www.cancermonster.net

I was raised in America’s Southeast, where getting hit by lightning might make the evening news, but only if you come away from it with supernatural powers. Here in Oregon, they report the mere existence of a lightning bolt escaping from the heavens. Getting hit by lightning here would be headline. The chances are so slim because lightning strikes so seldom.

The chances of a person, any person, developing a cancerous tumor of any kind is high. More than one in three if you believe everything you read. Getting cancer is like lightning just happening in Florida in the summer between 1:00 and 3:00 in the afternoon. Getting a sarcoma is harder. Sarcomas are like lightning strikes in Oregon. They happen, but not very often.

Getting a Sarcoma in your left butt cheek is like having lightning strike you twice in an hour while walking down the city streets of Portland.

It doesn’t happen. Except to me. Go figure. I am one in a billion. How about that.

As I walked through the treatment center today, I once again took stock of all the literature and books available. Breast Cancer, Colon Cancer, Cervical Cancer, Prostate Cancer and on and on goes the list. All very nasty Monsters. Terrible fights all around me.

No books on Sarcoma. No books on Muscular Cancers. Nothing at all about butt cheeks.

Soft Tissue Sarcoma means the tumor is in support and connective tissue like muscle, fat, nerves, tendons, joints, blood vessels, or lymph vessels. Only about 1% of all cancers out there are Sarcomas. Most of those, about 50%, occur in the limbs. 40% happen in the trunk or abdomen. 10% occur in the neck or head. Where is the left BUTT CHEEK in those numbers?

I am that single tree on the hill.

Today, the Lovely C, who was in on the simulation poking, returned from her vacation. She asked how I was doing, how was the pain. I gave her the standard line: “I am fine, how are you?” As long as I take the pain medicine on schedule, I am fine . . . so far.

“Well your smile is big!”

What else can you do? It hurts my face too much to frown all the time. It hurts my spirit too. So I try to smile and shrug it off in public.

Except when using a scooty-cart at the grocery store. You have to look sad and achy when running people down in a scooty-cart or people just think your lazy. If you own your own scooty-cart, you can be jolly. No one lugs around their own Hover-Round just because they are too lazy to walk. It would take too much work . . . And lazy people. . . Since I borrow the store’s scooty-cart, I save my smiles for outside the grocery store. Very few people are giddy about groceries anyway. So it’s all right.

I presented H with a little wire and paper flower doo-dad I made this morning as an apology for telling her yesterday that I secretly called her names during the tattoo session. “I was just joking around, I didn’t mean it.” I shouldn’t have said that I called her names. I did. But I shouldn’t have told her about it! She hugged me and said that she hadn’t taken it seriously. I couldn’t take a chance that she might be secretly mad while poking around back there again. I had to cover my . . . well you know what I mean. She is the one doing the zapping afterall.

And Zapped once again I was. Seven down, eighteen to go.

On my way out I met up with BB and had a nice chat about motherhood. And then Dr G stopped me to ask how I was feeling. I was limping slightly. That concerned him. I told him that as long as I take the pain pills on schedule and not try to be brave and push through the pain, I do much better. In the beginning, I listened to all the well meaning warnings about getting addicted to the narcotics in the pain pills. I have had chronic pain for years and have had a hard time getting pain pills from well meaning doctors. I have learned to manage my pain with a certain amount of acceptance and a whole lot of OTC anti-inflammatory drugs. But the CancerMonster kicks the FibroCreature’s own tail when it comes to pain. Without the narcotics, the tumor pain is debilitating. So I have no choice but take the narcotics.

Dr G explained that “they” have done studies on cancer pain. The chances of a cancer patient getting addicted to narcotics is as slim as . . . as getting a Sarcoma in the tush. And pain inhibits recovery.

“Yes, I read that book.”

“Oh, good. Take the pills.”

The book I referred to is from the American Cancer Society. (publication number 9498.01 version II/August 2005) titled Cancer Pain - Treatment Guidelines for Patients. I definitely recommend it.

I so enjoyed making the little paper flower for H that when I returned to my inny apartment, I decided to bring my art supplies into my room and make some more for the rest of the crew. I have nothing else to do anyway until tomorrow’s alien ray gun session.

Nothing else to do except one thing. I need to find a fall back location in the Portland Metro to move the family motorhome after my surgery. This may be needed if I can’t do my rehabilitation on the coast. Dan says he won’t be without me more than the five weeks of radiation.

Dan is my “Split-Apart.”***

We are all doing what we have to for the fight, but there is a limit to the time our hearts can take being apart from each other. “Split-Apart” souls, once united again, can’t be separated for long.

It’s a rule.

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**Some believe that in heaven, one soul is divided into two. Separated into two lives, the two parts must find each other again in order to be whole once more. Each half is a “Split-Apart” of the other.

Shh! Don’t tell anyone . . . I am living a double life.

Today I am a solitary spinster in my tiny apartment. Not actually lonely, but very very quiet. I just came from the grocery store where I bought one bag of food. Just enough for myself. For more than a week. Maybe two weeks or more. When I got “home” I made myself a bowl of soup. (It was really good soup, don’t worry. I like soup. Let’s call it stew, a meaty, hardy stew if it will make you happy. But it was just soup.) It didn’t take long to make dinner for one and my kitchenette is still clean. Go figure. I sat down at my table and ate my soup while watching the news. The only thing missing from this picture is a few cats. A few stereo-typical cats winding their way through my legs. My only companions. A spinster.

This could be a “compartment” in any big city neighborhood. I am in a different hotel, but with pretty much the same set up -kitchenette, bathroom, queen bed and comfy chair with a matching ottoman. This one, however, has a table (instead of a bar) and a desk. whoo-hoo. I moved to keep the Monster on his toes, see. (That and the other hotel was booked by a double squadron of miniature soccer players.) This hotel is an “inny” as opposed to an “outy” like the other one. I have to go inside the lobby and down the hall to my room. So, not only do I not have a porch, I don’t even have a door to the outside world at my immediate disposal. (I didn’t even look for a river.) I never had an inny apartment ever. This is a new experience.

When I was single (and younger) I don’t think my apartments were ever this quiet. There was always the noise of the radio or my friends. The TV was louder even I think. I never lived in a quiet neighborhood either. There was one little bungalow on an island called Matlache in Southwest Florida that was pretty quiet. If it weren’t for the coconuts whhoommpping down from the palm trees every time the wind blew (It was an island - the wind blew - the palm trees were old and plentiful - and fruitful) it would have been as quiet as this. Maybe. But I don’t think so.

Maybe it just seems so quiet because I have been a mother for nineteen years now. The better part of the last ten, I had four kids winding their way through my legs instead of cats. And kids are allergic to quiet. So are husbands for that matter. There is no husband here either. Boy, it’s quiet.

