www.cancermonster.net

Denny writing here:

I’m writing for the family of Dan and Teresa. This is a message from the heart.

Dan and Teresa and the kids are soon off to Florida, and those of us who are close by during this huge challenge for them realize the formidable task before them. Freshly recovering from two major surgeries, Teresa is healing as fast as is possible to make the trip. Dan is busy preparing to move his family in the RV across the country to Ft. Meyers, Florida, where they will have family members able to devote the time to help Teresa overcome and conquer the Monster once and for all.

But Dan’s time has to be devoted to getting them there, and there is no time to work to pay for it all. So we’re standing up to call out to those who have followed this story, and may be in a position to help. Dan and Teresa are proud and independent, so it is hard for them to ask for help, but we are asking for them.

It’s time for all of you who can (many have asked) to help them get there. Their RV needs a lot of maintenance to make it crosscountry. We are asking you to donate to their efforts to get to Florida, and set up their new home. By clicking on the link to the right, you can get to Dan and Teresa’s PayPal account and contribute what you can to help. You can use your own PayPal account or credit card to donate. Their PayPal account is graceworks2@hotmail.com.

Well, the much anticipated week has come and gone. It has been seven days of intense, emotional highs and lows. The flight from Florida to Oregon wasn’t too bad if you don’t think about the fact that we had to be at the airport at 5 AM. Yuk!! I am not a morning person…. but I had a job to do. I had to be with my baby sister. My sister, Pam, and I slept on and off, but mostly wondered what to expect tomorrow morning when Teresa’s surgery was scheduled.

We arrived in Portland, met by My niece Kelli, and her boyfriend Tim, and Pam’s son Danny who flew in from Ohio. For all those that witnessed our reunion, we were there for a wonderful visit. No one could know how afraid we were. Afraid of just what they were going to do to Teresa’s body to remove the monster. We rented a car, and drove to the hospital parking lot to meet them. Our Mother had arrived the day before. Teresa ran out of her RV, still not believing that we loved her “this much”, to come to be with her. We were happy to be this close to each other, close enough to grab each other, squeeze tight, and never let go. Monday morning… surgery day…. and we are still afraid.

The waiting room was full, 3/4 full of Teresa’s family. It didn’t seem too long, like 3 hours, and out comes Dr H (we call House) followed by Dr Young Guy ( can’t pronounce the name on his lab coat. House looked elated (well as elated as an important surgeon can look) and he was smiling. “Everything went well” . He explained, as Teresa stated in her previous blog, that minimal destruction happened, and she will walk, and she will sit up, and she will be a normal “un-handicapped” woman. When Teresa was brought back to her room and lifted from the gurney to her bed, The first thing she did was feel for her leg. With a groggy grin, She glanced into my eyes and I loved her more right then than ever before. Although the “monster site” was a shocking huge crater like indentation on her backside, it could have been worse. You have read about her miracle walk the next day. Life is better, if not good. Hmmm.. That was a high.

Then we had a big low. The “flap” had to be done. On Friday. And it tumbled to “low” rapidly. Her surgery was really long, and when she came back to her room, she was crying. Other than the private phone conversations that we had once or twice, she has not cried, or given into self pity. She was in so much pain, and I have never seen so many drains come out of one human being in my life. The nurses failed to get her pain under control for almost 6 hours, and believe me… they cringed each time I sauntered down that corridor looking for them. I did it often. Me and my broom. Dan and I finally got her comfortable on the granite like mattress, one of her favorite nurses came on at 11:00p. She gave her the pain meds that she needed and deserved, and I felt comfortable leaving to go back to my room for the first time that day. And by the way, where she had that big gaping hole where her left butt cheek used to be, there is a brand new wonderful butt cheek replacement… thanks to her “brilliant” surgeons, with help from her side muscle.
Today, Saturday, she was out of bed walking. Not quite the fanfare of the first time, but walking. Her body has been through the ringer. Two major surgeries in 5 days, her drive to get better and her determination to beat this thing never waning. I am so, so proud of her.

To all those family members and friends who have called, and have prayed for her… thank you very much. But please, don’t stop praying. We still have a lot more to do. Pray for all of us. I will be heading back to Florida in 2 days, with an agenda. We have to get her financial help for her chemotherapy, as well as an Oncology group to accept her for treatment. We have to find them a place to live, get the children enrolled in school to maintain their sense of security and normalcy.

We have no time to waste, for fear of the cancer spreading. Dan has to close up shop here in Oregon, make the motorhome safe to travel, make sure Teresa is healthy enough to travel that far. My mother will stay another week to help. Please… please pray for all of us. From one of the members of the monster fighting team~ “we may have it- but it doesn’t have us”… Anita

I’m sitting here now watching Teresa in her Morphine induced recovery sleep thinking “God, how did we get here? Why us, what is your plan?” One day God will let us know. For now all we can do is try to follow his path and take the right path that he has laid out for us. Right now God is putting it in my heart that I need to get her to Florida as soon as possible.

The surgery lasted for 5 1/2 hours, it was harder than the one on Monday, I’ll let Teresa tell you about that. I can tell you that the surgery was over for an hour and a half and they didn’t even tell us, no phone call from surgery and no doctor coming up to tell us how it went. I was livid. That’s the kind of day it was.

