The Time That Nothing Happened

 One time, years ago, after recounting a story to my cousin about some ridiculousness the family had experienced, she said to me, “Hey…you know what you’ll never be able to say? ‘Remember that time nothing happened?’” We laughed and laughed at her hilarious joke, as I couldn’t possibly fathom a time when I’d ever be able to respond to a “how was” question with an answer like, “It was great…nothing stupid happened!” Well, it’s been years in the making and we were long overdue. Yet, miraculously, for one magical week in November, the Gorreck crew went on vacation and nothing happened.

As a family, we’re known for more than our fair share of mishaps. The bad luck gene originates in the maternal Abell line, as I can remember my Uncle Rob always saying that if it weren’t for bad luck, he’d have no luck at all. I’ve consistently proven this luck sentiment over the years. But what I cannot tell is if I’ve passed this bad luck gene on to the kids, or if they are merely victims of circumstance as they star as supporting actors in my chaos and havoc.

So we went on a cruise for the week of Thanksgiving. After the year we had (truthfully, the last five years), we deserved an opportunity to celebrate life and all we’d overcome. Plus, we’d been so screwed by our two previous 2024 vacations (the one that wasn’t, as I ended up admitted to the hospital two days before our departure, and the other one from which I’ll be permanently scarred…how could you, Canada???) that we deserved something GREAT. I was desperate for a relaxing getaway, except…if you’re a Gorreck, “relaxing” and “getaway” are never words that are adjacent when describing family vacations. When I told the kids that we were going on a trip, Nadia said, “Do you ever learn your lesson?” And that is how the Gorrecks travel...we go somewhere, mayhem ensues, we come home and everyone we know lines up to hear about what went wrong this time, I vow to never go on vacation again, months pass and my conviction waivers, I book a vacation again, and the cycle repeats. What do they say about the definition of insanity???

On departure morning, everyone got up on time(ish), we made it out the door on time(ish), everyone put their luggage in the car (flashback to the time we were halfway between Maryland and North Carolina and Nadia, from the backseat, asked, “Did anyone grab my suitcase from the top of the stairs?” The answer was no). We had a peaceful drive to the airport (no getting lost in Manhattan at rush hour on a weekday morning), we breezed through TSA, boarded the under-booked plane and had whole seat rows to ourselves (no sitting next to an adult woman with a thumb-sucking habit, no flatulent seatmates). We did experience a bit of turbulence, but Nadia has thankfully outgrown the stage when she shouted, “Weeeeeee! We’re going down!!!” during turbulence on a flight to Jamaica when she was two. We got to Tampa, called a Lyft and made it to the cruise terminal with ease. We got there early (the Gorrecks get nowhere early!!), checked in and headed straight to our rooms (the keys all worked, there were no squatters already in our room who needed to be evicted). The day couldn’t have gone smoother…which implied the other shoe was getting ready to drop, we just had to prepare ourselves for where and when and on whom. We live in constant paranoia, based on real life experience.

The ship set sail, we went to four ports in three countries and we did exactly what we were expecting to do in all of the ports. We didn’t die during the cave snorkeling, we swam in the cenotes, we didn’t die ziplining (I set the bar for success this low so that it’s more achievable…I am NOT a woman of high standards), we didn’t die reef snorkeling, we ate some iguana and didn’t choke on a tiny bone, some of us got to see Mayan ruins or went on a river safari or swam with sharks and rays (again, didn’t die!). Declan wasn’t hobbling around on a cane like he was in Greece, we didn’t make any tour guides cry (it wasn’t directly our fault...that poor lady), nobody wandered off and got lost (see: Busch Gardens, 2019), and there were no international incidents or police reports in foreign languages. Yes, all of these things happen to us in various states or countries or international waters. We enjoyed the offerings of the cruise ship, but not too much, and there were zero nights when anyone had to search for a missing teenager for hours, fearing the worst. There were also no “EMERGENCY!” texts revolving around a toilet issue that ended with two repairmen, dressed in hazmat suits and rubber boots, replacing the toilet pipes in our bathroom (trust me when I say: this is the PG, for-public version). We made it back to Florida, where no major hurricane was waiting for us (yeah, I’m talking to you, Ian!), we caught up with my delightful nephew and his fiancée there, and made it back to CT, all without issue. I bought travel insurance, and didn’t even have to use it…what a waste!! Is this how normal people go through life???

