we are a community. and we need to be heard

I was going to post about Blog Out Loud Ottawa (#boloottawa) but that's going to have to wait because I want to tell you all about something that's happening tomorrow.

The text reads:

"The Honourable Dr. Hedy Fry, Member of Parliament for Vancouver Centre and Federal Liberal  Health Critic, will be joined by the Canadian Breast Cancer Network to discuss the tabling of her Private Member’s Bill calling for a National Metastatic Breast Cancer Day on October 13th of each year. The Canadian Breast Cancer Network will be represented by Ms. Niya Chari, Government Relations Manager. Ms. Laurie Kingston will represent the Metastatic Breast Cancer community."

I paused for a moment at the description of my role at the table but then realized how very accurate it is. As much as I wish I didn't have metastatic breast cancer, I am very proud to consider myself part of the MBC community. I'm among some very good, smart, organized, supportive, strong advocates for change.

Metastatic Breast Cancer Awareness Day has already been designated by the US Congress and Senate. A Canadian MBC Awareness Day won't effect change on its own but it's a step in the right direction.

it's tonight!

every three months

Exactly how often should someone living with metastatic breast cancer undergo the tests that monitor our health?

These CT scans, ultrasounds and MRIs are inevitably nerve-wracking, expensive (even if we don't pay for them out of pocket) and sometimes come with a risk of cancer inherent in the test itself. Cancer patients waiting for tests results refer to being in a state of "scanxiety." 

It's impossible to describe what it feels like to wait for test results, unless you've been there.

And those of us with metastatic breast cancer go through it over and over again. It's brutal.

When you live with metastatic cancer, one of your greatest challenges is balancing potentially life-saving interventions with the quality of the life you're keen on saving. It's important to check often enough that you catch any change quickly but not so often that you spend your entire life waiting for tests, undergoing tests and then waiting for results. 

Because that can be paralyzing.

I was speaking to a friend last week who was considering delaying scheduled scans by a few weeks. She said that it  had been implied that she wasn't fighting the way she once had. This made me furious on her behalf, as I can completely understand her need for a period of sanity, when cancer isn't always at top of mind.

In my case, I have the advantage of being in remission and the disadvantage of having an un-protected brain. I know it could just be a matter of time until the next brain tumour. I want to be able to catch it quickly. I also want to stop living my life from scan to scan.

I currently have brain MRIs every three months, at the suggestion of my surgeon. My oncologist would like me to wait until I'm symptomatic but I just can't do that. I have symptoms all the time. Symptoms of brain tumours include headaches, irritability, nausea and clumsiness. Who doesn't feel any of those things from time to time? 

My last scan was April 10. On April 14 my lovely GP called me and opened with the line, "Want to hear the good news?" 

All is well and I can wait another three months until I go through all of this again. 

Or maybe I'll let it stretch to four.

out loud

I have some good but also personally nerve-wracking news. I'm going to be reading next week at Blog Out Loud. That means I'm going to be reading a post I wrote on this blog OUT LOUD. In front of people.

What was I thinking?

Actually, I am very proud of myself for submitting a post to this annual event and prouder still for having been chosen (although this pride is mixed liberally with "why me?"). Blog Out Loud is organized by the fabulous Lynn Jatania and this year the event will be part of Ottawa Writers Festival. So after next Tuesday, I get to say that I've read at Writers Fest. How cool is that?

Here are the details:

What: 11 bloggers read their favourite post of the past year

Who: Anyone who likes to hear good stories or see amazing images is invited to attend

When: April 29, 2014, 6:30 p.m. SHARP
Where: Knox Presbyterian Church, 120 Lisgar Street, Ottawa.

There is no charge to attend.

I'd love to tell you which post I'll be reading but I've been asked to make it a surprise. You'll have to come to Blog Out Loud to find out.

that could have been me

Last week, I was very moved by an interview on CBC Radio with Newfoundland actor-comedian Andy Jones and his wife Mary-Lynn Bernard on the radio about the death of their son, Louis who "passed away by his own hand after a lengthy and brave battle with mental illness...age 28 years." (from Louis' obituary)

Despite pain that was practically palpable, Ms. Bernard and Mr. Jones have been doing media interviews across the country to shed light on mental illness and the very high toll takes on those affected and their loved ones. I was very, very moved by their story, and the brave decision they have made to share it. 