I’m out of time, I know now that I can’t go back to work and finish the job. I have no time to waste on getting to Florida. Chemo needs to start 3 weeks from now, we will be here all week, and I have to get the motor ready for a 3000 mile trip and then make the trip. No time for work, in order to start the chemo you need to see the doctors at the new cancer center in Tampa at least a week or two before you can start. I’m out of time, I have to take care of her. She’s my world, my love, my split apart.

Daniel

It’s me this time.  I walked!  You saw the pictures to prove it.  When the Physical Therapist and the Occupational Therapist popped in my room Tuesday morning, I said, “OK! Let’s do this thing!”  Evidently, they don’t usually get such a reception.  They never met me before.  “I have things to do. I need to get walking.”  I walked and surprised everyone!

They went through the usual “push here, don’t let me push there” routine and I passed all those tests. “You probably should see the wound so you know what we are up against.”

The wound is . . . Well, it’s extensive.  I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.  As I understand it, there are three muscles there in the buttock.  Dr H took most of the largest - The Gluteus Maximus.  While this muscle is charged with maintaining the upright posture of us humans, it also gives the buttock its shape. Without it . . .  Well there is no “junk in the trunk.”  The good news there is that the smaller muscles were left to keep me from dipping when I walk.  And I can walk!  I surprised everyone by doing so at every opportunity.  I am using a walker and I have to have someone with me to carry the machine that is attached to by tush, but I feel better standing up and walking than I do lying in the bed!

Speaking of the machine attached to my tush . . . In order to keep the wound from filling up with fluid, Dr. H has a “Wound Vac” sewn inside with a tube going to a collection machine.  It is like a sponge soaking up the fluids. The fluids drain via a tube into the machine. I have to have someone carry the machine beside me when I walk. Last night the Doctor came in to talk.  Seems there is more fluid draining than he likes.   He had three options: 1- take out the vac on Thursday as planned and hope it doesn’t fill up . . . (Not a good option) 2- Take out this sponge and replace it with a smaller one. And then another smaller one . . .and so on, until the wound heals tight and dry. (The preferred option) He said that I could stay in the motorhome on campus during this process. 3- Take a muscle from my side and place it in the void thus filling the cavity with meat instead of fluid. Dr. H would rather not have to take this option that he called a “Flap,“ but if it was needed, another doctor would do that portion of the operation. House had planned to take the Wound Vac out on Thursday.  He said that he would decided when he opened me up if he could get a good enough seal without having to take either secondary option.  I let my team know what was going on.  We all hoped for what was behind door number 1, but knew that door number 2 was most likely what we would end up with.

Everyone gone home, I settled in for the night.  It wasn’t easy.  My bed was far from comforting to my half-brained rear end.  With my nurses help, I piled pillow after pillow around and under my body.  You see, the middle of my bed is bowl shaped - especially when I elevate my head.  My tush is also bowl shaped, but in the opposite direction.

Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet. . .

By midnight, I had to admit to my nurse that it felt like I was laying on bricks.  Only more meds gave me the cushion enough to sleep.   When Dr. Young Guy came in at 6:00a Wednesday morning, I told him that my tush was tot and I showed him the spot that was making me crazy.

“Well, that is bone there. And there is not much to cover it. . . “

Wonderful.  I have never been called “Boney Butt” before!

A couple or so hours later, Dr H came in and asked how I was doing.  I repeated the tale (or half tail . . .) and he made a face.

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”  He, also, explained that there was not much covering the bone there.  “Hmm. . . Maybe we should just do the flap  . . . “ he thought out loud.  “There is still too much fluid.  When I go in on Thursday, I will make sure that my colleague is with me.  We will decide then whether to put in the smaller sponge or do the flap.”

“If you decide the flap is needed, will you do it right then.”
“No.  It will need to be done separately.”
“But I will at least need another sponge?” He nodded. “Then I will be staying through the weekend?”
“At least.”

I called the team. . .

By the time the team was making their collective way up from the parking garage, I had a message from Dr H, delivered through the nurse.
“Dr. H called.  He will not be removing the Vac on Thursday after all.  They will do the entire operation on Friday instead. “
“All of it?”
“Yes.”

The entire operation.  Ok Then.

(It’s Thursday morning now - 6:25a.  It is taking me a while to get this story out. . .)

Dr Flap and his own Young Guy came in in the afternoon.  The surgery will take four to seven hours, depending on what they find when they go in.  The muscle they will take from my side is the same muscle used in swimming . . . So I will have to call the Olympic Committee and decline their invitation for the swim team.  That is too bad.  I have been practicing standing at the top of the platform to receive my Gold Metal all week!

These new Doctors are Microvascular Reconstruction Specialists.  They explained that they will take the muscle from the side and match the blood vessels with those left in my posterior.  After the surgery, I will not be able to put any weight on the new tissue.  This will add a minimum of five days to my hospital stay.  I will have drainage tubes extending from my back for at least two weeks.

Meanwhile, I still need to start the Chemo as soon as possible. But not until the wounds (two of them now) have had a chance to heal.  The plan for chemo is still to have this done in Florida where we have family enough to help.  I have told you that chemo for sarcomas is rough.  We found out that I will need to be in a hospital for one week and then can go home for two weeks. Back and forth.  For about six months.  And we have to get there.  Soon.

