The Letter

Amy, Carla's friend and colleague from Valley View shared some excerpts from the letter from Carla's class moms.  These moms created a quilt with the help of Carla's students and friends.  They presented this quilt to her in February of 2012.


"[A quilt] is literally warm and comforting.  It's made of a collection of little patches of love from a variety of people.  It's a connection to you from people who you have touched and changed.  People who love you in their own way, and want you to know it, to feel it, to find comfort in it.

For each child we sat quietly, and asked them about you.  We asked each of them to think of you and tell us what they wanted on their square.  They each chose the color of their square, and the designs, some stars, some hearts, some trucks.  Louise wanted to give you a bouquet of flowers, and Gavin wanted to say, 'I love you Ms. Impalli.'  I was asked, 'How can I draw a hug for Ms. Impalli?' and 'If I kiss the square, will she be able to feel it?'  So pure and warm those squares are!  They understood that you don't feel well and this thing that they have done will help you feel better.

[From your friends,] I received an outpouring of love and appreciation, who each made you a square.  These are people who know you and miss you and love you so completely.  Because of you, I have hugged and talked and cried with these friends of yours.  Although we have not known each other before this project, we've connected to each other on a completely human level, far beyond the trivial matters.  We are now connected because of you, just like the squares on your quilt.

So Carla, please accept our love and warmth and kindness, as it is stitched into all the parts of your quilt.  Thank you for being our friend and for being a loving, warm and patient guide to our children and ourselves."

Robin

Robin, Carla's friend since high school wrote this remembrance of Carla for her memorial service.

When faced with the task of reading through Carla's blog and choosing just a handful of her entries to read today, it seemed impossible-she's there speaking to us in every entry, each one a reminder of how hilarious and strong she was, how much she went through, every new piece of terrible news she received, every chemo and radiation treatment, every horrible pin prick, port insertion and stupid side effect.

We all know how hard Carla fought, every single moment of every day-that's why she entitled her blog "F*ck Cancer". 

"My mission is to kick cancer's ass (if it has one, let's assume it does).  Since I have yet to go to therapy, I figured I could talk to the inter web.  I can only hope that my witty sarcasm will translate....well, who cares, I'm just her to f*ck cancer."

My hope is that through these chosen entries we can hear Carla's voice and her laughter as she's relaying these stories to us, and not focus on the fact that she died from cancer or think that cancer beat her, but that while she was alive she really did say Fuck You Cancer!  I'm going to live my life to the fullest--no matter what you throw at me.  Only Carla could make cancer this funny.

Robin chose the entries : Narcotics and Me and Happy Fuckin' New Year!!!!!
(written July 29, 2010 and January 2, 2011 respectively)

My Best Friend

Ruth's remembrance of her best friend, Carla.

It was friends at first sight when I met Carla at freshman orientation.  Who knew that a random meeting would lead to such a meaningful friendship?  We had an unspoken connection from the start.

Carla and I had a lot in common right from the start.  Peanut butter was part of our daily diet, along with trash magazines and Lifetime movies.  As our friendship grew, Puma sneakers became a must have and singing obnoxiously in the car was a constant activity.  We even fulfilled our adventurous side by traveling to South Africa together.  Carla was the kind of friend where you could have a serious conversation about school politics one minute and the next minute have a "serious" conversation about the latest People magazine.  She made you want to be around her.

We also shared a love of children.  Carla had a beautiful and unique way of connecting with and teaching children.  More recently, we shared a love for my son Graham, her godson.  Before he was born I told her she was his second mom.  And immediately after his birth, she was the person I called after my Mom ad Dad.  Carla and Graham had their own magical connection.  It was beautiful to watch.  Graham, no matter how cranky he was (and boy was he cranky the first five months) gave Carla, the baby whisperer, smiles and hugs each and every time he saw her.  It made my heart smile seeing them together.

Carla mentioned to me that she was thinking of getting a hummingbird tattoo, which is fitting because the hummingbird's continuous wing beats make the symbol for infinity.  Carla's influence on all of us will continue forever.

