Ballistic Missiles and other Disasters.

Last night I took an ambien to help me sleep. I try not to take it more than once a week- I hate relying on meds- but the other meds, the steroids keeping me alive while chemo is fighting the cancer- causes me to lay awake at night- physically exhausted but unable to sleep.

Phil had today off- I try to plan around when he's here- in case. You know. Kid vomiting, someone launches a ballistic missile, that kind of thing. Which also sucks, putting him on the hook when he's had long weeks- but you know- parenting, partnership all that jazz. Plus he was "on call" this morning. You know in case the aina was threatened or something. So he had to be up an available at 6am. I felt a little bad. The glass of wine before the ambien made that better.

The good news is we got through week 1, no adrenal crisis. I had many conversations with specialists this week, we are trying to figure out the best timing for my body to deal with the new/new old bone mets in my hip and spine. I am a HUGE believer that we have to keep keep the system as strong as possible- so I'm not charging in- BUT we have to balance the need to take care of this in a timely manner. Then there's the whole fear of radiation and stuff and the my mutant body's general dislike for the ionizing elements.

The past weeks have been tough emotionally. A dear friend lost her son, another lost her husband- there are other losses. It's hard. It's a helpless feeling. I know there is virtually nothing I can do to fill the gaping losses, but it is my nature to want to try, to hug the ever loving daylights out of someone if all else fails.

I woke up this morning to text after text- are you Ok? Shit- people have a glass and wine and ambien all the time- it's not a great practice- but is a decent night's sleep. I don't make a habit of it.  Did I do a bunch of 'influenced" texting? no. hmmm. I head down stairs- Phil is on the phone. He hangs up and immediately responds to texts. Well although not unusual- he usually looks up. Hmm. The boy is out hiking, I missed a call. Oh shit. One of his friend's mom had texted- he was ok, they had talked to him after the alert. Alert? Oh crap- there was a ballistic missile launched towards Hawaii. No wait- it was a false alarm. Phil looks up- someone hit the alert by accident- there's no missile. Don't go anywhere near social media. So, of course, I log in to facebook. People are completely panicked. Well, were an hour ago. Now everyone is grateful to be alive and pissed at how this could happen- Someone needs to be accountable for this- the alert system needs to change.

I wait for Phil to look up- his phone is blowing up. No pun intended- oh hell pun away.  I start responding to texts. He hasn't heard from Phillip. The girls are all still sleeping- he hands me a plate of eggs and bacon. We have breakfast. Yeah that's right- my rockstar husband made breakfast whilest dealing with a missile crisis. Or fake missile crisis. Blast you fake news. *fist shake*. It's family cleaning day. I think the Gods are sending me a message about the enormity of the task at hand...

The girls have all had fallout drills, chemical spill drills, and evacuation drills of all sorts this year. Each one is followed by lengthy discussions at home about what to do in a veritable cesspool of situations- 1000 ways to try not to die. Another day in the Mallory house. ' Pretty much hunker down- it's a flipping island. We practice giving shots in case of health emergencies- so we kinda just roll with the emergencies. Bella is particularly concerned. Insert discussion about radiation fallout and finally getting our mutant superpowers.

I am not dismissing anyone's heart attack or stress this morning. I've felt it- hurricane, tornados, tsunamis- blizzards, lock downs at school, cancer diagnoses, LFS diagnoses, broken pancreas, adrenal crisis after adrenal crisis.... Every day Phil flies- knowing that could be the day- the heightened risk. Crossing the street. Driving on the H1. Life. Full of heightened risk and risk management. And so many times- NOT ONE FLIPPING THING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT. If a missile is launched- the best we can do is hunker down and hope for the best. I guarantee you- I would have been a wreck had it been a school day, or Phil had been gone. Yet by nature of his job- they're usually the first to know and go.

This is the type of stress I feel before every scan- mine and the kids- knowing that this information WILL change our lives from here out. AND THERE'S NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT.  When there are lumps and bumps, waiting for the next cancer shoe to drop. Trying to pick between tumor treatment and side effects. Sometimes you get the glorious all clear- false alarm and everyone cheers and you should feel grateful- you ARE grateful but the scanxiety, the stress- took months, maybe years off your life. YET by catching cancer early- trying to prevent risks- you can add years .

I understand wanting to hold someone accountable. To find a reason when there is no good one. I understand the frustration of energy wasted on stress, the gratitude of- false alarm. The what if the next time is real. I am very sorry everyone had to feel the stress. I am sorry that many people completely lost their shit. As the girls rolled out of beds- their teeny bop friends texting, extending the drama of certain impending death- we cleaned the house- because apparently it is not yet officially a natural disaster. We talked about survival and life and found 5 of Dobby's bones under the couch. We laughed, we hugged. Because we know when the ballistic missile is really launched into your life- it's the moments like this that are the ones that determine your life- because through life and other disasters, we choose to live each day the best we can.