Leaving home this morning was harder than last week. The kids know how long five days are now that they lived through the last five day deal. None of them made it comfortably through last night. Robert ended up on the couch. Brandi was too hot to keep her curtain covering her bunk. (The fact that once the curtain was removed, she could see directly into my bed had nothing to do with it, I am sure.) And Jaymi, well she didn’t have a good night either and she made me promise I wouldn’t write about her bad night. So I won’t. But she had one.

After the night we collectively had, my Dear Aunt in Huston forgot that I am two hours behind here in Oregon, bless her heart. “I needed to get up anyway, Dear. Don’t pay me any mind. It’s almost 7:00a. It’s OK.” And it was. I love that lady. She can call me anytime of the day or night. Maybe. haha

The kids and I got in trouble from the new boss. We were talking and hugging and giggling and not getting ready to go to daycare. Dad wasn’t pleased. He was in a hurry. He has a schedule. One week in and he has it handled. When they all hugged me for the last time and headed out the door, I just stood there and watched it close. When did I loose my role in the family? And what is my new role? Oh yea, I forgot. Sheena, Slayer of Monsters.

The ride up from the beach was a wet one. It rained the whole way. I stopped for gas halfway at a Tribal Casino gas station. I had to pump my own gas. What is so remarkable about that, you ask? It was interesting to note that the Grand Ronde Tribe thinks I am smart enough to pump my own gas and the State of Oregon doesn’t. I haven’t pumped my own gas since we moved here over five years ago. It felt good.

I walked into the Treatment Center and waved to the lady in the lobby. I wonder if she remembers that I ran out just a week ago? I crossed her desk and headed into the Radiation Treatment wing. “I’m Baa-ack!” I walked on through like I knew the secret handshake and made my way to the ball gown lounge. Grabbing up the flap lest I show my true nature, I found a chair and opened my book to read. I didn’t actually read, but I made the attempt. I was making progress. I must be getting use to this.

I don’t want to get used to this.

My lady crew was waiting for me with all the right pillows in all the right spots. They are so sweet. Today was a bolus day. It took K a bit to get the double wide material to wrap around my leg and lay over my tail just right.

“You should have been here when they were trying to custom fit this to my hiney, K. It was quite the site.”

“I heard.”

“Of course you did! H, here can tell ya. She was there every blasted minute of it.”

“We didn’t hurt you too bad I hope.” H, who has been so very gentle ever since, asked quietly.

“Let’s just say that I didn’t know you as well then. I didn’t know what the proper name was to call you, but in my mind, I was calling you several other names!”

I need to take H something tomorrow. I think I might have hurt her feelings. oopps.

When the treatment was over, I asked K a question that my Aunt had asked me this morning. “How many fields are being used? And by the way, what does that mean?”

K told me that a field is the angle of the radiation beam. In my case, they use three fields. The machine aims the beam down from the first angle. Zaps and moves to the next programed angle, zaps and then travels to yet a third angle. She said that she has used up to twelve fields before. I wanted to know if just the edges are getting zapped or if the whole thing is covered. “The three angles combine to cover the entire tumor from the edges in to the very center. ” hmmm. I learned something.

After my tanning session I saw Nurse BB the Wonderful and Dr G the Gallant. Every Monday I will have these extra visits, I am told. I was asked about my weekend, my pain, and my skin. I had to bare my . . . soul to them both for a check. I answered their questions, they answered mine and I was off.

“Bye Girls! Don’t have too much fun without me!”

“If your leaving, the fun is over.”

“Might as well go on home then.”

Wasn’t that nice of me to give them the rest of the day off?

I’m pretty tired. It has been yet another long day. A long, weird day. Radiation Day 6 is completed. Six down, nineteen to go.

Good Sunday Morning to you. I feel much better today. Yesterday was tiring. It was a tad too busy for me and I wasn’t able to write.

I spent Saturday morning catching up with my campground. The friends I have met here are wonderful people. And the friends that I have yet to meet the same. The park is at full capacity. The salmon are late. There is a lot of standing around talking going on here.

The afternoon I spent resting from the social interaction I had in the morning. Getting a much needed nap was harder than it would seem. I was getting the “Hey old lady!” tapping on my forehead from all sides. The kids were starving for my attention. I finally fell asleep in the middle of a conversation and they got the hint. I didn’t expect the fatigue that hit me after lunch. It swept in and knocked me off my feet like a great northern wave.

By early evening I thought I had recovered enough to take Jaymi and head to Wal-Mart. I was wrong. Even as I walked across the parking lot I knew it was going to be too much. The old FibroCreature wasn’t ready to get up and go yet. I climbed in a scooty-cart and “zoomed” on at a breaking .05 miles per hour with Jaymi walking along beside. When we filled up the attached basket, Jaymi went for a regular one and we filled that one too. Mother Hubbard couldn’t go back to the city and leave an empty cupboard behind. Checking out and loading the groceries in the trunk would have been impossible if not for Jaymi’s help. It made me angry to see her work so hard. My kids are going to grow up too fast because of my Monster. I will not be the same after my surgery. They will have to step up and take care of things. I hate that.

Dinner was the special of the day from the Subway inside Wal-Mart. By the time I got the groceries and sandwiches home it was after 7:00. We woofed them down. I was profoundly tired. And I had a low grade fever. I forgot to ask if I should be wary of fevers. That’s on my Monday morning list of questions.

I did try to write along the way, but each time I did someone or something needed my attention. I finally read the entire book I got at the treatment center on Radiation Therapy. About time. I was in bed early, but didn’t sleep until some time after 1:00a. It was a long, painful, tiring day. To tell you the truth, it scared me a little. It’s only the first week.

This morning, however, I woke up feeling much better. Over our morning coffee, Dan and I had a very frank conversation of what if’s. I have no intention of losing this fight, but we have to be grown-ups. Grown-up’s with children to plan for. I wanted to make sure Dan was clear on my desires should tough decisions be necessary. He is my next of kin. These decision are his alone to make. This may be hard for my family and maybe even Kelli to accept. I wanted him to know that if it came to a decision between my leg and a longer life, there was no question I would want the life over the limb. I wanted him to know that I didn’t want to put the family or myself through a life on a machine. And in case things didn’t go my way, I wanted him to know who gets what. Neither one of us wanted to have this discussion, but it was the responsible thing to do. I even took the time to write it all down. That done, it doesn’t have to ever be an issue again.

Then I started putting the groceries away that Jaymi and I bought yesterday. This takes a bit of planning in a motorhome. Boxes have to be tossed and the contents repackaged into baggies. These go into the cabinets over the table. Cans get labeled and stacked on their sides in the pantry. Our large pantry was sacrificed for part of the girls’ bunks - except for the depth of one can length behind the door. I can get an incredible amount of food in a small space. We also have one outside bay for foodstuff that we don’t use everyday. It works.

