Unexpected Surprise

One of the ladies who sings in my church choir has been sending me stories of the church mice who reside in our church building. They are quite entertaining and sometimes downright funny! For example, this story:



Momma mouse was getting food in the kitchen with her baby when the cat pounced in. Snatching up the kid Momma ran for the mousehole but it was obvious she wasn't going to make it. Finally in desperation she whipped around and shouted "Bark, Bark!" at the cat. The cat skidded to a halt and ran away. Momma mouse turned to her baby and said, "You see how important it is to learn a foregin language?"



Every few days, we get a new adventure. The boys look forward to their arrival. Sunday in church I was surprised that one of the mice, Stitcher, left me a prettily wrapped gift bag. Inside was a beautifully hand made cross stich embroidery of my Jairus House logo! I was totally amazed both at the labor of love and the craftsmanship of the work. What a delightful gift - I will surely enjoy it and will hang it with pride when we officially open our first Jairus House.

Brainastics

I've been doing OK sticking to my Gulik Gym schedule, and today I did the full 2 rounds at level 3, an increase from level 2. Although a bit more challenging, its not overwhelming. Next week I should be able to add in the water walking part.

I am equally as determined to stick to my mental gymnastics routine in an effort to combat chemobrain. My friend Sissie calls my plan Brainastics! I love the term. Today on the way home I picked up volume 1 of the adult dot-to-dot books for my next chemosession. I downloaded a few examples from the website, and have enjoyed resurrecting my childhood love of connecting dots, although admittedly these are a bit more than simple make a duck drawings!

Kiel showed my how to do Sudoku, so I will work on that as well. People tell me its addicting, but I suspect that is one addiction I will not be susceptible to since I have never really gotten into math with the exception of algebra.

Sissie also suggested playing games, and Diane said she has the perfect game - I think she said its called Craniotomy and it's meant to stimulate all the areas of the brain. That should be interesting.

So let's take an inventory:
*Gulik Gym for physical health and well being
*Brainastics for mental acuity
*Puppy for companionship and emotional support
*LOTS of friends, family, colleagues, and other cancer survivors for encouragement and support, meals and errand running, laundry and transportation, help as needed.
*Bible memorization, books of prayers for healing, and verses on digital picture frame running constantly for spiritual strength
*People everywhere praying for my healing
*Grace and presence of God to comfort, strengthen, guide, protect
*Cancer organizations like the Lance Armstrong Foundation, the Lymphoma Organization, Look Good Feel Better, the specialty shop to help with information and supplies
*An iPod loaded with lots of great music to soothe the tired soul and uplift sagging hearts.

Not bad. In fact, It's all good. I am so blessed and fortunate to have so much care and love pouring in my direction. I am rich beyond measure. How great is that!

Sugar and the Dandelions

Rather than continue to kavetch about my mouth sore that causes me to talk with a severe lisp and prevents me from eating a lot of stuff, I thought I would concentrate on Sugarbear and some of her puppy antics - the good ones, not the "chew up stuff" ones!

Today I took her for her morning walk, and she discovered dandelions! She sniffed all around, suddenly running one way, then another, rolling in ingleaves and anything else that moved.

Ahead of her lay a patch of dandelions, some bright yellow, some already gone to fluffy white seed. With a little bark, she jumped on the first yellow one at the edge of the patch, and neatly snipped off the blossom, tossing it in the air and chasing after it to toss it again. In the process, she disturbed a white fluffy dandelion, knocking loose all the parachute seeds which swirled about in the light breeze.

Excited by the floating whirling seeds, she dashed about, jumping in the air to try and catch them, yipping with delight when they brushed against her. Once the first batch settled down, she immediately looked around for another dandelion to disturb, and the game began again. We must have played with the flowers for a good half hour before she tired of it and we moved on for our walk.

She reminded me once again to stop and enjoy the many beautiful things God created for our pleasure. Happy moments are so much more necessary when you are in warfare and dealing with unpleasantness. Beauty lifts our sagging spirits and reminds us to put things in perspective. Seeing things fresh through the eyes of a child or a puppy just discovering the wonders we have become immune to helps us get back to the important things in life. Perhaps its worth putting up with a few chewed things to regain a better balance!

A Really Really Bad Hair Day

Once a week, I unbraid my Prayerlock (for those of you who don't know, I have been growing a braid down the back of my head for almost a year now - it reminds me to pray for those who have lost their hair in the battle with cancer, which I do everytime anyone mentions my braid - and many people do ask me about it) and fluff it out to give it a rest before shampooing and rebraiding. Today was the day.

I removed the tiny black rubber band and carefully separated the three locks, untangling the weave. When I had worked my way to the top, I fluffed the loose hair, itching the scalp to encourage circulation, then lowered my hands. WHAT??!!! The entire mass lay in my two hands. This can't be happening! I rubbed the top of my head and watched while masses of hair fluttered to my lap. I just touched the side of my head, and a whole big clump of hair came off in my hands.

Deep sigh. Yes, they told me I would lose my hair with this chemo, but they had said about halfway through the treatments. This is not halfway! I had plans! I was going to cut off my PrayerLock intact to remember to pray for cancer patients. There is no intact. Just wads of brittle disintegrating gray strands strewn about. Crap. I am shedding like a llama. I look in the mirror. Tufts stick up at funny angles. My dome is nearly bald. I touch my scalp. It hurts. Where the hair is falling out, the scalp is tender and sore. Double crap and rats.

I call Kiel to bring the clippers. I can't be shedding all over everything. Somehow I thought the process would be gradual, that I would have time to figure out a strategy. Maybe a week. Nope. It all falls out at once. I sit still while Kiel turns the clippers on and razes my head. My poor bald head. To quote a favorite storyteller Ethel Barrett, I am now "bald as a doorknob!" I quickly realize its not just your head hair that falls out. ALL your hair falls out. And I do mean all. Even my eyebrows are turning gray and thinning.

I am now a proud member of the Sisterhood of Cancer Patients Who've Had Hair Destroying Chemo. I will wear my badge of honor with decorum. Or not. I play with wrapping scarves about my funny naked head, but I am not a head scarf person, even though Sissie just sent me a beautiful tie dye scarf that I love. Can I leave my head uncovered? It doesn't bother me, after all, I don't have to look at myself. But it will bother others. I can already see it in Kiel's face.

I will have to do something. Hats. Yes, hats. That's what I will do. I start with a light blue baseball cap from Concordia College. That will work for today. I used to have a dark blue one, but I can't find it. Must have given it away along with the summer straw hat I used last year. Well, what a marvelous excuse to get some new hats! I feel a shopping expedition coming on.

