity.

Plus, there's yarn afoot. A chance to be rewarded for just being a good person is rare. Jump on it.

Meanwhile

Meanwhile, originally uploaded by Vaedri1.

Lots has been happening. I have not been writing about it. Part of the reason for my absence is due to my working through an addiction to the old Nintendo games like Boulder Dash and Super Mario Bros., which have been rediscovered on nintendo8.com.

And another part of the reason has been a general lack of inspiration. Maybe the long, cold, dull, boring, bleak winter finally sucked all of the creativity and words out of me.

As you can see, there has been lots going on. I've met some brand new people in Cody and Emily. I've been to the dog park and frolicked with the beagles and collies and Jindos (oh, my). I've been down to Windsor more than once and celebrated the nearing of the end of chemo for my mum, while trying to help her get through the worst of the neupogen, and laughing with her at her wigs and challenges. I've taught someone to knit (mwa ha ha indeed) and had lots of opptunities to be silly and lazy and taken advantage of all of them.


This past weekend was abso-friggin-lutely amazingly wonderful. It was sunny and warm, and breezy and forced me out the door. I wandered Port Credit, and sat by the river and listened to Cast-On and worked on my real sock attempt, in yarn I like.



This yarn I got from Juno a while back. I'm knitting this using Wendy's toe-up sock pattern. The idea of a knitting a sock from the toe up just seems so logical and orderly that it appeals to the Scottish (cheap) engineer (methodical) in me. I can make the socks as tall as possible, without running out of yarn, and using every last inch.

I came out of the park with the toe of the sock completed, caught up on my podcasts, and the first sunburn of the season.

Winter is dead. Long live spring!

Breathe.

Today we got some super, terrific, fantastic, wonderful news.

Last week, Mum went for a CT scan, to check on the progress of the cancer/chemo battle. Today, she got the results.

The cancer is almost gone.

Mum will need to continue this round of chemo and stay on the neupogen shots until May or so, but things are definitely looking positive.

When my mum told me, I felt like I'd been holding my breath without knowing it since November, and was finally able to exhale and draw in fresh air again. I've been determinedly, stubbornly, maniacally positive; forcing a strength and an optimism that doesn't come naturally to me. The only time I broke down a little was the day I heard the actual numbers - the stats concerning her 'chances'. And it wasn't that the numbers were so horrific, or so discouraging. No, it's just that, even a number as hopeful as "70%" leaves an enormous, frightening hole of 30% - a 30% chance of the unthinkable. And so, after that night, it was relegated to that hole - the realm of the unthinkable, and therefore a Thing I Do Not Think About.

The "George's Father" storyline on Grey's Anatomy was a little hard to take, I must admit (darn my love for that show!). During the seemingly hours that it took me to fall asleep last night, knowing that the news would come today, I kept hearing George saying, "I don't know how to live in a world where my dad doesn't." What a horrific thought.

But all is good, and I had a day of floating on air, and dancing down the hall at work - and yes, I was caught at it and I didn't care.

My mum kicks cancer's ass. I'm taking all the happiness and bravado I can get today and holding onto it with both hands.

Inspiration

It's funny how you come across a new knitting project.

I was taking a look at my stats, and taking particular interest in the key words that have lead people to this little blog. I found one very interesting search (and I mean "interesting" in a way different than the really wacky search terms are "interesting").

Someone got here by searching for "knitting a picc line cover".

What?

I did the search myself, and found this free pattern at KnitPicks.

When my mum was in the hospital, just before her diagnosis, she had a PICC line put into her arm. It'll stay there until she's finished with chemo, and it's kind of a pain in the ass. It's in her upper arm, and can't get wet, meaning no showers for eight months. And it's ugly. The nurses wrap it well every week after the ports are cleaned, and then cover it with a little mesh tube, kind of like the ones they use for wine bottles at the liquor store - and also ugly. A knitted cover is therefore a great idea. I cast on, and after some trial and error with different yarns - this one's too stretchy, this one's too scratchy, this one's juuust right - I finally got a nice fit, in a lovely, soft merino.

And it was fast. So I cast on a few more, and threw in some cables. I love cables, now that I don't have to fiddle with the teeny, little cable needle. So, so many thanks to Wendy and her tutorial on cabling without a cable needle.

I got three covers out of one ball of Zara fine merino. I'm planning to do up a bunch more and send them with mum to the cancer centre, since a lot of people were asking her about it during her last visit.

Learning About Beauty

On Monday, I went with my mother to a Look Good, Feel Better session at the Windsor Cancer Centre. This is a program sponsored by mainly cosmetic companies. They host sessions for cancer patients to learn about make-up and how to care for their skin. They also talk about wigs and other head coverings, like scarves, hats, and turbans.