Dan has been working around the “house” today, replacing screens and building in shelves in the external storage bays. It’s been three and a half months since we moved in to the motorhome and we are still working out the kinks, making adjustments and improvements. By the time we are ready to trade up to a bigger model, it will be just right and we will have to start over. Go figure. We hope to get more out of it than we paid each time we upgrade and in that way inch ourselves into a nice big converted bus. We have even toyed with the idea of “flipping RVs” the way some people flip houses.

While Dad toiled on, the kids and I took a break from chores to have a dance. We had been sharing our ’80’s playlist with the campers around us (whether they enjoyed it our not haha) and the four of is were moved by the rhythm. We moved the tables and chairs on the porch back and cut a rug. The kids laughed at me! Jaymi said it was weird to see “old people” dance. Little stinker! But dance I did. I danced with my kids to the music of my teenage years. It was so fun! I don’t remember when we ever did something like it. And I don’t know when I will be able to dance like that again. I didn’t care who saw us. There was no one else in the world at that moment anyway. Just me and my kids and my husband and the music. Sometimes that’s as it should be and all you ever need.

The afternoon has crawled on in this way. The sun is high and bright, the music is great and the company perfect. I am happy to be here.

There may be a time soon that we won’t be able to stay in the motorhome. While I am relearning to walk, we may have to move into an apartment. Just for a time. Rats.

It’s already getting late and soon it will be time to repack my bags for the second week away from my little ones. Four weeks left. You can to anything for a month. You can do anything for a month. You can do anything for a month. If I keep telling myself that, I will learn to believe it. It’s true. You can do more than you think you can when you have to. They say that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.

He must think a lot of me.

Tomorrow I re-enter my other life. I think I will walk out to the dock and kick my feet in the water. Maybe a fish will nibble on my toes! Or a seal will stop by for a chat. Maybe I will take Brandi with me. Ya, let’s go with that. Just a mom and her daughter out for a walk.

Perfect.

Evening

From the moment I woke up, my mind was already home with my family and my river.  It took one “tanning bed” session with the ladies at the club (”I get to go home today Girls!) and a two and a half hour drive for my body to catch up. As I came out of the mountains into Lincoln County I was holding back happy tears with the biggest grin my face could accommodate. I’m home!

I had a few minutes to unload my things and say hi to my friends before Dan showed up. He took the afternoon off for some reason!  Lol.  I think he missed me.  We spent a few minutes alone before we went together to pick up the kids from the Play Palace.  My kids were a tad skinnier after I hugged the stuffing out of them.  The five of us sat together at the casino snack bar for lunch.  I just looked from one face to the other with such joy.  I only left on Monday.  It was only the first week. But absence really does make the heart grow fonder.

Dan dropped the children and me off at their favorite park while he made a quick stop at the dentist office.  I followed the little monkeys through the castle playland as long as I was able, snapping pictures of them having fun.  But it wasn’t long before they wore me out.  When Dan returned, he tried to round them up, but they weren’t ready to go.

“Let them play.”

“You look tired.”

I was.  But I don’t want to always be the source of their disappointment.  It was worth the effort to watch them smile and run like all the other children.   I handed Dan the camera.  “Take more of the boy.  I didn’t get enough.”

“Mom, I want to show you something!  Come on mom!  This is cool!”

I followed Brandi to her cool spot and watched her climb through a tight tunnel.  When did she get so big?  Brandi is nine.  Because she comes in a collection of three, I forget that she is older.  When Kelli was nine, she was older.  When Kelli was nine, she stood at the end of the hospital bed as Brandi was born.  I couldn’t hear anything as I pushed except Kelli giggling.  I’ll never forget it.

“Oh mom!  That was the neatest, grossest thing I have ever seen!”

That was Kelli’s introduction to her long awaited sister, Brandi Jean.  And now my second baby is nine.  How did that happen?

Time has no middle ground.  It flies or it drags.  Sometimes it drags until it flies.  This first week of radiation, first week of separation, took forever between Monday to Friday morning.  But sitting here back on my porch (even though my porch moved while I was away), it’s as if I never left.   I am home!

Brandi is once again back on her “normal” and Robbie hasn’t missed a beat.  Jaymi is following me around, swearing that she is not going to take her eyes off me until Monday.

Mom’s home.

After I was able to finally shoo the children off me for a nap, I came outside to get a look at my tree.

“Stand Tall my Sister!  We are Survivors!”

I don’t want to talk about my tumor or my treatment tonight.  I don’t want to talk about how the State of Oregon is not taking anymore adult “clients” for Medicaid no matter the situation. (Seems they are as broke as we are and can’t help us.  Go figure.) I don’t want to think about going back to the city at the end of the weekend.

Tonight, I want to have dinner with my family, take a walk out to the dock after that like Dan and I always do, and curl up with my hubby for a movie after the kids go to bed.

Business as usual.

I am being tested. Those of you who pray against such things? I could use some help with this test.

Dylan Thomas and I think alike. “Do not go gentle into the good night.” Thomas’ father, once a strong man, was showing weakness. His son was getting scared for him. “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Dylan was telling his father to fight, to complain, to kick and scream, just don’t give up.

“Do not go gentle into the good night.”

This morning, two inches or so above the already widened line drawn around my Monster, is hard under the skin. Hard across my side, the oblique muscles that I was told would be effected by the radiation. I am not sure, but it seems too early in my course of treatment to be effected like that. But I want to believe the hardness is reaction and not a redoubling of growth.

I want to believe it.

I am going for a walk.

I wish I could walk out to the dock and stare into the Siletz River. I wish I could wave at the fisherman and smile at the seals chasing the fish, beating the fisherman to their catch. I see the reflection of it though, here in my mind’s eye.

I get to go home tomorrow for the weekend. Whatever pain I might feel on the two and a half hour trip will be welcome. They say the ends justify the means. I want to look into the eyes of my babies and hold them tightly. I want to feel my husband’s love with my body and not just my heart. I want to go home.

For today, I will have to be content to go back to my room where I can cry in private. Why is this happening to me? A Fluke my . . . Ya, mine. The other day, while discussing the size and growth of my tumor, Dr G explained that when you remove only part of a cancer, you are giving room and fuel to the rest of it to feed on the blood and grow in the space. As I see it, the fluid filled sack that was left after my first surgery was like yolk to the embryo. I am angry.

Dan just called me on his way to work. I listened to his plan for the day, what work he will get done. Business as usual.

He told me about a conversation he had this morning with our 8 year old daughter. Jaymi is our caretaker child. Tending mostly to put her needs behind. I taught her that when she needed attention, she should just say it. We have this game. She taps me on the forehead and says, “Hey old lady, I need some attention!” And then we both laugh so long she forgets what she wanted to say.

Dan told me that Jaymi came to him this morning and tapped him on the forehead.

“Hey old man!”

“What, do you need some attention?”