It brought back a very intense memory, part of my own ongoing struggle with depression and anxiety This is just one of my stories:

I remember crawling under the kitchen table in the house we were renting, turning to face the wall and pulling my knees to my chest. I wanted to make myself as small as possible. To disappear. To cease to exist.

I felt defeated and ashamed. I was a failure. 

After many, many months of pretending, hurting, numbing, self-disgust, suicidal fantasies and giving up on getting better, I had accepted a prescription for anti-depressants.

I can acutely recall the self-loathing I felt as I held the prescription bottle in my hand. I was disgusted that I was ill. Disgusted with the weakness of my will. Disgusted that I hadn't been able to just get better on my own.

Depression, as I experienced it, felt like a heavy weight on my chest and limbs. I could not fall asleep at night and then slept for most of the day. When I did get up, eating and dressing would exhaust me and I would sit in front of the television, hair and teeth unbrushed, flipping the channels aimlessly, not really watching. When I did have to leave the house on my own, I wanted nothing more than to be invisible. 

This lasted for months. I was 25 years old.

This was not my first episode of depression and anxiety (I started to wrestle with this in my teens) but it was the longest. And it was the first that did not seem to go away on its own. And so, in the end, I took the prescription. It took a few weeks and a change of meds (the first drug seemed to do nothing for me) and one day, as I was out with the dog, I realized that the fog had lifted. 

I wasn't euphoric. I didn't feel like a different person. I just felt lighter. And interested in the world around me. I felt better. I had hope. 

I'd like to say that was the day I stopped blaming myself for my illness but it wasn't. More than once over the next few years, I took myself off the medication that helps me stay healthy because I was ashamed to be taking it. I didn't know then that abrupt withdrawal can be very dangerous. One time, I actually got off a plane at a stop-over and went to a friend's house because I was so overwhelmed with the desire to harm myself. It took me years to realize that for me, the drugs help and there is no shame in taking them.

This is not to say that everyone dealing with depression needs medication (they don't). Or that everyone needs to stay on it (they don't) but I do, along with talk therapy, exercise, good nutrition and the support of the people I love. I have to stay vigilant and watch for the signs that I need to slow down and take care of myself.

It's only in the last couple of years that I've started to talk about my depression. When I worked, it was my deep, dark secret - onne I realize now I very likely shared with several of my co-workers. There are so many of us who live with mental illness and never talk about it.

My point in sharing all this is to let go of a bit of the shame and chip away a little at the stigma. Andy Jones said in his interview that "compared to people who do heart surgery, the mental health field is still in the 17th century."

Enough already. Mental illness runs in my family. I'm trying to teach my kids to take care of themselves, watch for the signs, seek help and to never be ashamed of who they are.

And we need to treat mental illnesses like any other. We need prevention, treatment and cure. 

Additional reading (otherwise known as some of my very favourite posts from writers who live with anxiety and depression):

"Depression Lies" by Wil Wheaton.

"Today and forever" by Jenny Lawson (The Bloggess).

"Adventures in Depression" and "Depression Part Two" by Allie Brosh (of Hyperbole and a Half)

"Depression. There. I said it." by Rachael Herron.


Update: This post was featured by BlogHer on April 4th.

help keep the treatments coming

An open letter to everyone who reads this blog:

Did you know that, in Ontario, where I live, public health care pays for drugs administered in the hospital but not (most of the time) for those that are administered orally or at home? I've been extremely fortunate that most of my drugs were covered by OHIP and those few that weren't (mostly for mitigating side effects) were covered by my private insurance.

My friend Sue hasn't been that lucky. The chemotherapy drugs she needs for her lymphoma are best administered at home. As Sue points out, this is less expensive (the overhead costs are low and the possibility of her catching something that would land her in hospital is much lower) but she has been forced to pay for this life-saving treatment herself.

Sue is, without exaggeration, one of the kindest most generous people I have ever known. For many years (I first met her in 1996), she worked in a local pet supply place, where she provided advice and support to countless people and their pets. She seemed to remember every person and animal she met, whether on the street, in the dog park or at the store. She has personally rescued more than 500 dogs but knows how to help without passing judgement. I've never met anyone like her.

Not long ago, the store she worked for was sold to a chain and the new owners decided to lay off the senior staff, in favour of less-experienced minimum wages workers. On Sue's last day, hundreds streamed through to deliver presents, wish her well and give her hugs. She is a very loved part of our community.

