Movie response: 50/50

We went to see "50/50" over the weekend, somewhere in the midst of the Halloween movie extravaganza. I didn't know how I would feel about it, but it stirred some things up and I thought I'd share them with y'all. Bear in mind, this isn't so much a review as it is my response to the film. I'm putting my pretentious film self on the shelf for a bit. (For the record, she has gotten a lot cooler.)

Very generally, this is an indie film about a 27-year-old guy who unceremoniously finds out he has cancer. As you could probably ascertain from the title, his chances of survival are 50%. In some ways, the plotline is quite ordinary: he's a pretty average guy, leading a pretty average life, who is one day smacked in the face with a disease. But it's the examination of what becomes one's every day life when dealing with this illness that etched this sweet, restrained film into my heart.

Photo: www.50-50themovie.com

Many of y'all may recall from past blogs that I lost my dear mama to cancer last year. While I can't imagine what it's like to be the patient, I learned a lot from battling through it with my best friend. We were very honest with each other and spoke quite candidly about how she felt and what she believed, and I was fortunate enough to be with her for almost all of her appointments/treatments. It's a unique world, and believe it or not, it can be a beautiful one. 

50/50 skillfully captured this underlying beauty via the relationships Adam (played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt...or as the boyfriend calls him, "Jordan Love-Hewitt") forges with some of the older fellows with whom he receives chemo. Those candid chats, the ribbing, the melding of one's identity with one's disease (introductions consist of name and diagnosis), the support...it's all right on.

Even in the midst of debilitating chemotherapy treatments, I witnessed some of the most joyful, funny, sincere expressions of human behavior. Not to be poster children, not to give cancer a prettier face, but because these were extraordinary people battling a hell of a beast and they weren't about to let illness change who they were. Love is given more freely and there's no need for formalities. Lost all your hair? Rock the cue ball; it's too dang hot for a hat/wig. Sweating like a fiend? No one is above being fanned with a radiation info pamphlet.

(Not surprising, writer Will Reiser truly battled cancer, and at an even younger age. And Seth Rogen is his real-life friend, God help him. Kidding!)

Photo: google.com

Another insightful element of this film is how Reiser captured the ways in which cancer patients often find themselves taking care of everyone around them. It's not a bad thing, per se, and has nothing to do with loved ones being selfish. It just happens. No one knows what to do or say, so it's not uncommon for the one who is sick to be the same person who is comforting those who feel helpless. They minimize and simplify, make the best of the situation and learn to rattle off their current condition with little more emotion than they'd recite the alphabet. It becomes fairly matter-of-fact when it's inevitably the center of every conversation you have. Rare are the moments when the one fighting can honestly confess, "I'm scared. This sucks. I feel like crap and I just want it to be over. Whatever that means." (A candid session with Adam's adorable therapist in the film, played by Anna Kendrick, reveals this very attitude.)

We've all been touched by cancer. Some more than others, sure. But at the center of this story is an examination of the challenges that life will bring your way. Not can, will. The people in your life--in all their awkward, uncertain, wrong-thing-at-the-wrong-time-sayin' glory--are as vital to your story as anything.

Let me know what y'all think of the film if/when you see it. I recommend you do.

The best gift for the most amazing mother?

An eternity with Our Lord, free from pain, worry, or sadness.

R.I.P. Mom. You are my everything and nothing will fill this void, but I know you will guide me always, and forever be the core of who I am and how I love.

To all you moms (in whatever form that may take), you're amazing and loved unlike any other. Happy Mother's Day.

Kitchen Therapy

Given everything that is going on around here, I find myself in need of some serious distraction to keep from going straight loopy.

My friends have been wonderful by continuing to invite me out, fully knowing that I am going to turn them down 95% of the time. (Side note: this is the perfect way to be there for someone in this situation. The offer is there, no strings attached, no obligation or feeling like I'll be forced to talk, and every so often I'll actually take them up on it.)

I have also been editing like a madwoman to get my demo reels up to speed, a task which my pretty lil Mac has made positively pleasurable. There's no better way to get through a day than throwing your head into a project that requires total concentration.

But I have to say that my favorite distraction as of yet is cooking. I have never been much of a chef and my idea of preparing a meal generally involved a lot of boxes and powdered spices. Yum. (/sarc) However, over the past six months, I have become really interested in cooking and food in general (which, oddly enough, has coincided with me eating a lot less but a lot better, if that makes sense). (Not that I don't still inhale Spiral Diner's Philly Cheez Steak in less than five minutes. But that's a treat, really. Especially for those watching.)