At the same that we are scheming to get me to Florida, Dan will not be able to work much.  My mother can stay a while longer, but the rest of my company will need to fly back where they come from.  We are looking at at least another half a week in Portland.  And that gives Dan less time wrapping up the job at the beach.  The motorhome needs four more new tires and an extensive tune up before we can take it 3,000 miles.   The children are missing more school.

I am becoming a bigger pain in the butt as my butt gets smaller!  Go figure.   People keep adding pages to the script!  The story goers on and on.   I wrote “Practice Happiness” on the message board hanging at the foot of my bed.  A reminder to cowboy up.

I think I have sat in this chair to finish this update just about as long as I am able.  I am falling asleep again.   Since I would hate to talk in my sleep . . . I will have to continue the “tail” again when I can.

Love to You and Yours,
t

This is Denny: The bad news is, the nurse told Teresa to stop walking around and get back in bed. Not kidding. Other bad news: her professional hockey career is over.

I’m sitting here in the hospital room, 24 hours after the surgery. Let’s just say this: The surgeon came into the waiting room yesterday smiling. Buttockectemy: a roaring success. Two of three muscles left intact. Badass tumor, gone. (my term, not Dr. H’s). There were almost a dozen family members there, and we let out a collective whoop (and we’re a loud bunch).

Then we had to wait, blah, blah, until we could go up and see her. And there she was, the Queen Bee, all awake and sassy. (nothing different there).

Today, Tuesday, I arrive at the hospital in the mid-afternoon, and stop to take a phone call before I get to Teresa’s room. A minute later, I turn around, and there’s Teresa, walking with a walker towards me, wearing a grin and a classy hospital gown, with family behind, making their own parade. Jaw dropping moment.

Now we’re here in the room, and Teresa is chatting away. We decide it’s time to blog. So, here’s a direct Teresa quote: “My God is bigger than the monster.” (She just said that) Big enough for her to keep walking around the floor. Big enough to walk up the little Physical Therapy stairs that lead nowhere and everywhere. Big enough to make nurse and doctors do Elmer Fudd-like doubletakes, while Teresa stands at the top of the ministairs, hands on hips, laughs like Erroll Flynn, and declares, “I’m Queen of the World”

The world got bigger today.

12:00p

It took all day to get the move done.  We didn’t pull out of the river park until 1:00.  We showed up at the designated parking lot here at OHSU just after 4:00p.  We had a permit for space #5.  So did the motorhome parked in space #5.  In fact, the one parked in #4 also had a permit for #5 hanging in his window.  Being Saturday, no one answered the phone when we called to find out where the space #5 that we had a permit for was actually located.  There was, however, no one in space #3.  We backed ourselves in and set up shop.  If someone shows up with a permit for space #3, we will say “No Habla Ingles!”  It’s first come first serve around here I guess. We couldn’t catch the Wi-Fi from the University or the city of Portland.  I wasn’t able to post and that made me crazy!

Dan never stopped from morning packing and moving, to midnight when he brought my mother in from the airport.  He is gone now doing the laundry.  Like the Energizer Bunny, he keeps going and going and going . . .

I am waiting for Kelli to bring . . .

********
1:30p
As I was writing that last line, they all showed up!  Kelli and Tim brought Anita, Pam, and Danny here to me!  What a storm of love and hugs!  Danny’s suitcase was lost in transit and Pam’s bags never even made it on the plane!  She was late to the airport and they told her that she could board the plane but she would have to leave her bags behind.  Any way there were now eleven of us in the motorhome. H\Hugging and kissing, crying and laughing.

My mother brought a handkerchief from Florida that my cousin Joe and his wife, Shirley sent. Back in the Sunshine State, together with my mother and step-father, Aunt Ethel and her husband Dick, Joe and Shirley prayed over the piece of cloth for my healing.  (Acts 19:12) Here in my twenty year old motorhome, my gathered family each took an inch in their hands and my nephew, Danny, said another prayer of healing to add to the cloth. “Amen!  Now gimme it!”  As it so happens, Danny had brought a cloth from his church as well! I will hold to them both tightly!

Then Anita and Pam brought out packages from home!  I sat down next to my daughter’s boyfriend, Tim and opened card after card.  Handmade ones from all the children.  Beautiful and funny ones from all the adults.  Each time I opened one and cried and I would say to Tim, “This is from . . . And this is from . . .”
“They are all related to you?”
“Yep!  Every last one of them.”
“And they are all in Florida?”
“Yep!  Every last one of them!  Are you still coming?”
“Yep.  I want to.”

I wasn’t sure he was sure . . . But I was so happy he said it anyway!”

Pam brought me the entire first season of HOUSE!   Hahhahaha

They left just a bit ago to check in to the hotel.  They are staying at the same place I stayed for my radiation.  Right across the street from the Angels that touched my heart and fried my butt.  Lol  It’s quiet.  The eye of the storm.  In an hour or so, all my family will combine with Dan’s family for a Autumn Family Cookout.  We are anxious to see Dan’s mother over there.  She came in yesterday afternoon, but we were all too tired to get together.  There will be quite a crew: Dan’s nephew Eric and his wife, Susie, their daughter Jada, Denny and Leenie and their kids, Forest, Keenan, and Callen, my crazy family.

