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Jesus take the wheel
Take it from my hands
Cause I can’t do this on my own
I’m letting go
So give me one more chance
To save me from this road I’m on
Jesus take the wheel

I woke up this morning with this song stuck in my mind. It’s by Carrie Underwood and it’s very good advice. Let it go and Let God drive.

This morning started a pretty good day. Good enough to set aside my cane. Not quite good enough to dance the Macarena. But hey, the Macarena is the last decade’s dance anyway. So, no big loss. I played around with the kids and met the new neighbors that pulled in beside us. All the while thinking, “Hey I feel pretty good.”

I felt so normal that I even offered to take the sheets down to the laundry room. How’bout that? I stripped the five beds of sheets and pillowcases and had a kid shove them in a laundry bag. (Membership in the Club extends outward for some time, you know. Make a kid do what I don’t want to. I did that even before I got invaded.) Dan put the bag in the car and I drove it down the hill to the center of the park. I got out of the car and I still felt pretty normal. Maybe I woke up from a bad dream. Maybe the whole summer was just an episode of the twilight zone, you know. I loaded the sheets into the machine and turn to go back to the motorhome and it hit me.

Whew, I’m tired.

I drove back up the hill and plopped in my porch chair and thought again (this time out loud), “Whew, I’m tired.” Tired. I didn’t even do much. I am as tired as . . . as if . . . as if I had cancer or something. Ggeez. You would think I just finished five weeks of radiation. Oh, dern. It wasn’t a dream.

A half hour later, determine to stay normal, I drove back down to the laundry room and changed the sheets over to the dryer. When I was done with that, I knew I wouldn’t make it back down the hill again today.

“Jaymi!” I called to the eight year old on the playground outside the fluff-n-fold. “Keep an eye on these dryers. If one stops and the sheets aren’t dry drop another of these quarters in there.” I shoved a half handful of coins in her pocket.

“What do I do if they stop and the sheets are dry?” she hollered towards my retreating backside.

“Call me on the radio.”

When I got back to the motorhome, I told Dan that Jaymi would be calling him when the sheets were done. I handed him the walky-talky as I slid past on the way to my nap.

Membership may have it’s privileges, but it also has it’s drawbacks. I need to keep my projects small and doable in less than ten minutes. For instance, I shouldn’t have removed all my clothes from my cabinets to refold and rearrange all at once. The biggest problem I created with that project was that I covered my bed and I couldn’t take that nap I wanted after the laundry room ordeal. You live and learn.

Live. And Learn.

Never stop either.

There is a reason Dr. House wants to wait three weeks before my surgery. I have to remind myself of that. I have to do the other things that are even more important than laundry and cleaning. I need to take this time to play (gently) with my kids and hug them with too much love every chance I get. I have to sleep when I can and not feel guilty for it. I have to read and relax and write and rejoice in the fact the I have no control over my life.

“Jesus Take the Wheel, ’cause I can’t do this on my own.”

Good plan.

I overheard Brandi yesterday talking to another child on the playground. “That’s my mom. She walks with a cane because she has cancer and just finished her radiation. It’s in her bottom, but now her legs don’t work right for some reason.” The other girl said, “Oh” and they went back to playing. So simple. Adults tend to complicate everything. Kids just state the obvious.

I have cancer and I live in a motorhome with my three youngest children and my husband. I sometimes need a cane to get up and walk, and take naps in the middle of the day. No big deal. The rest of it is in God’s hands because I asked him to take the wheel. And that has made all the difference.

In the ninety-three days since I was told that I have cancer, my emotions have run the gambit. The highs were high and the lows were low. But today, today I am just me. Just mom. A tad more tired and a pinch more achy than before. But today . . .

Today I am happy to have been able to take the sheets to the laundry room and clean out my three small clothes cabinets.

Today, I am happy.

Go figure.

“Jesus take the wheel.”

10:00a
I am working the last of my things toward the door. I still have an hour until my last radiation treatment. I feel strangely quiet. Not quiet like I am not saying anything. Besides, I am here alone. Who would I talk to? But a quiet deep inside me. Calm and ready and quiet. I am ready to go home.

Six months ago, this town was my home. It is still the home of my oldest daughter and my brother and sister-in-law. It’s still the home of my nieces and nephews and even a great-niece (they are mine even though they are biologically Dan’s). But this town is not my home anymore. I am going home to Lincoln City. No matter where my motorhome sits, that little beach bungalow town is where my heart set up housekeeping. I am ready to go home.

I am not ready to let go of the people that have been so kind to me. When I walk in there today, it will be for the last time as the person I am now. When I walk out again, it will be as someone else entirely. I have to tell you, I am a little nervous. Yes, that may sound like a contradiction of the “quiet” inside. But it’s not. Nervous and quiet, in my mind anyway, go hand and hand.

This is it. One more treatment.

My small secret fear is that one day, I will have to come back to lie on that table and repeat the last five weeks. It could happen.

I am one of the lucky few with less chance of recurrence, though. It has not spread. It’s only there in my butt cheek. When House removes it. He will get it all. It will be gone. Forever. I pray.

And so will the muscle it has invaded.

This is still the year of “Not-a-Clue.”

********
1:00p

I quit! Poke a fork in me, I’m done! Crispy Fried. My rump is roasted! La-La-La The fat lady is a’singin’ so it must be over. Pull the curtain on this chapter.

But I digress. . .

As I walked across the parking lot I remembered that first day when I stepped one foot in the door and turned around and ran back to the car. Many of the same emotions were there. But this time for different reasons. I was almost as scared to end this as I was to begin. Isn’t that strange?

The same lady that witnessed my hasty retreat that first day greeted me this last one.

“It’s Friday!”
“My last Friday!”
“Oh, good for you! Congratulations!”

