Catching up to speed


My blogging has been anything but consistent.

Blame it on summer. Blame it on a weekend up north with a friend. Blame it on running. Blame it on family time. Blame it on the 2012 Summer Olympics. *Excuse me while I rabbit trail here (and I don’t even like rabbits)…Seriously, I was obsessed. Olympic re-runs on NBC Sports all week long. Yes, I have and will re-watch swimming, gymnastics, and soccer — I’m currently watching the U.S. vs. Canada women’s soccer semifinal again! Not only can I watch Gold medal moments from Phelps, Lochte, Franklin, Soni, Douglas, Raisman,Weber, Wambach, Rapinoe, Morgan, Wash/Treanor, ETC… but I can hum along with the “Olympic” music! Goosebumps, people…I could go on and on and on and on and on.
Blame it on a 6-month chemo check-up for my mom. Blame it on my doctor appointments for my dad. Blame it on baby showers and weddings. Blame it on lunch dates with friends.

I don’t regret any of those things.

I’m not blaming anyone.

But I have missed a few things.

Important, in my opinion.

I missed blogging about some of those specific lunch dates, weekend trips, and baby showers. I missed blogging about my birthday (actually, I can’t stand talking about my birthday, so that one was a purposeful miss). I missed blogging about how kids I knew as infants are growing up to be teenagers. I missed blogging about my sister returning from a European adventure. I missed blogging about five years of missing Grandma on August 10.

I missed those things.

As much as I’d love to take you through the details of all those events, I think I’m going to keep some of those thoughts and memories in the pockets of my brain.


Since you’re here, apparently wanting to read about what I have to write, I will give you something to read about.

Parental unit update:

Dad  – Went on Coumadin. Had weekly INR checks. Met with a cardiologist to talk about fixing the hole in his heart. Resumed normal work schedule.

Mom – Went to her 6 mo. post chemo check up. Chatted with her favorite nurse. Received good news from her dr. The cancer is staying away – it hasn’t come back for a visit. Questions and minor concerns were raised and noted in charts, met with some advice and time tables. Nothing alarming, but at this point, everything is worth mentioning.

Then today, August 13, my dad went in for his “heart surgery.” He ceased taking Coumadin last week and switched to Plavix, which he’ll be on for six months. The hospital was quiet at 6:30 am, and check in went smoothly. I sat in an uncomfortable chair with control of the remote and watched The Today Show just to see clips from the Olympics while my dad waited for the nurse to take him to the OR. When she came in, she reassured my mom and dad that the doctor performing the operation was top-notch and that the procedure itself was the best option on the market. Her daughter suffered from a severe stroke last year (at age 27) and is still struggling to get back to her old self. The story reminded me that “someone always has it worse.”

With that in mind, I was thankful for the progress my dad has made since June 10. The incredible miracle that we witnessed.

He was wheeled off for surgery and my mom and I waited. Excuse me, it was not technically a surgery, it was a per cutaneous procedure – my sister corrected me when I referred to the procedure as “surgery.”

Anyway, 35+ minutes after the procedure began, it ended. My dad was wheeled back into his room. Dozing off and on, he was in good spirits, no pain, and the doctor said everything was perfect.

By 2 pm, he was on his way home. Walked himself into the house. Managed to do “paper work” (typed on his laptop). Ate food. Drank coffee.

Aside from the stroke-preventing operation, it was a normal day.
What’s next?

My dad is on Plavix for six months. He sees his cardiologist this fall for a checkup and Echo. This week, he has to lay low. No heavy lifting or extreme movements. He must stand and walk around every hour or so. He can’t have any elective dental procedures for six months.

My mom will visit her oncologist in October. She’ll see her surgeon (lumpectomy) in October. Indeed, it will be a breast cancer awareness month. And a year since she was diagnosed.

As for me (and my sister), we are ready for our parents to lead boring lives. No emergency surgeries. No ambulance rides. No life-threatening illnesses. No WebMD searches.

Except. That is unrealistic. Because this is life. The unknown. The close-calls. The everyday miracles. The overwhelming support from friends, family, and neighbors.

That’s life. I’ll never be caught up. I’ll always be catching up to speed. That’s life.


Thank you for your thoughts and prayers for my family. My parents are so blessed with great doctors and amazing results.









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