When Sue was diagnosed with cancer, she was still without the benefits she lost when she was laid off. There are programs that help with the costs of drugs but they required that she must first drain her bank account of the money she'd received as severance pay and an inheritance from her mother, who passed away recently. So far, she has spent $50,000 of her own money.

She will soon have burned through all her savings and her inheritance. She will qualify for provincial support but will not have money to pay her rent and continue treatment during the waiting period. Will you help us close that gap? An online fundraiser has been set up to "keep the cancer treatments coming." Even if you can't help with a donation, please spread the word. I'm sure that we can reach the fundraising goal of $5000.00.

Sue's story could have been mine. This could happen to someone you know and love. We need to change this arbitrary line drawn by OHIP. But in the short term, let's help Sue, who has given so much help to so many people.

Photo courtesy Sue Breen.

reluctantly gluten free

Last fall, I got tired of feeling crummy all the time. I'm sure the fatigue and the gastrointestinal issues were exacerbated by the round of antibiotics I'd had to go on after my surgery but I just wasn't getting better. I needed to give myself a chance to heal.

In the spring, a cousin and her spouse had been on the Brown Rice Diet. Laura also happens to be a naturopathic doctor, so I had asked her about it at the time and got her to send me the info. It's not a diet in the weight loss sense of the word but more of an elimination of all potential allergens. For three weeks, the only grain I ate was brown rice. I ate chicken, fish and a bit of lamb but no other red meat and no shellfish. Alcohol, dairy, sugar and all processed food were also verboten - but I could eat as much of anything as I wanted.

At the end of the first week, I was ready to chew off a limb. Despite consuming lots of food, I was hungry and irritable. I almost gave up. Instead, I increased my protein intake and two days later I felt flat out amazing. I had tons of energy, no cravings at all (I sat in front of a table full of wine, chocolate and cheese at book club and sipped sparkling water, not minding at all). I lost 10lbs, which I'm told was water weight, as I let go of sugar induced inflammation.

At the end of three weeks, I reintroduced grains, like quinoa that don't contain gluten. I was fine.

I introduced bread and got sick. My son was also ill, so I decided it might be a coincidence, and that I should take gluten out of my diet and reintroduce it later.

I had no reaction when I reintroduced yogurt. Or cheese. I re-introduced gluten and got sick again.

Over the holidays (Chanukah, Christmas, New Year's...) I ate pretty much whatever I wanted. I felt sluggish, bloated and irritable and by the new year, was ready to eliminate gluten again.

After a couple of weeks, I didn't feel fantastic but I didn't feel terrible. Mostly, I was irritated that I couldn't eat gluten. I missed Tim's home-made bread. I missed the chocolate cookies from the Wild Oat. I missed beer. I started to wonder if there was a point to all the deprivation.

Then came Tim's birthday and I decided to make Too Much Chocolate Cake. And, after three weeks without gluten, I had a giant slice. Then I had another one the next day. And the day after that, I was  a mess. My distress was not so much gastrointestinal as emotional. I was irritable angry furious. I was depressed. I was in despair. It was awful. And then, suddenly, it was over. I felt fine again.

So the gluten is gone for good (Tim says that the scientist in him would love to give me a slice of chocolate cake, just to see what happens but, out of self-preservation, he thinks that would be a bad idea).

I'm still figuring out what it means to be gluten free. Sometimes, I'm surprised by how easy it is. Other times, I feel frustrated that it feels complicated.

I don't feel amazing.. To do that, I guess I'd have to cut out the alcohol, sugar and processed stuff. Maybe that's next but for now, I'll just try and keep it to a minimum.

the snake

Photo: Tiwago. Creative Commons. Some rights reserved. 

I was talking to a psychologist about anxiety a couple of weeks ago and he used a metaphor that I found to be very helpful in thinking it all through.

"Are you afraid of snakes?" he asked.

"No."

"OK. So imagine that I'm deathly afraid of snakes and one falls through the ceiling, as we sit here. What am I most likely to do?"

"Run out of the room."

"And what's likely to happen to the level of my anxiety, once I'm on the other side of the door?"

"It will go down."

"But next time I come across a snake, what will happen to my anxiety?"

"It will spike again."

"So imagine that you are somewhat of a snake expert. What if you reassured me that this particular snake was harmless? What if I stayed in the room and you showed me that it's just a harmless garter snake and that nothing bad happens when we stay near it. What happens to my anxiety then?"