I crossed her domain and entered the Radiation Oncology wing feeling like a high school senior on her last day of school. Happy and sad fighting for dominance. The hallway to the “clubhouse” was deserted. Where is everybody? Stepping into the dressing room I scooped up gowns discarded by the last occupant and deposited them in the receptacle like the mother I am cleaning up the space I share. The gown I chose for myself gave me the same struggle as everyday. It was the same as always.

But it wasn’t.

The moment I sat for the last time on the clubhouse couch, K appeared to fetch me.

“No, I’m not getting up. I’m staying right here.”
“Last day my friend. Let’s go.”

And we went.

“Where is the little one?”
“We had an emergency patient come in. H has to do his simulation in the CT room so he can get started on his radiation right away.”
“I remember that day! Oh, that is the worst part of the whole thing.”
“She will be here to say goodbye, don’t you worry.”
“I can’t believe she is going to miss my last day.”

My last day is someone else’s first. Go figure. Life is a circle and we are just coordinates on the arc.

Before I climbed onto the table, K gave me a hug. We were both having those happy/sad conflicting feelings. Can you believe she thanked me.

She thanked Me.

“What are you thanking me for?”
“You taught me stuff.”

I looked at her with my head cocked sideway. I started to ask, but decided not to. Each persons “stuff” is private. But that didn’t stop me from wondering.

Then we chatted while she fiddle and adjusted, pulled and cajoled me into place on her own. “I was saying to myself in the dressing room that I hoped it would take a little longer today. But I didn’t mean that you would have to do it all yourself!”

“You willed this!”

And we laughed some more.

“You’ll find another clown.”
“Not your kind of clown.”
“You’ll have to go back to being serious.”
“If that happens we’ll just think of you.”
“Even radiation can be fun, huh?”

And the buzzing began and I listened this time. I sang along with the sound in my mind. Last Zap Overture. Bound to be a hit.

“That’s it my lady. It’s all over.”
“Good timing ’cause I quit!”
“I see how you are!”

As I made my undignified dismount I asked if I got a mortar board hat to where home. “No, but you get this!”

And with a smile a galaxy wide, she handed me a tissue wrapped treasure I will keep forever. Inside the bobble was a silver coin with an angel engraved on top. “That’s us watching over you.”

This tiny trinket that I held in my hand will stay with me forever. A reminder of the kindness of one-time strangers, now friends.

“When is your surgery?”

She promised to call the hospital that day to make sure I made it through all right. I have no doubt that she will.

True to K’s promise, my dear H showed up to escort me to an exam room where we would meet up with BB for my exit interview. We hugged and smiled at each other as if we were at an airport gate and I was flying off for parts unknown. And I guess I am.

“Well you’ll have to go back to being solemn and professional now.”
“No, I think you might have broken us of that.”

Hmmm. Go figure. Is it arrogant for me to think that somehow the next person’s treatment will have not just a compassionate touch, but a humorous hand to it?

More hugs from BB, nurse of the year. She gave me advice and some more creams for my tender tush. One more picture for the road. The day I met her I had no idea I would get so attached. She told me that it’s common for patients to leave with separation anxiety. So many weeks, day after day. You get attached.

You know what? I think this time my Dear Starship Crew will know just how the exiting patients feel. They were all exhibiting signs of separation anxiety themselves today. How’bout that?

BB left me in the exam room to wait for the doctor to come in. (Not my Dr G, unfortunately. He is not in the office on Fridays.) She left the door open. I don’t think she knows that when the door is open, the hallway is reflected in the mirror on the wall. I didn’t tell her. I watched them all coming and going, continuing the care that they give so freely. K walked by and threw me a goofy look and skipped just couple beats. I heard the voice of my H depositing someone in the room next to me. “Can I get you something to drink? How about some tea? Earl Grey, maybe?” That’s my girl! I heard K laughed way down the hall. Probably there in her control booth at the end. I caught BB’s kid glove voice too. Comforting a little old lady.

They didn’t know I was listening. I felt the same as I did last Sunday when I listened in on my family waking. I stored this one next to that in my heart and I locked it in place with my best mother smile. I’m gonna miss them all.

Glad tears accompanied me out of the wing, across the lobby and out to my car. One small step for woman, one giant step for all kind. One battle fought. But the war isn’t won.

It’s time to go home.

I called Dan.

“Are you done?”
“I’m done.”
“Well, get you butt home!”
“I’m coming. And I’m bringing my burnt butt home too.”

********
7:30p
The long and winding road. . .

On the road again . . .

I’m on my way. I don’t know where I’m going. I’m on my way. . .

Hit the road Jack and don’t come back. No more, no more, no more, no more . . .

Take your pick of “going home” songs, I most likely sang it. By the time I pulled in to the RV park, my voice was as sore as the rest of me. I parked in front of the motorhome and froze. I was stuck there, in the car. I honked once to announce my homecoming. The door opened and Brandi came out. And sat down in a chair on the porch. She didn’t see me. I watched her for a moment, and then honked again. She jumped and yelled out and the flood gate opened. I had three little helpers all trying to pull me from the car.

“We’ll help you mom!” they all vowed as they pulled and pushed.

“Stop helping so much! Everyone step back and give me space to do this on my own. Robbie Stop pushing your sister!”

I’m home! MOM’s BACK!

I wasn’t back very long when I was hustled back out the door for cheeseburgers and cherry cokes at the 60’s Café where the kids love to pick songs on the “juice box.”

Will you still need me when I’m 64? and Earth Angel played in the background of my Graduation Dinner! While Dan, Robbie and I danced in our seats to All Shook Up, Jaymi got shorter and shorter as she sunk under the table. “Oh, please stop!” Hahah She has entered the “You’re-Embarrassing-Me” stage and it’s so fun!

Back to business as usual for a little while. Except that mom can’t get out of the booth without a cane and a push. But, I’m still mom. They’re not going to trade me in just yet.

