it turns out that babies and cancer patients need the same 16 to 20 hours of sleep a day. however very few of those hours are simultaneous. Max closed his eyes, i bathed, i laundered, i took out the trash, i fed myself, i washed bottles, i filled bottles. Max slumbered on but i was too much in love and too nervous to sleep. he grumbles and snorts and huffs and coos and smiles in his sleep. pure gold. but what kills me is when he knits his baby brows together and whines in pain? fear? sorrow? concern?
it turns out that babies and cancer patients NEED to cry. need to sob angrily. need to shake with panic and confusion and turn bright red with indignation while they cry.
it's not called depression if you have something to cry about.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Friday, April 23, 2010
HOLY HOLY
i have around 30 tattoos. my knuckles say HOLY HOLY. i didn't realize it was my favorite word until i saw duly etched across my fingers. sometimes we learn by doing. i like that it sounds serious and elated. the sides of 4 of my fingers have secret bathroom initials poked with sewing needles and india ink. 520 is my area code, a tucson tattoo i made in portland. clay is my friend Clay's favorite word. my PAL is alix leigh perry. MK is for mary-kate olsen. seriously.
these hands change diapers now and clutch my tiny son wrapped in three blankets at once because April changed it's mind about spring.
on the inside of my left forearm is the image of St. Jude. the words "hey Jude" sit at his feet. the patron saint of not-any-time-soon and don't-hold-your-breath. drug dealers, border jumpers and kids with leukemia.
i have a rosary around my neck with the cross dangling 3 inches above my belly button. i hate misplacing lucky charms or sacred things. i like praying with my hands, my arms, my neck chest and stomach.
these hands change diapers now and clutch my tiny son wrapped in three blankets at once because April changed it's mind about spring.
on the inside of my left forearm is the image of St. Jude. the words "hey Jude" sit at his feet. the patron saint of not-any-time-soon and don't-hold-your-breath. drug dealers, border jumpers and kids with leukemia.
i have a rosary around my neck with the cross dangling 3 inches above my belly button. i hate misplacing lucky charms or sacred things. i like praying with my hands, my arms, my neck chest and stomach.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Thank you for being a Friend
i don't want to need you but i do. i need you and you and you and you. during the last nine months it got to the point where the only thing i could do for myself was hold my hair out of my puke. not keep hair on my head though. of course. i didn't knock i barged in. without luggage without manuals without contracts or even agreements. you let me in you let me in you let me in. you ran marathons. you brought home the bacon. you cut off my crusts. you drove me home. you drove me home. you drove me home. and now i'm budgeting 20 dollar bills left in my purse by my mom. pretending i earned them. buying you cigarettes. i owe you. i owe you. i owe you a million chicken nuggets a large Dr. Pepper and let's not even mention my massive Burger King debt. you boarded planes. you came over everyday. you didn't come over because your tank was empty. so was your wallet. but you asked if i needed anything, i said yes. i said yes a lot because i know what it's like to feel helpless so i asked for your help. i couldn't let you walk in empty handed.
in a few months i won't need you. which will be much better. obviously. right?
in a few months i won't need you. will i?
in a few months i won't need you. i hope.
and i'm terrified of when i won't need you.
in a few months i won't need you. which will be much better. obviously. right?
in a few months i won't need you. will i?
in a few months i won't need you. i hope.
and i'm terrified of when i won't need you.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Sharon, can you hear me?
this house gets real empty sometimes.
i wrote the following letter to Sharon Osbourne at 4 am after rearranging my hospital room.
Dear Mrs. Sharon Osbourne,
My name is Carlee Hill and I live in Tucson, Arizona. I’m 23 years old and today I am 23 weeks pregnant for the first time. These last couple of months I’ve been pretty lazy, feet up around the house compulsively watching your show “The Osbournes” on dvd. What a treat to shut off the censorship bleeping device!!
