I'm doing Regression in my Statistics class. I was having a hard time grokking why that word was being used for that math process, so I looked it up in the text's glossary. It says something like:
REGRESSION
the functional relationship between correlated variables, often used to predict values.
the functional relationship between correlated variables, often used to predict values.
See, no apparent
"regressing" in that definition, right? No "going backward." That's how most people talk about it, right? Weird.
So I looked it up elsewhere and got lost in the layers. In Parentlandia, "Regression" is child development lingo.
So I looked it up elsewhere and got lost in the layers. In Parentlandia, "Regression" is child development lingo.
REGRESSION
backsliding to an earlier development phase
backsliding to an earlier development phase
That's something Aria has been
doing since her treatment began...a little more baby talk, a little more
helplessness. Sometimes cute and occasionally annoying, I don’t think much about
it. She's my youngest. It means we I get a little babyhood time. Yay us. But then:
------------
Scene: Kinderhook Tap. Friday afternoon. We need a drink. Exclamation marks are everywhere.
Me:
Steigl Radeler with
Vodka, please !
Barbara:
Chocolate martini !
Bartender: Here you go, ladies !
Barbara: Yay,
Friday !
Me:
Look, my glass is
14-inches tall !
Barbara: Mmmmmmmmmh,
chocolate !
Kevin (via text): Aria
has a 103.4 fever, has had two accidents.
Shivering, clutching her skull. Yelling
"i'm soooo
cold" and "my head hurts"
Me:
On a scale from
1-to-Damned-to-Hell, how wrong would it be to gulp
down this drink before I snatch my kindergartener
from school so I can rush
my preschooler to the hospital?
Barbara: I'm not
sure. It's a skinny glass. Hard to chug.
Bartender: Damned either way.
All week
long, I'd bitched about utter bullshit: Job frustrations and familial
annoyances. School disillusionment and sketchy aspirations. Parenting.
Just 9 weeks after my
kid's cancer diagnosis, I'd already shed the confines of "what's really
important" and immersed myself once more in worries of faulty appliances
and whether we spend too much on takeout. Regression, mommy style.
Nothing like a quick trip to
the hospital with your baby to slap the regression right out of me.
Three hours later, in our
hospital room, Aria was Perfectly Fine. But we had to stay
48 hours so the lab could culture her innards and figure out what caused all this mayhem.
My research has confirmed my parental cancer cycle: is Fear ->
Frustration -> Fuck It
All.
By bedtime, Aria and I were
cozied up in her hospital bed, giggling and more peas/pod than we’d been all week.
And I was back to wondering
what my problem is when I’m “on the outside.” When I'm back in real world, without cancer causing havoc at any given moment.
If I were a convict, I’d be the model prisoner. I'd be getting my PhD and preaching Buddhist wisdom to my fellow inmates. But later, I’d be the parolee who keeps breaking the rules so she could get sent back to the Big House.
It’s seems so much simpler behind bars.
If I were a convict, I’d be the model prisoner. I'd be getting my PhD and preaching Buddhist wisdom to my fellow inmates. But later, I’d be the parolee who keeps breaking the rules so she could get sent back to the Big House.
It’s seems so much simpler behind bars.
REGRESSION
a trend or shift toward a lower or less perfect state
a trend or shift toward a lower or less perfect state
Going back to the beginning, the first week following Aria’s diagnosis, we had four really crappy weeks.
And then: calm.
For 8 weeks now, we've been so
lucky. Her white count’s been unstoppable, so she could go to the park and have
playdates. We ate at outdoor cafes and risked grocery
store germs. Big deal stuff for a kid who had to give up school, gymnastics,
dance, and just about everything else.
She’s been adorable, not
pissed off at the world. Her hair has become dull and wiry, but remains firmly attached to her head.
None of the dreaded mouth
sores. No barfing.
In this phase, her chemo appointments are 10 days instead of every 7. Whoohoo, right? Not so much. This phase is called "Escalation."
ESCALATION
to increase in extent, volume, number, amount,
intensity, or scope
It is a phase well-named. Every 10 days, they jack up the poison to see “how
much can she stand?”
The answer to that question was clear this week, as the barf hit my
espadrilles, the car seat, her dress (oh no, my
byooooootiful dress!) and kitchen floor. Another clue has been her new diet of
grapes and No-Thanks-I’m-Not-Hungry.
Today, Escalation also announced itself in her blood tests. Not all that long ago, I blathered excitedly about her being (almost) “no-risk” when measuring how likely is she to disintegrate if someone sneezes nearby.
I’ve been telling the girls that Aria “probably can’t
go to Lyric’s birthday party” while still believing she absolutely would
be able to go. She’d been doing soooooo well.
Today’s CBC report moved her from “Not bloody likely to disintegrate”
directly past “Avoid crowds of slime-covered children and rodents”
and straight into “Do not breathe near others.”
directly past “Avoid crowds of slime-covered children and rodents”
and straight into “Do not breathe near others.”
But she’s due to be back in the bubble by next week.
And speaking of bubbles, Aria
can’t go to Lyric’s birthday party, and that just really, really burst mine.
REGRESSION
a trend or shift toward a lower or less perfect state
a trend or shift toward a lower or less perfect state
And so, we regress.