Maybe tomorrow. But not today.

 11:30a

I have been lying around this morning.  Napping off and on.  Didn’t sleep well again.  My tush is tot!   The skin is finally screaming for relief.  I thought a bath would feel good last night, but I have to tell ya . . . It was . . .not so great.

I tried to soak in the tub last week as well and it was just too hard to get comfortable.  So this week, I brought along a couple of those little rafts we bought for Robbie to sleep on when they came up before. I thought, you know, that I could lay on the rafts and it would cushion the cantankerous catterwhompy on my caboose.  You have to understand that I have been living in a twenty year old motorhome since May and a good long soak in a tub is just not something one can do with this manner of lifestyle.  This is my last week in my spinster retreat and my last opportunity for this relaxing form of recreation before I go back to the water-on-water-off kind of showering in the motorhome.

I really wanted to soak in this dern tub!

It just wasn’t working.  By the time I figured out a half way comfortable placement for both the air cushion and my natural cushion, I figured out that not much of me was actually soaking anymore.  I was an island in the sea.  My great plan just wasn’t so great.  Go figure.

Back in the bed, I flipped and flopped once again trying for a comfortable position.  If I laid on my right side and off the scorched skin, it hurt the left knee that is still taking time off for bad behavior.  If I laid on my left hip. . . Well I can’t lay on my left hip because my CancerMonster has had one too many tanning booth sessions over there.  I can’t sleep on my tummy because I sleep with a breathing machine (Did I forget to tell you that?) and although the air will continue to come in no matter how I repose, what goes in must come out again or I get very high. (ooh, maybe that would have worked after all? No, maybe not.)  So think again.  Straight flat on my back is impossible with this monstrosity on my nether side, but if I wedge this pillow here and that pillow there and another . . . Well anyway, I had a hard time getting comfortable there playing the pretzel.  This brings me back to the lying around this morning, see?

My second to last treatment is not until 2:45 this afternoon for some reason.  The change in the schedule is making me squirrelly.  I have been puttering around in between paragraphs packing what I can, doing the dishes, and the laundry.  I am having dinner out again tonight!  This time my hosts are the Lovely Lady Leenie and her Dashing Darling Denny.  Twice in one week eating out - three times if you count the Popeye’s Chicken dinner I had on Tuesday night in my room.  I am getting spoiled here!  Just in time to go back home. . . Since I am going to be out for a while tonight, I wanted to get as much done before dinner as possible. Tomorrow is CHECKING OUT FOR THE LAST TIME day!  But . . . I think I’m done again for the moment. Maybe another quick nap.

********
3:30p
Well, my radiant ladies were in rare form over there today!  And it wasn’t my fault, I swear!  They were already giggling before I uttered a word.  In fact, I was very quiet at first.  I was even taking a cat nap in the clubhouse before they came to get me. (This late schedule cut into my afternoon nap time and the girls were running behind.  I had just enough time sitting there in that dreadful gown to sneak off to la-la land for a couple or three winks.)   H wanted to know why I was coming in so late- when she made the schedule! That started it bubbling with her.  As I walked into the “Tropical Room” (Someone else has a sense of humor, too, with that name for the radiation room!), all I said to K was that I wanted her autograph because I saw her on a TV commercial for the cancer center.  And those two were off and running.  Getting ME into trouble!  Well, I wasn’t actually in trouble, but I didn’t get my “You’re Doing Great” kudos for lying still.  How could I lie still with H singing Sesame Street songs!  All the while, I was repeating, “This is not my fault!”

Please don’t get the wrong idea about my Ladies of the Tropical Room.  It’s not their fault that they have sunk to my level.  They are not like this with the other patients. (I have listened in sometimes to check on that.)  Somehow once I leave, they pull themselves together and are once again the extremely competent and professional starship bridge crew.  I feel for them, I really do.  Once I am finished here, they will not find such an opportunity to let their hair down in the middle of the day.  We have all discussed this.  There is no one else like me.  And that’s a really good thing.

I stopped off and talked to BB about getting my files and scans to carry along with me into the next chapter of this story.  They will have everything ready tomorrow for me to pick up.  I have found that having a copy of your records comes in handy.  I do not have a doubt that the staff at the center will pass on my files to Dr H. (Remember,  “House” is my surgeon at OHSU. He will be taking the ball from here out.) It’s just that files get lost through no fault of good people. And the University is a big place.  I asked BB to make me a copy to cart along AND send them on via the normal channels.  We’ll see who gets them there first.

Tomorrow’s it.  My last day.  The Last Zap.  Time flies when your having . . . Well anyway, it’s time to go home and stay there a while.

It’s amazing. It went so fast. This, too, really will pass.

Next!

********
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On a site administration note: Dan says we -meaning his brothers and me- have to take our joking around (especially in regards to him, lol) from the Guestbook into the all new Discussion Forum.  Register once and click “remember me” and then join in.  We can talk about what ever you want! 

8:30a
Good morning. I am having a better morning than I did yesterday. Yesterday was a tough day for me. The problem that I mentioned on Monday didn’t go away. I am getting stuck in chairs like an eighty year old, swollen pregnant woman on her way to the delivery room. “I’ve ‘sitten’ and I can’t get up!” Partly due to the muscles on my side that are starting to stiffen and the rest of the blame goes to my knees. Both legs hurt now. Maybe the right leg is revolting in political protest for the mistreatment of its fellow. Or maybe I am just overusing the right leg by favoring the left and it’s had enough, I don’t know. I would blame the FibroCreature for the pain, but it has been constant. Fibromyalgia is fickle, never content to stay in one place for long. Short attention span, that one. No, this pain is not his doing. Maybe a little.