Ruth then read: The Very Hungry Caterpiller by Eric Carle

A special thank you to Ruth and her family for all their love, support and remembrance.

Posted by Nick and Cathy

"99 reasons", but a Gorilla ain't one!

The following is an excerpt from the eulogy given by Carla's Uncle TJ on June 12, 2012 at her "Celebration of Life" memorial service.


[Now for me personally], I will always treasure the hug and kiss that Carla always gave whether in greeting or departure.  And the feeling of her so warm, soft, clear skin against my cheek.  In the past year I would focus on the feel so that I could store it and keep it alive somewhere deep within.  When she got the tattoo, "Don't delay the happy" on her forearm it allowed me a chance to feel that smooth soft of her arm.  But I have on problem with that quote though.  I embrace the concept of not delaying the happy, but I wish we knew how to fill the empty.  Shortly after it was discovered that the cancer had moved to the lining of the brain, Carla would embrace and hug you a little longer and a little closer.  And I could linger and take in the feeling of that warm soft, clear skin.  You would think that the lingering hug was because she was frightened of what was to come but I believe it was something else.  This hug wasn't for her, it was for us.  It was her way of saying, "I'm so sorry for you and what you must be going through."

On Carla's last visit to my home, prior to her visiting her students for the last time, we talked and laughed as usual but I asked her "how are you dealing with everything."  She said there was a 900 pound gorilla intruding on her life.  I thought she might want to talk openly about it but my own fear made me stop.  I regret that but at the same time I don't really feel Carla wanted to introduce the gorilla into our lives, not yet at least.

So I would like to conclude this eulogy with how that conversation, with Carla, about the gorilla, would have gone.

"Is the gorilla here Carla?"
"Oh yeah, big time."
"What's his name?"
"You know his name, don't shit me."  "And what makes you think it's a him?"
"Well describe gorilla then."
"Well, it has this Grandma Frances' head of hair.  It's da bomb."
"It has Aunt Mary's cheekbones, and Aunt Dee's laugh."
"Oh, and it's a Giant fan." 
"How do you know that?"
"Can't you see his Giant tee shirt?  Like the one Grandpa Scollan wore."
"OK" "Anything else?"
"Not really, but it's weird.  As big as this freak is I'm not afraid.  There's something familiar about gorilla, but I just wish someone else could see it."

So that's my imaginary conversation with Carla about the gorilla that she wrote about in her last blog.  And I need to believe that on a night of torrential sheets of rain, on Russell Road, gorilla moved from the corner of the room where he sat as guardian over Carla and moved to her bed where he spooned in close to Carla to provide shelter from the storm.  And like Pooh Bear and Piglet in "The House of Pooh Bear", Carla said,

"Gorilla?"
"Yes Carla"
"Nothing Gorilla," she said as she took his hand.
"I just want to be sure of you."

And when my gorilla arrives one day, I can now rest assured that when I embrace that gorilla, I will feel that warm, soft, clear skin against my cheek once again.  

Topics to discuss while there is a 900lb gorilla in the room

My internet sources tell me that the heaviest gorilla is between 500 and 600 lbs.  And since the internet is always accurate, my gorilla will just be an exception to the rule. I am pretty certain there is no cap on the weight of my gorilla.

Since the 'new normal' in my house involves this gorilla, conversations can lack in certain ways.  Now that I am living with my parents, again for the third time, how charming, there is a special new dynamic we have to navigate.

There are several topics always up for discussion, whether they should be discussed, want to be heard, want to be spoken about or beaten like a dead horse.

Topics of choice:

• Who has allergies?  Oh we all have allergies.  We can carry on about benadryl, how we sleep, what comes out of our noses, the amount of pollen in the air, how the allergy medicine is actually not working but we are taking it anyway, and how the medicine really makes us feel.
• These allergies lead us nicely into the topic of the weather.  The weather is discussed on a daily basis SEVERAL times.  Actually, MULTIPLE times a day.  Just in case someone isn't aware of what the weather is outside at the current time, someone in the house, will be able to tell you.  The other day, my mom mentioned that it was misty 5 times in 45 minutes!
• The wind.  The wind is constantly spoken about.  New Jersey is very windy.  It appears to be windy all the time.    