Mi Vida Loca.

I don’t know how I ever deserved this much love.  There will be twenty people there today and it isn’t even my birthday.  I have to tell you, that when I waved my sisters and nephew off and thanked Tim and Kelli for being their guide (again) to the hotel, I had to take a walk.  I sat down on the edge of the parking lot and looked out down a wild hill so full of colors that a rainbow wouldn’t hold them all.  I thanked the Lord for my family.  And I cried.  Happy tears.

Beautiful, happy, Thank You Lord, tears.

Tomorrow’s the day!  Buttockectomy! Let’s Get’er Done!

Here Comes the Sun
Here Comes the Sun
And I say, It’s all right!

********

I need to make an announcement:

No one is going to GET DEAD.

I am the same strong, stubborn, pigheaded, opinionated  . . . you get the picture, person that I was last week.  Just because this Monster won some ground, that doesn’t mean he has won the war.

Stop Crying For Me.  (Although, I love you for doing so.)

I have news for the Monster:  I HAVE YOU, YOU DON’T HAVE ME!

And that will make all the difference.

********
Ok, back to the sun!  It came out this morning to dry up all the rain and the itsy-bitsy spider . . . Well, It’s another good day.

I didn’t write yesterday, because there wasn’t much to tell.  It was a normal day.  I worked on the back curtains. . . It rained. . . Oh, and I got yelled at by my neighbor.

Really!  Who has the nerve to yell at me! “Don’t you know I have cancer in my butt?”  Lol (The new spots she wouldn’t have to know about. . . )

I was talking on my phone on my very own porch . . . Talking to Leenie . . . It was 2:15 in the afternoon. . . And the window on the truck camper beside me - the window on the cab-over bunk section, was thrown open and I was yelled at.

“COULD YOU GO TALK SOMEWHERE ELSE? I AM TRYING TO REST!”

It was so uncharacteristically not “this park” that I just stared at her face plastered against the screen for a second and then threw up my hands and walked away.

I could have said something rude. (I thought of a whole bunch of things I could have said later.) I could have stood there on my own porch and continued to talk.  But I was thinking . . . Since they got here they day before, I hadn’t seen that woman out of her camper.  And except for the scary face pushed up against the screen, I haven’t a clue what she looks like.  I figure, this trip wasn’t her idea.  And it was rainy for the last few days.  I have a feeling she came along in this truck camper on this fishing trip not of her own will.  I started to think that there was something worse than having a grumpy woman sleeping in the middle of the day next door . . . And that would be having a grumpy, sleepy wife sharing ten feet of space. . . On a fishing trip. . . In the rain.

So out of concern for HIS safety, I have tried to keep it down.  Not that much, but I give it a thought once and a while.   If she does say something again about “noise”  I am going to give her the brochure for the last park we lived in.  There is no noise there.  And no fishy smell.  And no river.  Just a dangerous creek.  She will be much more at home over there.

“Hey Lady, Your in a FISH CAMP!  We don’t sleep at 2:15 in the afternoon around here!”

********
Tomorrow, we are taking the motorhome up to Portland.  Throughout the weekend, my family members will be showing up.  Sunday afternoon, Denny and Leenie will be hosting a cookout for the extended team.  Monday . . . Monday will be here in the blink of an eye.

Edge of Close

I am starting to get nervous.  It’s real.  This is really happening.  This is really happening to me.  I don’t know why the surgery is my dawning moment when I spent five weeks getting radiated, but it is.

“Come Monday, It’ll be alright.”

I received my schedule today.  I need to check in at 6:45am Monday morning.  The surgery will start between 9:00 and 9:30.  (That’s Pacific Standard Time for those who would be so kind as to be praying for me around that time. Hint, hint. . .)

It’s happening

I told Dan that I have to be awake by 1:00p.  I have to watch One Life to Live.  I have to find out who gets the McBain/Manning baby!  He doesn’t think I will be awake by 1:00.   So I told him that I at least have to be awake by 2:00 so I can watch General Hospital.  I think Carly is going to be in real trouble on Monday.  I have to watch it.   Dan doesn’t think I will make that one either.   Ok, but I absolutely have to be awake by 3:00!  All My Children (yes, it’s on last out here in Oregon) is changing the actress that plays Babe. They are going to change the actresses in the middle of the show!  When Babe hugs her mother she will be the old Babe, and when she lets go of the hug, she will be the new Babe!  I absolutely have to watch that.   Dan doesn’t have a very good feeling about me watching that show either.  He may be right.  The last time I went in for what was supposed to be in and out surgery and I woke up six hours later.  You remember, the splinter that turned into a Sarcoma. . .

“Ok, at least make me a promise.  At 1:00, I want the TV in my room set to ABC.  And you keep whispering in my ear that my soaps are on, OK?  If I open my eyes, I want to see you and Susan Lucci, OK?”

He said he would.  I know that Anita will make sure it’s on.  She watches the same shows.  Lol   I have a feeling that she will have to tell me all about it.  Dan might be right.