I asked K yesterday if there could be any part of the radiation beam hitting nerves that connect to the right leg. She gave me her best smirky smile. You know, the one that comes with a slight tilt of the head and the word “honey?” attached to it.

“Quit looking at me with that tone of face!”

Ask a lot of questions. Just try to ask the right person the right question phrased in the right way. Lol. No offence K, dear. I know that the question was stupid. Of course, no stray beam wandered from the left butt cheek over to the right butt cheek. It’s just that I wondered if the field was wide enough to nick something . . . Oh, never mind.

I did ask to see BB, nurse extraordinaire. She would know why my right leg was going astray. Guess what? She gave me a look reserved for little old ladies! Stop that! I am not little. And compared to the majority of the other monster fighters I come across at the center, not particularly old either. As for whether or not I’m a lady? Depends on the situation, I guess. (My theory on how to be a woman: Know when to be equal and when not to be so equal. Know when to be a mother and when to be a wife. In other words- Know when to be a lady and when not to be a lady. Get that right and your all grown up.) In any case, I am not a “little old lady.” I just play one in this little drama of mine.

I think we decided it was just par for the course. I thought that maybe since it was my last week of radiation, I would be graduating better off than we all expected. Dr G had told me in the beginning that even if I didn’t need the surgery, I would need physical therapy just from the radiation. I guess I thought I was special.

And that is just it, you know.

I am nobody. I am everybody. I am anybody.

I am nobody special. I am not Lance Armstrong. Oh, how he inspires me. Look what he did to his Monster. He has made it through the hell and came out as strong as ever. I want to be like him.

I am everybody who walks through life thinking that it can’t happen to them. Hearing of someone else’s battle with cancer and saying, “Isn’t that sad?” “That poor person. Turn the channel, babe. The movie is about to start.”

I am anybody. I am middle America. I am a mother, housewife, friend, sister, daughter. I am the lady next door, the friend of a friend, the woman sitting next to you on the bus (that says “Practice Happiness” on the side). I am you.

I am a reminder that this could and does happen to ordinary people. I have cancer. The doctors say it’s a “Fluke”. Nothing I did, no where I worked or lived, nothing I ate or abused my body with in the past caused this tumor to grown inside me. I am the one-in-three that you read about in the paper. Look around you. What are the chances that the one will be someone else? This has to stop. We must find the way to stamp out this Monster for once and for all. Get involved. Next time it could be you. This is our collective fight.

We need a cure. But in the mean time, we need to strengthen ourselves for the war. We need to get ready. We need to build in ourselves a character so strong that we don’t allow any Monster to beat us down. Physically or Mentally. We need to stop being so lazy and filling our minds and bodies with poison that will make us weak for the fight.

Be strong. You can handle more than you think you can.

I don’t know what made me think that anyone would be interested in my story. Go figure, but some are.

They are because I am nobody, everybody, and anybody all at the same time.

********
1:00p
I had a wonderful visit with my friends over at the treatment center today. And I do think of the staff there as friends. There is something about sharing your most intimate insides with another person that bonds you. For the moment or for a lifetime, I don’t know. People come into your life for a reason. Some are just passing through and some are here for a while. A few, for a lifetime. But each person that crosses your path changes you in some small way. When you part company you never quite erase all trace of them. You never can replace their part in your life story. No bit part can be recast. My starship bridge crew included.

“When I come back to visit, you won’t zap me? ‘Cause I am giving you only until Friday for the zapping and then I am calling it quits! No more. I’m done!”

I actually was scheduled to come back on Monday for the twenty-fifth and last treatment. Since I am coming from so far away, the doctor agreed to combine that treatment into these last four days. The treatment on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday will be increased to include one quarter of the dose I would have gotten on Monday. I listened today for a longer beep, but I couldn’t tell.

BB stopped and joined the hallway chat K, H and I we’re having. She settled a question the girls had about the name of a certain drug. We knew she would know. BB is a font of information and I told her as much. She has been in Radiation Oncology for seventeen years though she doesn’t quite look old enough. She told me that she loves it. And it shows. Never once in the past weeks have I seen her off her game. “You wear your heart on your sleeve.” And a smile a mile wide. I’m going to miss her.

I stopped to talk with C and the front end ladies on the way out. Each one of them touched my heart this past month and I don’t think they understand how much. I fought to get here. They don’t even know how hard I fought for my treatment.

In some weird way, I am sorry it’s almost over. Part of that is missing out on these people. The other part is that I don’t know what is coming next. I just got used to this chapter and now I have to ready myself for the next. I want, desperately, to go home to my family and stay there. But I have been out of the loop. I have to reclaim my position, just to lose it again in three weeks time. I’m confused. I don’t know what I’m going to be when I grow up except that I will be “up” when I get there.

It’s the not knowing that is the challenge. It’s the tomorrow that’s scary. Who am I now and who will I be tomorrow? That is the question.

********
5:00p
This afternoon I had some errands to run for Dan and then I went to the neighborhood bookstore to check out some books to add to My Book Store. I have always wanted a little book store. The one I imagined had big over-sized comfy chairs and couches tucked in niches and cubbies carved into shelves upon shelves of books of every kind. In my mind’s bookstore there was coffee with creamers of every ilk and little pastries all for free. People came for an hour and stayed all day. No one wanted to leave.

Instead I have the new millennium kind of book store. One where you have to make your own coffee in your own kitchen and sit on your own couch and browse. It’s still good. There is no dress code here. (No, don’t tell me! I don’t want to know what your wearing! Really, it’s ok.) I am slowly filling my “shelves” with good stuff. If you have a book that helped you with whatever life threw at you, I would love to hear about it. If it helped you, it will help someone else. If amazon.com carries it, I probably can too. Send me an email or post a comment with the books you love and if I can put it in the store (some books I can’t for some reason), I’ll put your review on it. How’bout that? How fun!