"It would go down a little."

"And the next time, I come across a snake?"

"You'd still feel anxious but perhaps not as much."

"Exactly. It's not comfortable to work through anxiety but that's exactly what makes it lessen. And hopefully, in confronting your fear, you could eventually make it disappear. Or at least diminish to the point that it doesn't affect your ability to function."

This metaphor really, really resonated with me. I told my own therapist about it and she really liked it too. It's become a short form for us. I will tell her about something that scares me or that I'm hesitant to do and she will ask, "What's the snake in that story?"

"I'm afraid that it won't be good enough."

"I don't want to feel guilty or ashamed."

"I worry that I am uninteresting."

"I'm afraid that people won't like me."

It's been very helpful. And on my own, when I feel unreasonably anxious about doing something, I imagine the snake and how it really is not as bad as it seems.

Unless it's a rattlesnake and then all bets are off. What if the thing that scares you really is as bad as your worst fears? What if it's possible or even likely to happen?

That's the part I'm still trying to figure out.

Photo: Brent Myers Creative Commons. Some rights reserved. 

allergies

There's been much discussion in recent years of the potential of using small amounts of allergens to help allergic kids develop tolerance and overcome allergies. Most recently, a study was published in The Lancet and featured in the news around the world.

These stories are very hopeful and I bet there is more good news on this front to come. However, as much as I would wish it to be the case, a handful of promising studies don't mean that my peanut allergic son will be giving up his auto-injector.

To the contrary, Daniel just concluded participation in a year long study. For a year, he wore a peanut protein patch on his back every day, removing one patch only to place another in a different spot. And for a a year, he wore a shirt all the time, even when swimming, because he got tired of explaining the loonie-sized welts on his back (this is how we knew he wasn't in the control group).

And when the trial drew to an end, he had the same anaphylactic reaction that he had when he'd first qualified for the trial (they gave him tiny amounts of peanut protein while he was hooked up to IV antihistamine). He actually reacted more quickly after a year of exposure. We have since learned that of the dozen or so kids that have finished the Canadian trial so far, half have improved, while the rest have not.

We saw the allergist a couple of days ago and he theorized that the most allergic subjects would be the least responsive to this kind of treatment. What's more, he was not surprised that Daniel is now allergic to chick peas, peas and probably other legumes. They are "cross-allergenic" with peanuts and this new allergy could well be related to the year of peanut exposure.

He's also added birch and elm (which may just be random, I don't know enough to say) to allergies to maple, all nuts, peanuts and cats.

The one bit of good news we got was that Daniel has outgrown his allergy to dogs. Since the notion of "hypo-allergenic" dogs was thoroughly dismissed by this same allergist a few years ago, we've felt a bit guilty about our dog's presence in the house and have tried to keep her out of his room. Now we don't have to.

Or, as Daniel says, "Now we can have five dogs."

That's my boy.

Update: Dreamfilm Productions told me in the comments that they have a documentary airing on The Nature of Things on February 27. It looks fascinating. I definitely plan to watch.

 

winter canadiana

That's frozen steam. My 10 year old wanted the photo because he thinks it's awesome.

Me: "Why is there a hockey stick in our bedroom."

Tim: "I was using it to knock down the icicles."

Me: "Oh. That makes perfect sense."

Lucy truly doesn't mind it.

6 more weeks, eh?

it's getting to me

The days are short and dark. It's cold and icy. And we've all been sick for weeks. I'm finding winter hard this year.

Yet I feel healthier today than I have in weeks. I need to get outside in daylight hours. I need to get moving.

I'm trying to develop a more positive attitude towards winter. Maybe I'll even grab my skates and go check out the canal. It's time to embrace winter.

Or maybe I should join a gym. Read a good book. Watch Netflix while I knit.

Or bury my head under the covers until it's over.

What do you do to cope with winter?

Update:

of high tech and low humour

I just learned that my most recent brain MRI is clear. I'm feeling greatly relieved. It's not that I have any symptoms (although who doesn't get headaches?) but the long wait for results (10 days, when it usually takes less than a week) had me worried.

And then there's the fact that Herceptin doesn't cross the brain blood barrier. 

But for now, all is well and I can worry a little less for another three months.

The nurse did ask me if I have had a sinus infection. She said they mentioned it in the MRI report. That's some pretty high tech diagnostics.