I will look for zany, silly, extra flamboyant, down to earth common sense, regular and normal hats. Hats of all sorts. I am not the beret type of hat wearer, perhaps a safari hat, a fishing hat, a Kentucky Derby hat, a bowler, a top hat - no, scratch that - but I will add plenty of bling to my hats.

One last nod to wigs, I plan to go to Party City and find a neon blue tinsel wig with stars fluttering for those special occasions.

If anyone wants to contribute to my hat collection, I am happy to oblige. My head is small, measures 21 and a quarter inches around which is somewhere between 6 3/4 and 6 7/8 American hat size and 55 metric. Or any adjustable doohickey will also be fine. Or bling if you've a mind to send some. I will wear it with pride.

After this is all over and my hair regrows, the next time I sleep funny and think I am having a bad hair day, I will laugh right out loud because from this point on, no bad hair day could ever be as bad as this one! Boo Hoo.

Mouth Sores

Well, rats and shoot. Woke up this morning with a huge sore on the left underside of my tongue. That's one of the symptoms to call in the daytime about. I called. Hum. My last bloodwork showed my immune system stuff is on the low side. Only 300. Any other symptoms? Fever, chills? No - just a few spots on my arm and neck. Sort of red raised blistery looking with a bit of white at the tip. Are they in a straight line? No. Any nausea? Not really.

Well, it might just be a canker sore. Have you ever had one before? Of course! Hasn't everybody? What a relief that its just a canker sore. Still, I had to promise to take my temperature when I went home for lunch to check on Sugarbear (yes, silly name for a dog, but that's what she ended up as). Anyway, Kiel is home with some sort of stomach bug - probably something he ate. I have to check on him too.

I take my temp. 96.8 - I always run low. No fever. I feel a bit weak, but nothing as bad as I have felt recently. The nurse will check with my oncologist and if there is concern, they will call me back. They take it quite seriously. Meanwhile, I am commanded to rinse my mouth with a quart of warm water laced with a tablespoon of baking soda. I don't think I have any. I'll have to get some.


Then the second call - please come in and see the nurse. We want to make sure what we are dealing with to be on the safe side. Though your indicators show your immune system beginning to rise, we don't want any trouble. I go see the nurse. She looks at my tongue and my skin spots, takes my temperature, asks me a few questions, then steps out of the room to call the oncologist and report.

Well, it is a mouth sore, but its starting to heal on its own now. Regardless, we are going to give you a prescription for a mouth rinse with lidocaine, an antibiotic, and a coating material. Rinse with it twice a day while the sore is bothering you. But don't get used to it. If you use it too much, your teeth will turn brown.

Yikes! I get the feeling that this is early for this symptom to appear, but I am only a few days from round 2, so I will rinse a bit until the sore goes away. I heal slowly these days. Brown teeth? I'll have to start a new fad, but this one will be a hard sell.

ChemoBrain Strategies

Last time it took me a long time to figure out that I was dealing with chemobrain much less figure out how to manage it. This time around, I hadn't really thought about prevention strategies until the box arrived. I wasn't expecting anything, hadn't ordered online, and it wasn't my mother's handwriting. Who was sending me a box? It had the Illinois Music Library address on it.

I wondered if they had been cleaning house and stumbled across a cache of my old papers and sent them on. Funny, no one mentioned it. But that's OK. I'll sort through it later. Let me just take a peek and see exactly what I need to deal with.

But what's this??!!! A care package!!! Oh, what joy, my two dear friends sent me a box chocked full of splendid stuff to cheer me up. A card was enclosed - they just want me to know they love me and are thinking about me! Aw. I cried. I was overwhelmed at the surprise and thoughtfulness of my two comrades. This was like the most sumptuous dessert you could imagine and I intended to savor it fully.

I allowed myself to unwrap one pretty package at a time and enjoy it fully before diving in for another one. Each thoughtful item would come in very handy during chemo treatments and afterwards - warm fuzzy pink socks, an Elmo DVD, a music CD, all kinds of lotions - man o man! Totally awesome.

I have been amazed at the outpouring of wonderful gifts that have come my way of late. I am crying just thinking about how thoughtful and precious each one has been. I am so fortunate to have some truly amazing friends that I wouldn't trade for the world. My dear friend here in Rochester sent me a certificate for a full hour massage that I am saving for that deeply needful moment when I need it - and I know that will come.

My pastor and colleague surprised my with a cool big pink bag stuffed with a scrunchy pink and white bubble decorated soft soft blanket and other great things including a beautiful bouquet of flowers in just the perfect purple colors. I have sat wrapped in that comfy blanket for hours while I decompressed from the last chemo.

Yesterday my friend from church sent me a fully prepared lasagna dinner, and I'm not even undergoing chemo until next week. Its so wonderful to not have to fix dinner even if I could have managed it. Man, I am so well cared for. I can't tell you how much it helps to know people are standing alongside me in this fight. I am wrapped everyday in the warmth of their love and caring. Lucky me.

Well, one of my chemobrain prevention strategies is to daily count my blessings and remind myself of how fortunate I am. The other inspiration came from a Sudoku book and a puzzle in my surprise box. Last time I discovered that doing patterning exercises helped my brain get back some functionality.

This time around, I want to make my brain do calisthenics throughout - sort of like making my body exercise, I will make my brain exercise too. Puzzles, Sudoku, dot to dot books, everything I can think of to force my brain to recall patterns, keep the brainwaves flowing and functional. Maybe it will help! I figure it can't hurt.

I will keep listening to my Bible memorization tapes and repeat the verses I am memorizing. Maybe I should volunteer to drill math tables! Learn a foreign language. I am open to suggestions. Do tell me your ideas. Thanks.

Memorial Day

Ah, a day to relax. Sleep in late. Loll about. Go swimming in the newly opened pool (if I could ever convince the boys to go!). A time to deal with issues. Like the boys leaving me on my own throughout the summer so they can visit brothers. I look at it as desertion. But I also realize they didn't sign on for cancer, and after all, they are just kids. Let them go. I have a good support system. I will be fine.

I've thought about getting a pet for companionship a lot. They boys beg for a dog, and I did look, long before the cancer treatments were known about. I just never found a dog I liked. I had decided to get a cat. Maybe not even a kitten, but one a bit older, a rescue animal. I searched through websites and found a 501c3 home for abandoned cats with a picture of a 1 year old cat who looked interesting and sounded reasonable. Maybe.