I have to get ready for Wednesday Date Night with Kelli. My number one. What a gal!

Tomorrow my treatment is not until 2:45. I’ll have the morning free. Maybe we’ll hang out. At the book store.

Find the door to the store on the top bar of any page. Always Open. Everyone Welcome! BYOC.

8:30a

I took my kids to their new school this morning. I walked with them into the cafeteria thinking that I would pay for their lunches for the week. They weren’t in the computer yet. “Well guys, I’ll see you on Friday. We forgot to get our hugs at the car.” Brandi gave me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. She is in fourth grade this year. Evidently, fourth grade is old enough to give mom’s hugs. Robbie gave me a big hug! And a smoochy kiss. Right there in the cafeteria of the school where he is a new student. Seems second graders can still be young enough to kiss their mom in public.

Jaymi said, “Oh-Kay. Bye mom. See ya. You can go. It’s all right.”

“No hugs?”

“No.”

“No Kiss either?”

“No.”

“Can we step out that door and go around the corner and have a hug?”

“No. I won’t have time for breakfast then.”

“OK, then.” I looked around to see if anyone was listening and then whispered, “love you.”

And the smile on her face said, “ditto.” Evidently, it’s only third graders this year that can’t kiss their moms.

I stopped off at the office to pay for the kids lunch. “My kids aren’t in the computer yet.” And I told her who they were.

“Oh, your kids are so cute! And your husband is very nice too. He cares a lot about you. How are you doing?”

“I’m good. Last week and then I can stay home. Dan has a lot on his plate.”

“Oh, he does, he does.”

Dan doesn’t see it. He sees his kids and his wife and his life. The people who look in at him see something else. When I got back home, Dan was just leaving for work. “Boy, you have the ladies at that school snowed! They think your great!” I said with a grin and a hug. “You don’t see it. When people hear I have to leave town for radiation they ask me ‘who’s watching your children?’ and I say, ‘They have a father!’ ”

“Why don’t they think I can do it?”

Women, especially think Dan is a superman. “I think you should get with ‘your kind’ and change the reputation of fathers.”

“I think it’s women. They need to give us dad’s some credit.”

And you know what? We really do. From now on, I’m going to be an Equal Rights for Dad’s person. Dad now has the right to cook dinner. Dad now has the right to referee fights. Dad now has the right to . . . aww, just to be daddy.

********

5:00p

With the kids at school and Dan off to work, the motorhome was quiet. It was hard to leave it. During the long drive back to the city, I busied myself making phone calls. Before I knew it, I was checking in the hotel again. Then I was walking into the treatment center again. But this time it’s the last week.

I was anxious today to tell everyone that I felt better! I do feel better. It was the Vicodin that made me sick. I will think twice before loading up on Acetaminophen in the future.

I have noticed, however, that I am having some trouble getting up from a sitting position. It’s new. Maybe it’s just today, I’ll let you know.

********

9:00p

I’ll let you know, but not tomorrow.

I have decided not to write tomorrow. This Tomorrow is more important than my problems. Out of respect for those who lost their lives on September 11th, I have decided to put my own problems and jokes away for one day. I will have a day of posting silence for those who did not get a chance to fight the Monster that threaten them.

You have not been forgotten.

9:00a
I stayed in my bed this morning listening to the sounds of my family coming awake.  At first, tiny tinkling shuffling sounds.  They grew into little words and then the TV, quite and small, added its voice.   I listened with my smile implanted across my heart.

My seven year old son, who has just recently found his modesty, didn’t know I was still hiding there in my bed.  He walked into my room with his clothes in hand and pulled the dividing curtain/door behind him.   I was still.  Standing between the beds, he started to dress. I don’t know if I made a sound or if he suddenly felt my presence, but he turned around and looked into my eyes.  “Good morning, baby.”

He gaped and jumped a foot.  And ran in the other direction, just barely clearing the door. Like a deer in the headlights, as they say.  He ran from the scene as if he encountered a stranger in his closet.  And I laughed.  A good hardy laugh that clears the soul and wakes the spirit within.  It was strange, I suppose, to encounter mom still in the bed.  Still home.  It was funny.  It was a good way to start the day.

For me, anyway.

Poor Rob.  Every child has their “fig leaf” period where they realize that they are naked.  For the first time, they duck and cover, close the doors around them and wallow in privacy.  He is the only one of my buds to have to come to this stage in a motorhome where privacy is at a premium.  The girls are over it.  As long as the curtains are down to the outside world, they are safe and comfortable.  When they do want to be alone, they can retreat to their steamer bunk and pull closed the curtain.   But Rob is searching for his alone spot and finding it nowhere.  We had not put a curtain across his bunk yet. It’s above the drivers cockpit and so narrowly close to the ceiling that he is the only one small enough to stand it. He loves his cave.  I think it is time to pull some brush over the opening.

********

10:00a
There is something that I have not told you.

I have a new medication.  This medication marked a turning point in my illness.  It was with tender explanation that my nurse handed me the prescription on Friday before I left.  It was with reluctance that I took it from her.   It was hard for me to tell Dan about it.  And it gave the pharmacist a new look to give back to me when I ordered it.

And I hesitated all weekend to write about it.

The name of the drug is MS Contin.  Didn’t mean anything to me at first either.  The generic translation is Morphine Sulfate ER.  Ahh, yah.  You too, huh?  I’ve graduated to Morphine.

I told myself early on, and anyone who would listen as well, that I would never take morphine in a pill.   I have know people who were on Morphine and when they turned their backs I shook my head just the way you are doing now. I can wear that “”they-have-one-foot-in-the-grave”" look as well as the next person.  I don’t want morphine.  But then again, I don’t want Cancer either.  We don’t always get what we want.