It was an interesting afternoon. I sat behind my mum while she played with a box full of goodies from MAC, Estee Lauder, Clinque, and ... Bonnie Bell.

I got a few tips on make up application, and a chance to see, once again, how strong my mother is. My mother had her head shaved two weeks ago. I don't think I've ever been so proud of anyone as I was of my mum when she walked into the room, sat down, and took off her hat. She said her head was hot. She said that she got the courage to do it because a 'young girl' had already taken off her scarf. (The 'young girl' turned out to be just about exactly my age, as she and her sister had gone to high school with me.)

They were the only two comfortable enough (or brave enough) to go bareheaded.

My mum was glad to get some yummy new make-up, and some better ways to use scarves and hats. I was glad to get all the stuff my mum didn't want. And everyone liked my mum's hat and asked where she got it. She proudly told everyone, "My daughter knits my hats for me".

Visiting also gave me the chance to deliver a few more hats. I've been busy with the circulars.

I like this one best, I think.

This blue and black one was started (and about a quarter of it done) while I sat at the side of the 401, waiting to report as a witness of a three car accident near Woodstock.

That's my mum. :)

Some Updates

So I emailed Denise Needles on Sunday afternoon, before the knitting had even cooled. I explained that I'd bought the set just under a year ago and had been completely happy up until the unfortunate demise of my little needle tip.

Monday afternoon, I received a response, including an apology for a not-unheard-of, but not common manufacturing defect, and a promise to send a replacement. Thank goodness - that's my hat cable! Maybe it expired from overwork.

I spoke to my mum tonight. She's still keeping her spirits up, but some things are getting harder to take.

She's lost enough hair now that she doesn't leave the house without a hat. And the hair that's left is basically dead, meaning that no amount of styling products can make it do anything she wants it to do.

I'm working on another hat.

Mum's also had to go on a second round of the neupogen shots, to encourage her body to make more white blood cells. And, while the chemo treatments hadn't been too hard on her, these shots are a different story. They're making her feel sick again, and very tired. But she also gets bored pretty easily, so we'd have to strap her to the couch to keep her there for any length of time. We're considering it.

She's scheduled to have a CT scan at the end of February, that will show whether the chemo is winning.

Until then, I'll be over here, not thinking about it.

And knitting.

Another Three Days, Another Hat

I am challenged with the knitting of the chemo caps for my mum. She has an unusually small head, which is a fact that I never thought would cause me frustration. But the time has come. Her head is apparently so small that she also frustrated the woman at the wig centre, who had only one wig that would even fit her.

I've been trying to experiment with making the hats I'm knitting smaller than my head, but not too small. And I'm not so good at this. If my mother were a little closer than four hours away, I could use some trial and error and lots of ripping to get things just right. But, well, she's in Windsor and I'm in Port Credit and there's a lot of 401 between there and here.

So, for this latest hat, I tried to not only make the hat smaller, but also to make it adjustable in size a bit. I gave it a roll brim so that the height can be adjusted. And, in what I must admit turned out to be stupid luck, I added a row of simple lacy holes (yo, k2tog) just above the brim, to break up the straight knitting and give some character. Once I'd gotten a few rows past this section, it occurred to me that those holes could easily be threaded with something decorative. And this lead to this:



I did two strings of knotting with the same yarn used to knit the hat (pull the yarn through its own slip knot over and over), twisted them together, and threaded through the holes.

I really like the way it turned out. And the string makes it very easy to adjust the fit of the hat around the head.



And I think it looks cute. I hope Mum likes this one. I may even do the same kind of thing for myself, later. I will not, however, be using this yarn - though soft, it persisted in tangling and sticking to itself, in some kind of bizarre and frustrating self-felting fit.

Jen was kind enough to model the hat for me, saving me from an arm's length self-portrait or another dangerous cat modelling session.

Tomorrow I'm headed down to Windsor for the weekend. Better load enough podcasts onto the mp3 player to keep me awake on the 401.

Fuzzy Hats

Winter has finally hit Toronto, and it's almost a relief. Ice rain? Well, at least it's cold out, I guess.

I am celebrating the arrival of the cold and wind and snow by knitting a hat. I am also celebrating getting home from work, taking a lunch break, and watching the traffic report in the morning by knitting a hat. I'm planning to head down to Windsor to visit my family this weekend, and I'd like to give my mum as many hats as I can have ready by then.