As he held her, he promised that he would always be her daddy, would always take care of her and provide for her. He said to her, “Sometimes, words just don’t express the love you feel for someone. We should come up with something just between us that can represent our love.”

They settled on “twin hearts.”

Twin hearts. What a code between a daddy and his little girl. Twin hearts.

That did it. I was planning not to cry to Dan this morning. I was planning not to worry him this day. Let him go to work without my junk. But I failed. “Twin Hearts” did me in. “I want to come home.”

I feel like the stereo-typical pregnant woman, crying at a drop of the hat. Don’t tell anyone! Oopps, too late.

Twin Hearts.

10:00a
I have had my breakfast and I still have some time to wait for my 11:00 appointment with the alien ray gun. When I am lying face down on the table and the ladies start calling out coordinates in their strange technical language, I can’t help feeling I am on the bridge of a starship. The bridge crew lays in the spatial destination and sets a course for the unknown. “Make is so, Number 1.” Then the ship powers up and whirs and spins around me. I wait for the captain to give the word.

“Engage.”

And I am off. Flying through the universe. Past the stars my little boy tells me about. “Mommy, I love you past the Love Stars and back.” So every morning I fly past the Love Stars and circle back to earth. Then the ship powers down and I land on my feet. The crew pats me on the back and says, “You did great!” I didn’t do anything but lie there without moving. But I guess that is a skill worthy of praise.

I have had only three treatments, but it seems like a million stars ago that I came to town to begin.

Today is my two months anniversary. Time to take off.

Afternoon

In spite of the pain, I walked across to the treatment center today. Maybe it was because of the pain. Maybe it was to thumb my nose at the Monster. No maybe about it.

I will not cry here today. I will not . . . “I’m baa-ack!” I walked in with my spirit high and out in front as a shield.

“Did anyone ever tell you that when you start calling out coordinates you sound like the bridge crew of a starship?” That got them giggling. And I couldn’t stop giggling. I didn’t do so great at doing nothing today. I told my crew that I was going to find a glow-in-the-dark star chart to put under my toilet seat pillow so I can see where they are sending me.

“Engage.” And I was off. Past the Love Stars and back lickity-split. See you tomorrow.

Tim called with news that his mother’s friend found a bench seat for the work van. He will pick it up for me on Saturday. I have come to love the boy that stole my daughter’s heart. He is a fine young man. I hugged them together last night and told them that relationships take work, but it’s work well spent. Kelli and Tim compliment each other. They are really too young to have figured it all out, but I think they are on the right path. Sometimes things like this just fall into place.

I have shared a lot already today. Maybe I will write more this evening. Who knows. I feel better for the telling. Go figure.

Tomorrow I get to go home.

9:00p

What a day! I just got in the door.

My brother Mike called me on the way home from Kelli’s house. “I just had to check on you. I am waiting for tonight’s post.” hahhaha “You don’t have to write if you don’t feel like it. It’s midnight here. I will just check again in the morning. I have my computer open to your page.” Mike is a construction man, a fisherman, and a he-man. He was never a geek. He might have beat up a few in his day, but no one ever called him one, not even behind his back. I think this is the first time he has ever been hooked on anything computer. It tickles me.

My beautiful daughter and her beau Tim made a fantastic dinner tonight. I was able to meet Tim’s mother and her boyfriend as well as see the new place. Very nice! Both! Kel is doing so well. It was nice to sit across from her (at her own table) and chat as adults. It’s been a long time coming. I am happy to have had this evening with her.

I can’t wait to sit down at the table of my other three kids when they are adults. I have plans. I want many grandchildren. Many. I have plans.

The afternoon before that was HOT! I have been down on the coast for three and a half months where there is always a cool breeze. I was melting here in the city today as I completed the errands I had been putting off since Monday. One thing I completed was to take a load from the motorhome to the storage unit. Turns out we need even less of the stuff we once thought was essential.

I talked all day on the phone it seems. Both sisters, one brother, my sister-in-law, and mom. And Dan several times. And my kids.

I had to pick up some new medicine while I was out. I was a bit nauseated yesterday afternoon. I can’t say for sure that it was the radiation that did it. It is really too soon for a physical reaction. But just in case, I now have some Compazine to take if it comes around again. I am not sure how I feel to tell you the truth. And I don’t know if what I am feeling is the CancerMonster’s fault or if I should just chalk it up to the old FibroCreature having a hissy of it’s own. I am just a tad off kilter.

But I have been a tad off kilter all my life. So how do I tell?

Going backwards through my day has brought me to the Center. I don’t know how I managed it, but I can’t think of another place where I could be treated as well as I have been by this group. When I walked in, I was greeted with a kindness that I had given up on. A compassion that made me cry with relief once again. Tomorrow will be two months since I was told that I had cancer. Two months doesn’t seem like a long time. But when in a fight for your life, who wants to sit around for two months waiting to begin defending yourself. So when I am offered an armory to draw from by people with their arms open wide ready to give a hug, or a hand, I am blown away.

I am literally blown away. Today, instead of telling myself jokes to pass the time on the table, I thanked God for touching each and every member of the team who in turn, has touched me too deeply for adequate words to explain. These people have restored my faith in humanity. That may sound a bit dramatic, but if you have been following this story you know where I am coming from. First, today I was told there may be help with my expenses. Then I was hugged tightly as I cried. Then I was fussed over by technicians who were doing what ever they could to make me more comfortable on the table. Extra padding and cushions and warm blankets. No more, lions or tigers, or bears in my way. I saw my perky and wonderful nurse who was concerned about my nausea. On my way out I got smiles and See-you-tomorrow‘s that I believed were sincere.

This shouldn’t be a surprise! This should be the norm, not an exception. Granted, I don’t know how patients are treated in other centers — THEY WOULDN’T LET ME IN TO FIND OUT!

Here-in lies the rub. I am not being treated as less than important because I don’t have health insurance. I am one of the club members here and I am blown away.

I am blown away.

8:30a
I think we just made it mad yesterday. Without opening my eyes, or inspecting with my hands, I knew it was bigger. I no longer need pillows behind me to keep from rolling onto the tumor. It, itself, is my prop. I could no more lie directly on the Monster than I could lie on a boulder. And it somehow is harder. I didn’t think it could get harder, but it did.

I am waiting for Dan to call me back. It seems the drop off system we came up with for the kids is not going to work out after all. Dan is on the way to the daycare.

We both woke to frustration. Two towns and two problems. It never ends. And begins anew with each morning.

Cowboy-up. Shake it off. Take a shower.

10:00a
The shower was fantastic. I have lived in a motorhome since May. Showering in an RV takes some acquired skill. You get only six gallons of hot water. Turn on the water. Get wet. Turn off the water. Soap up. Turn on the water. Rinse off. Repeat. I’ve got it figured out.