First, I thought I would check the pet stores and see what they all had. I know the local animal shelter hosts adoption days and Lollipop Farm was having several, so I grabbed Kiel and we made the rounds. One store was also having dog adoptions, but of the motley crew there, no one struck my fancy. After all, I need someone calm and cuddly who will be my friend, not a neurotic nuisance. Yes, I read all the research about cancer patients doing better when they have a dog to pet etc. Improves blood pressure, yadda yadda yadda.

Still, am I crazy? A number of my friends warned my against it. Too much expense and trouble. A number of my friends swear by it - so much better to have someone about the house and not be alone. Keeps you used to being flexible and loving. Well, if I get a pet, it will have to inadvertently steal my heart when I am not looking. Fat chance of that happening.

Imagine my surprise when we wandered into the next petstore, and there in the front before we even entered, was an adorable little mop of white and black rolling about playing, minding her own business. I stood still and watched her for awhile. Cute. Good with people. Loves to be cuddled. No. I am looking for a cat. I enter the store. The kittens aren't even cute. There are big signs everywhere forbidding you to pet them. I wander back to the front of the store and ask about the fluff ball.

Yes, she is part Maltese, part Shitzu. Very loving lapdog, great with people. Doesn't shed. Even people with allergies are not allergic to them. Hum. Don't make any snap decisions. We wander down the mall. I am thinking about it. I go back for another look. Maybe. I think about it. We wander some more. I can't help it. I have succumbed to her gentle black eyes with the long long lashes. She is a close to being a cat as a dog can get.

I will not find another animal like her for a long time. I go back. I ask about her again. They let me hold her, play with her. Do I want her? Gulp. Do I? Can I handle it? Should I? I have been thinking about it for a long time. The boys will leave me soon. Perhaps I am ready. I nod. Yes. I will adopt her. The next half hour is a whirlwind of instructions and gathering of stuff (for which I was somehow not quite prepared!). She needs food, a dish, a leash, a brush, and toys! Chew stuff, a cage. Good lord. I need nine months to prepare for all this! Still, I have committed. On we go.

The wriggling bundle of joy gets packed in an iguana box and before I realize it, I am headed to the car with her shaking inside the box. We drive home. She is scared. Me too. There is no going back. In the house, I sit quietly in the blue recliner with her on my lap. She sleeps. I rest. Whew! Probably not the smartest thing I have ever done. I can hear my Mother now. Esther Ruth! What in the world are you thinking? Those research papers better be right. I will expect a full twenty point drop in my blood pressure starting as soon as she is house broken. Yikes!

Chiming In

Last week I was too tired to stay for chime choir rehearsal, but this week I called the ringers together and we rolled up our sleeves after service and tackled Jesus Loves Me for 5 ringers again. After a 2 week hiatus, I was afraid we might have lost ground. But no! It was in a good place. With a bit of tweaking, we would be ready to ring next Sunday. Yahoo!

Its an impressive looking setup. We all share the chimes, reaching over and under to get to the chime we need, laying things down quickly, table damping, passing off chimes. People will think we are pretty slick, when actually, its not all that hard. Just looks a lot harder than only have 2 chimes.

We went over it again, and noted where the problems were. Then I made them play the piece backwards, one section at a time. If we had trouble, we stopped, figured out what was wrong, corrected, and repeated it properly. Each time we backed up another section, we uncovered sticky spots that needed addressing.

At one point, they laughed at my technique. It was a workout, no question about it. And felt strange. But actually it eliminated the parts they knew well and brought to light in an out of sequence way where the problems were. Its an old rehearsal technique, but it still works well. By the time we had worked a mere half hour, we were in much better shape. I am confident we will be able to ring well on Sunday.

That being said, when I lay down tonight to rest, my side hurt. What in the time of need was that from? I couldn't imagine. Suddenly I realized that those were the muscles I use to ring, and on the right side because I use that hand more than my left hand. Well, I'll be! Something normal! Not from cancer. Just from ordinary stuff. Feels good. Where's my hot water bottle?

Gulik Again

I am determined to continue exercising during my treatment. I know that if my circulation is stoked, my system will deal better with all the toxicity. After working through the Lance Armstrong program, I am totally convinced of the importance of exercise to my ability to deal with cancer. I had asked the doctor to go to bat for me to get a better scholarship than the one they had offered me, but turns out, when I finally connected with their representative and she heard that I had begun chemo again, she offered me an extraordinary deal and I readily accepted.

I have set up a Monday night, Wednesday night, Saturday morning Gulik Gym schedule, and when I feel like the port has properly healed and I can get wet again, I want to add water walking. So this morning, I headed out to do my rounds. Last week, I managed to do once around on level 2. Today I am determined to do the twice around, still level 2.

When I arrived, the room was empty. I snapped on rubber gloves to prevent exposure to germs, and began. Slowly I went through the motions, not pressing, not hurrying, but doing each machine or exercise as directed. Others came and were zipping along, dancing the steps, showing me up, but I didn't care. I guarantee that if they were getting chemo, they wouldn't even be there. So I consider myself a huge triumph!

Once around, seems OK. An elderly woman popped her head in the room, curious. The instructor helped her figure out how to do the machines. Unlike myself when I began the Armstrong program, she didn't have an assigned personal trainer to work with her. We kept encouraging her to hang in there. She finished once around just as I was two stations from being done. I applauded when she finished. Good job! Come back. Try it again sometime.

When I walked out, I was breathing deeper. I could almost imagine my circulation system pumping around stronger, dealing with the dead cancer cells, floating them away, cleaning house better. Maybe I will feel better too. I must insist on keeping these therapy sessions. I know it will help.

Try Again

Definitely better today. I went to work, knowing it's a short day and I should be able to make it to the 3:30 close time. I piddled around in my office, sorting through papers, filing stuff, still throwing away the non necessary. I am getting closer to where I would like to be. I do have a folder of projects I will pick away at all summer. I am sure I can get some of them done.

At 4 I stopped by the apartment to pick up Drew. We planned to pick up a few things at Wegmans, then get Kiel from work. I had been feeling OK all day. No pain, no aches, no soreness, no headache. I didn't want to press my luck, so I figured at the first sign of trouble I would pack it in and sit out the rest of the dance.

Only one problem. There was no first sign. Nothing. We entered Wegmans, I grabbed a cart, and Wham! out of nowhere it was as if someone had pulled my plug and left me totally without power. I leaned over the cart and just stood still, catching my breath. I couldn't do it. I knew I was sunk. I directed Drew to grab the few things I knew we had to have and waited for him to bring them to me.