I don’t want to be nauseous and camping out in the bathroom.  And I don’t want to be in pain.  The Vicodin seems to have been causing the intestinal problems while still not covering the aches. BB explained to me that at large doses, Vicodin can cause Tylenol poisoning - Acetaminophen being the largest part of the mix.  Taking the Contin once every twelve hours will keep me on an even keel.  The morphine will be released slowly over the entire period and not dumped all at once in my system.  Then, if, and only if, I feel breakthrough pain, I can take one Vicodin, just one.

It makes sense.  But it’s still hard to swallow.  I am going to have to work hard not to add this to the pile of guilt I am already carrying around.  It wasn’t cheap.

It upset my husband.  He couldn’t talk about it.  Mostly because I wouldn’t let him, I think.  I wish I hadn’t told him the generic name.   What’s in a name?  “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.“  A narcotic is a narcotic is a narcotic.  Blah blah blah.  But this narcotic carries a bad reputation of desperation.  And impending death.

Morphine is just another reminder that this is all very real.

I have Cancer.

I have Morphine.

I was bound to get them both eventually.

I have taken the Contin instead of the Vicodin for two days now and I have to tell you I feel better.  Almost normal (If I could remember what normal feels like).  I am not nauseous and I was not afraid to eat my dinner last night.  My mind feels freer and my mouth is running over.  I haven’t stopped talking since I laughed at my boy first thing this morning.  In the middle of the night, I woke once pretty loopy, but I think I can avoid that by taking less of the other pills that I have been taking to put me asleep.

Less is more, see?  Less Vicodin, less sleeping pills, less nausea.

It’s OK.  I’m on morphine, but it doesn’t mean I am dying.  In fact, I feel more alive today than I have in a while.  It’s OK.

Am I telling my family it’s OK or just myself?  It doesn’t matter.  We all need to know.

I’m hungry.  Time for breakfast.

********

8:00p
Oh, we had a great day. I’ll give you the short version.

We did laundry!  Here in the park’s laundro-mat.  I played with the kids on the playground.  I actually got on the teeter-totter with Jaymi.  She was always too high and I got tired fast from pushing off over and over.  We giggled though. And that was what counted.  Then we made the fastest trip to Wal-Mart that one could do from twenty-five miles away. (I was able to walk through the store this time, although I did get tired.  But I did it!)  We stopped off at a little market on the way home for some cold food and chicken fingers from the deli for dinner. (We ate them in the car to save time.)

We got home at six and changed into our swim suits for a jump in the lake across the street.  It was nice.  We left our cell phones in the car and didn’t even worry about them.  The water was cold, but not as cold as the ocean!  The last time we were there I didn’t get in the water.  I wasn’t completely healed from my first surgery then.  But I was the first in the water this trip.   Oh, it was so nice.  Unfortunately, I didn’t even bring the camera.

When we got home, I made Rob’s curtain in less than ten minutes!   A tension rod, a cut-down twin sheet and some iron-down tape called “Stitch Witchery” for the hem.  It looks great.  Robbie was elated.  Should have done it a long time ago.  I just didn’t notice it was a problem for him and he never said a thing.  What a (little) Guy!

It’s late, now.  9:30p.  I just took my MS Contin.  I did a lot today.  More than I have been able to do in a while.  I’m not nauseous.  I was tired at times throughout the day, but I made it through.  And I would have to attribute the change to the Morphine.  I was happier.  I had more fun.  I was almost my old self.

Go figure.

Tomorrow, I will let BB know how much I appreciate her going to bat for me.  She will be surprised to know that I know it was her idea to make the change.

Sometimes, less is more.

I’m home.  I slept in my own bed!   It was a restorative sleep.  Funny how one’s own bed, no matter how lumpy or dumpy it may be, will right a traveler’s wrongs.  This is how motorhomes came into being. Take your bed along with you where you go and you will always be home.

The Ingalls’ family crossed wild country from Wisconsin’s Big Woods to the Little House on the Prairie in Walnut Grove, Minnesota in a motorhome of sorts.  I always loved that show.  Now I know why.

It was my sister, Anita, and her husband, Dick, that planted the notion of motorhome living in my heart.  I was in high school when they bought their first coach back in the 80’s.  It might even have been one just like the one we live in now, only older come to think of it. My Motorhome rolled off the factory floor in October of 1987. It was a General.  Brand spanking new, it was probably a beauty.  Then so was I in 1987.

1987 was a long time ago.  We Walked Like an Egyptian back then.  Whitney Huston was still trying to Dance with Somebody and The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band was gone Fishing in the Dark.  Those Three Men (and the Baby) were competing with Fatal Attraction (and won at the box office).  Robin Williams said Good Morning from Vietnam and Dirty Dancing corrupted our minds. Bill Cosby held prime time in 1987.   It was the Year of Jump Street and Dallas and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  And The Enterprise reentered our Solar System with The Next Generation of Trekies.   It was a very good year.

Les Misérables opened on Broadway in 1987.

I was twenty-one. That was the year I met Dan. It was a very good year for me.

We were pretty cute back then!

Until 1987, there were no women in The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.  Aretha Franklin was the first to get her Respect.  In ‘87 we had the Iran-Contra Affair and the Jim Bakker-Jessica Hahn Affair too.  Chrysler bought American Motors, Bart Simpson was just a skit on The Tracy Ullman Show, and the Unibomber held us captive.  The first Heart-Lung transplant helped to bring in a world population of 5 billion people.

June 10th, 1987, President Ronald Reagan declaimed “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”  The next day, Margaret Thatcher was elected Prime Minister of The United Kingdom.   Jessica McClure fell down a well and Prozac hit the shelves. All in 1987.

We saw the end of unbiased media in 1987 when the FCC rescinded the “Fairness Doctrine.”  Radio and television stations no longer had to fairly present controversial issues.  (I wondered when that happened.)

