Just over two weeks ago, Bryan's aunt Judy passed away. It was, and remains, a really tough time for the family as she secretly battled cancer -- going to chemotherapy and doctor's appointments alone -- without wanting to burden her family with any worry about her. She spent the last few years of her life making memories with her family, watching her beautiful two-year-old granddaughter blossom and fully capturing the moment filled with laughs and love. When Bryan and I heard that Judy had been hospitalized, we drove up to the Bay Area and were lucky enough to spend some coherent time with her before she passed on. In the emotional days that followed, during funeral arrangements and the somber, reflective time around Bryan's parents' house -- a routine walk downtown turned into somewhat of an epiphany moment for me. In a tiny, nondescript store I came across a decorative sign that practically reached out and grabbed hold of me. It was a simple sign, painted a muted black and worn around the edges, but its message was anything but. The sign read, "It's not about waiting for the storm to pass... it's about learning to dance in the rain." And boom! I teared up a little bit -- maybe I was hormonal, who knows -- but I knew then and there that I wasn't leaving the store without that sign.
Over the past year and a half -- from Bryan's diagnosis to radiation to chemotherapy to inpatient therapy to Laughs for Bald Bryan to Avastin to months of intensive physical therapy to the slow recession of the tumor itself -- I've had such a hard time successfully living in the moment. I've been telling (or practically demanding, if I'm honest about it) myself to live in the moment, be present and conscious and take everything in, but it's so, so, so much easier said than done. I mean, how can you just let go of all your worries when the slightest catch of Bryan's toe on a curb, minor headache, speech slur or tingle might mean the tumor is coming back? It's always in the back of my mind, no matter how healthy Bryan gets or how improved his functionality becomes. Part of me blames it on the statistics we foolishly read at the beginning (provided by Dr. Doom, no less); the horrific ones that tell you that inoperable brain tumor patients live an average of 14 months post-diagnosis. Or perhaps it was the brain tumor blogs that I read whose authors eventually succumbed to their tumors and passed away. Either way, the stress of my husband's mortality isn't isn't an easy thing to shake, but the fact is that Bryan just ISN'T like all of those other patients. He's surviving, and more than that, he's absolutely thriving. He's so inspired to live his life, have babies and puppies (we've got the puppy part down) and try to move past the tumor the best he can. Meanwhile, I'm inspired to do the same thing; I'm just coming around to it slower than he is. I sometimes find myself trapped in the "what if" room -- sorry people, no amount of therapy is going to make that go away; I've been there, done that -- and any semblance of an "exit" sign is sometimes missing. But that "dancing in the rain" sign made me realize just how much I don't want to be trapped in that room anymore. It's just not ME.
This whole thing has thrown me for such a loop -- shocking, I know -- that it's really hard to come out on the other side, let go and just get back to being me. There are so many responsibilities we have, so many serious issues to face, but at the end of the day EVERYONE we know has something to worry about; whether it's a job, a child, a sick parent, paying the mortgage or ensuring the health of their marriage. We're certainly not alone. And I'm kind of embarrassed that it took a made-in-China sign to make me realize just how SICK AND TIRED I am of living under the threat of this storm's dark cloud. Bryan and I are both such vibrant people with so much to live for and it's time we (or rather, I) learned to dance in the rain, once and for all.
This all might sound like a pep talk, and maybe it is. Health-wise, things have been fantastic lately -- Bryan's latest MRI last week showed a TINY, TINY, TINY bit more shrinkage (we'll take it!) and reduction of calcified areas that developed within the tumor over several years -- but now we're trying to figure out where our lives go from here. I'm beyond thankful that we're at this normal point, but we've got some serious issues we have to deal with, namely continuing Bryan's insurance so his condition doesn't bankrupt us. That might sound dramatic, but I'm 100% serious. While we're certainly strong and smart enough to deal with anything that comes our way, let me take you on a quick ride that is our circuitous insurance/employment train. If you're a healthy, employed person without a pre-existing condition, here's where I want you to take a moment to thank your lucky stars.
Issue #1: Benefits.
Bryan's COBRA runs out at the end of September and neither of us have full-time jobs yet that will replace it/pay for it. Since Bryan's not eligible for Cal-COBRA because CBS is a New York-based corporation, we had to look into individual HIPPA plans. The HIPPA plans didn't cover the specific drugs that Bryan is taking, so we ended up looking into the California high-risk insurance pool. That plan is great but we'll end up meeting the maximum insurance-provided out-of-pocket in about four months, so we need to look at other options. Which leads up to...
Issue #2: Full-time jobs.
Some long-time followers of the blog might be wondering, "What happened to Cedars? I thought you were getting a job with them?" Simply put, the Cedars full-time opportunity did not work out although I am still doing freelance writing for them. It was unfortunate but I maintain that everything happens for a reason. I'm still loving my freelance gig with them as well as food writing for
LA Weekly's Squid Ink blog. Aside from that, I have been putting as many irons in the job fire as I can. The problem is that I need to be really creative about full-time job opportunities, because "full time" for us doesn't translate into 40+ hours in an office environment. Since Bryan's appointments and infusions only occur every two weeks, I'm trying to look for full-time jobs (writing, marketing or otherwise) with the flexibility to work from home/hospital during the 2-3 days/month that Bryan has his appointments. While 2-3 days of flexibility might not seem like that big of a deal, many advertising agencies have work-you-to-the-bone hours, and 2-3 days at home isn't an option. Which brings us to...
Issue #3: Freelance jobs. I'm trying to book as many freelance jobs as possible, because I love them and they provide the income and flexibility we need. And Bryan's positions on the
Adam Carolla podcast and as co-host of
The Film Fault -- as awesome as they are -- don't provide benefits, either. However, coming back full circle to "Issue #1: Benefits," freelance work doesn't provide healthcare benefits. So as we've learned to do so well, Bryan and I are taking it one day at a time and putting as many feelers out as possible, both in the marketing, writing and radio industries. As always, we're confident that the right thing will come along at the right time but we're being as proactive as possible to ensure that it happens sooner rather than later. We're certainly not panicking, but we're admittedly a bit anxious to get out of the spiraling insurance/healthcare benefits conundrum.
Last, but certainly not least, over the past several months we've been so happy to run into several podcast listeners and blog readers in L.A. who have remarked about how well Bryan is doing and given us such heartfelt well-wishes. To all of you we want to say thank you again; it's been so great to meet you in person and say thanks for the all love and support you've given us. :)