         This link can be very helpful to track the windy state of New Jersey. 
         http://hint.fm/wind/

• Sleep.  Everybody's lack of sleep is discussed in the morning.  I don't know why any of us even bother. Sleeping that is.
• The cats.  And thank god for the cats! If the two cats weren't around constantly meowing for food in the kitchen, there literally would be silence at all times.  We will always have the cats to talk about.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that if the cats weren't around begging for food, we would all be faceplanted in our dinner dishes because of sheer boredom.  I mean we actually have conversations with the cats......"Oh, here's Lola."  "She wants food." "No, you can't have any food Lola." "And it's not even chicken."  "Here comes Daniel."  "Oh, oh, stop fighting!"  "Go away." "She'll eat anything.""What are you giving her?" "Daniel, won't eat that." "Just watch." 

It is like constantly playing the card game Kings and always choosing the categories card, except these are the only categories to choose from.  Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Loaded Baked Potato

Warning: This post is going to be LOADED.  More loaded than a loaded baked potato. 

First of all, the loaded potato. I want one right now. Sounds so gooooood!  I am currently taking a steroid, which means I have "roid" rage, I am completely ravenous, I eat EVERYTHING, I think about food ALL THE TIME, I have an actual steroid baby in my belly, I watch only TV shows about food, I eat about every 2 hours, and I even eat meat. I don't eat meat.  I mean, I watch Man vs. Food on a daily basis. I watch that guy, who should be dead the way he eats, eat 6 lb hamburgers, 5 lb grilled cheeses, which ultimately causes a bit of a gag reflex at first, but then since I'm on roids....I could totally eat that shit!!  And win!   It is insannnnnnnnn.  I may even have to start using cocoa butter for stretch marks on this steroid baby.

On the flip side of 'gaining' this obsession with food, I have lost something very important to me. Something that I have grown to love, accept and embrace with pride.  I have lost........my double wide booty.  Gone. Flat. Non-exsistent.  No where to be seen. I will even venture to say saggy:(  It's like that True Life episode where people lose a shit ton of weight and have all that saggy excess skin! My sister would tell me to do but lifts, or lunges, or perhaps, take a walk.  If I keep talking about it I actually might start crying.  I guess my philosophy about cancer has always been to make it sexy because it's not, and what else do you have? But now that I literally have no control over my body, my face is getting fatter as I type this from the steroid and I am convinced it makes your feet fat too, I am not bringing sexy back, yet.

On February 3rd, I landed myself in the hospital, again.  True to form, just like the first time, it was......a situation.  I woke up the night before in excruciating pain.  It was my knee. My knee? I was up every 2 hours popping liquid morphine, trying to just pass out.  Finally, had to call my mom at 5:30am, or else I would have lost my brain. She came over, not that she could do anything, but I guess I did fall asleep at some point.  Called the doctor and went to the office.  Naturally, when I got there I had to vomit.  And we all know my specific toileting vomiting rule. In the toilet is the only way to go, good thing my mom was 30 seconds too late with the little chemo vomit bag.  I was sent for an x-ray and then had to go back up to the doctor to answer the inevitable question, should I be admitted to the hospital or go home?  The x-ray came back clean, but I gave in and opted for the hospital to relieve the pain.  Whisked away in a wheelchair by an old shaky totally trustworthy volunteer, off we finally go to the old oncology floor, 3AB.

I hop in bed and wait FOREVER for the nurses to come in and check me in, meanwhile vomiting again, this time in the little chemo vomit bag, worst. Where is the IV morphine???????  Oh, there it issssssssssssssssssssssss...................
Now I can be driven, in my bed, down to cat scan for a cat scan of my leg. Again, that comes back clean. And so begins the next 5 days of hellllllllllllllllllll.  These days consisted of, being moved to a private room at some point for low white blood cells (score!), constant never-ending nausea and vomiting, while being pumped with 3 different kinds of anti-nausea medicine, which were clearly not working, and attempting to eat some foods, I think. 