I wasn't sure I could even make it to the car let alone drive clear to Roberts to get Kiel. I might have to go home and call him and see if someone else could bring him home. Drew pressed his issue - if only he had his permit, he could drive and I could just rest in the car. Yeah, right. Fat chance. Anyway, it wouldn't help the immediate situation. We checked out and somehow I got to the car. I just sat - well, laid - in the front seat while Drew put the groceries in the trunk.

After a few minutes, the feeling passed. Though I didn't regain my full strength, it was enough to drive to Roberts where Kiel took over. I went home, sat in the blue recliner and SLEPT! All night. Not sure what the boys did, but I finally packed it and lay down on my bed. I am sure things will be better tomorrow. Good thing its a holiday weekend.

Not Happening

OK, so the no prednisone is hitting. I lay awake all night, aching and tossing and turning. My groin hurt and my legs kept cramping and my stomach was pitching hissy fits. My throat felt swollen and raw and my head pounded. I finally fell asleep about the time Drew was headed out the door, poor boy. I decided to sleep in. I sent an email that I would be in around 1, rolled over, hugged the hot water bottle, and rocked myself to sleep.

Around noon, I rose and tried to shower, but I was still reeling a bit and somewhat achy. Work is definitely not happening today. I called them to let them know I would not be in at all. A whole day lost. Rats. I was warned that there might be a dip when I went off the cortisone, but since it wasn't immediate, I was a bit surprised by it. Well, no matter. I sat in the blue recliner all afternoon and dozed - sometimes a deep deep sleep where I'm not sure I remembered to breathe and woke up gasping for air, sometimes light and twitchy like I couldn't quite get there.

I felt heavy and sloggy. I tried to force drink lots of water and even though they tell you to keep everything a neutral temperature, I added ice - lots of ice. I drank like I had been stranded in the desert for a month. I couldn't get enough. Maybe its because for the last week I pee-ed out more urine than I thought it was possible to make! Or maybe my poor body was just trying to deal with the drug levels.

I finally managed to shake it off in time to make choir rehearsal, though I suspect it was rather boring and uninspired. Good thing we are near the end of the season. It's not fair to them to reap the benefits of my illness! Let's not affect the music. Tomorrow has to be a better day. We shall see. One thing is for sure. Despite the fact that I slept all day, I am totally ready for bed and expect to fall asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow.

Port Draw

So Monday I had my port checked to see if it was healed enough to use. I waited in the radiology pre-surgery area which was bustling and overflowing with patients. A normal Monday post weekend crowd. My curtained area had a single hard plastic orange chair on which I sat facing the watercooler across the aisle. People flew past my curtained cubby - orderlies, nurses, doctors, patients, staff pushing carts, the mail person, a group of three radiologists chattering away about someone's results and how to deal with the complications - the traffic was non stop.

The woman in the cubby next to mine was fussing about not feeling well, about to hurl, wanting to go. The man on the other side was moaning quietly, obviously in pain of some sort. Not exactly a pleasant place to have to spend a Monday afternoon. After what seemed like a good hour, a short bald man poked his head in my space and asked if I was there to get my port checked. Yes, I nodded. OK, he would be right with me after he checked the woman next to me who was insisting she be seen first. No hurry. I can wait. I am not about to hurl.

He looked at my scar and stitches, frowned a bit, then said, "Well, it isn't as far along in the healing process as I would like it to be, but you can use it. Don't get it wet for the next few days, OK?" He scribbled his signature on a form and disappeared. OK. The nurse signed off on the form, dated it, and I headed up to the Infusion Center for my first bloodwork drawn from a port.

I checked in and sat in the pleasant waiting area - what a delightful change of scenery! There were several others waiting to be called, and the receptionist was joking around, singing and chatting with people who obviously had been coming there often. After about ten minutes, a middle aged couple walked in, and you could tell that the woman was not feeling well from the way she held herself stiffly and slightly bent over. Her face was pasty white, her breathing a bit labored. Her head was swathed in a colorful turban, and she left her husband (at least, I think he was her husband) to check in.

There was a discussion. They did not have an appointment. I thought the woman would pass clean out at the hint of trouble. I understand feeling like that. I prayed that she would be able to get what she needed to feel better. They called me back for weighing, measuring, temping, and directed me to injection room 2 where I settled in. The technician came by to let me know she was behind but would get to me as soon as she could. No hurry, I assured her. I can always use a little nap, and I closed my eyes and dreamed of beaches and warm white sand and the ocean softly shushing on the shore.

Suddenly I heard a sharp "Well! The nerve! What am I supposed to do now?" I opened my eyes to see the sick lady stooped over in front of my cubicle, in a froth. Her husband zipped out to the intake area to find out what to do. They had told this woman to go to injection cubicle 2 also, probably assuming that I was done and gone. They redirected her to the cubicle next to mine, and I could hear her discontent softly uttered as she sank into the recliner, her husband taking the chair in the aisle. I felt bad for her. I know how it is to feel like crap. I prayed for her again.

The pretty technician buzzed past me to talk to the woman, letting her know that as soon as she was done with me, the lady would be next. Oh, no, I don't want to increase this woman's pain. "Please, take her next. I can wait." I called. "Are you sure?" "Oh, yes. Please take care of her first. I will just pop down to the ladies room." The iced tea was definitely calling.

When I returned, the lady and her husband were gone, hopefully to a place of rest and recovery. I pray God touches her and heals her. Lord knows, none of us want to be in that place!

The nurse laid out a cavalcade of sterile stuff, warned me that this would pinch a bit until I built up some toughness in my skin, stabbed, filled and was out in thirty seconds. How wonderful not to have multiple unsuccessful sticks. Sure hope this port heals up good. Of course, I suspect it is the chemo that is preventing a normal recovery, but this too shall pass.

Back to Work

Yesterday was my last prednisone day, so I wasn't sure quite what to expect today. But I felt pretty good, so managed to pull off a full day of work. This Thursday is Clean Sweep Day, a time the campus sets aside to go through your files and your spaces and lighten the paperwork and electronic file load, to straighten and neaten and spiffy up the joint. I appreciate the gesture, but basically one day is no where near enough time to take care of a whole year's worth of stuff.

This week, my staff are changing offices, and cleaning out took on a whole new parameter as new eyes viewed workspaces from new perspectives. I stand by to comment on stuff, answer questions, give the definitive "toss it" command. We wracked up boxes of unnecessary detritus.