The trip wasn’t completely uneventful…I did get bitten in the eyebrow by a monkey, but I’d signed a waiver that included language like “Animals are unpredictable and interactions can result in bodily harm or death,” so that’s on me. And in the first five minutes of the first tour we went on, my sandal strap broke and the sandal kept flying off my foot for the rest of the day. This obviously wasn’t a major incident and proved to be entertainment for the family. Liam packed insanely lightly and had clothes for about three days so there was constant handwashing occurring. And one of us (who’d prefer anonymity) got a case of Montezuma’s Revenge that began once we were home and lasted a very long time. But I’m not complaining….I think these are the mishaps that normal families have.

Ironically, even though it was a great vacation, the end result is the same….with threats and promises that we’re never going on vacation again. And this time, I mean it. Now that I know how normal families vacation, there is NO WAY I’m risking ruining this amazing experience and going back to the ‘Gorreck normal.’ I never imagined that this is how the time that nothing happened would end (please check back in a few months to see if I caved and booked another vacation....to be continued??).

Acute Promyelocytic Leukemia - a Retrospective

As I approach my one-year cancer-versary, I’ve been feeling a need to reflect on the time and to wrap up the story, to record something profound about having cancer or learning from cancer or something to make it all make sense. It feels like an unfinished chapter in the book of my life, and I need to find the appropriate words to complete this chapter.  

What is having cancer like, one might wonder. Here’s the physical aspect: Since December 8, 2023, I’ve spent 45 days in the hospital (stay #1 was 42 days, stay #2 was 3 days). I’ve made almost 100 trips back and forth, to and from Hartford Hospital (one!!! more to go). I’ve been infused with more than 100 doses of arsenic trioxide, which is one of the most toxic forms of arsenic, the toxin most commonly recognized from the 1944 film Arsenic and Old Lace. There have been two bone marrow biopsies, a pic-line placement, a mid-line placement (which I was awake for…this was an experience), and a port placement. There have been collapsing veins, blood clots, echocardiograms, ultrasounds, dozens of EKGs, dozens of lab draws, multiple transfusions of blood, platelets, precipitate and plasma (I totally appreciate a vampire’s bloodlust in a way I never did before). There was an episode of potential liver failure, which ruined the family vacation as I was hospitalized the day before we were supposed to leave for the Bahamas. There was near-baldness, mouth sores that were one of the most painful things I’ve experienced, and the port still in my chest that feels like a Mento just beneath my skin, serving as a daily reminder of the things my body has gone through.

My four doses of chemo in the earliest days arrived in a heavy black suitcase, with a skull and crossbones on the case. There was a nuclear stress test in which a tiny portion of radioactive material was injected into my bloodstream. The syringe with the nuclear material was in a heavy metal box and the nurse had to wear protective gear similar to a heavy-duty x-ray shield. The doses of arsenic also required the nurses to suit up, wear gloves and a mask, with the requirement of placing the empty infusion bag – after the arsenic flowed into my body for an hour each visit - in a special garbage can, also with a skull and bones on it. I’m reminded of my cure’s toxicity every day. Who knew that arsenic, a naturally occurring poison that is also used in pesticides, herbicides and insecticides, just so happens to be the “miracle cure” for exactly one type of cancer?

What is it like, mentally and emotionally, to have cancer? I was devastated to receive the news at a walk-in clinic on a Friday night in December and, in hindsight, I think I went into shock, where I remained for several months. I was afraid sometimes but, most of the time, I thought I’d be okay. I was in the ICU for 11 days and I honestly don’t remember a lot of that time. Mike’s, the kids’, and my siblings’ faces revealed to me their fears. While I did feel awful, I don’t think I realized how sick I really was until about a month or more into my hospital stay. On a particular visit from the oncologist as my labs started to reveal that I had “turned a corner,” she told me how much sleep she’d lost over me and my case and how, based on better lab showings, she was finally able to relax a little.