At the end of my stay, I was given my first dose of a new chemo called CPT 11.  Side effects include: hair loss (so far I've been holding on to it!, especially since my mom seemed to imply that I prematurely shaved my head twice), and the most horrible diarrhea of your life.  We will just call this side effect my 24/7 digestive dilemma.  I was so out of it, I was not in the decision making process of this.  But all I knew was that I soon as the last drop of that chemo was in, I was getting the hell out!  Well, no surprise here, my doctor ordered the chemo at 8:30 in the morning and when do you think I actually got it....about 4pm.  Coincidentally, that very day, my nurse happened to be the same nurse, I HATED, four years ago, when I was on that floor.  My doctor actually confronted her about the chemo situation and asked her why I hadn't received it yet.  The nurse did not respond and my doctor said, "That's your cue to speak."  Awkward turtle.  So glad I was "out of it" in bed for that one.

After the hospital, nothing remotely funny happens.  This is where it gets really flippin' real. LOADED.  With extra sour cream.
As soon as I was out of the hospital, I went to my parents and slept in bed with my mother for a month (until I couldn't take the cuddling anymore), continuing on my constant never-ending nausea/vomiting path for 2 full weeks.  During this time I was also experiencing double vision, but I wasn't sure, because I was wearing my glasses all the time, which I never do.  I was getting migraines and headaches, and the left half of my chin and lip went numb.
As soon as the words 'double vision' came out of my mouth at the doctor, I bought myself an MRI. Guuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhh.............
I smartened up and took 2 Ativan before that bad boy.  Why did I never do that before?????

I go for the MRI, hoping the technicians aren't as crappy as last time.  But luckily witness this most awesome situation in the waiting room.

You cannot make this shit up!  Listen carefully for the deep snores.  My father kept kicking the wall to see if she would wake up! 

They call me in and we have to talk about why I am there.  The tech asks why I am getting the MRI and I tell him I have double vision and headaches.  So he says, "The doctor wants to check for mets?" My response, "Umm, I have double vision."  He says, "So the doctor is checking for mets in the brain?"  My response, "Uuuh, I have double vision."  Thanks for that buddy.  Anyway, I asked him to talk to me during the scan, and he said we would keep me updated, "2 minutes of noise," "3 minutes of noise," etc.  But I was 2 Ativan in, so it didn't really matter at that point.

Two days later, at the doctor for the results.  My doctor didn't have the results in front of her, so she left to check the computer.  World comes crashing dooooooooowwwwwwwwwnnnnnnnnn.  It was like the day I was diagnosed.  But worse. Time stops. The cancer has spread to your dura mater.  The dura mater is the membrane between your skull and your brain.  The MRI shows activity, like a sprinkle of cancer cells all over the membrane. 
?????!!!!!!!!?????!?!?!?!!??!?!?!?!??!!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!!??????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?????!Hmmm???

Well, that is NOT what I was expecting.  LOADED.  It was like a hit and run.  My doctor quickly explained things while I just sat there, cried and my parents listened. And then I went to get chemo. I sat in my chair just tried to act cool.

A week later, February 29th, Leap Day.  Ironic how this day doesn't really exist. And this day I sat with my doctor to discuss this dura "matter."  It was like and still is a bunch of phrases replaying in my head: quality of life, risks and benefits, limited options, respect your decision, no treatments, spinal tap, spinal infusion chemo, results aren't guaranteed, leaky chemo........NUMB.

WHY DIDN'T ANYBODY FUCKING TELL ME THIS WAS GOING TO FUCKING HAPPEN????

So that Stage IV Breast Cancer diagnosis was actually real, huh?

Well, naturally, since I am me, my only option...........is to KICK SOME MOTHERFUCKING ASS!

I hate Pink Ribbons