Your family often reminds me of my own. My mother (Sharon Hill!), sister and I found surprising comfort in the similarities between Ozzy’s charming befuddlement in the world with what we experienced with my dad. Also a musician through the 60’s and 70’s he indulged in much of the same lifestyle Ozzy barely remembers enjoying. When your show originally aired my dad was home with us on disability and watching it offered a lighter-hearted look at living with a dynamic, creative, loved one who was completely baffled by a remote. Well, Dad passed away at home of a heart attack at age 56 in 2003 and though our hearts still feel robbed sometimes, we are glad he is free of every burden.
So there is some history of you and yours unknowingly helping me and mine. Now I sit here in the Oncology wing at Northwest Medical Center having just received my first round of chemotherapy. I came in this time last week to have a large mass that sprung up on my neck overnight, surgically removed. Well that dirty fucker had weaseled his way around everything in my neck; nerves, windpipe, voice box, spine, etc. My surgeon and his team got it all out thus preserving my ability to breathe and eat but it turned out to be lymphoma, luckily highly treatable Hodgkin’s Disease. Thankfully and almost unbelievably the cocktail of chemo they use to treat that has been used safely in pregnant women for years! I truly have a genius team of doctors and my son Max swims safe and oblivious inside me, growing everyday and darting away from fetal heart monitors. They say he is a fighter, I say he’s not doing anything at all, the lazy bum.
But the reason I’m writing to you about all this is I had a season 2 marathon of “The Osbournes” with my sister to have a laugh while I waited to enter the hospital last week. Sharon, you really are one tough bitch. If chemo never got your wicked tongue, sharp wit or fierce heart than I’ll be okay. I’ve only just begun this cancer journey and motherhood itself is just on the horizon; knowing just how big a job they both are I’m so proud of you and I admire you. I’ve always thought of you as a true original, a most delightful merry prankster and a monstrously devoted wife and mother. Thank you for sharing a glimpse of your life with the world. You don’t know how you’ve helped me keep my chin up. To lighten a grim hospital room I’ll often think of something shocking maybe you would say to get the doctors and my beautiful mom to blush or laugh. It always works.
Thank you,
she has never written back. i really only wanted a Black Sabbath onesie.
my mom is at the ranch with my stepdad in willcox. Max will be running around with them someday learning how to ride and rope and whistle and play guitar and build campfires. real cowboys sit with their back to the fire so their eyes stay alert in the dark. this year i am learning how to pray ceaselessly. i saw my chest xrays yesterday. i looked real skinny! i still have cancer.
this scabby scar on my neck was born on december 4th. i was supposed to be playing a one-man band fest that night as the Tambourines. i've lost at least a third of my voice and can see on the xray that my windpipe is still shoved to the side by tumors in my chest. breathing gets easier all the time in lots of ways for lots of reasons but i still don't know when to schedule a reunion show.
i feel like an off-key one-armed go-go dancer. lila commented i have a raspy tamborine heart. it's stupid but i miss my mom. it's not stupid.
i can't remember how not to miss my dad. it's like praying ceaselessly.
i wrote the following letter to Sharon Osbourne at 4 am after rearranging my hospital room.
Dear Mrs. Sharon Osbourne,
My name is Carlee Hill and I live in Tucson, Arizona. I’m 23 years old and today I am 23 weeks pregnant for the first time. These last couple of months I’ve been pretty lazy, feet up around the house compulsively watching your show “The Osbournes” on dvd. What a treat to shut off the censorship bleeping device!!
Your family often reminds me of my own. My mother (Sharon Hill!), sister and I found surprising comfort in the similarities between Ozzy’s charming befuddlement in the world with what we experienced with my dad. Also a musician through the 60’s and 70’s he indulged in much of the same lifestyle Ozzy barely remembers enjoying. When your show originally aired my dad was home with us on disability and watching it offered a lighter-hearted look at living with a dynamic, creative, loved one who was completely baffled by a remote. Well, Dad passed away at home of a heart attack at age 56 in 2003 and though our hearts still feel robbed sometimes, we are glad he is free of every burden.