In between questions, I chip away at my own space. One thing I know for sure, they tell me that this stuff I am taking will cause chemobrain, the thing I struggled with after the last round. I finally figured out how to deal with chemobrain. Every place where I interact with life must be completely organized and functional NOW if I am to stay functional when that hits. Otherwise I will be back to sitting and staring at piles of stuff and having no idea how to move forward.

So I am being quite thorough in going through my files, tossing unnecessary stuff, labeling, filing, clearing clutter, making sure I can find things and stay functional. I have a much better idea how to organize now that I have been here two years (has it really been two whole years??!!). I know what to keep, what to toss, how to make sense of all the pieces. I will capitalize on that knowledge base while I am still able to, grateful for the time to do that since we decided not to jump into big summer projects based on my treatment schedule.

I have to admit, it feels really good to think I am in control of something, even if its just my office, even though its something of an illusion. I asked my sister who is gifted at organizing to help me with the apartment, and she agreed to lend a hand. I just hope I am still up to it by the time her calendar is clear!

Retreat

Three times a year, my staff and I go to the Meridian Center and do power planning for the upcoming semester - once in July for the fall, once in January for spring, and once in May for summer. Today, I had asked one of the school employees from the Wellness Center to come help us sort through the aftermath of having to lay off one of our own. The layoffs were campus wide, every department was affected. But those left behind are as affected as those who had to be asked to leave.

So for the entire morning, we looked at what we were feeling, where we were, how to move forward, plotting details, and having some honest conversation about what we were not comfortable with, what we were willing to live with, what we were concerned about. I am very blessed to have such a fantastic staff remaining who, though admittedly not taking on things they would have selected on their own choice, nevertheless are willing to step up and do stuff, and with a decision to be happy about it.

It felt excellent to be part of the normal world of stress and strain and pressure for a bit, to know that things go on as before, changing, challenging, ever moving in directions brought forth by forces greater than yourself. Of course, that didn't last long. A half day of work was fine, but I had to have lab work done in the afternoon after which I headed home, not completely exhausted but definitely looking forward to sitting with my feet elevated and snoozing, which I did almost as soon as I sat down. Whew! First day back - well, half day. On our way, chemo and all.

First Day Out

Sunday. I have had three days off, and its time to test the waters and see how I do. Church is the perfect project. Short time frame, not physically demanding, and I can sit a lot. Yes, I will go.

I arrive a bit early to touch base with our wonderful accompanist who worked up the anthem with the choir in my absence on Thursday evening. She shows me how she had them practice, where they are breaking, tempi. Makes perfect sense. We run through with the choir, and then into service. Its a bit hectic for the choir since we didn't really have enough time to work out the service music, but they are troupers and did an excellent job.

I asked one of the choir members to take me home right afterwards since Kiel took the car to get to his own service and I am not up to sitting about waiting for him to get done like I usually do - what with chime choir and music selection tasks etc. I am happy to sit during service, it is good to be back. I am not wobbly or shaky, but definitely ready to go home after a couple of hours of being out and about.

I have forgotten my keys! I walked out without my purse since I thought I would be with Kiel and wouldn't need my stuff. Sigh. A trip to the office, and a kind response from the weekend person. She lets me in, and I sink gratefully into the blue recliner. Today I still have energy left. That's good. I puddle about the house, cleaning up, doing dishes, waiting for the boys to return. Still spend the afternoon resting, but its a good start on returning to normal, if there can be such a thing.

Another Day Out

Today is a little better. I suspect the prednisone is helping. I am still sticking close to home and very grateful to the kind people who are sending cooked meals. I haven't felt much like doing anything despite the fact that I have some reading I need to finish, and I could watch more DVDs, but am just not up to it.

I am very glad its a weekend! Drew is doing yardwork, and Kiel is sleeping in. I had thought of going to the Lilac Festival before chemo started, then realized that I would have a compromised immune system and shouldn't be milling about in crowds. AFTER chemo I realized how ridiculous it was to think I would be able to walk around at all. Especially if the weather were hot. So I encouraged the boys to go and take pictures of the lilacs and get themselves some fried dough, but they were not interested. I guess I am the big Lilac Festival fan, not them.

So I will miss it this year, but not to worry. There will be other years. And other festivals. Meanwhile, I am definitely beginning to have sharp pains in the lymph glands that used to swell the most and be the most bothersome. That's a good sign that the chemo is in fact at war in the right places. I curl up with a hot water bottle and cheer them on. You go, chemo. Fight, fight, fight. Kill that nasty cancer.

I'll just lay here and close my eyes and rest. It's going to be a long summer. But productive.

The Day After

Coming home yesterday, I felt like a bomb about to explode. I knew I had been injected with tons of toxic stuff, but I tried to concentrate on visualizing it as torpedoes seeking out and destroying cancer cells that have invaded my body. As long as I didn't think about the healthy cells being damaged, I could cooperate.

The send home instructions are daunting. If you experience anything on the first list of possible symptoms, call right away, don't wait. If you experience anything on the second list of possible symptoms, let us know during regular daytime hours. If you experience anything on the third list of possible symptoms, don't worry, that's normal.

All the symptom lists were separate for each chemo administered, and rather than shuffle back and forth, I made my own list that combined all the possible stuff from all the possible drugs. Easier to monitor. I also began a cancer log to track how I feel each day and what I took - not to mention things like temp (very important indicator of an infection beginning and those need to be addressed immediately), whether I worked, etc. It might not be easy to remember all that stuff.

Today, I definitely do not feel well. Headache is intense, almost migraine level. Nausea not overwhelming, but certainly I am taking my compazine. I get a prednisone boost for the next 5 days that is supposed to help me get over the worst stuff with more strength - I can't imagine what it would be like without it!

Mostly I am sitting in the blue chair with my feet up and not wobbling about much. I am extremely grateful to my friend Sissie who suggested I get a Netflix account - did you know you can stream old TV shows like I Love Lucy right to your laptop? They say you can view it on your own television, but I haven't figured that piece out quite yet. I'll think about it when I feel better. Meanwhile, a little smile is helpful! (Remember the chocolate factory episode?)

I will definitely go to bed early. Let my body work. I can almost feel the stuff rotating through my system, zapping bad stuff. If this is as bad as it gets, I will be OK. Its tolerable.

It Begins - First Chemo

I followed the signs to the Infusion Center, checked in at the desk, and took a seat with a dozen other patients. Soon I had the obligatory temp, weight, pressure check (high today, wonder why!) and was ushered to my "Pod" - a pleasant suite of four areas each with a comfortable recliner chair, tray, flat screen TV, and IV pole. While all of the areas could see out the full length windows, the two closest to the window wall had the best view. Since I was the first there, I selected one closer to the window on the left.