This shower was glorious. One wouldn’t think a simple shower worthy of a blog entry, but this one is. The water was hot and the hot water plentiful. And there is a Shower Pick head for a fine massage. To stand there under a constant stream of steamy mist washed not only the black marker lines off my posterior, but washed my spirit back to shiny bravado. I wanted to see just how much hot water there was, but time prevented me from completing my experiment.

It’s time to go. I have already loaded my book into my purse so there can be no reason to run back out today. Radiation-day 2, here I come.

Afternoon

Today’s procedure took less time than yesterday’s. They had already planned a CT scan before the treatment, so the perimeter was adjusted without much time lost.

I read that radiation has been used to treat cancer for more than 100 years. As I lie there face down, listening to the strange language the techs where speaking to each other, I had to wonder what it would have been like back in the beginning. How did they get the size and position just so? Or did they? Did radiation 100 years ago mean you were pretty much fried all over? How desperate would a person have to be in 1907 to undergo radiation treatment?

“Teresa, today we are adding a layer of bolus.”

This is the material they were trying to custom fit during the simulation. It is a rubbery thick padding that feels like human tissue. I was told that the machine will consider it my skin and therefore they would be able to get the radiation beam closer to the surface. They will use this bolus every other day.

When the buzzing began, I heard the same tone, but soon the rhythm changed. It was as if someone was sending a message in Morse Code.

A message to the Monster: She may have you, but you don’t have her!

All finished. Getting off the table was much easier today. No fuzziness this time. I took a minute to check out what was making all that whirring and buzzing. The entire machine takes up most of the room. The table itself, looks like smoky plexi-glass. It rises and slides into the center of the circular machine base. At each quarter around the circle, some apparatus extends like a limb. Each arm has a different function and can make a complete circle around the table providing its specific service at any angle needed. The entire wall behind on both sides, is full of computer screens and input devices. It’s quite intimidating.

“What a fantastic gadget this is. I wonder how they did this 100 years ago without all this fancy equipment?

“Not just 100 years ago. All this stuff is brand new. When I first started in this field we didn’t have the digital imaging that these arms provide. I held x-ray glass under the beam coming through the patient to take a picture and then ran it to the developer. Films then were delivered to the doctor and he would hold them to light and analyze them in order to give directions to the control room.”

“Light boxes. What will they do with all the light boxes?”

“I do not know.”

The amazing thing about what the tech told me was that she didn’t look old enough to use a light box. Just for the heck of it, I searched eBay for light boxes. There were a few. $30 to $300. Not as many as I had expected. Wonder where the rest of them are?

On my way out of the center, my perky nurse, I’ll call BB, stopped me to ask how I was doing. How is the pain. How is the room. We had a nice conversation. I told her just before I left to come over, the lady from the Cancer Society called. She suggested I ask for a Medical Social Worker that could help find resources like daycare costs. BB said she would look into it for me herself. (They are in the process of interviewing for a Social Worker.) She, like all the staff at this center, has been nothing but exceptionally kind. After all I have been through to get to this point, the way I am being treated now blows my mind. I am now in good hands. Thank the Lord above.

I came back to my room across the street and made my bed. This tiny apartment doesn’t come with daily housekeeping. The room is comfortable. One day it might grow into a full size apartment, but today it’s just a baby. With its tiny little kitchen complete with the tiny little frig and tiny two burner stove. Even the tiny coffee pot. There is a bar with two stools and a bathroom (with a fantastic shower), a soft chair with an ottoman where I sit my laptop. The queen size bed seems huge compared to my RV twin at home. It’s quiet. It has been a very long time since I have been surrounded with only the sounds I create myself.

I did my laundry in the building next door. Just mine. Didn’t take much effort to complete and put away.

Suddenly, I am missing my family. I have talked with Dan several times today. The kids are at the Palace. I know they are fine. But taking care of the four of them is my job not someone else’s. Not even Dan’s. He has to move the motorhome tonight by himself. And tomorrow do the rest of the laundry. Knowing that he can manage somehow doesn’t change how I feel. I don’t want him to learn how to manage without me. I need him to need me. How selfish is that.

There’s that little thought again. That thought that I know he has too and hides from me. How would he manage without me?

He’s not going to have to manage without me. Cowboy-up.

Cowboy-up.

Dr H’s surgery scheduler just called to see when the last day of my treatment will be. She added the three weeks of rest and scheduled my surgery for October 8th. The doctor has estimated four days in the hospital- in this day, that’s a long time. She also had appointments both pre-op and post-op for me. It’s all set.

Thinking about the surgery made me want a walk outside while I still can. This hotel is nicely landscaped with trees and bushes and flowers, but no matter how many times I walk around and around, I can’t find my river! Funny thing about hotels . . . If you took all the same folks that walk around the RV park with their puppies on a leash, stopping to chat with the next camper about where they have been and where they are going, who caught what fish today and how to cook it. . . Take those same people and check them in to a hotel one next to the other in a line just like the line of rigs they came out of . . . And no one would say more than “how you doing?” to each other. And when they did say it, no one would really want or expect an answer. Something is missing.

Yet, I hope I can stay here for the duration of my treatment. It is a comfort to know that the center full of caring doctors, nurses, and technicians is just across the street if I need them. It was nice to leave just a few minutes early and come straight back to my room without crossing the path of an angry traffic pattern. My husband knows that I am safe and so do I. We’ll have to work out the cost somehow. It’s not my Park on the Siletz, but it’s peaceful here too.

In fact, I think I’ll go back to the room and take a nap. That’d be nice.

Well, I got it. I got my ticket to the ball! I had my first laser light show this afternoon. Unfortunately I was lying face down with my head in that pillow and missed the whole thing. But I was there, Baby! In the room. Center stage. VIP.

I started the day later than I planned. I woke up at 6:45 to Dan shuffling around the room. It was fine. I really didn’t need to get up at 6, but I wanted enough time to get my coffee and shower, walk around the park and play with the kids for a while before I took off for the week. I still did all that, but it went too fast.

I had to walk out to the dock. The river was glass. My Survivor Tree reflected in the surface. I watched a fella in his boat across the way catch . . .catch . . . Oh, the bottom. Sorry guy. There were not one, but two seals. Red letter day!

K, my husband’s tile helper, lives across the way with her husband in a toy hauler. She took the kids in her car and followed me to the day care. (I have to find a back seat for the work van while I am in the city.) Day Care is an understatement. The cheapest and most convenient child care we could find for the kids was at the casino in town, believe it or not. They have a special for local working people. Special is still expensive for three kids. K will be taking the kids to day care in the morning and then going on to work. Since they don’t open until nine, this will help Dan get to the job before the banks open. The Play Palace is a tiny amusement park. The kids will be too busy to miss me too much. Still it was hard to slip away.

The drive up went faster this time. I was on auto pilot I guess. I made it to town 45 minutes early and was able to check in to the hotel before my treatment. I unloaded everything on the bed and headed across the street.

