I couldn’t believe it when we were chosen. I thought maybe it was like one of those, “press STAR9 to hear about your all-inclusive 7 day cruise” calls I get on my cell phone. When I applied, I believe it was post-mastectomy. For me, the hardest part of the “journey” physically, and the part, more than any, where I wouldn’t have blamed Mr. Brehm for taking the boys and saying, “sorry. I can’t.”
It’s a lot. Sure, it’s a lot going through cancer. It’s terribly draining. You are ill. You are confined to minimal interaction at times. You are faced with a fear of dying and leaving your earthly body and people and all that you currently believe to be your life. You can’t be the person/mother/wife/daughter/friend you want to be. Even if you try. I didn’t have the energy or the immunity to even be at the dinner table every night let alone birthday parties or church. It was a time. A time we had to push through.
Mr. Brehm saved us. I mean, with the help of a HUGE tribe. But Mr. Brehm said, “we can and we will.” to everything. To letting me rest as he did countless bedtimes and mornings solo. To taking off work for appointment after appointment. Chemo. Surgery. He said yes to emptying my drains. To my infla-foobs. To my bald head. He made love to me when I looked like a hairless cat… rail-thin from neutropenia or c diff, and not a hair on my person. He gave. Me. His. Poop. He loved me through what could have been my most broken times. But he helped hold me together.
And so I applied. I applied for a week away courtesy of Little Pink Houses of Hope. To thank him. To spend a week with him and the kids that didn’t have to be in the budget. That would be very hard to swing since we want to take our parents on a thank you-cation in the spring. Because traveling unfortunately costs some do-re-mi. So, I applied, because, specifically, at the time, I was filled with hope. Hope for the treatments to be successful. Hope for more time. With my boys. All four. Hope for a day without the thought of cancer.
And there it was. Little pink houses of Hope. In my inbox. Telling me we’d been selected for a week-long, all but travel-expense-paid survivor retreat. For all five of us.
Oh. My. Stars.
…
We flew into Wilmington, North Carolina on September 10th by way of Charlotte. We ran like banshees through the Charlotte airport to make our connection. And we were so incredibly lucky to make it in time. Even with the Mr making a bathroom stop with the trio. Our bags, not so much. They took to the underbelly of another flight.
Hello, Wilmington. Goodbye baggage. Luckily, the Wilmington airport is Darling with a capital D. Wooden rockers everywhere, southern architecture, and kind people telling us where to get our local food eating on.
And thankfully, American Airlines solved our baggage issues like a boss and we were able to pick up our rental car, go out to a deeeeelicious Carolina BBQ spot, and eat like the locals do. With loaner carseats and hungry bellies.
Following our meal {which included hush puppies, corn fries, fried okra, pork, ribs, baked beans, collared greens, Brunswick stew, and yams… Because Carolinan stuff}, we hopped back in the rental and headed to our first ever KOA CAMPSITE! What?! I know.
Adventure, people. It’s what we do.
So, we arrived and got the keys to our diggs for the night, a tiny house aka cabin in the “woods” {and now I’m singing, “little cabin in the wood…” In my head). When we originally looked at where to stay for the night (because I didn’t know how I felt about flying on September 11 given my luck) we looked up “glamping” because why the eff not. Annnnnd… The Mr found a KOA site. We got an adorable cabin for the night and grabbed breakfast and coffee in the morning to eat al fresco. Also, the breakfast came from a place called Bojangles. This was hilarious to us. Because Mr. Bojangles.
With our crew and their ages, I would totally do the KOA cabin night again. It was affordable, had a mini kitchen, a patio with a porch swing and table, and a park that was a great way to get some energy out in the morn. It also had a pool that while we didn’t try, looked way nicer than the one in National Lampoon’s Vacay.
The Middlest was a bit off as the cast seems to be taxing his gig a bit more and he may or may not start being on a contstant drip of ibuprofen/Tylenol. Because if I can get chemo in my body and survive, a little constant pain management for a couple days should be jussssssssst fine.
And FWIW, should you find yourself in Wilmington, North Carolina, the KOA was just right for a night and Jackson’s was a must-do to get the real flavor of the Carolina BBQ style.
…
Sunday, right after noon, we headed over to the River Walk area in Wilmington {and btw… This is the town where Dawson’s Creek and One Tree Hill were partially filmed. So basically, it’s as if my friends lived there once.) where we got a look at the USS Carolina and then, got a tour of the lovely, Teresa’s, houseboat {which was most definitely bigger than our cabin}.We were admiring her boat when she invited us for a tour AND… Because the husby and I don’t really do stranger danger, we went with it. Their boat was AHFREAKINGMAZING and the Oldest has announced several times that he now has every intention of living on a boat. And that we can come visit whenever. Hoping his possible significant other is all about both of those things.
So, bags delivered to the campsite Saturday night, river walk tour Sunday morn, trolley ride, then lunch at the Front Street Brewery, and soon, we were all back in the Brehm Bus, en route to Oak Island.
…
Last evening, we arrived at the Little Pink meeting spot. {There are 10 other participants with family members and countless “VolunSTARS” for the week.} we met, Francie, our personal VolunSTAR, whose family attended this same retreat two years ago and she brought us to our house…
{And yes… I just had to wear my Stately Shirt Design Co. Nebraska shirt because there is no place like Nebraska.} 
And we gasped as we drove up. The boys were giggling and yelling, “YESSSSSS!.” I cried. For the second time that day. And then, after getting settled in to our little piece of paradise, we went back for a group meal.
I met survivors who are ten years out. Two years out. And metastatic. That was hard… I’m not gonna lie. Meeting a woman who was originally Stage 2. Cured. And then 4 years out… Boom. It’s back. But it reminded me and cemented for me that we are meant to be here, as a family, and be grateful for my health and our strength. Because no day is guaranteed. And our forever is not an earthly life.
The coolest thing of all perhaps, is that these people, these current strangers will become our friends throughout the week… As we paddle board, kayak, beach, and dine together. It will most definitely be a week to remember. A week to celebrate survivorship as a family.
The Littles (the two smallers) slept like complete kaka last night which also means the hubs and I did as well… But, we have help allllll week with the three amigos and that makes tired parents happy. I will share pics of the house and the week as it goes on. And we are all about the adventure of it all.
So… Long story very long… We made it. To hope. To a new day to celebrate. To further healing. And crashing waves that aren’t mowing us over but calling us to relax, unwind, and enjoy the views.
More to come… Thriving in NC…