Also, Tim wants me to make sure and include his joke: "They scanned your brain and they didn't find anything."

i want more

We've all been sick, these last couple of weeks. It seems that as soon as one virus leaves, another sweeps through. Or perhaps it's all the same bug. At the moment, I have a sinus infection that used to be a cold and my 10 year old has a fever that used to be an ear infection. We've been through a lot of facial tissue (my father worked for a subsidiary of Scott when I was a child. I try hard not to call them Kleenex).

I think that ill health is likely why the only resolution I've come up with is to check all our pockets before loading the washing machine. Raging head colds don't lend themselves to introspection.

But I have been thinking a lot about the kind of life I'd like to be leading and of the kind of change that's within my control. What it comes down to is that I want more. Not more stuff or more obligation, pressure, failure or shame. I want more love, more play, more laughter, music and creativity.

The tricky part is getting there. There are things I need to do to have more of what's good but I have to make sure I don't fall prey to what's bad. Exercise is great for me but instead of beating myself up for not racking up the minutes I've set as an arbitrary goal, I can go for a walk. Writing feeds my soul. Except when I'm stuck. Then, I can pick up my journal. Or my knitting. And if I get sucked down the rabbit hole that is the internet, well that's OK too. I can always do things differently tomorrow.

I think I'm trying to say that there is a corrollary to "I want more" and that's "Be nice to yourself." So I guess those are my resolutions for 2014. It hope it still makes sense when the cold dope wears off.




It was only after I'd drafted this post that I remembered that Lynn Miles said it before me and best.

This song is from the album "Downpour." I've bought it 5 times so far and you should too.

in others words

I have pre-empted my scheduled blog post because the internet kind of exploded last night and it spilled over into today. The whole thing made me so emotional as to be almost inarticulate with rage. Luckily, there have been several good pieces published today that make my words unnecessary.

Sorry for being so cryptic. Just click through. You'll understand.

"On Live-Tweeting One's Suffering" (Megan Barber in The Atlantic)

"Bill and Emma Keller’s bizarre pieces about cancer patient Lisa Adams" (Daniel D'Addario, Salon)
"I have cancer. And I'll write about it as much as I fucking want." (Bob LeDrew, Medium)

best gingerbread house ever

I'm feeling like it's time to start blogging again but as I come out of the post-holiday post-headcold (and it was a doozy) fog, I'm finding that I'm not quite ready to jump into the blogging pond.

Instead, I'll dip my toe in and share this with you. I do think it's the best gingerbread house I have ever seen.

Those are heads growing out of the roof. My 10 year old has the best imagination. Or perhaps the most twisted. Either way, I love it.

books are my friends

I have struggled with insomnia occasionally in my adult years and much more frequently since my first cancer diagnosis. I don't know if it's my age, the years of chemotherapy and side effects, my old bed or things that go bump in the night but I very often wake up between 3:00 and 4:00 and can't get back to sleep, no matter how much I toss and turn.

I've learned not to look at my phone or turn on my computer. There is something about the back-lit screens that jolt me further awake, making it impossible to get back to sleep before dawn. And lying in bed, trying to will myself back to sleep just adds to my frustration.

I've started to keep a book-light on top of whatever novel I'm currently reading by the side of my bed. When I sense that sleep is temporarily hopeless, I read until I feel that it's worth it to take another crack at sleeping. Sometimes this is a couple of chapters. Sometimes it's a couple of hundred pages.

Reading is so soothing. It distracts me from worries of inadequate sleep and doesn't let me indulge the fear and anxiety that thrives in the middle of the night. And when I read at night, I feel none of the guilt that can accompany daytime reading that voice that says I really ought to be doing something more productive.

Last night, I read "Saints of the Shadow Bible" by Ian Rankin. I started it before bed last night. I'm now on page 150. I know it would be better to be sleeping more. I've cut out afternoon caffeine. We're trying to figure out how to afford a new bed, after 17 years.

I could write a book on what to do to cut down on insomnia. For now, though, I'll just appreciate the joy of reading one.

learning to breathe

Last year, when I was diagnosed with a brain tumour and went through surgery, I was fine.

I mean, the surgery was brutal and recovery was excruciating but emotionally, I was mostly OK.

A year later, except for the back of my head (which is a little bit sensitive), I'm fine physically but the emotional part has become more of a challenge. In the last few months, it's become clear to me that I'm only going to work through it all with a little outside help.

