To fill a job these days, rumor has it that companies "Google" the name on the resumes they receive before even calling the resume sender. They can check your social media accounts and check up on who you are before even calling you back for an interview. For most HIV-positive people this is not a big deal; however, if this is the case there are more than three pages of links about HIV when my name is Googled.
My Halloween doctor appointment with Myles was a long pain in the butt. They gave me an HIV test since I did not have my medical records on me; I told them to save the money and Google me. I know those tests are expensive. I failed -- or passed -- that test again.
So "M" Day finally came; before we knew it a huge moving truck was in our driveway. Myles spent that night at Grandma's, so he would not be bored out of his mind or in the way all day. Movers poured into our condo and quickly they were helping us pack last items, electronics, and artwork. Nash our dog was locked in the garage after it was loaded into the truck. Marley our cat was locked into a bathroom for the rest of the day with a heaping pile of catnip.
The beginning of the rest of your life happens all the time. Breakups lead to new relationships after a period of self growth, and usually some very much needed ME time.
Sometimes change finds you on its own. We went camping for Myles' fourth birthday in July just like last year, he gets to pick what we do and he LOVES to camp. So we packed up the dog, and headed to a lake in the mountains for a few nights.
After a sabbatical from the real world I am returning, going to the gym, looking for a job and wrangling my almost-4-year-old Myles while I attempt to find my next new beginning. Sometimes you need to do "something" to help lift the fog, and sometimes it happens on its own.
Four years ago on Jan. 8 I was diagnosed; yesterday Myles my three year old and I spent a good two-plus hours in an emergency room waiting room waiting to see what was going on with my husband Keanen.
It's not my first time being someone's homework or getting a letter/email about it. The first time was in response to a letter to the editor I sent in to Parade Magazine for Lynn Minton's column. She used to ask questions weekly to kids and teenagers. Parade Magazine was in the Sunday paper, and I looked forward to her section when I was in high school. In the question I replied to, she had asked if we were optimistic or pessimistic about our generation's future, Generation X. Being what I thought was a writer back in 9th grade, I excitedly hopped on my parents' computer and began to type.
Papa had blood and platelet transfusions, G shots in his belly, a PET scan that took four tries, and round two of R-ICE chemo. Each appointment lasted hours. Most were at 6:45 a.m. which with Myles and our hour drive to the clinic meant waking up around 4 to get dressed and meet my mother-in-law to give her Myles around 5:30. I sat in the waiting room typing away at my book, or browsing Facebook, or the news, writing emails to my mother whom I do not talk to enough. I learned which chairs were next to electric plugs to recharge my electronic devices; I knew which chairs were under air vents and freezing. I chatted with patients and families -- I guess I look approachable, or people are nervous and need to chat with someone other than their caregiver who they spend hours with. Most of them were living in hotels or cancer houses in the area; people travel from across the country to have their cancer care at the Cancer Care Alliance.
Cancer is a scary disease, a career, or an opponent in battle depending on who you are and how you look at it.
It's not a topic I know a lot about; soon that will change. Myles and I are beginning a new journey in our lives: 'Taking care of Papa.' My husband Keanen's father was diagnosed months ago with stage four Mantle Cell Lymphoma. He underwent the first bulk of chemotherapy in Reno, Nevada, where he lives.