I park the old van out pretty far where there are plenty of open spots. That means there is plenty of open parking lot to cross before getting to the door. I was nervous. Half way across, I gave myself a talking to. Stand tall. Shoulders back. Courage front. Walk in there with pride, girl. Humph. I can do this. I’m doing this. As I opened the door and took a step inside, I remembered that I forgot my book. I need my book now! I have to go get my book. Out I went and halfway back across, I heard myself say, “Chicken.”

Now, I told you the other day that I wasn’t sure I was still sane. And that doubt grew some there in the parking lot. See, I have always been told that talking to yourself is ok, but if you start answering back, you’re in trouble.

“I’m not chicken. I need my book.”

“You know you won’t have time to read that book, it’s just about 1:00 now.”

“Shut up.”

OK, I’m in trouble, right?

The lady in the lobby just smiled when I came back in. I got the picture she has seen people turn around and run before. I smiled back and walked across to the Radiation Oncology Department. It was 1:00 on the nose. “I said shut up.”

I stepped up to the check in desk and announced myself to the same woman who checked me in last time. “Hi, I’m Teresa.” “Yes, I remember.” (She must have heard about the peep show last week.) “You don’t have to check in anymore. When you come in just wave and go on back to the waiting room inside.”

“I guess I am part of the club now, huh? Membership has it’s privileges.”

She showed me where the gowns were again, as if I could forget, and told me to get undressed and in the gown and have a seat. She pointed out the camera in the corner. “When the techs see you sitting ready, they will come and get you.” Great. More cameras.

Sure enough, the moment my swollen hiney hit the seat, out popped a peeper. This one was new to me. She said she had been out last week, but she heard all about it. I’m sure she did. I followed her, and the rat who told her about my display of Thursday last, to yet another control room where she showed me the screens that would, once again, monitor and record the entire session.

“Just for control purposes, can you please tell me your date of birth.”

I did. “Ok, great.” I passed I guess.

“Next can you please tell me the location of your tumor.”

Wait, shouldn’t I have been the one to ask her that? I mean if she didn’t know the spot she was about to radiate, than I really was trouble!

“My tumor is . . . On my . . . Rear.”

Evidently, I passed again. I think she just wanted to hear me say it out loud. But I played along never the less. Next, I was shown through a door that could have been any door in any nuclear power plant. Six feet wide and a foot thick. Nothing was getting through that door. The room behind it was labeled “The Tropical Room.”

“Tropical room. I heard about this place from the club charter. This is where you get sun burnt.”

They must have heard that one before. The same horseshoe shaped pillow for my face and triangular shaped pillow for my ankles were ready for me on yet another slab. I looked around, but I saw no tube. Phweew.

As soon as the techs got a view of the tumor, they knew that it had grown in the four days since my last photo session. “It grows everyday. Everyday I wake up and it’s bigger.” They called in the doctor and he agreed. Fortunately, the radiation machine was also able to take CT like scans and they could adjust the plan in the computer accordingly.

“Teresa, we are going to take some pictures now.”

“If I get anymore pictures taken of my naked backside, I am going to have to change what I write under “occupation” from housewife to something my mother is not going to be happy about.”

Snap, Snap. Oh well. Sorry Mother.

All the picture taking took over an hour. In between sessions, one or the other lovely ladies would come in and rub my back and tell me that I was doing great. I really wasn’t doing anything, but I didn’t tell them that. The back rubs felt great.

“Could you talk in a Swedish accent when you do that?”

“What was that?”

“Never mind.”

Then it was time. “Teresa, we are going to give you your treatment now. It will take just a few minutes to program. You will hear a beep sound, but you won’t feel anything.”

I wasn’t feeling anything. Nothing in my hands and feet, both were numb from holding the position for so long. I wasn’t feeling my face either. I just knew that I would get up and have a ring around my face. I was starting to argue with myself again.

“Check this out, your face is in this toilet seat and your butt is in the air.”

“Shut. Up.”

Then there was the buzz. It was one long noooooooooote. Buuuuuuzzzzzzzzzzz. It was like a lady bumble bee chorus come to the show. It was fine entertainment. The first minute. Then it dropped an octave and became every mosquito that ever buzzed in my ear. But it was treatment. Finally. I was glad to be there.

“This is it. This is what we have been praying for. The laser light show has begun.”

“Yah, and you’re face down in the pillow. Your gonna missing it all.”

“Oh, your right. Dern.”

But I didn’t. I soaked up every ray. Die sucker. Die. It was the Calvary coming to the rescue. The big guns blaring at the enemy. Re-enforcement for the battle. The battle for my life.

When it was all over and I stood up, I was a bit dizzy. I don’t know if it was the treatment or just being in the same position for an hour and a half. I had to sit back down for a minute to get my bearings. Wow. This is it. This is radiation-day 1. One down.

Still in my gown, I was led into an exam room to talk to the nurse. She started telling me how to care for my skin, do’s and don’ts. I stopped her and said that I didn’t have my notebook - it was still in the locker with my clothes. She took out a note pad and started writing each item down for me. When she got to the end of her paper, I suggested she should have a sheet made up with all these thing on it.

“Well, I do mostly. I have one for the chest and one for the abdomen and one for…”

“But you don’t have one for the butt do you?”

“No, ah, I ah . . .well we just don’t . . . it‘s not very common . . .”

“Don’t see many tumors on the butt do you?” hahahah poor girl. She was most embarrassed. “It’s ok. I am an uncommon person with an uncommon tumor in an uncommon spot.”

“I went on the internet and still didn’t find instructions for this kind of skin problem. I guess I could just print out what I have written here.”

“You never know when your gonna come across another Butt Cheek Cancer. I’ll just take your notes, dear. It’s ok.”

Dr G came in to talk next. He said that they would watch the size closely. It should stop growing, but if it doesn’t they would change the treatment to twice a day.

“Fast growing tumors respond better to radiation.”

OK, let’s go with that.

Tomorrow’s treatment is at 10:30 in the morning. This time I can just walk across the street. After that, I hope to be able to make a visit to the American Cancer Society. I was told that they may be able to help me with the day care costs. That would be lovely. I’ll let you know.

I was thinking about all the things I haven’t told you.

Like how truly relieved I am that someone has agreed to finally do the radiation.

Like how terrified I really was that, since I had no insurance, I wouldn’t get treatment.

Like what these Oncologists said to do with the bill.

Like how angry my husband is at those who did nothing.

I didn’t tell you all this because most of it I hadn’t even told myself. It’s like figuring out that you had been holding your breath only just before you’re about to pass out.