So, I'm seeing a therapist. I know it's the right thing to do and I like and instinctively trust the woman I'm working with but it's not easy at all. 

We've talked about how all my life, I've been pretty good at getting along by stuffing a lot of my fear and anger into an emotional closet. This has, for the most part, been a remarkable coping mechanism. However, no door is completely effective at shutting out the bad stuff and, when it leaks out through the cracks, it manifests itself in ways that can take a very large toll on the body and spirit. At this point in my life, my emotional closet is so full of anger and fear that the door is in danger of bursting wide open. 

I'm afraid of losing control.

I'm embarrassed and ashamed that some of it is so ugly.

I'm scared of taking my darkest thoughts and holding them up to the light.

But I think it needs to happen.

I've also been thinking a lot about how I live most of my life in my head, to the point that I'm really quite disconnected from my own body. At my very first session with my new therapist, she pointed out that when I talk about my fear of another tumour or about certain things from my past, I hyperventilate. And I don't even notice.

She spent most of the second session interrupting me and telling me to take deep breaths, hold them and then exhale slowly. She asked me how I was feeling and I said "Impatient."

What I thought was "I'm paying all this money per hour, so I can sit here and breathe? I can do that at home."

Except that I don't. So she's given me homework. I have to spend two minutes a day, twice a day concentrating on my breathing (we started with four minutes but it felt like an eternity).

In.

Out.

Just taking in oxygen. It's so basic. Yet here I am, 46 years old and learning to breathe.

remembering

photo: Benoit Aubry, Ottawa (Wikimedia Commons)

Across Canada today, people are attending events, watching ceremonies and wearing poppies in remembrance of those who lost their lives and lived through war around the world.

It's a time of gratitude for willing sacrifice and for melancholy remembrance of all that has been lost.

This year, there was a fair bit of controversy over those who would replace the traditional red poppies with white, to symbolize a commitment to peace. In my view, there has been far too much hyperbole on both sides of the issue. Those who advocate change, accuse those who wear red as glorifying war. Those who love the traditional red poppy have called the white "disrespectful rubbish" and those who advocate for them "morons."

Personally, I think it matters little what colour poppy you wear.

So many young men and women have given their lives in Canada's military. So many more have come home grievously injured in ways that are visible and some that are not. We should remember their sacrifice and work to make sure that medical and psychological services are in place for those who return. Providing a decent pension and access to education and employment is a genuine way to thank a soldier for his or her service.

Some who fought in Canada's "Great Wars" were children who lied (while the military recruiters turned a blind eye) so they could fight for their country and so that they could be employed. All over the world, there are child soldiers being recruited through enticements and threats. On Remembrance Day, I think of all the young people who's future is eradicated or greatly compromised because of the scourge of war.

Thousands of men and women have suffered at the hands of there own brothers and sisters in the military. Since the WW1 and before, soldiers have died because of bad decisions at the top or at the political whim of government. Many have been sexually assaulted, only to face silence and retribution if they have spoken out. The military has been slow to address violence and mental illness within its own ranks. We must take a moment to remember those who have suffered and to celebrate those brave soldiers who've had the courage to speak out and to advocate for change.

You don't have to believe that every battle or even every war was just in order to be grateful. It takes nothing away from veterans to say that we need to do more for those who have come home. It's not disrespectful to remember war while calling for peace. And I know there are many veterans who would agree with me.

"let's hear it for November!"

I get really (and somewhat irrationally) nervous at this time of year. 

I found the lump in my breast on December 2, 2005.

I was diagnosed with liver metastasis on November 24, 2006.

And last November, was all about trying to decide what to do with my brain tumour. I had surgery on November 27.

This is not my favourite time of year.

But Katherine O'Brien left a comment in yesterday's post and linked to this new video that she made. One very good reason to embrace November is that it's no longer Pinktober!

Hallowe'en re-cap

A few days before Hallowe'en, parents received an email stating that, while dressing up on October 31st was encouraged, costumes could not include "weapons or blood." This was Daniel's quick solution.

Apparently, everyone at the school was fine.

Every Hallowe'en at our house begins with carving.

Our pumpkin wore a knight's helmet, to complement the evening's costume.

Don't let the serious face fool you. He was thrilled.

And I got to bemoan the fact that I had my child's "blood on my hands."

Even Lucy got in on the fun, albeit reluctantly.

And the biggest news of all?