It may sound silly, but much of my zeal for cooking can be attributed

to the Food Network. I used to think it was so weird to be watching show after show about cooking considering my specialties were mashed potatoes and mac 'n cheese (from a box, natch). But I've learned so much about ingredients and how simple it can be to make yummy, elegant, healthy meals. I'm giving Giada a run for her money these days!

(Today I whipped up a delicious pasta salad by cooking up some orzo al dente in vegetable stock, then mixing in oven roasted cherry tomatoes and garlic, organic basil, and herbed feta. I didn't even use a recipe! And yes, I mixed regions a bit, but it didn't bother me as I scarfed down a large helping of my multi-regional dish.)

Another benefit of cooking? I know exactly what is in my meal. I select my own ingredients, ensuring that they're vegetarian and organic (produce especially), and can control how much crap I'm asking my body to process. I can limit the salt/sodium, the fat, the calories, etc., which, believe it or not, does not mean that I'm sacrificing taste. The beauty of reading recipes and educating myself about food is learning to enjoy the process and savor the true flavors of what I'm preparing. Not to mention, I know that I am supporting a more environmentally-sound way of life in my culinary decisions, and that makes me feel wonderful.

Although I've always considered myself a lover of food, that meaning has changed drastically in the past six months. (As in it no longer means my idea of a "snack" is a plate full of cheese-drenched french fries with jalapenos, sour cream, and bacon. But you? Knock yourself out.) I can't wait to see what I discover and whip up next!

What is your favorite "therapy" during tough times?

It's about that time...

We met with the hospice agency today to get things in order for Mom. Yup, we're there, folks. It has been a long-time coming, but it's still so bizarre to be getting everything in order to wrap up one's life.

Shine and Gofahne have taken to calling me "Alcatraz" because of my tendency to keep my walls firmly in place, locked up. (I know I'm allowed to break down, mind you. I'd simply rather not.) I feel like a friggin' robot because I really haven't cried much in the past few months. Certain moments set me off (like having to break the news to my wonderful brother or seeing my sweet Papaw sob), but I'm going about the whole situation like it's simply another task that needs to be handled. I'm discussing DNRs and signing end-of-life contracts as though I'm negotiating a gym membership: with little emotion and an eye for details.

As goofy as it sounds, I believe that I was built from the get-go to handle my mom's disease, death, and all that goes along with it. I was put under her roof a month before she was diagnosed (the second time) because it was my task to be her caretaker and see her through this journey. We've talked very openly about her disease from the very beginning, and I have been able to anticipate her needs and wants simply by nature of our deep-seeded relationship. She can communicate so much with just a glance or gesture in my direction. More than a testimony to an incredible bond, this is also part of what I believe God has given us both to see this through.

Not to mention, we've got a support network of family and friends that has straight up kept me out of the asylum. Nothing is coincidence, particularly the company that I find myself in during a time like this.

I know that tougher days still lie ahead. I wish my siblings could drop everything and come home, as I know they wish they could. But life has to and will go on, and nothing in this next chapter will be anything short of exactly what is meant to be. I have unwavering faith in that. And I wish the same for our family and friends.

It's not all rainbows and sunshine...but it can always be worse.

OK, so I've cried twice in the past two days, which, for me, is just straight up out of control.

Yesterday, I cried during Sandy Bullock's speech at the Oscars. I was glad she won because, well, I just adore her. I don't necessarily think she was the best in the category, but I've got nothing but love for Ms. Bullock and am glad she got take home a lil gold man. I then proceeded to lose it (in public while wearing a sassy dress, nonetheless) when she started talking about her Mom. I knew that she lost her mommy to cancer when she (Sandy) was a wee bit older than I, so I should have seen it coming. Well, I bawled like a baby and totally messed up my face. But I pulled myself back together and was reminded, yet again, why I heart her so.

Today? Well, I have been worrying about finances as it is (seeing as how I don't have any foreseeable income at the moment while I am home with Mom full-time), but I started doing my taxes for 2009...and it got ugly. In all likelihood, I am going to have to pay about $2000 in taxes. I have it, but that's a huge chunk of my safety net and therefore blood money at this point.

Quick side note: I don't generally blog about really personal issues such as this, but I have a point of greater importance. Bear with me. I'm gettin' there...