Let me tell you now more about my visit with the Radiation Oncologist. The first person I saw was the nurse. She was overly kind and perky. I have never done well with this personality type. As she took my vitals and began to get my history, I decided she was used to dealing with little old ladies using kid gloves. As my story played out, her perkiness faded. Her kid gloves were thrown aside with the reality of my situation. When you work for caring people, you tend to forget how the King’s men behave. By the time she was up to speed, her temperature was also up. When she left the room she had a different personality type all together. I have that effect on people. I liked her much better after that.

Next was the doctor. Dr G surprised me in many ways. One, he was younger than I expected. Two, he had an uncanny resemblance to Dan’s nephew Eric. And three, he said some sobering things about the probable outcome of my treatment and surgery.

Because of the current size of my tumor, even if I didn’t need surgery, I would need Physical Therapy after the radiation. They plan to shoot the radiation from the front down on an angle. In this manner, he believes that the beam will miss all vital organs. It will not hit my intestines, kidneys, stomach, and so on. This will keep me from being sick. But the skin and muscles of my obliques will be effected. These muscles control movement from side to side. They may tighten and lose flexibility. And because the tumor sits just under the skin, the burn may be extensive on my backside. It may crack and peel, but they will tell me what creams and lotions will provide comfort. Dr G explained that the definition of “High Grade” is fast growing and more than 10 centimeters. He brought out a ruler and showed me 10 centimeters. My tumor has not been a mere 10 centimeters for some time. My Monster is more like a foot square. There is a lot of skin to cover.

He told me that after the radiation, Dr H will have to remove quite a chunk of muscle. The gluteal muscle is very large and it is entirely engaged now. The pain I am having over my lower spine is due to the proximity of spinal nerves. The tumor is pressing on these nerves. (I remembered the day the Monster reached my spine - wondering if I could get out of bed without breaking my back.) I will need extensive Rehabilitation.

Dr G asked me if I had any questions. Even though I in fact had 46 million questions, not a one escaped my lips. He was kind and thorough. He had already said enough to think about for the moment. There will be time to think of everything else later.

Next to do was the simulation - the mock-up I have been talking about. I had time enough between my talk with the doctor and the walk down the yellow brick road to get some lunch and call my husband. He was as excited and relieved as I was that things were finally progressing. And as scared.

When I got back to the center, I was escorted to a different waiting room. I had a cup of tea and a pain pill and tried to read my book. Before long, I was offered another one of the dreaded gowns.

I am not sure what I expected and that I had no idea what was coming, was probably a good thing. But when I entered the room I eyed the tube. Another tube! This one was as long as an MRI but more like two inflated CT’s connected together. Three feet of tube, a foot of open space, and three more feet of tube. Instantly, my mind noted that this tube’s circumference was much larger than that of an MRI. Still, the claustrophobia bug was itching at my brain. I cocked my head sideways and peered inside.

“That’s it?”

“Yup.”

“I’m going in there?”

“Yup.”

“All the way in there?”

“Yup. Is there a problem?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “I’m just a bit claustrophobic, but there’s no problem. I’m going in there.”

I had to. It wasn’t even a question of whether or not I was going in there. I had no choice in the matter. Cowboy-up.

My focus now moved away from the tube to the slab before it. I was told I would be lying on my belly. There was a horseshoe cushion for my head and a triangle one for my ankles. Between was hard table. As I climbed up into place, I bent my back in the wrong direction and a stabbing pain made me yelp. Not a good start. The yelp woke the FibroCreature who immediately came to fist-a-cuffs ready for a fight. Part of Fibromyalgia is a sub-creature called Myofacial Pain Disorder. This entity protects the territory by tightening the Myofacial tissue between the skin and the muscles creating a hard shield of armor against attack. So to say I was a little tense would be an understatement. “Ok, just relax.” ppfftt.

Now I don’t want to scare someone else that might be ready to start radiation treatment themselves. My situation is unique. The combination of Fibromyalgia and claustrophobia with the size and location of my tumor was the reason this procedure was so daunting. In fact, I found that if I squeezed my eyes shut tightly I could imagine I was on a massage table and the poking and prodding of the technicians actually the warm hands of a Swedish hunk.

Only it wasn’t.

But it could have been.

The techs would poke and prod and slide me in an out trying to get the exact picture of the tumor. Move me this way and that all the while asking me not to move myself. Mind you, this wasn’t a very dignified position to be in. The gown I so laboriously tied behind me was no longer covering my assets. Every poke was to my rear which was open to inspection and on full screen mode back in the control room. Why, oh why couldn’t I have had cancer of the big toe? It was a good thing that I gave birth to four children. It taught me to abandon all modesty when donning a gown.

And my embarrassment was compounded by the fact that the form they were trying to custom fit to my hiney wasn’t large enough to cover the needed area with an air tight fit. I reminded myself that it was the tumor itself that was too big. The running commentary was not about the size of my ass, per se. (I am sorry for using the word “ass“, but I have almost run out of “niceties” for the location in question.) The doctor’s voice was now a part of the discussion. I was not supposed to move, but I was halfway into the tube with my head in this pillow. I turned just enough to improve my hearing. Dr G must have noticed I was eaves dropping now. “Teresa, we are having difficulties covering the tumor. So I am bringing in so-and-so from the computer room to help us.”

“Is he Swedish?”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind.”

Being face down on the slab, I couldn’t tell you the exact number of people now examining the dimensions of the afore mentioned region. But it was a full house. Every now and then throughout the ordeal, I would get poked in just the right (or wrong depending on whether you are a glass half empty or glass half full person) spot and a fibro trigger point would send my derrière (had to look that one up) flopping up for even closer inspection. “Don’t move!”

“You’re hitting fibro spots! I have no control over the reaction!” It was like having them hit my knee with that little hammer and chastising me for kicking them in the shin. If you want me to stop jumping, put the blasted hammer away!

After a bit, they decided to fore-go making a custom form and go au naturale. “We are going to remove the material now.” Yank. Ggeezz.

“We are going to mark the coordinates permanently on your skin. You will feel a needle stick now.”

Uggh. Yee-aya! Understatement.

How do people get tattoos electively? I mean, I love my mom and butterflies, but not enough to ever do this on my own accord! And of course, each and every trigger point in the vicinity was needed as a reference point.

“Please don’t do that jumping this time.”

“Please don’t do that stabbing this time! And is it possible to move it over a tad?”

Evidently, it wasn’t.

I spent the next some-odd minutes inside the tube while it now did whatever the tube was designed to do. A photo session I presume. It was much more relaxing than the time spent inside the MRI. Instead of the loud clicking and clacking there was a soft whooshing sound. Compared to the poking and prodding and pricking, this part was great, claustrophobia not withstanding. I started this day at 5:00a, drove two and a half hours, had a hissy fit, had a cry of relief and had the poking of a lifetime. I was tired! I think I might have dozed off. I hope I didn’t snore. But too soon, I was sliding back out of the tube.

