It's been ages since I've blogged here, or anywhere for that matter. If you are unlucky enough to know Pregnant Cassie you will find that I get really reclusive, negative and sullen when I am with child. And this is the point in the pregnancy where it gets really bad and I pretty much try not to talk to anyone because I'm probably not going to say something positive. I've mentioned before that Phil is the Tigger and I'm the Eeyore. I'm all, "Oh dear God! The sky is falling!" and he's like, "Awesome! I've always wanted to touch the stars!" When I'm pregnant, running out of milk is akin to the apocalypse. You can imagine I must be a delight to live with.
Since Phil has taken over the blogging here lately I've just been laying low, nesting my face off while simultaneously breaking up preschool brawls. I know many of you come here because of the positive, encouraging way in which Phil expresses himself and the way he lives his life. I haven't wanted to poo on the parade, because lately I'm so the antithesis of the good vibe he's got going here.
But today I was thinking that probably most of you normal people operate somewhere right in the middle of Catching Falling Stars and Milk Apocalypses, and also I began this blog as a way to record this entire experience... good, bad and ugly. It just so happens that right now, things are a bit ugly.
As Phil mentioned in his most recent post, the dates for transplant have been scheduled and they coincide with the baby's birth. We're over the whole wanting Phil there for the birth thing, because his long-term health is obviously more important than being present for that moment, but this poses another dilemma. If I have the baby before transplant there's just no way I'll be able to be with Phil during his inpatient stay at the hospital. As Phil mentioned, we were not at all happy to learn that everything had been scheduled and no one spoke with us about it first, and then when I called back, trying to get some of the dates moved up, I got absolutely no where. Frustration. Annoyance. Tears.
We've grown accustomed to our interactions with our amazing myeloma medical team, who go above and beyond (I mean, truly... to the point you wouldn't believe) making sure we're all on the same page and that we're comfortable with everything and they let us know we're part of the process here. Plus they ask about me and the baby and the kids and our LIFE and they really care about who we are, not just the myeloma, you know? So to go from that to a scheduler and a coordinator who seem apathetic to our needs and our situation is frustrating at best and infuriating at Pregnancy Level. (And let me just say I realize that everyone in this particular situation has special concerns and extenuating circumstances and in no way are our needs more important than anyone else's, but a little compassion goes a long way when your entire job is to work with people like us, you know?)
Also, while we're on the subject of bad customer experience, the hospital billing department is a big fat jerk. But our insurance company makes them look like fuzzy little kittens.
On top of all of this, it seems like the sky is falling for several of my friends right now also. Like unbelievable tragedies. And then on Friday my parents' Golden Retriever, Libby (who was my dog until I moved out), died unexpectedly. So it feels like my already broken heart might never get a chance to mend.
Despite the heartache, there's a lot to look forward to, and a lot to be thankful for. Our family and friends' dedication to us during this time has been unbelievable. We have meals coming every week, our neighbors shovel our sidewalk, my parents keep the kids two whole days a week during infusions, entire churches and communities are praying and pulling for us, and my friends and I are beginning to brainstorm our care once the whole transplant/birth situation unfolds. We are truly not alone, and are so dependent upon the people who have made it their business to be in our business. Like Phil has said, how do you even come close to repaying that?
So I know it's not the end of the world, even though right now it feels like it should be. Or could be. I know one day life won't be this complicated or painful or exhausting. But it's nice to know that when things have completely fallen apart we're enveloped in the support of our loved ones who hand us tissues and help us sort through the mess.
I hope you're all staying warm and toasty and that your skies are blue and sunny.