Almost immediately, my oncologist appeared. "Nervous?" she asked. I nodded. "A little." "I want to take a few minutes to review with you the results of my Conference conversation about your case - everyone was very interested and we had many conversations about how to proceed." She outlined for me the discussions, the pros and cons, the caveats, and finally the consensus the group had reached.

Turns out I am eligible for a clinical trial on the national level that will allow me to get the radio immunotherapy my oncologist feels will be the best thing for me. After a long and thorough conversation, she left me with the information about the trial, and told me to call if I had any questions. I could take my time, there was no pressure. I read through the handful of papers. It was sobering. There in black and white all the potential hazards of not only the chemo, but the radio immune therapy. It was enough to make you sick.

After asking her my questions, tracking down a bit more information, and praying a lot, I signed on. Meanwhile, a pleasant nurse name Pat introduced herself and told me she would be assisting me throughout the day. She would start an IV while we were waiting for the paperwork. After she tried, poking about, rolling a vein, not getting any blood, she called in another person to try (can't use the port yet). She also had trouble getting bloodwork. Each new unsuccessful stick brought a swath of gauze and tape. I giggled. "If this keeps up, I'll be a mummy!" The nurse hooted.

Next came a med cup filled with little pills of all sorts of shapes and colors. If I were a drug addict I would be in seventh heaven. It took two full cups of water to get them all down. I got an antihistamine drip to reduce reaction to the chemo. Then began the six hour Rituxan infusion. Twice we had to stop and let a bit of side effects clear. Normal. The chemo was administered next - three syringes into the IV tube, then one more little bag. Done!

I started at 9am and finished at 7pm. Not bad I suppose. I walked out under my own power with nothing more than a headache and bruise marks from the IV sticks - that and a list of side effects to watch for with clear instructions about calling the 24 hour hot line and when to wait and call during regular hours.

I arrived home to a wonderful home cooked dinner provided by a friend, then sat with my list of effects, beginning to feel a few of them, waiting to see if they lasted or if they would pass. I was nervous about going to bed in case something began to happen while I was asleep and I would wake in a dire emergency, and sat up for awhile, dozing in the chair.

Finally, I realized that there were lots of people praying for me, that God was with me and I could trust Him, that tons of people have gone through this regime with good results, and that I could stop fussing and rest, so I went to bed. Not bad for a first round.

Delay

I was ready. I had done much of my "prep list" and made necessary arrangements at work, and my port was beginning to heal. I had told my support system the schedule, and I sat in the recliner yesterday evening, stocking up on Scriptures to quote if things got bumpy.

So I wasn't prepared when the doctor called and told me they needed a few more tests before she could order my chemo! Turns out the conference group was concerned about my heart and suggested we run an echocardiogram. I told Dr. Young I had done a stress test recently and everything was fine, but she explained that while that was excellent, this looked specifically at the heart valves, things that don't show up on the stress test.

If my previous chemo had damaged the valves or weakened the walls, they would be thinking about one of the chemos that has been known to cause such damage itself. OK. So today I go at 9am for an echo to the Paul Yu Cardiology Center at Strong.

I check in, sit for only a minute, and am called back by a pleasant young woman with a cheerful smile. Change into a gown, and lay on the table on my left side. This is very much like an ultrasound, complete with goo. It was interesting to see my heart on the monitor, and as she located each valve, she would listen to the sound. She explained that each valve has a distinctive sound, and you could tell from any aberrations what might be problematic.

Some people have what she called 2 cusps and some have 3 (normal). I had 3. That was good. People with 2 have a greater tendency to develop calcification and other problems.

We struck up a conversation about second careers, which this was for her, and the delights of single parenthood. We chatted as she swirled the probe around under my arm and across my chest. A pleasant passing of time. A hour later I was headed to the lab for bloodwork, and then headed home.

So. I decided to catch up on laundry from the trip, and went downstairs to start things going. My neighbor came out to chat, and insisted that I let her do the laundry! "But I feel fine," I protested. "I don't care, you should be resting up. Now shoo and let me do this for you. I insist. It's such a small thing."

Wow! A reprieve. I accepted with thanks. And when I got back to my apartment, I decided to use my time to clear away some of the accumulating stacks of stuff in my bedroom. I made good progress and felt much more in control afterwards. That could be important if I get to chemobrain too quickly, and the doctor tells me that is part of the regime.

I didn't even have to make dinner. Since I was supposed to be having chemo, one of my friends had already sent over a delicious casserole which we enjoyed thoroughly. I am positively pampered - how thankful I am to be undergoing treatment here with so many hands to help. So much like the first round in Illinois where I also thankfully received much help. How blessed I am!

Sad Task

As with so many places, Roberts Wesleyan College is facing budgetary issues, and we are cutting back in many areas. Unfortunately, that requires some layoffs, a very difficult thing for all concerned. The Library, as with every division, was asked to let go of a full time position.

While we tried to be creative about how to do that, in the end, one of my staff was slated to be released. We agonized over the decision, prayer much, but in the end, it had to be done. I didn't want to news to come to her from anyone else, so I made sure I would be able to be there and talk with her myself, in spite of instructions from the hospital not to resume regular activities until tomorrow. I checked with them and they said as long as I don't lift or stretch, and go home right afterwards, it would be OK.

So there we were in my office, facing the hard news together. She had figured out that it would be her, had worked through much of the angst already. She was stronger than I, laughing about her getting laid off and me being the one crying. She was looking at the good things - she could now go to the baseball games and picnics of the week, and was hoping they could get by without her having to get another job - early retirement!

Afterwards, I met with my staff to plan how to reorganize, to decompress about loosing a team member, to cover the bases while I would be out of commission. Monday we will have our usual summer planning retreat at the Meridian Center. It will be a quiet summer of repurposing staff and laying low. No big projects.

We will miss our colleague. We will continue to pray for her. We will figure out how to do the same work with fewer people. God's grace is sufficient.

Port Installation

Last round of cancer, I had a pick line - a central line. They called it a port, so I was expecting something similar with some updated methods, given that its been 5 years. I had the last one done in the cancer clinic, and it didn't take all that long. I remember it being no big deal.

That was then, this is now. A bigger deal in some ways. The prep was what I expected - an IV, a consent form, an explanation of the procedure. They had a great mockup of the heart and the port and how the two get connected. I laughed when I saw the port - it's shaped like a heart and is Purple! How amazing. I am now getting the purple heart!