Progress, however, is slow ever since I started with a thin, fuzzy acrylic. First, I tried to do a little butterfly-type stitch to make it a bit more interesting. But I was nearing the end of the hat when I realised that

1 - the number of cast on stitches was too high, meaning the hat would be too big. And,

2 - I was screwing up the butterfly stitch, increasing by about 7 stitches every few rounds, making the hat mushroom-like and even bigger.

So, it's been painstakingly frogged and all the little fuzzy mind-melded bits pulled apart and the one big ball is now about five smaller, broken-ended balls. Thankfully, the end is near again.

Coming up, I've got some nice, chunky, solid yarn on big needles. For my sanity.

In chemo-news, it turns out that my mum's body is short on white blood cells, so she's started a series of self-administered injections of neupogen. Hopefully, this will increase the number of white blood cells her body is making, and she can continue with the chemo. Unfortunately, the injections come with their own set of side effects, including bone pain.

Cancer sucks.

Back to knitting.

Chemo Visit

While I was visiting my parents for Christmas, I had the opportunity to go with my mum to a chemo appointment. I was glad to have the chance to do this with her for several reasons. First, just to know that I can be a support for her right now, even if it’s just being the person to drive her to the cancer centre and fetch her coffee and push her wheelchair. And second, out of sheer curiosity – I had no idea what was involved with a session of chemo.

Sonya, a family friend who also recently underwent cancer treatment, came with us, to show me where to go and park, and for the company. After dropping Mum off in her chair and returning from the distant parking lot via the free shuttle, we discovered that we were going to be there a lot longer than we had originally planned for. Because of the two holidays, there were a lot more people than usual waiting for their appointments. We learned that we would also have to wait until several blood tests had been completed and analysed; these are normally done the day before, but, again – that was Boxing Day.

The cancer centre wasn't the serious, somewhat depressing place I half-expected it to be. It was full of light, despite the gloominess of the day. In fact, after some wandering around the hospital after being gently kicked out of the treatment room, I came to the conclusion that the cancer centre is the most light-filled area of the whole place. The people were not despondent and hopeless - rather, they were strong and friendly, and open to share with each other their challenges, symptoms, and triumphs. And there were knitters who politely admired my blanket and shared stories of their own projects.

After a couple of hours of waiting (approximately six inches of baby blanket) we were lead into a large room lined with armchairs, similar to a blood donation clinic. Mum took a seat in one of the chairs, and, after checking temperature and blood pressure, and reviewing symptoms and progress, the nurse hooked up a saline drip to her PICC line. Over the next two and a half hours, Mum received four drugs: a combination of simple injections and IV bags.

Once all of the syringes and bags had been emptied into Mum, we were finished for the day.

Overall, I was impressed by the cancer centre. Downstairs from the waiting and treatment areas, there is a high-ceiled, open space furnished with couches and bookshelves full of books that can be checked out by patients. While waiting, I read a book about cancer and humour. There is also a small store stocked with wigs, hats and turbans, all available for purchase, or, for someone who can't afford to pay, just to be taken and used.

Mum's doing okay in her treatment so far, but she is experiencing some negative side effects. She has pain in her fingertips and has lost most of her hair now. She was informed yesterday that her body isn't making enough red blood cells. If she wants to continue the chemo, she needs to start giving herself daily injections.

But through everything, Mum is keeping positive and strong. A positive to losing your hair? No shaving your legs for weeks! And it's funny to hear her talk about food - you don't often hear someone say, "Oh, I really think I should have more butter on this - for my health, you know." Today she had a small triumph in the gaining of two pounds - her first weight gain since everything started months ago.

On the knitting side of things, two of the hats I knit were too big - my mum apparently has a freakishly small head. The fuzzy, brown chenille hat fits alright once the brim is turned up, and the blue hat fits okay, but the white, lace-edged hat is far too big. I've asked Mum to give any hats that she won't use to the cancer centre hat shop, so none will be wasted.

I'm glad I could go once, to see and meet the people who are helping my mum to get better.

Chemo Caps

One of the very few upsides of chemo? Excuse to knit hats! I have discovered in the past week that I really like knitting hats. They're very rewarding in terms of output. A hat a day is definitely do-able.

So far, I've finished three chemo caps. I also learned a little bit about what is important in a chemo cap.

1. Soft.

2. Nothing at all scratchy.

3. Non-allergenic materials if donating to unknown recipient(s).

4. Longer than some hats, since it must cover all the way to the bottom of the head, where it meets the neck.

5. Not ugly. (I'm trying)

First up is a white, lacy hat.

Yarn: Knit in Brown Sheep Company's Cotton Fleece in 'Cotton Ball' colour.