You know what else is making me nervous?  My family is planning stuff down there in Florida.  I don’t know just what it is.   Lol   It’s like knowing that you’re getting a surprise party, but not knowing what kind of party it will be.  I am loosing control of my life!  Lol   My mom told me today not to bring my bottle collection back with me.  I haven’t had a bottle collection since I left home for college and she threw them all away.  I think she might have forgotten that that was twenty-three years ago.  “Mom, I don’t have a bottle collection anymore.”  “Ok, but you did.”   I am 18 again.   Lol

No, really.  My family is taking care of everything so that we don’t have to worry about any of the details.  We just have to get there.  It’s a peace-of-mind building thing. It’s a love thing.  I love them all so so much.  And that’s the thing.

Tomorrow night I will let you know how the trip up to Portland went and all about our parking lot spot at OHSU.  And don’t forget:  I am going to be fine.  It’s ok to breathe.

Love to You and Yours,
teresa

I had a very good day. No really, I did. I slept well and woke fresh. I spent the day cleaning the motorhome. Yes, it took all day to clean 33 feet, but I wasn’t in a race or anything. I stopped now and then to talk to a friend or two and I had a few phone calls. (I am almost out of daytime minutes on that little phone of mine . . .) I didn’t get tired until the kids got off the bus (Yah! They rode the bus!). Those kids require so much energy. They take what they need from me! I was glad to give it. It was time to sit anyway.

I was calm and happy today. You don’t believe me, but it’s true. See, I can’t do this by myself. Dan can’t do this by himself. We had no choice but to turn it over.

Jesus, take the wheel. . .

Jesus took the wheel and put a whole bunch of other people behind it. You remember that bus with “Practice Happiness” on the side? Jesus filled that bus with all the people I love. He must have given them all some big assignments. They are running with it.

I guess I should back up a bit.

After we completed the pre-op tasks yesterday, we ordered copies of my scans. (Carrying my files with me has always worked in my favor.) It was going to be thirty minutes wait. We needed lunch and Dan needed some tile supplies from a place downtown. We headed off to take care of both requirements. As we pull into the fast food joint, I asked Dan to take the kids inside so I could make a call.

The first person I called was the same person I always called first -all my life. My big sister, Anita. I told her what I knew.

“Are you there?”
“Ya, I’m here.”

She was trying as hard as she could not to cry. She wasn’t doing a very good job of it. She didn’t know that I knew that.

“You need to come home.”

She has been saying that for seven years. Every since we moved away from Florida she has been telling me to come home. Maybe this time . . . This time she made me think hard. She said she would call everyone in Florida for me.

I had to hang up and go inside before the kids missed me too much. I was starved. I ate quickly and went back out to call Kelli. She was at work. Bad place to get bad news.

I tried to call my Mom, but she wasn’t home.

At the next stop, while Dan went in for his supplies, I called Leenie. Denny and Leenie have been our companions ever since they moved to Oregon from Southern California. We have seen each other through good times and bad. It was hard to tell her. It was hard for her to listen to it.

Mom still wasn’t home.

Dan came out and we headed back up to the Hospital to pick up the scans. Before I could make anymore calls, my phone rang.

This caller was one of those people on the happiness bus and he didn’t even know that he was on assignment. Out of the seemingly blue, Dan’s brother Greg decided to call me.

“Is this a bad time?”
“No, your timing is perfect.”

See, Greg is one of my Heroes, too. He has a red line straight to the big Boss. He didn’t know about the news that we had just received. He was just moved to call me (and not Dan) at that moment. The kids were in the back seat. I gave him the news using the biggest words I could remember - ones that the kids wouldn’t understand. Greg understood. “We now know how to pray.” It may seem like a coincidence that he called at that moment. But it wasn’t.

Meanwhile, after I called Anita, she called people who called people, and so on and so on . . . They formulated a plan.

When I was a kid, and not just a teen, but a young twenty-something, it seemed like my family would sit around having meetings. “What are we gonna do about Teresa?” (They don’t remember it that way, but I do.) I wasn’t a bad kid. Just stupid. I thought, maybe since I was now in my forties, that maybe they had forgotten how to do that. But, low and behold (and Thank God) old habits prevail.

The thought of me “coming home” was expanded. By the time I next talked with Anita, she and the rest of my siblings had found a Sarcoma Research team in Tampa. They said that they would find us a place to live and take care of everything. “Come home. You have no choice. We are here to take care of everything.” You think I’m a firecracker? You should meet my sister. She can be very persuasive. And my other sister and brothers too. They had it all figured out and I hadn’t even made it out of Portland yet. I have been summonsed. And really, they are right. We can’t do this here. The people here all work. The people down there are free to play tag team. We just had to figure out how to get there.

Mom was still not home. I wanted to tell her myself.

Heading out of town, I called Aunt Shirley in Houston. She didn’t want to hear it either. She knew where my mom was though. It wasn’t long before mom did finally call me. Still speaking in medical code that my kids couldn’t understand, I filled her in. “But mom, call Anita. She and Pam and Joe have a plan. It’s going to work out. Don’t worry. It’s still going to be alright.”