Black Monday came a month later in October.  It was the same month my Motorhome rolled off the Fleetwood assembly line in Riverside, California.

Mario’s grandson, Marco Andretti raced into the world in 1987. Born also that year was Hilary Duff, Jessie McCartney, and Aaron Carter. Shad Gregory Moss wasn’t even “Lil Bow Wow” yet.

The same year those biggies of tomorrow were born, we lost too many “Greats of the Past.”  Danny Kaye, Dean Martin, Buddy Rich, Rita Hayworth, Fred Astaire and Jackie Gleason all died in 1987.

When I was in 1987, I had a different future in mind.  I was in Orlando, Florida, studying Tae Kwon Do; working at Y.K. Kim’s.   I had no kids, no husband, no cancer.   I had no idea my motorhome was on a dealership lot across the country in Oregon.

Brand Spanking New.

Go figure.

1987 doesn’t seem that long ago.  The older I get the faster time flies.  I have only one week left of the radiation treatment I fought so hard to get.  Before long, I will be able to say “Day 1825” and five years will have passed since the day I was diagnosed with Cancer.  What will life be like for me in five years?  Will Kelli be Married with Children?  Brandi and Jaymi will be teenagers.  Robbie will be stealing hearts at twelve.  Will I be a walker or will I have to use one?

It really doesn’t matter.

I will be happy just to be five years older.

7:40a
I just talked to my little ones.  They are about to walk into their new school for the first day.  2nd, 3rd, and 4th grade.  I told them over and over not to grow up, but they just won’t listen!  Go figure.  I am feeling a tad left out.  But better to be left out of this one morning than every morning.

“4th grade, mom! Can you believe it?”

“I saw the 3rd grade schedule and Math is the first thing!  Why math?”

“Recess will be awesome, mom!  The playground is brand new!”

They each had their own thoughts running on different paths.  And all mine are running along besides them.  The first thought I had this morning was not for my CancerMonster as usual, but for my three little Martians on their way to a new adventure.

New adventures, new feelings, new teachers, new friends.  We should all strive for this newness every day of our own lives.  Learn, Live, Laugh.  Have fun, my babies.

My night was better.  I closed yesterday with the giggles I needed.  Thanks for the Jokes guys.  It hit the spot.

I have some business to take care of after my treatment today. I need some prescriptions renewed and I must speak to the business office before I can head off for home. It shouldn’t take long.   I will still have a couple hours to rest before I pick up the kids at school.

********
8:00p
I didn’t write nor take pictures on the way home.  I didn’t even talk on the phone.  I turned the radio up to drown out my thoughts and sang my way along.

I never made it to the school.  I pulled in to the camp site around 12:15, walked in with just my purse and laid down on my bed.  No one home but me.  It was quiet.  And it was my bed.  It was 1:30 when I managed to wake enough to call Dan.

“I can’t wake up.”
“What did you take?”
“Nothing.”
“We’re all leaving the job by two anyway. You want me to get the kids?”

I struggled to rectify the time I needed to pull myself together with the end of school at 2:50.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

I hadn’t even brought in my medication bag.  It was 2:10 before I woke again and stumbled out to the car for my pain pills.  My head was pounding.  I went back to bed with a bottle of water and one little helper.   At 3:00 Dan called back.  “We are about ten minutes away.  The kids are very excited.  Get ready for them to pounce.”

Brandi was the first in the door, thus claiming first right of the telling.  Jaymi could hardly contain herself until it was his turn.  Poor Rob had to wait the longest.  They all had too much to tell.

“I expected you to pick us up, mom.
“So did I.”

After the stories played out sufficiently, we had to take the work van someplace for the weekend.  We stopped in a Radio Shack to see about a cheaper phone for me.  (I am both wearing out this blackberry with my writing and running over on the bill every month.  It’s time to downgrade.)   Then we had to get some grub.

It’s now 8:20 and I am about to climb into my jammies.  I am beat. And having a hard time formulating words.  I’m glad there is only one more week of this.  It’s getting harder on me every time.

I may not be able to eat them raw, but tomorrow I will be a vegetable. And looking forward to it!

8:30a
Morning came again at eight with the ditty playing on my phone’s alarm.  This time with light coming under the curtain instead of the dark that filtered in at 4:00am.  Or the TV sound I woke to at two.  I would say I slept like a baby.  But it would have to be a new born baby I refer to.  I awoke every so many hours with a cry for mommy.

Last night I didn’t take the second Vicodin Dr G gave me the permission to take.  That was my mistake.  I don’t like the way that second little helper makes my brain wander.   I thought I had made the right choice of mind over matter.  I had it all wrong once again.

They say that sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel is an oncoming locomotive. This morning there are train tracks across my bed.

********
9:00a
I am still feeling the effects of my night, but it’s starting to level out.  I think the FibroCreature has been at work of late.   The team at the treatment center can’t explain my nausea, but I think I know who to point the finger at.  Having two different major entities battling for control of my life makes my case doubly rare.  Throw in the Diabetes and Sleep Apnea and I become a veritable zoological exhibit.   Being a rare specimen of person to begin with, it’s no wonder this rare sarcoma came to be in my rare hind quarter.  Butt Cheek Sarcoma. “I never heard of that.”  Well, now you have.

********
9:30a

Despite that bad night, my evening with Leenie and Denny was great.

Denny made a marvelous dinner of grilled steak and peaches with spaghetti squash and a vegetable medley.  All cooked -nothing raw for my benefit.  Leenie was fabulous company while we watched the grill master work and their two puppies play.

I stayed several hours.  It was a nice to spend some alone time with them.   By 7:00 though, I was fading fast and had to take my leave.   I got home just in time experience Denny’s Dinner a second time. Not so great, this round.  Oh, well, it was worth it anyway.