Nap over. Now get off the table. Easier said than done, buddy. I slid and twisted and crawled to the floor and asked for my glasses back so that I could look into the faces of my tormentors. I had to remind myself that they knew not what they had done to me. “Father, help me forgive those who trespass…” Kindly, one of them rewrapped the gown around my exposure. Like it mattered if someone saw my vertical smile while standing but not while sunny side up. I guess there might have been someone on the path back to the dressing room that hadn’t had a ticket to the show. Maybe someone with a weak constitution. It wouldn’t be fair to subject them to this display. So I held tightly to the proffered flap and shuffled back the way I had come. Inside the cubicle I ventured a peek in the mirror.

What’s black and blue and red all over?

“We’ll see you back on Monday, 1:00. The first session will take about an hour.”

“I’ll be here.”

And then I was gone. I stood outside the old work van for a few minutes before I got up the courage to sit in the drivers seat. I sat there for sometime before calling Dan to tell him I was done. It was a long day. I still had a two and a half hour drive ahead. I went across the street to the hotel to book the room and wished I was checking in and not just checking it out. I drove from there to my favorite bookstore “Powel’s” to decompress. I didn’t stay long since I was not yet interested in sitting and walking wasn’t cutting it either. I went across the parking lot to the health food store where they make fresh hot wok bowls and had dinner.

By the time I made it back to the van it was rush hour. No sense taking off for home just yet. I called my beautiful sister-in-law, Leenie, and gave her an advance copy of the day’s events. When I got to the part about the room at the Inn, Leenie once again offered her home.

I suppose I should try to explain as I tried to do for Leenie. There are several reasons that I need to stay by myself. One, five weeks is a long time. Company and fish start to stink after a couple days no matter how well you clean them. Two, I have been all about everyone else for a long time. Now I need to be about myself for a bit. And two-b, I need some time to let down my mask. I have been keeping my posture. Holding my tongue. Playing the part of a strong, funny character unafraid of shadows and creeping creatures. I have been hiding the pain from my kids and my friends here in the park and to some extent, my own husband too. I need a hiatus from all of this play-acting. A shape shifter can only hold an alien form for so long before they need to melt into a bucket. (Like Odo on StarTrek DS9. Lol) Denny and Leenie are dear to my heart and I deeply appreciate their offer. But they also have three kids that I love. I would not be able to stop protecting them anymore than I could stop protecting my own kids. I would not be able to stop protecting the grown ups either. Call it a character flaw. In front of the world, I can only present my best side and my tumor isn‘t on it. For seven years, I have lived with the pain of Fibromyalgia. Very few people saw me on a bad day. I just didn’t let them no matter how much they would have understood. What I am going through now makes that time in my life just a training period. The CancerMonster will kick the butt of the FibroCreature any day of the week. I’m tired. I need all my strength now to fight this thing. All non-life-support systems must be de-activated. That includes the holodeck functions for fairy tale lives. (Kel hates it when I make StarTrek references! Haha) I need to do these next five weeks on my own. When October comes, and I have my surgery, that will be a different story. I will need all the help I can gather. I am saving all my markers for then. It will been tough.

Oh, and three, “Leenie you don’t have air conditioning!” lol. We must keep the really important things on the list! (Don’t worry, I am shaking my own head on that one. Two out of three aren’t bad, I hear.)

So, tomorrow I start my radiation treatment and my double life. I have to gather my supplies and pack my bags. I had planned to have the motorhome ready to move to the new spot while I am gone, but the writing of this tale has taken most of the day. I guess I should trust that Dan can do it fine without my supervision. He’s a big boy now. He’s grown up fast. God love the man, he has a lot on his plate. I thank Heaven for him everyday.

Tomorrow’s the next first day of the rest of my life.

It’s a busy day today.  The park is full of anxious fisherman and late summer vacationers.  There is even campers set up in the overflow parking field.  Don’t they know that is my office space?  My old beat up picnic table- turned office desk is in use by the overflow occupants.  Still the best cell coverage acreage, I sat under a tree to called my siblings.  I needed to talk to the boys.  No matter they are in their late 40’s, my brothers are still “the boys.”

I had a nice long conversation with my Joe.  He was encouraging.  “You can do this sis.  This too, will pass,”   He always calls me “sis.”  I like that.   Joe is almost seven years older than me.  He is the one that taught Dan how to lay tile.  He was a drummer in his former life.  When I picture Joe as a teenager, I see curly bottle-blonde hair (It was the 70’s you know) and a pair of drum sticks in his hands.  The neighbors were not so happy to have him next door.  But I followed him around as much as he let me.

I left a message for Mike.  “HEY MIKE, CALL ME BACK!”  lol   What a sweetheart Mike is.  I call him Mickey.  No one else in the family ever calls him that, but when I say, “I talked to Mickey” they know who I am talking about.  Mick called me about four or five times as I was driving back from Portland on Thursday night.  “Are you sure your Ok to drive?”  “Yes, Mike, I’m fine.”  Ten minutes later, “Still fine, babe.” Lol  He had just found my blog.  He would read a page and call me, read a page and call me.

This is hard for my brothers to comprehend.  Brothers protect their sisters, especially their little sisters.  It really doesn’t matter that I am 41 years old.  They don’t remember that.  To them I am still 12 and someone is picking on me.

After a rest (it‘s becoming a workout to walk to the back of the park to make a call), I called Pam.  It was nice to talk about things other than my cancer.  eBay and antiques.  Life in general.  Everyday sister stuff.  She had a big birthday this week.  I won’t say how (really, really) old she is, hahah, but she is 9 years older than me!  Hehehe   She told me that God sent her a Birthday Card in the form of a found paper crown.  “Happy 50th Birthday!”  (I didn’t tell them how old you are Pam, just what the hat said!) Pam was a ball player as a young’un and into her “old’un” years too.  “Pammy Wammy!” the newspapers dubbed her.  Now she is “Grammy Pammy” and loving it.

I haven’t talked to Anita in a week.  She and her hubby are in Canada at the moment.  It’s driving me crazy!  “Nita, cross over the border already!”   They will be starting back on Monday. I have a lot to tell her when she hit’s the south side of Niagara.

Jean, oh Jean.  I wish my little sister Jeannie were reachable by phone.  I would pay any roaming charge there was to have a two way conversation with her.

Family, I am glad that I have a big one.  At the treatment center, I was asked about my support system.  I was told that a large, supportive network helps the healing process.  I am fortunate that I have that.  My Husband and children. My Siblings and Sibling-in-laws. My parents and Dan’s parents.  Friends, new and old. And now my support system is ever widening through this blog.  People are more important to each other than ever before.  Through the internet, the world is looking smaller and smaller. Tighter and tighter.  There really is less differences between societies than we ever thought.  In the long run, we are all one big family. For better or worse.  For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.  The inhabitants of this world need each other.  ‘Till death do us part.

And beyond that as well.

Thanks for reading this.  Welcome to the web of my life.