We got back to the motorhome after dark. I called my girlfriend a couple RV’s down and told her I was coming over. We sat on her porch and I told her. We cried together and she put a glass of wine in my hand. I know that I’m not supposed to have wine with all the narcotics I’m on, but I have to tell you it was the best wine I have ever tasted. Or maybe it was the best timing of any glass of wine I ever tasted, but It did the trick.

I went home feeling the weight of the day lifted. I laughed with the kids and put them to bed. I climbed into my own bed and slept all night. When I woke up, there was no pain. There was no worry. I worked around the house, while the rest of the passengers on the happiness bus prayed. I felt every prayer. It’s going to be alright. It’s going to be hard, but it’s gonna be alright. We are not alone.

Moving to Florida will work. The only problem is leaving Kelli and Tim. That’s tearing me up.

This afternoon we got the silver lining under the cloud. Dan got a call from the hospital’s financial office. We were supposed to go back after the doctors appointments to talk with the business office. We were in no shape to remember to do that. The woman on the phone was very nice. She pulled up the financial application we supplied to the University (The hospital and University are evidently separate entities) and said that everything was in order. Dan told her that the cancer had spread to my lungs.

“That changes everything. When you get here, Monday or Tuesday you’ll have plenty of waiting time, you come to my office. Because the sarcoma has metastized, Your wife qualifies for instant Federal SSI Disability. We will sit together and get it all drawn up. Don’t worry about anything. I will take care of everything.”

I will take care of everything. Seems to be a reoccurring theme, doesn’t it? See, calm.

Calm.

Then my nephew Danny called from Ohio.
“I just bought a ticket. I am coming.”
“Danny, how can you afford this?”
“It’s a business trip, not a vacation. My BOSS is sending me to pray. I will be praying the whole time. I will fast as I pray. We have business to get done now. I’m coming.”

He’s coming to pray.

See, Calm.

We still had the children to talk to. After Kelli was off work, I explained why we had to go to Florida. She understood. It was hard to tell her. But she was mature enough to understand that it is the best course.

When Dan got home from work, we sat the three little ones down. “Yesterday, when the doctor looked over the chest pictures, he found some spots.” Six little eyes grew six times bigger. “The spots are in my Lung. The cancer has spread.”
“The lungs are a bad place!” Brandi is smart enough to know that much. Jaymi just kept staring. Robbie pretended he wasn’t listening.
“The lungs are a bad place, yes but there are medicines to take. After the surgery, we will have to start over with this new medicine.”
“You mean you will have to go away again?” Jaymi’s worst fear is me going away again.
“No, Jaymi. We are staying together this time. The new medicine will have to go inside me through an IV. We will have to have the Chemo this time.”
“Chemo is the stuff that will make mom pretty sick. It will make her hair fall out.” Dan said slowly.
“Good thing we didn’t get our haircuts while we were in Portland like we planned, huh mom?”
“Yah, Jay, good thing! The thing about this treatment, like Dad said, I am going to be very sick. I won’t be able to take care of you myself.”
“And I would have to quit working to care for all of you. How would I make money?”
“And here’s where it get’s cool, guys . . . What we need is someone to help take care of us while I get better.”
“You mean like a nanny?”
“Better than a nanny. How about a NANA!”
“Nana? You mean Aunt Nita? Aunt Nita is going to move here?”
“No, she can’t move here. But where does she live? And where does Aunt Pam and my mom live?”

The wheels were turning. You could tell by the way their little faces were all contorted.

“FLORIDA? We’re Moving to FLORIDA? Where DISNEY WORLD IS?”

Let’s get our priorities straight. Lol

“Ya, we’re moving to Florida. We’re going on an adventure!”
“When! When!”
“As soon as I am able to travel. I will need to heal and Dad has to get the job done. Hopefully by the end of the month.”

Of course, Jaymi wanted to know the exact time and date. It’s still the same year. The Year of “Not-A-Clue.”

They had some more questions. How. When. Where. What exactly was Chemo anyway. We tried to answer them as best we could.

Some questions just don’t have ready answers. How long will it take for me to heal enough to travel 3,000 miles? How long do we wait to start chemo? How long can I wait? Do I go talk to Dr. E? Do I fax out my records? Do I need a referral from a Doctor here? How do we get there? Can we raise enough money to get there. So much to think about. Good thing we gave it over to God. He will get it all done. He is already working through all the people I love. Every prayer. Every Angel. Every thing will work out. And as long as I try not to figure it out myself, I will have another calm day tomorrow.

Jesus, take the wheel.

Houston, we have a problem.

“What are all those spots?” I said out loud to no one really. My new chest CT was up on one screen and the one done two months ago was on the other. Side by side. They weren’t the same.

There were four people in the room. Dan and I on one side and Dr House and Dr “Young-Guy-I-Don’t-Know” on the other. Dr Y was at the controls, tuning in the pictures, trying to match them up. That’s when House moved him aside and sat in his place. I watched his face. I knew there was something wrong.

“What are all those spots?” I said again, more slowly this time.
“That’s what we are trying to find out. What ARE all those spots. Some of them are normal blood vessels. Some of them are not.”

I couldn’t breathe. I looked over at Dan and he wasn’t breathing either. It was one of those moments that lasted a lifetime. How long of a lifetime? I couldn’t even ask that question- not even in my mind.

“Teresa, we have a problem.”

Ya, that’s what I thought.