After I got out of the hospital, I was just exhausted – physically spent from all my body (and mind) had endured the previous six weeks. I took A LOT of naps and largely tried to proceed as normal. I went to the kids’ sports games, I worked from home part-time and eventually went back to the office part-time in my off cycles of treatment. I planned a Canadian vacation (during which our car was stolen…I’ve never been known for my luck). I painted a couple rooms in the house, did some yardwork. Get cancer and carry on…that was my motto. During the recovery, I also remembered how to feel again.

This part is all a little more complicated. Due to a variety of personal and familial traumas between 2019 and 2023, I became emotionally catatonic around 2021, completely depleted of tears and feelings. I kept on keeping on, grateful to get through each day. And so I approached cancer, matter-of-factly, the same way…this cancer business was just one more crisis to deal with, amongst my many other crises, which had been occurring sometimes consecutively and sometimes concurrently. Upon diagnosis, one of the first things I said was, “If my regular life hasn’t killed me, cancer doesn’t stand a chance.” In hindsight, I have to wonder if my “regular life” and the stress and frequent misery wasn’t a contributing cause of the cancer. Perhaps my “regular life” was, indeed, going to kill me. But my emotional paralysis was probably a blessing in that it helped me stay rational to get through CANCER. There were, of course, fleeting moments when I would think of the possibility of not being around to see my kids finish growing up…I tear up now as I type this. But, as a whole, especially after the earliest days, I was pretty sure I would be okay. I don’t necessarily think it’s mind over matter, but I also don’t think that the mind isn’t a part of the process.

I’ve decided over time that the cancer was a blessing. Those years of preceding family trauma came to a head at this exact time (whether directly or indirectly because of the cancer), and the elusive ‘breaking point’ was finally found. And when things broke, they broke dramatically. But it was this “breaking” that finally, eventually, allowed the rebuilding process to begin. I don’t know definitively if the cancer contributed to the breaking, but I do believe that the cancer played a role in the fixing and rebuilding. So I’ve chosen to be grateful to and for the cancer for being a major player in this situation. If cancer contributed to ‘the fix,’ then it was all worth it and I’d do it all over again.

My girl, Grace, is named Grace because of a woman I met at the age of 19 (she was 39), who died of cancer when I was 21 (she was 41). Gail was an amazing and funny and kind and strong woman who battled multiple cancers during the two brief years I was fortunate to know her. She was a fast friend and she took me in to her family and her life. She had a husband I adored and a 9-year-old son, for whom my heart broke. Gail lived her life – and, more importantly, her disease – with such grace, that I knew if I someday had a daughter, she would be named Grace, to honor Gail and all she taught me about humility and hope and strength and grace. I still choke up, 26 years later, when I think of my beautiful friend.

Have I changed? Probably. I’m probably a little more able (on my good days) to let the small stuff go. I’m probably a little more aware of the preciousness of each day, though I’d always been conscious of the fragility of life and time and the lack thereof. I’m probably a little more inclined to not put the important things off until later, just in case there isn’t a later. I’m probably better at saying “I love you” more frequently than I did before.

I tried to follow in Gail’s footsteps and be positive throughout, be a compliant patient, and, so importantly, to have patience. I tried not to complain, which was fairly easy as I watched several of the other patients on the floor be there one day and not the next (they were not discharged; they lost their fight). Even though my situation wasn’t ideal, I tried to remind myself that there’s always something worse. I tried to set an example for my kids like Gail set for me, that it’s possible to deal with some incredibly heavy stuff while also keeping a sense of humor and being kind and not wallowing in misery. I tried. Every day, I tried. Which is all any of us can do every day, in any situation – good or otherwise. I tried to be a good person. Tried to stay positive. Tried to be grateful. Tried to live with grace. Tried to find the “good” in a crap situation. Tried...still trying...to make it all make sense.

I think that's it. This is really all I know. No matter the situation, the only way through it is through it. Keep going. Try.