Pattern: The Lace-Edged Women's Hat from Head Huggers.

I don't think I had any variations on this one. Knit lace edge, make it five and a half inches long, start decreasing in the regular way. Try hat on. Try hat on squirmy cat. Done.

Next up was a pretty standard 'hat' hat. Knit using the Standard hat recipe, learned from Crazy Aunt Purl.

Yarn: Patons Bhemian in Artistic Taupes.

Cast on 44 stitches to begin, knitted five and a half stitches on US 10 needles (Denise), then began the decreases. Very soft and cushy. I like this one.

The usual cat model rules were also followed.

And finally, the Blanche hat, pattern found here.

Knit in Zara merino DK weight, can't find the ball band to tell you the colour. Blue of some sort. Even being wool, this yarn is nice and soft, almost silky.

Next up, I may try out the Clapotis cap, to go along with the clapotis I knit for Mum for Christmas.

The cat modelling was bypassed for this hat, as I was in danger of losing my hand at the wrist. And I need that wrist to knit more hats.

For now, though, I'm going to go wrap up some more fudge.

Chemo

My mum’s first chemo treatment was on Tuesday. It’s really pretty impressive that she got the diagnosis on Thursday, and had the second opinion/confirmation and was in chemo by Tuesday of the next week. No complaints there. As a matter of fact, a lot of things are looking up now that we have the confirmed diagnosis. But I’ll get to that.

When I spoke to Mum on Monday, she was very nervous about the next day. She’d been told what to expect in general terms, and she’d met all the people who would be involved, but it’s still a new environment, and experience, and she didn’t know how she would take things once she was there, in terms of both her body’s reaction, and her own, emotionally and spiritually.

Once she arrived, she had a brief doctor’s appointment, to speak with her oncologist, and to get the confirmation and information about what was to happen next. She also found out that she was to have a home help nurse who would be visiting her twice a week for as long as she needs to. (It is a sign of my mother’s acceptance of her condition finally that she didn’t protest this.) He (it turned out to be a male nurse – "murse"?) will be coming to check on her condition – temperature, blood pressure, general well being, and to make sure that her PICC line is clear and situated properly. (More House and ER knowledge coming into play - a PICC line is is one type of what they call a "central line". Thank goodness for medical dramas.)

The chemo went well, and mum was amazed by the colour and variety of the vials of chemicals that were going into her. The one she most noticed was bright red.

Mum also learned about the store in the cancer centre, where there are hats and wigs available, and free to those who can’t afford to pay.

I spoke to Mum in the afternoon, after her treatment. The change was remarkable. For probably the first time in seven months, she didn’t feel sick. Whether this was due to the first round of chemo, or to the expensive and effective anti-nauseants (my mum calls them her "$20 pills"), we don’t know, but we talked on the phone for over an hour. Or, more correctly, my mum chittered and gabbed and I made appropriate responsive noises. It was wonderful to hear her feeling better, even if it was drug-induced.

So the first treatment is done, and her next is the day after Boxing Day, which is while I’m down for Christmas, so I will be able to go with her, which makes me happy.

In the meantime, I am furiously knitting. I did one chemo cap yesterday, and I’ll likely finish another today. Pictures will come.

A Service

On Friday, my friend Jen and I headed downtown for "a service". That's the way the somewhat husky, slightly accented voice on the confirming voicemail described our appointment. As if we had signed up for something best not discussed in polite company, and the woman on the phone was being deliberately and carefully discreet.

We were bound for the Aveda institute on King Street. For the experience, to help further the careers and educations of the students, and, most of all, for a cheap haircut. The monetary cost of "the service" is just $14. The real payment, however, is the time. We were there for almost three hours. But it was still better than being at work - any reason is a good reason to play hooky on a Friday afternoon.

We arrived about 15 minutes early, as requested by the husky-voiced woman on the phone. We walked in, and confirmed our appointment. We were impressed and reassured by the gleaming expanses of floor and the perfectly coiffed, beautiful people gliding in and out of the shining mirrored surfaces. We were asked to head up to the second floor.

Once there, we signed waivers confirming that we would not sue the company if a student chopped off an ear. The second floor was still very nice, if not as spacious. The hairstylists seemed younger and not quite as 'perfect' than those on the first floor. We were slightly alarmed by the man who seemed to be in charge, as he chose to sashay about the floor in a giant, fuzzy, Russian style hat, making us wonder not only at his unusual fashion choices, but also at the the possible reasons for a hairstylist to be hiding his own hair. After waiting for a little while on the second floor benches, we were led - to the third floor.