“See this spot, and this one. And here is one trying to emerge. Then there is this one here . . .” That one was much bigger than the rest. There were spots. Several spots. I counted five or six. But only on the screen on the left. The one from yesterday. They weren’t there two months ago.

The sneaky little devil. What’s it doing up there?

My calmly confident Dr House turned from the screen he had been studying.
“I’m sorry.”
“Yah, me too.”

“If there was just one spot, I would say that we would just go in and take it out. Because there are many spots, we need to treat it systemically.”
“You mean Chemo.”
“Chemo.”
“It’s a good thing I didn’t spend that money on a new hair cut.”
“Ya, you won’t be needing a haircut.”

Lung spots.
Chemo. Sarcoma Chemo
Lungs.

“It’s the sarcoma that spread? Not something else?”
“Without taking a piece of it, I can’t be positive, but it looks like sarcoma. I would say it’s sarcoma.”
“What do we do now? What does this mean for my surgery on Monday?”

“I’m thinking. I’m still thinking. There’s two thing we can do. But if we don’t take this out now, we have wasted the radiation. There is a window of benefit after the radiation and we measured it exactly.”
“Let’s take it out as planned then. I want it out.”
“Yes. Let’s take it out.”

I never asked what the second thing that he could do was. Go figure.

“And then what? What do we do about the other?”
“You need to go back to your medical oncologist.”
“Dr E.”
“Yes. He will make a plan for the chemo. There will be several different drug combinations. We talked about this last time I saw you. It won‘t be fun.”
“Yah, I remember. How long will I be on chemo?”
“At least six months, maybe more.”
“And then. . .”
“Then what hasn’t dissolved, will hopefully shrink. And those will be removed.”
“Will you do that?”
“No. I don’t do the chest. There is another surgeon that we send the chest to.”
“Is this other surgeon part of the Sarcoma Team?”
“No. This doesn’t happen enough for us to keep a chest specialist on the team.”
“What about a biopsy?”
“That will be up to Dr E to arrange. I would contact him right away.”

So the script for the sequel appears. Not the plot I ever dreamed.

Dan had one very good question left. “So, the delays . . . They hurt us?”
“Yes. The delays hurt us.”

We went over the particulars for the surgery. He answered all my questions. I have to admit, though, I didn’t ask them in the same manner that I wrote them down.

“See’ya Monday.” And we were walking down the hall. The kids were in the waiting room. We had no time to discuss what we were told. No time to fall apart. We had to put it all on hold. And we had ten minutes to get to our next appointment for pre-op with the anesthesia department.

Getting lost in the maze of buildings and departments within helped to stem the tide of panic as well. By the time we got where we were supposed to be, I was worried about how my emotions would play into the tests they had for me. I left Dan and the kids waiting and followed the yellow brick road in a purple haze. Pulse: An Ok 77. Blood pressure kinda high: 150 over 90. Not as bad as I thought.

“Are you nervous?”
“I wouldn’t use that word. I just got some unexpected news.”

The word I would have used was calm. Weirdly, inhumanly calm. She wouldn’t have believed me.
*********

Shock and awe.

There is still so much to tell you, but not much time left in this day to write it. I will have to call this part one. Or is it part two? No part . . . Part . . .Part 109.

Day 109 is done.

To be continued . . . Tomorrow.

11:15a

I’m waiting here in the car for Dan to come out of the school with the children. The car is packed and we are headed to the big city. I wish we were headed in the opposite direction. Go south, old woman! Run away! Hurry.

No, I guess not today. Cowboy up, girlfriend. It’s only an MRI. They will put a headset on your ears filling your brain with some good old country music and you can jam out. You’re gonna be fine. Besides, the Valium is kicking in already.

Here they come! My crew. Time to get on the road.

********

12:00n

It’s a pretty drive this time of year. Some trees are turning shades of crimson and ocher with pinks and burgundies thrown in for good measure. On the other hand, the evergreens that Oregon is noted for are tinted with new greens of varying shades. It’s this contrasting color schemes that make this time in the Pacific Northwest worth the light rain that is plentiful. That and the fact that the reputation of constant rain cuts down on the tourists. In my humble opinion, they leave us just a bit too soon. But we don’t tell them that. It’s our secret.

The fishermen now, are a different story. When we left this morning, there were no less than a couple dozen empty boat trailers parked awaiting their craft’s return. The park is packed to the gills with wader-booted anxious sportsmen. They are not happy though. The salmon are late. What has delayed them is a subject for much debate. I have a feeling the fish all got together and had a great Salmon Conference.

“How can we get more of our brethren up the river this year?”
“Maybe during a great storm we could sneak past undetected?”
“No, these specific humans are too stupid to get in out of the rain!”
“It has even been rumored that some are camped out in cloth structures along the river bank.
“They even sleep on the wet ground.”
“Yes, they are determined and ignorant at the same time.”
“What can we do?”
“Do they live on the river bank?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why don’t we just hang back until most of the fisherman have gone on home and then make a dash up river all on one day?”
“Yes, I wouldn‘t mind hanging out here for a while. The water is still warm here anyway.”
“Yah, what’s up with that? Why is the water so warm?”
“I don’t have a clue.”
“This waiting back, it will drive the fishermen crazy you know.”
“Yes, but they will probably blame it on George Bush and not us.”
“I never heard of a Bush named George. I once met a log named Bill. It had rolled off a Hill and made a big splash.”
“I don’t think we are talking about the same thing.”
“What do I know, I’m only a fish.”