They wheel me to the operating room, settle me on the table, and tape my body into a standing position. Don't want gravity from falling fronts to yank this port out of place when I stand up! I get the usual blood pressure cuff, EKG tabs, warm blanket.

The doctor, a pleasant young Asian guy, comes in and chats with me for a few minutes to make sure I understand the process. I am shaking uncontrollably. I'm not cold, don't feel nervous, but my body belies my calmness. Even though I know God is with me, I can't stop shaking. "Don't worry, we have drugs for that!" And he wasn't kidding. I calmed right down after the first push, even though my blood pressure stayed high and required a second push.

The nurse opened a blue tent that covered my upper body, elevated so my face wouldn't be covered, and taped it in place around where they would be working. Then she swabbed the area to make it sterile, doing it twice for good measure. After a few shots of lidocaine, the doctor inserted a line from my right shoulder to my heart, and installed the power pump, stitching it in place. Done!

Now, once everything heals up, I can have bloodwork done through the port underneath my skin - they draw through the rubber top between the three little knobs sticking up. They can give me chemo without having to insert an IV, and if I need a power injection, like for an MRI, the port can handle it. Yeah! no more fishing for viable veins for awhile.

They load me up with heparin to keep me from clotting, and send me home with instructions to not get it wet for a week while it heals, and to leave the steri strips and glue in place until I come back for a checkup. Too bad I won't be able to use if for the first chemo, but it will be good to go after that. Yeah!

Mother's Day Coming Home

The best Mother's Day gift I had was being with three of my four boys in the same place at the same time, with my grandbabies thrown in for good measure! Our trip home was slower than the one down, but at least we were listening to a better audio book! I had selected a "who done it mystery," and the boys were as interested as I was.

Traffic was starting to get heavy when we took the new Route 17 shortcut around DC just as they announced that the Beltway was a parking lot. Thank goodness we were circumventing that! The mountains in Pennsylvania are gorgeous even though they are not quite green yet. The only strange element was the heavy bug casualties - our windshield was plastered over and over, not to mention the front grill.

We got home just in time to turn in the rental car before the deadline. All in all, a good trip. And a good Mother's Day. Tomorrow, let the games begin.

Shoveling Manure

DJ has a gentleman's farm on his few acres - goats, ducks, chickens and horses, not to mention 4 dogs. He is trying to develop it while caring for his family and working 2 jobs, not easy. This morning, he headed for the back goat yard to scoop up the horse droppings from when the horses grazed there yesterday. I grabbed my jacket and went out to help.

We had good conversation while we slowly took care of business. Things like his hopes and dreams for his small slice of earth, his work, his girls, his tiredness. He seemed very happy even though pressed for time and energy.

We worked along, then walked his property, enjoying the spring profusion of flowers, the wild kudzu, the river along the back of his property. It's a lovely piece of land with lots of potential. He dreams of a decent horsefarm where he can teach riding. I hope he will be able to make it happen.

Just as we were headed back inside, he stopped to tell me that if, God forbid, something should go wrong with this round, he would be happy to take Drew and Kiel and wanted me to know that he would do all he could to take up his responsibilities. I appreciated his kindness and offer. It takes some stress off to know there is a backup plan!

We exchanged a few more words that touched my heart, then went inside to rouse the sleeping household. A great start to the day. Sometimes the best things happen over the menial chores.

Shoppin'!

Never having had any girls, one of the joys of having grand daughters is to buy them girl outfits! So much more choice than for boys. I have shopped for them in Rochester, but I don't have a good sense of their taste or their Mom's preferences much less their needs.

I was really looking forward to taking them to the mall and having their input. We started at the Godiva chocolate store - a very good place to begin! We tried on Easter hats at Sears, found great outfits on sale at JC Penny's including new bathing suits, wandered about looking at the sights, got a slushy at the drink stand, and headed to MacDonald's for dinner. Poor girls were quite worn out and Katie napped while we munched on fries and chicken nuggets.

All in all not a bad day. I should definitely do this more often.

Quick Trip

I had planned to visit DJ, Shannon and the girls in June in between semesters at Concordia, but with Concordia out of the picture and travel looking less and less doable, I decided that while I am still waiting to begin treatment, I better take a quick trip down and hug those girls!

What a whirlwind getting all my responsibilities covered at work, church, school. I managed to reserve a rental car, and hoped to be on the road by 10 am - realizing that was optimistic.

We were in the process of getting the car (Kiel had one last final exam to take first) when the clinic called to tell me I had to have additional bloodwork done, so we get swung by there before packing the car. We also stopped at the Christian bookstore to get an audio book to listen to during the long drive and to Wegmans for snackage.

At last we were on the way zipping south on 390 into Pennsylvania, threading our way along the river into Virginia. The audio book was right up the boy's alley but far from mine. I discovered that I am not a Ted Dekker fan by any means. I should have realized from the title The Boneman's Daughters. Yuck. I get to pick for the return trip.

We made good time, skirting the DC area via a new Route 17 and arrived before the midnight hour. The girls were still up, waiting for us even though they shied away from getting too close to these strangers.

Well, after hugs all around, we hit the sheets, worn out and happy to have gotten there in one piece. Tomorrow we will dig in.

The Appointment

Today at last I met with my oncologist for the low down on the bone marrow biopsy, the full body scan, and the treatment plan. As soon as I checked in at the desk, they sent me for bloodwork. I have always gone to the hospital lab for that, and when I checked in there, I discovered it would be a 40 minute wait. I mentioned that I had a doctor's appointment, and the kind receptionist called the cancer clinic to see if I should go to the appointment first.

Turns out, there is a lab right in the cancer clinic! No lines, no waiting. I never knew that. You learn something new everyday. Once that was taken care of, I waited for the doctor semi calmly, trying not to get ahead of the game. Could be a good report, after all. The doctor knocked gently on the door, entering with a smile, washing her hands, shaking mine.

Together we perused the lab reports. Yes, the lymphoma is in my bone marrow. Not a lot, but some. Yes, there are more spots where the cancer has spread to other bones - sternum, shoulder, hip. Yes, the lymph glands in my abdomen are enlarging. Hum. What to do?

She will take everything to the New England area discussion on Tuesday to see what everyone there thinks. There are no protocols since lymphoma doesn't show up in bone. We will break new ground together. She really wants to do a radio injection, but the insurance company is not likely to approve that - its $25,000 for each dose alone not to mention the nursing care and other stuff.

Radiation alone will probably not cut it. We move to R-CHOP chemo. Not the best solution, but will buy us some time and satisfy the insurance company that we have tried the usual treatments. We will likely have the same conversation again in a few years. Longer time if we are lucky.