So there is some history of you and yours unknowingly helping me and mine. Now I sit here in the Oncology wing at Northwest Medical Center having just received my first round of chemotherapy. I came in this time last week to have a large mass that sprung up on my neck overnight, surgically removed. Well that dirty fucker had weaseled his way around everything in my neck; nerves, windpipe, voice box, spine, etc. My surgeon and his team got it all out thus preserving my ability to breathe and eat but it turned out to be lymphoma, luckily highly treatable Hodgkin’s Disease. Thankfully and almost unbelievably the cocktail of chemo they use to treat that has been used safely in pregnant women for years! I truly have a genius team of doctors and my son Max swims safe and oblivious inside me, growing everyday and darting away from fetal heart monitors. They say he is a fighter, I say he’s not doing anything at all, the lazy bum.
But the reason I’m writing to you about all this is I had a season 2 marathon of “The Osbournes” with my sister to have a laugh while I waited to enter the hospital last week. Sharon, you really are one tough bitch. If chemo never got your wicked tongue, sharp wit or fierce heart than I’ll be okay. I’ve only just begun this cancer journey and motherhood itself is just on the horizon; knowing just how big a job they both are I’m so proud of you and I admire you. I’ve always thought of you as a true original, a most delightful merry prankster and a monstrously devoted wife and mother. Thank you for sharing a glimpse of your life with the world. You don’t know how you’ve helped me keep my chin up. To lighten a grim hospital room I’ll often think of something shocking maybe you would say to get the doctors and my beautiful mom to blush or laugh. It always works.
Thank you,
she has never written back. i really only wanted a Black Sabbath onesie.
my mom is at the ranch with my stepdad in willcox. Max will be running around with them someday learning how to ride and rope and whistle and play guitar and build campfires. real cowboys sit with their back to the fire so their eyes stay alert in the dark. this year i am learning how to pray ceaselessly. i saw my chest xrays yesterday. i looked real skinny! i still have cancer.
this scabby scar on my neck was born on december 4th. i was supposed to be playing a one-man band fest that night as the Tambourines. i've lost at least a third of my voice and can see on the xray that my windpipe is still shoved to the side by tumors in my chest. breathing gets easier all the time in lots of ways for lots of reasons but i still don't know when to schedule a reunion show.
i feel like an off-key one-armed go-go dancer. lila commented i have a raspy tamborine heart. it's stupid but i miss my mom. it's not stupid.
i can't remember how not to miss my dad. it's like praying ceaselessly.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Hi! I'm Glad you are here
Max is 2 weeks and 1 day old and is 7 lbs and 7 oz. today we took him to meet all the staff at the cancer place where i gets the chemotherapy. it's been a month now without chemo. i go back next week. i hope i didn't forget how to turn poison into miracles.
Max is a big flirt and a big fart. way better than dating so far. yesterday was really stressful because i never took a nap and neither did little man. he could tell that the doctor was gonna stick his heel to test his blood because he is very familiar with my heartbeat and can tell when i am nervous. so he started to panic and i started to cry because i feel like a failure when i let anything hurt him. but he is strong and kicked nurse real hard and got blood all over his tiger print blanket so it looks way more metal now.
Max is in my bed taking a nap under my tiger print blanket. i miss him. i am in the living room typing this. i should be napping. i should be sitz bathing my poor wounded nether regions. i should be doing the dishes. but i am a writer and it's 2010 so that makes me a blogger i guess.
i still can't believe we pulled this off, son. i'm Glad you are here.
Max is a big flirt and a big fart. way better than dating so far. yesterday was really stressful because i never took a nap and neither did little man. he could tell that the doctor was gonna stick his heel to test his blood because he is very familiar with my heartbeat and can tell when i am nervous. so he started to panic and i started to cry because i feel like a failure when i let anything hurt him. but he is strong and kicked nurse real hard and got blood all over his tiger print blanket so it looks way more metal now.
Max is in my bed taking a nap under my tiger print blanket. i miss him. i am in the living room typing this. i should be napping. i should be sitz bathing my poor wounded nether regions. i should be doing the dishes. but i am a writer and it's 2010 so that makes me a blogger i guess.
i still can't believe we pulled this off, son. i'm Glad you are here.
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