Ah, I think I might have had enough Valium now.

********

3:15p
We got to the radiology and Imaging Department around 2:10. I was handed a clip board and took a seat with my “staff” circled around me. “Sit down. Not there. Get over here. Leave that alone! DON’T TOUCH THAT BUTTON! . . . Because it’s never a good idea to push a red button in a hospital! . . . Dan, make them behave!” The very nice lady in radiology came out to tell us that they were running an hour behind and they had removed all the toys from the other waiting room.

“It will be more like 4:30.”
“An hour behind? My appointment was for 2:30.”
“No it says here 3:30.”

Great. All this Valium will wear off by then!

“Maybe you might like to take a walk?”
“What about the chest x-ray? Can I get that done now?”
“Oh, let’s see. Yes I see an order for a chest CT.”
“Chest CT?”
“Yes, and that was scheduled for 9:30.”
“Tonight?!”
“No, this morning.”

Great. Mental note: when a scheduler make as appointment for a different department, call the actual department to confirm it yourself.

They were very kind though. They took me in for the chest CT right away. It took only five minutes. They gave us five $5 food vouchers. There’s Dinner. And a beeper. (I think they really were trying to get rid of us for a while.) Instead of going straight to the cafeteria, we went to make sure every thing was cool for the RV next week. Following the maze of road curving through the university, we found the spot where my family will be staying while I am in the hospital. It’s a parking lot with an electric pole. But it’s free. That’s a good price. Besides, I’m not staying there. . .

********

4:25p
Waiting. Still waiting. When you are chronically sick, you spend most of your time waiting. We are now in the waiting area outside of the tourture chamber MRI Department. I could have a nap. Maybe a nice nap in the tube. I can pretend that it’s some kind of new age architectural design. A sleeping tube.

I think I am going to pick up that phone over there and let them know that I am here and not wait for the beeper to go off. Besides, if they don’t hurry, this Valium will wear off and they will have a screaming fit on their hands.

I’ll let you know what they say.

********
9:00p
Oh, dear.
I was called in not long after I picked up that phone to let them know I was there. A male nurse with a female name inserted a line in my arm for the imaging fluid they use for the very last scan and then left me to sit for a few minutes while the tech got ready for me. I was very sleepy and I thought that would be a good sign. I really could sleep through it all. Maybe. “I need country music blaring through those headsets and I need my arms over my head with the escape button in my hand. And I need a pad for my bottom. I have a subcutaneous tumor on my left butt cheek. It’s big.”
“I think we can handle all of that.”
“Ok then, I guess I can handle it too.”

And I did. For about an hour of it. But the last. . . I don’t know how long exactly, I was starting to have a hard time breathing. The Valium was in fact, wearing off. And the pain in by backside and leg from the tumor being pressed hard against the slab was getting too much to handle. I was not able to move to relieve the pressure. I was losing ground fast.

“This next scan with take five minutes and then we will slide you out for the imaging fluids.”

Five minutes. I can go five minutes.
Five minutes is longer than I thought.
FIVE MINUTES MUST BE OVER BY NOW.
OH MY . . . I AM NOT GOING TO MAKE THIS!

“We are sliding you out now.”
“Oh, thank GOD. I am in so much pain! How long is the last scan?”
“Seventeen minutes.”
“I don’t think I can do seventeen more minutes. I don’t think I can go back in there at all.”
“No? You sure?”
“You have enough pictures right? It’s been over and hour! What will the imaging fluid show anyway?”
“Your doctor ordered it. I suppose if he needs it he can send you back here.”

I was so close. If it weren’t for the excruciating pain, I might have been able to get through it. I just couldn’t lay back down on that slab. I just couldn’t. I left the department trying to stop the tears that were rushing through my mind on their way to my eyes. I was so mad at myself. Mad at the tech for not providing a more comfortable padding. People go in that thing because there are problems with their bodies right? Who thought that a hard slab with a hard cage over someone in pain was a good idea. Those machines cost a fortune. Would it be too much to ask for them to add some padding? What would it take? Another couple hundred bucks?

As I came out of the wing, Dan was coming around the corner to check to see what was taking so long. As soon as I saw him, I lost it. I started crying. “I tried. I almost made it.”

“It’s ok, baby. If we have to we’ll come back tomorrow. Calm down. It’s all right.”

I remember once when I was about 8 or so, I fell on a half sunken dock and cut open my knee. I didn’t cry until I saw my mother. It was kind of like that. When I saw my husband, I was all waterworks.

By the time I made it back to the waiting room where the kids were it was well after 6:00 and everyone (except me) was starving. We made our way to the cafeteria and had dinner. It cost us $3.48 of our own money. Not bad.
I am spent. Poke a fork in me I’m done with this day. Tomorrow will be better, I pray. At least we can question Dr. House and get some idea of what’s to come.

I just want to all over. When will it be all over?

I don’t think I want to know the answer to that question. Not tonight anyway. Not tonight.