This floor was almost crowded with hairstyling stations. Still clean and well-kept, but not nearly as fancy as the lower levels. More alarmingly, the stylists seemed to be very young. While we waited on yet more benches, we warily watched the stylists moving around. Jen noticed one girl who seemed more nervous and uncomfortable than most, as if she weren't sure why she was there, and now that she was, didn't know quite what to do with herself. Jen remarked jokingly that she hoped that she wouldn't get this girl as her stylist, and we were both somewhat relieved when she appeared to be engaged in cleaning and tidying, rather than styling people's hair. I saw Jen's face drop somewhat when this girl came toward us a few minutes later. She introduced herself to me and invited me to her chair. I tried not to look at Jen.

She turned out to be much more able than suspected, however. We consulted with the teacher, a perfectly put-together blonde woman, and we all agreed on something 'a bit different', but 'fairly easy to take care of'.

When Jen and finally left much, much later, trying to straighten out the kinks in our backs caused by the torturous, metal styling chairs, we looked at one another and agreed that we both were leaving with pretty much the same styles we'd gone in with. Mind you, they were much straighter, thanks to the somewhat overzealous application of straight irons.

In any case, it was a nice way to spend a Friday afternoon, with a quick trip through the market for juice on the way back to the car.

Thanks to everyone who's written to wish me and my family well. It's really appreciated. I will continue to update here on my mum's progress. She begins chemo on Tuesday. Fortunately, there's a cancer centre in Windsor, meaning that she doesn't have to travel for treatment. The chemo will be pretty aggressive, with treatments every two weeks. She's having a tough time right now, unable to eat , unable to sleep for more than an hour or so at a time, but without the energy or strength to do anything other than lie on the couch. We're hoping that her first appointment will give her a chance to get some good advice, and maybe get her some medications that can make things a bit better.

The Diagnosis.

We finally have an answer for the question of why my mother has been so without energy for the past months. For why she has been unable to eat. For why she has lost over 70 pounds. For why she has night sweats and swollen lymph nodes.

It's not a good answer. But it is an answer.

Yesterday, my mother was finally and somewhat unsurprisingly diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma.

Yesterday was a bad day.

So far, I have been entirely unimpressed with the quality of her care in this hospital. The nurses have been fine - have been good, in fact. But the doctors have been horrid. Her current doctor, who was the one who got the last (and most important) biopsy done, didn't even visit my mother himself to deliver the news, instead sending one of his students. My mum was told she had cancer, and that someone would call the cancer centre, and that was it. No "next steps", no reassurances. Made me say some very bad words.

Yesterday, my mother was scared and sad, and feeling very unsupported by my father, who can be very uncommunicative and astoundingly unemotional. They ended up having a fight, and my mum ordered him out of the room. I called and yelled at my father, realising later that this was not helpful at all, and I only did it because I couldn't yell at the doctor. Or the cancer. So then I felt bad. And I did apologise at the time, but I'm sure it didn't sound all that sincere.

"You need to be there for Mum, and talk to her when she needs you to, and you need to listen to her and be supportive! I'm sorry I'm yelling! How are you doing?!" (still yelling.)

But things seem a lot brighter today. It is a good thing to finally have a diagnosis. To finally know what we can do, and there is a treatment. My mum visited the cancer centre today, and met the staff who will give her her primary care for her next six months of outpatient chemo. She said everyone seems very nice, and they were helpful and knowledgeable, and sympathetic, and straightforward. The doctor spoke to both my mother and my father at length, and my dad was much better about expressing support and being there for my mum, even going so far as to ask questions and seek out ways he can help. All of which is making my mum feel much better.

Ever since she checked into the hospital, I've been calling her two and three times a day. I don't want her to feel out of touch or forgotten, and it helps me to hear her voice and know how she's feeling and what she's thinking, so that I can try to find ways that I can help. Yesterday, I heard sadness and despair and fear, and while these are terrifying things to hear in your mother's voice, at the same time I was glad to know that she could share these things with me, and know that she's not alone, and she won't be alone.

My mum has been the strong one in the family for a very long time. Doing the things that are hard to do, saying the things that must be said. And now she needs a break. I only hope that I'm strong enough and have enough wisdom to be the strong one for a while.

I do know that I have a lot of friends who are there for me, thinking and praying for me and my family. I know that when I falter, I won't be alone. I know that now, and hope that I can keep remembering that when it's another horrid day.

In the meantime, I'm going to find a good pattern for a chemo cap, and hunt for the softest, warmest yarn in southwestern Ontario. And learn to cook a turkey dinner.