********
1:00p
My treatment went longer than usual today with the addition of more photos.  These inside out.  Once they started the actual radiation therapy, I lost track of time.  Each time the machine moved to the next position I had to wonder if it was the last one.  No, there’s another buzz.  I don’t even know now what I was thinking then.  Like a fading dream, I know I was there, but I just don’t recall it. I know my lovely ladies were concerned with my lack of emotion.  “I’m just tired.  Didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

Maybe

You know what?  I think I need a joke.  I am running low on giggles.  Tell me a joke will you?   Keep them clean!  Both my mother and mother-in-law are reading this!

********
3:00p
I just talked with Dan.  He took the day to get the kids ready for school.  Tonight is a “Back to School” BBQ and get-together. They start tomorrow and I won’t be there to take them.  I will be home to pick them up though!  I will meet their teachers and get the tour then.  Tomorrow is Going Home Friday.  Funny, but this week has gone by fast.  In fact, this month has gone by fast, too.  After tomorrow, I’ll have just one week and one day left on my ticket to the stars.   I think I will miss the radiation staff, but not the status of radiation patient.  I would rather call the ladies “Friend” and call myself, once again just “Mom.”

For three weeks. . .

9:00a

I promised to fill you in on the rest of my yesterday. And since I don’t have much else to report on today, I will.

After my conversation with the lady in the waiting lounge, I headed into the Tropical Room for my own session under the heat lamp.

“How was your weekend with the family?” Inquiring minds wanted to know.

“It was good! It was bad, but it was good!” confusion. “I had a wonderful time. I had a bad weekend, but a wonderful one with my kids and hubby.”

“It was bad, but it was good?”

“Yes, exactly.” hahah. I went on to explain that I was sick most of the time.

“You had a cold?”

“No, it was a ‘You did it’ kind of sick. You said you wouldn’t hit anything that would make me sick. But, I think you did.”

“Oh . . .”

“And I was in pain. I must have overdid it.”

No, this pain wasn’t in my calf, or in my ankle. It was my whole blasted leg on fire. I explained it all to C who is standing in as “BB, the nurse” in this week’s episode of StarGate. The skin looks better than expected though. We also talked about my nausea and yucks. She pulled up my latest scans and didn’t see anything that would cause this reaction. “I don’t know what to tell you? There is prescription stuff that will work better than the OTC medicine your taking.”

“I don’t have any money for new prescriptions this week.”

“We have samples. I will look through BB’s magic drawer.”

When Dr G came in, he wanted to hear about my pain. “I have been in pain for years. This weekend, it was as bad as I ever felt. I used my cane most of the time just to stay off it. The more numb the tumor gets the more painful my leg is. . . On a scale of one to ten? A ten. It shoots down my entire leg. By the time I get into bed at night, it’s on fire. I just writhe on until I finally fall asleep.”

“That makes sense to me. The radiation is causing swelling that is pushing on the nerve endings.” He took a look at the bump. “Wow, it’s softer! That is a good sign. Sarcoma’s tend to just get hard as a rock and sit there. It usually takes them a while after the treatment is over before they start to shrink. This is mushy like there is fluid building around it. That’s why there is so much pain. It looks like this is reacting to the treatment already.”

It was good to hear that he was encouraged. It was bad to hear the encouragement was the cause of my pain.

“Start taking two of the extra strength Vicodin at a time. If that doesn’t cover the pain, I can add a long lasting pain medicine and the Vicodin can be used to stop the break through pain.”

Two at a time. Hmmm. That is 15mgs.

I did take two of them last night. That’s why I couldn’t finish this story! I was quite stoned. There is no way I can take two 7.5 Vicodin and drive anywhere but off the road into a ditch. Two at a time will have to be only for desert.

“As for the other problem, I can’t see what is causing your nausea and diarrhea. According to the scans, the radiation is not hitting anything that would cause this. I don’t discount your distress, I just can’t explain it. The increase in the Vicodin will help since narcotics generally cause constipation.”

“That hasn’t been much of a problem so far.”

I also wanted to get his opinion of what I can expect after the surgery. “I know this is not your field, but I am trying to make plans for after the operation.” I told him what BB had said, and what the scheduler said, and I watched as his mind whooshed it all together like a wine connoisseur tasting a new vintage. “Certainly, you will need physical therapy. Dr H will have to remove a large part of the muscle. There will be no getting around it. As far as how much and where, I would call up there and ask his nurse. You need to ask a medical professional this question.”

I get the impression that no one can tell me what to expect. Until Dr H gets in there, it’s anyone’s guess. I think in a large part, it will be up to me. If I decide to lay in bed like a sack of potatoes growing buds in the dark, I will get moldy fast and need a farmer to extricate my body from the muck. If I decide to get up and walk, if I cowboy-up and do my own diligence, I will not need to be dug out with a spade. I will not go to a nursing home. I will go to my own home! I will do whatever it takes in the hospital before I am released and I will go home to Lincoln and my river and my friends and I will send my kids back to their school while I kick my own butt into gear. I will become a tri-athlete in training for the competition of my life. I have to decide this now. I will not go gentle into the good night, evening or good afternoon. It will be hard. And I am scared silly. But I don’t have the time or money to sit down and give up. All the mistakes and delays that have made this situation what it is, will not make me a victim crying my own river to overflowing. I will not sink my family in the mud. I won’t. I promise.

Pray for me, will ya? Because this will take Bigger Hands and a Bigger Will than my own to accomplish.

That being said, I must go get ready for my radiation treatment: day 17.

********
10:30a
Just so you know I am human, after writing that with bravado, my shower was wetter than normal. But only under my eyes and down my face.

********
2:00p
Today’s session was unremarkable. I am resting here at the hotel. In a little while I am going across town to visit with Leenie and Denny.

I might be late. Don’t wait up.

But keep the light on. . .