So then I cried. Again. And put in a call to our tax specialist for an appointment STAT. (Because I swear she's magic and will find some way to get this figure down, even if by a few hundred dollars. A dollar is a dollar, yo!) And then I REALLY cried when I realized Mom saw me upset about my predicament. She came in to my room, gave me a big hug, assured me that she and Pops would do whatever they could to help, and then Pops said I'd have no financial worries once I got famous, and therefore this battle would be foreseeably finite. Bobs (a.k.a. Brover) and his best friend also offered to help.

Best. Family. Ever.

And then I wiped my tears, pulled up my Big Girl Panties, and locked it up. Why? Because it could be so much worse. I could have zero dollars in my accounts, no one available/willing to help, or...I could be battling a crippling disease and fighting for my life.

I know this is a huge leap and may seem a bit dramatic. (Stop rolling your eyes, dear readers. You know me better than that.) But this is yet another lesson for this gal in perspective. I get to plan for a future that (presumably) I will get. I get to worry about things like finances because I'm not consumed by pain and frustration on a daily, hourly basis.

Seriously, what the hell am I worried about?

Call it crazy, call it delusion, whatever. I call it faith. And perspective. And being retarded blessed when it comes to the bulk of my life.

No more tears today.

How NOT to get strangled by a cancer patient (or by one of their loved ones with the strength to do so)...

I almost had to get ghetto on a few people in the waiting room of the cancer center while accompanying Mom to her treatment appointment today. Now ordinarily when it comes to visits to the cancer centers, I am a perfect angel: opening doors, offering to help out in the clinic (they never take me up on it even though I am more than capable of taking vitals and turning over rooms so people can lay down and get the H out of there in a timely fashion), patiently waiting (-ish....see previous aside), fetching water and snacks for those without a buddy, etc. However, there are some people (cancer patients included, believe it or not) who don't seem to understand what will and will not make a person suffering from this disease (or someone supporting one with this disease) lose their effing minds. I'm talking circus-freak crazy, going postal, los-ing my mind.

But then I realized that not all people suffer from this disease the same way. (And thank God for that.) Therefore, not all people really know how to act around someone who clearly isn't having a good day (i.e. curled up in a ball, brow furrowed in constant unrest, shivering and sweating, looking like a wee bag of bones). Now you'd think some things would be pretty obvious. (CELL PHONES SHOULD BE BANNED FROM ALL HOSPITALS, CLINICS, MEDICAL OFFICES. PERIOD.) But others are less obvious.

And so it occurred to me that this might be a good opportunity for me to share a few of the things that I've picked up over the past few years during Mom's battle that may come in handy. We're all touched by this disease in some way, and you never know when having a little insight might spare someone battling cancer from even a moment of additional discomfort.

(In no particular order...)

1. Hold the onions. If you are eating around someone going through chemo (this includes cancer center waiting rooms, for Pete's sake), please be mindful of smells. Cancer patients are usually battling nausea and upset stomachs 24/7, and the slightest smell can set off a very unpleasant bout that can last long after your hoagie. And yes, I'm asking you to alter your life for that of another. You can eat a fistful of onions when you get home to your well-ventilated kitchen. There's a time and a place...that's yours.
2. Old lady, put down the eau de parfum. For the love. In line with the smell issue, perfumes and colognes can bring on the nausea and epic headaches like no other. I mean, this is irritating when you're perfectly healthy. Why would you roll around in flower-scented oil before you go to a medical clinic? The doctors don't care...but everyone else around you certainly will. It is good practice to avoid perfume for a job interview, and I would advise the same for any medical setting, particularly if heavily populated with cancer patients. (When in doubt, don't.)
3. 'Maybe she's punk.' No. If you see someone walking around with a bald head (or they are clearly bald beneath their scarf, cap, sassy wig), it's OK to acknowledge that they're probably dealing with cancer. Once Mom got over her first round of cancer and had her adorable little curls back, she was forever stopping bald ladies in the grocery store and asking how they were. I know most of you are thinking, 'Gah! Stranger Danger. With cancer. Scariest thing ever.' But without exception, the stranger really appreciated Mom checking in and asking how they were. I think it was therapeutic in a way from Mom, too. But even if you're not in the club and haven't personally dealt with cancer, it's cool to be frank about the situation and not play dumb when it comes to their shiny little dome. Just remember that it's not about you. If you want to say, "Hello," do so because you care about that person, stranger or not, and not because you want to do a good deed.
4. Mmmmm...Jello. Many chemo drugs have the very unpleasant side effect of changing the patient's taste buds. Sucky, right? Adjustments can be made and stockpiles of "safe" foods become common. However, there is no easy way to tell your super sweet neighbors (hypothetical...I don't even know if we have neighbors out here in the sticks) that their homemade chicken casserole tastes like it has been infused with Costco-sized salt licks. I mean, I like salty snacks, but that's just not cool. And the sad part? The dish probably isn't salted at all. Obdurate reality has little impact on the perception of tastes, smells, sounds, etc. when you're going through chemo. It's all subject to suck, and that is subject to change day by day. So, if you are providing meals or snackage for someone going through chemo, don't hesitate to ask what they can eat and/or what sounds good. And know that by the time you get it to them, that all could have changed.
5. Does this look like effing social hour? On a good day, there is nothing better than having those eager guests come by for a visit, catching up with friends, and having some belly laughs (that hopefully won't lead to a coughing fit). However, on bad days (or even so-so days), the best thing you can do is leave him/her alone. When someone is going through cancer (and/or chemo), there is nothing better than to know that someone is available 24/7...in the other room. It's OK to be pleasant and not treat the home like a mortuary, but short of that, don't bust out the balloon animals and try to elicit smiles and laughs from your friend/family member. If you can't handle the fact that it is not going to be an uplifting visit, keep your happy ass at home. Simple as that. Again, it's not about you.
6. It ain't always sunshine and rainbows, kids. No matter how close you are to someone who has gone through this, you still cannot possibly understand all the havoc this disease wrecks on a person's mind/body/psyche/soul. Having said that, please remember that we could all use a little grace here and there. If someone you know is dealing with cancer and they seem unpleasant, short, or distanced, let them be. It's not about you. Their universe as they know it sucks. Every second. And they are dealing with pressures and pains that I pray you never have to know. So give them a less-than-pretty moment. Or two. Or twelve. But don't ever stop loving them.

