Photo: Thursday, February 25, 2016 9:41 a.m.

Today’s photo depicts a boy with his chemo drugs.  I am at a loss for what to say about the outfit. A man’s gotta wear what a man’s gotta wear.

Brain cancer is...

 …a big fat baby.

 Specifically, brain cancer is some otherworldly infant with a mercurial disposition, throwing a temper tantrum one minute and giggling happily the next.  Worse yet, brain cancer is the kind of big fat baby who messes with others’ emotions. 

We know about the big fat brain cancer baby because our emotions seem to be highly changeable, and they come on at will and unexpectedly.  Our only conclusion?  Some diaper-wearing despot is in charge. 

I have several family members who admit to being well acquainted with the big fat baby, but I don’t have rights to their stories.  So here’s an Andi-centric story from today.

Andi’s Thursday with the Big Fat Baby

I wake up in the sunshine (yes, the gorgeous linen curtain is partially open) to the face of my spouse of 33 years.  He is so beautiful, I start to cry. My snuffling alerts him, and when he turns to look at me, his face says:  “Rrruh Rrroh.  This one is nuts. Who cries before a day even begins?”  But he smiles, pats me, and tells me that I’m not wearing my glasses.  (More about the baby:  He bullies us separately so that our emotions are out-of-sync; one person is feeling weepy while others are hopeful, excited about burritos.)

I get to campus for a faculty consult…without my wallet.  Further desolation.  This is a consult over coffee, and I really need a latté to pour into my morning’s emotional wounds.  “What a bad, bad day!” I text Darrell, who is no doubt happy that the crazy woman he married is a safe distance away from his busy morning.  Those who text with Darrell knows that he’ll respond, despite his schedule.  Further, you know that his response to my text says:  “Sorry!”

Then my consult faculty member arrives, and she offers me a latté.  Gratitude Journal Entry!  Just like that, it’s a good day. Stop messing with me, Baby.

Back home, I put the chemo drugs into the pill dispenser, getting ready for Monday.  I realize that I forgot one of the drugs, and I spend a few minutes despairing over the repercussions for mistakes I might make in dosages.  Yes, Monday is a long time from now and we would have double-checked, but that’s rational talk.  The Baby’s talking now.  Zach and Darrell gather around the pill dispenser for training, and we’ve now got several layers of safety built into our family chemo-pill dispersal plan. 

At 2:00 p.m. Darrell hangs the kitchen blind (busy, busy Darrell!), and life is back to normal.  Bye bye Baby...see you at 4 (it turns out, but that's a different story).

The Good News

Even though our emotions seem often mercurial and out-of control, we’ve studied them a bit and recognize a clear pattern.  We agree that whenever we face some emotional low, what follows next always seems to be a high, some moment of grace where the people who surround us reach out and lift us up.  Your emails, texts, hugs, calls, treats—every sweet thing you do—always comes just at the right time, right when we need a hand to pull us away from the big fat baby.  How do you do that?