Six Feet Apart, Summer 2020
I will never forget the moment the radiation left my body. They had told me that it would be in my body for two weeks after the treatment, but the experience was completely unreal. It wasn’t a slow fade, it was like a switch, exactly two weeks later. I had been on the brink of calling for pain killers for the pain in my leg and then… boom. That day, I folded laundry. It was the first day I had voluntarily done anything other than what absolutely needed to be done. I hadn’t realized just how tired I was until I started to feel better.
The other turning point in my mat leave happened around the same time. Because of COVID, there were none of the mommy groups I had intended to join, but they set up some virtual chats so we could still have access to some resources and meet other new moms. There, I met a girl. She was looking for someone to walk with in the same town as me.
Sometimes in life, you feel like things happen for a reason. I think the reason I joined that group was to meet Andrea. When we met, I was a hot mess. Exhausted, overwhelmed, and still sad and scared, honestly. Through walking with her almost every day and talking, I was able to start to recover. She really saved me. To this day, she is still one of my closest friends. Our littles even go to daycare together and I really credit her for helping me find my way back from the darkest point in my life.
This was in the days of toilet paper hoarding and impossible-to-find hand sanitizer. Andrea and I are both intelligent and responsible people, so we walked outdoors and largely stayed responsibly distanced. And she saved me.
Honestly, other than those walks, my summer did not go as I expected. I had planned for sweet, warm, easy bliss. And what I got was closer to trying to put a frantic cat into a car carrier.
After the surgery and the radiation, the likelihood of Gus coming back in my leg is very low. I can’t name the stats, but less than 5%. The likelihood of him having broken off a few cells and those ending up in my lungs is more like 20%. Gus was considered “curable”, lung cancer is not.
As a result, I got to start quarterly CT scans and to see my one of two different oncologists every 3 months. Side note, my Radiation Oncologist is someone I look forward to seeing. He is such a warm, kind man with a great attitude, and he really helped me see the positive side of all of this. I appreciate his kindness and his honesty. I mean, my tumour was just on my leg. At least I’m not the woman with the tumour on her vagina who had to start radiation after having a baby. Perspective.
During my first post-op CT scan, they found a tiny anomaly on my liver. In an abundance of caution, I then got to go for an MRI – hey, those are fair game once you’re not pregnant. I just had to pump and dump for 24 hours.
They couldn’t say what it was so they decided, because of my history, that I should have a biopsy. Too high risk. My favourite radiologist did my biopsy again and, other than that, I have to say it was really, truly terrible. The pain was awful with no real way to numb it. The liver bleeds a lot and blood apparently pooled in my shoulders and it hurt to stay still, to move, or to breathe. I measure most things against the skin graft. It wasn’t skin graft terrible. But it sucked.
This test was my first real time away from Austin for several hours and that was hard. I also couldn’t lift him for 48 hours. In some ways that was the hardest part because I really needed him as much as he needed me in that time. My mom came to help, and it was actually really good. You never know with me and my mom. Big wins.
When I look back on Summer 2020, I no longer feel that overwhelming stress of that time. At the time, it was hard on us. The one thing that sticks with me is this one time where I said I wasn’t meant to be a stay-at-home mom and Curtis heard a “good stepmom” and didn’t correct me. I was really struggling, and it was hard on our relationship.
Austin was still a grumpy little dude. As I said, we had a pool and I had thought the boys could go swimming and Austin and I could chill outside with them. I even got a playpen with a bassinet so we could all relax together. HA! He literally never slept in that playpen. He slept once outside for a few minutes with my mother. Nope, this kid would only sleep in his bed, with mom/dad, or in his swing. And rarely for more than 40 minutes at a time. The rest of the time… he was a grumpy little dude. What the heck is relaxing?
On top of that, he still wouldn’t take his milk straight from the source, so I was ruled by pumping. I finally got in to see a lactation consultant (I had worked with a very nice girl, virtually, but that’s a hard thing to do over a 5” iPhone screen). This lactation consultant heard my story and freed me. As much as it is her job to help people breastfeed, she told me I was doing a good job. She released me. We had been through enough.
I got on a good schedule for pumping, 3 times a day, and produced enough milk for two kids. I ended up donating a lot of milk, either to friends or other mothers who couldn’t breastfeed or pump. I felt like I was doing something good for the world. (It also helped when I had to go for CT scans and MRIs).
In between all of that, life still happened. My oldest stepson was graduating from Grade 8 and really wanted both of his parents together for everything. We had their family over for the virtual ceremony and Curtis and the boys’ mom drove with him together through the drive-through grad. We also had an outdoor party at their mom’s place and took some nice pictures. He was so happy with that.
It was sooooo weird, but it was strangely nice. I don’t think anyone was under the illusion that we were all friends, but I was really impressed we could all pretend for a little while since it was all he really wanted.
The other bright spot to my summer were visits with my bff/pandemic baby buddy. When we were pregnant together, we deemed our sons would be besties and will let these pictures serve as the reminder to them of how long they’ve been friends. We had some lovely visits in my backyard and pool time. Even if sometimes my son proved he was still capable of epic grumpy meltdowns.
In a bit of an ‘upside to the pandemic’, all sports were cancelled. I felt horrible for the kids, who wanted that and needed that social time and exercise… but it was a blessing in disguise because it relieved a ton of stress from our family. For example, two years later, this our schedule:
We have enough drama without sports (and co-parenting with sports). #IYKYK.
In the pandemic, there weren’t a lot of things open, not a lot of places to go. So we went to my uncle’s cottage. I found this journal entry – some notes for this very book – from that time:
As I stand pumping in my cottage bedroom, longing to go home, understanding that my happy place has brought me no real joy this trip, I miss how things were. I miss being able to enjoy things and slow down and just read or watch a show and not have my phone hijacked with lullaby music. In many ways I am in a prison of my own making because I don’t know how to be in a team with Curtis. I am the straight-A student doing the whole project, so I get the grade I want instead of letting everyone bring what they are good at to the table.
This makes me sad but gives a window into my state of mind on that trip.
My family causes also enough drama for three families. Anyone Polish out there? YEESH. Those Poles… They love their drama. They love hard and they fight hard.
In short, my mom’s parents had a cottage in Cottage Country in Ontario – my Babcia and Dziadzia. It’s my favourite place in the world. I basically spent the first 20 summers of my life there. They gave it to my uncle, who lives in Texas, and he has all kind of rules for letting the rest of the family use it. Especially for the grandkids, like me, who have to come with an “adult”. Apparently being 40, married, with 4 kids, doesn’t make me an adult. This means my poor mom, who has trouble walking, has come with us so we can have a wholesome family vacation. As wholesome as we can with four kids who can’t all get along for more than a few hours at a time. Then, whenever we do use the cottage… well, let the bodies hit the floor. Or the shit hit the fan. Or whatever metaphor you think accurately describes the carnage.
This year, there was a leak in the shower. Despite our best efforts and working with a repair man, it didn’t work. The key is that we thought it was fixed before we left. Then, my aunt and her daughter and son-in-law came up and it had leaked on the floor. WELL NOW. My aunt went at my mom (who feels terrible about the whole thing). And the two of them said some mean things to each other. Every year, it’s something.
We bought a trailer instead of subjecting ourselves to that again. My phone is still stolen to play lullabies, but I don’t feel so ripped off by it anymore.
Step-Parenting 101 