I hope that helps y'all get a better grasp on how you can make things a little more bearable for someone dealing with cancer. I am sure there are a dozen things I've forgotten, and some people dealing with this disease may not have the same complaints that I've outlined here, but that's what I can offer on behalf of our battle.

I know we've all dealt with this in some capacity, so please feel free to add your suggestions, tips, insights, etc.

Life Support Meeting

As most of you know, my mom has cancer. This is her second battle with this effing disease, and she is currently undergoing chemo (having just finished a quick bout of radiation) to keep the cancer at bay and try to enjoy her life. She is the most amazing person I know, and watching her go through this has been the most difficult crisis of faith I've ever had. However, we get by, and every moment I get with Mom--good, bad, ugly--is a blessing from God and I don't take a single second for granted.

(If you know me at all, you know this is not an attempt to get sympathy or make you cry on this lovely Sunday. All prayers and well-wishes are cherished and making a world of difference for this family, but this is just another blog about my life and what I'm feeling. Just so we're clear.)

My mom has decided to utilize a support group as she is feeling increasingly depressed and frustrated with her current situation. This is definitely outside the scope of something any of us would normally do. We are not the type of people who ask for anything (money, support, dinner, etc.) nor readily admit any kind of weakness. But, of course, nothing is normal anymore, and thus we are learning a great deal about who we are in times of grief and stress. It's amazing, really.

She's not sure what to expect from her first attempt at finding a good group, but I think it's a process. Much like finding the right psychologist/counselor. We all need and expect different approaches and manners of being handled, so to speak. I need tough love and the less-than-obvious observations. ("Oh, you've deduced I may have trust issues? Well done. Idiot.") In the course of making her decision to take this bold step, she suggested I might also benefit from such a resource. And I think she may be onto something.

Don't get me wrong: I have the most amazing, supportive, non-judgemental friends a girl could hope for. Actually, better than I could ever imagine if I was making a wish list of qualities in friends. But (and it breaks my heart to say this) they don't know exactly where I'm coming from. Some have dealt with similar, difficult emotions and are extremely insightful in their gracious attempts at relating. And some of them have been through this same situation, but are at a different stage, whether it be the parent has passed away, the cancer has gone into remission, or they have a better/worse prognosis to cope with. I think a support group will be much like this, but I also suspect the people who seek out meetings will likely be right in the mix of things and in a similar stage as me. This is all speculation, of course.

Perhaps it would be nice to be among people who are totally unbiased (and don't already think I'm awesome, strong, etc.) but are sharing the (sometimes insensitive) thoughts I am. Maybe they have the same uncertainty when it comes to planning their future, unsure of what the next week, month, year will bring. Their own emotions could put mine into perspective, reminding me how lucky I truly am, or allowing me to grieve at the true gravity of what is happening to my mother. And what may happen.

Afterall, it is much easier to cry in front of strangers.

Or maybe that's just me.