This will not be a picnic, but they have it down to a science. It will take an entire day to administer the 5 different chemos plus the Rituxin. They will do 5 or 6 doses, one every three weeks starting next Wednesday. I will loose my hair, combat nausea, diarrhea, fatigue and end up with more chemobrain. They have a booklet filled with ideas about how to deal with these issues, how to help yourself.

I am glad that this is the last week of class, that summer is gentler than during the school year. If I am lucky, I will be through the worst before fall. I am sad to realize that Concordia is out. No summer coursework. I will have to delay my seminary work for a season. Rats.

I decide that before all hell breaks loose, I will take a trip to North Carolina to visit my darling grand daughters, my son and daughter in law. I will leave tomorrow. I only have a few days. They will be installing a port on Monday - I am going to try to change the date to Tuesday to buy a little more time.

The nurse tells me they will write me a prescription for a wig! I laugh. I always said I would henna my head if I lost my hair. I will look into it. I ask if they can write a prescription for the gym so I can keep working out. She says they will definitely write a letter in support of financial help with that.

I have an instant call number now - any time of night or day I can get ahold of medical help. I pray that I won't have to use it. She doesn't know I have had a help line for years - its called prayer. And I am calling it right now.

Surprise!

Every semester, we hope to have an intern from the University of Buffalo Library Science program come and help us at the Reference Desk. This semester was no exception. We were fortunate to have the wife of one of our seminary students come every Tuesday and explore all the different areas of the library. She was a delight to work with and very quick to do the assignments we requested.

We wanted to make sure we showed her our appreciation, so we planned a little going away party the week before her final week with us. She and I sat at the Reference Desk chatting while my colleagues set out the fruit salad and cookies and punch. A card had been circulated and signed. At last all was ready, and they called the desk to tell me to bring her in.

Had we managed to keep the secret? Yes! We walked in and she was totally taken aback! We enjoyed pleasant conversation while we munched on the goodies. Its nice to be able to surprise someone once in awhile! And we do so appreciate her help. We have been fortunate to have had excellent students work with us from that program. I hope next semester we are able to find another gem.

Accepted!

What a joy to get the voice mail message that the new primary care doctor had checked with my oncologist and agreed to take me on. What a disappointment to find out the June 3 is the earliest date I can be seen! But at least I am in like Flynn. I find this medical group to be thorough and good at following through - at least so far.

They are mailing me a medical history form and other paperwork which I am to fill out and mail back so the doctor will have a chance to read it before meeting me! That's novel. She wants to become familiar with my case, to think of what sorts of care may be needed. How refreshing. Far from the doctor who doesn't have time to even look you in the face during the short ten minutes you get with them.

We shall see how it unfolds. At least she has a geriatric specialty and will be well directed to assist as I age, provided I get the opportunity to do that!

Spring!!!

How beautiful the campus looks this week. All the spring flowers are in full bloom - a raft of gorgeously hued tulips of yellow, red, purple, white, orange and pink, daffodils of white and yellow and all sorts of combinations, purple and white hyacinths galore. The flowering trees are a wealth of color - the brilliant yellow forsythia, the creamy white ornamental fruit trees, the maroon and pink hydrangea bushes. It is as if the earth is celebrating the return of warm weather and blue skies.

The grounds people here do a marvelous job tucking enticing little gardenettes here and there, next to the entrance of Rinker Administration Building, by the bridge to the Smith Science Center, along the wall of Garlock Dining Hall. The fragrance greets you gently as you walk about - a marvelous excuse to hand deliver anything that has to go anywhere on campus!

I am happy to have the heat off and the sun on and flowers in bloom. I hope it lasts for weeks.

Waiting

One of the challenges of dealing with cancer is the waiting after you have a test or tests run. You wonder what the results will mean moving forward, and wish there were a better way to be notified of the results in laymen's terms sooner. The clinic does have a line you can call to find out, but somehow it just makes more sense to me to wait until I talk with the doctor.

You learn after awhile to not think about it while mentally preparing for whatever scenario you will end up with, good, bad, inbetween. It's no different than waiting for a ride, waiting for an order to be shipped, waiting for a baby to be born, a grandmother to pass, a vacation to begin, a party to happen. Part of the journey is the anticipation. So I take it one moment at a time and savor the trip while the goin's good.

Full Body Scan

"We've simply got to stop meeting like this," I quipped with the radiologist who had come to my prep room laden with the usual lead box enclosed dose of radiation. He smiled. "You do seem to keep coming back," he kidded while he slapped the back of my hand searching for a good vein. "Come on," he cajoled my hand. "I know you're in there. Pop up and let me take a look at you."

Since I can't do contrast, they no longer bother with an IV, just a butterfly injection which today went in easily. They wrap me in warm snugly blankets, tip the recliner back, dim the lights and tiptoe out until I am "cooked" and fully radiated.

Snoozing came easily. I have been sliding between the sheets later and later at night - for no particular reason except that I just don't feel like being alone in the dark having to corral my brain and keep it from going places it ought not go. My body speaks to me more clearly these days, especially when things are not quite right.

Picture a hand in a warm glove, and the glove wearing thinner and thinner until you can almost see that there will be a breach, a hole, and skin will show through. Its immanent, you just don't know quite when. But you know that once it happens, there is no going back. There will be a patch or two possible, but things will never be the same.


Sometimes I think having cancer is rather like knowing a tsunami is about to pound your beach, and first you run in a panic, but then you realize how futile that is, so you look for the highest point and get to the top of it, hoping the water won't rise beyond your perch. Its just that you won't know until it comes whether you are going to survive.

Well now all that's just the sort of brief little jaunts you have to keep your head from taking. Easy enough. You simply make yourself think about other things, pleasant stuff. Too soon they opened the door and summoned me to the double doughnut room and put me through the usual in and out convolutions. Breathe in. Hold your breath. l-o-n-g pause while your body rotates through the doughnut. Breathe. Then the reverse - Breathe out. Hold your breath. Long pause. More moving around. Breathe. Its a weird kind of carnival ride.

Today they were most thorough. Every spot of arm and leg got included, right up to my eyeballs! If there is more cancer, we will find it. Not to worry. Forty five minutes flew by, and before I knew it, I was headed for the waiting room where my friend was patiently knitting and reading until I came out. It was nice to have someone there. I have many offers of people who are willing to take me to tests and support me with their kindness.

Other than don't hug anyone, don't hold a baby or a pet, I am good to go. Back to the other reality of my life, work!