This and That

Greetings from the coffee shop, where I'm watching rainstorm clouds move from the NE to the SW and listening to old Jackson 5 tunes on the shop sound system. If that's not incongruity....

I'm sure a significant thought exists deep in my brain, but my daily life is so complex right now I can't access it. So as an attempt to retain my two or three readers, here's some random scatter.

• Young Girl turned 9 in January, but we just had her party last Friday. The "Cowgirl Campout" included horseback riding, tie-dying, roasting hot dogs and s'more marshmallows over a camp fire. Note: today's hangers are mighty flimsy compared to the ones I used as a child. The highlight of the evening was an activity I pulled from the net: Makeunders. Unlike a makeover, during which someone attempts to make the client as attractive as possible, a makeunder involves the attempt to make your guinea pig friend as hideous as possible. I expected them to use the garish and horrid cheap makeup I provided in conventional ways and places; they had other plans, which included in more than one case covering an entire face in red lipstick. I heaved a sigh of relief, as I realized that - for all their pretend coolitude - they're still little girls. I sadly suspect that this may be the last birthday party where that is the case.  Bittersweet.
• My mother is failing more everyday, but her spirit is strong and not ready to leave.  She's catheterized, diapered, and hospital-bedded. Our hospice service has been wonderful. We've found compassionate sitters, who are there 'round the clock.
  
• I'm aching for a summer in Oregon, but cannot make any plans while Mother is still alive. I'm trying to stay in the moment, in the hour, in the day, in the week and take things as they come. If it comes down to packing a single suitcase and loading child and dog in the car at a moment's notice, so be it.
• Several good friends are experiencing loss and tragedy. Please send your healing thoughts out into the universe.
• And the rain just keeps on falling.

Hopefully my next post will be, well, a substantive one and free of the annoying italics!

Update From Cancerville

My sister received good bad news yesterday; her breast cancer, although it is Stage IV, has not spread to her bones or to any of the usual organs. 

My mom is weaker every day, but felt good enough yesterday to attend the "Super Seniors" event at her church, albeit in a wheelchair.

I am waiting on some new genetic test results from my mom's doc, and then I will meet with a genetic counselor at the medical school in Dallas to discuss my options.

I draw strength from all the positive messages and thoughts you send us, so keep 'em coming my friends!

The REAL 3G Network

Two Weeks.  

That's how much longer the oncologist thinks I will have a mother. 

I realized yesterday that Young Girl hadn't seen her grandmother in weeks, and that each needed time with the other.  So, last night, YG accompanied me when I went over to put Mother to bed.

I've never felt more like a fulcrum.

I held two hands: one gnarled and cool, the other smooth and warm.

I stoked two heads: one bald, the other covered in thick, lustrous curls.

I rested my head on two shoulders: one bony and brittle, the other round and strong.

This is the true 3Generation network.

While it is painful to be in the middle, it's a blessed pain.

And The Hits Just Keep On Coming.....

Posts may be few and far between over the next couple of weeks.

My sister's been diagnosed with Stage IV breast cancer, and my mother is rapidly deteriorating and can no longer be left alone. 

My calendar is a tangle of medical appointments and personal responsibilities. As I try to weigh the needs of my original family against the needs of my second, blogging slips ever lower on the ladder of priorities.

Give me time to balance this seesaw and I will be back.

Thank to all of you who have sent messages of support.  They help more than you know.

Taking a Bow.....

It’s a dreary day here today: pending rain, gray skies, temperature in the upper sixties. Everything outside is saying stasis.

But inside, progress is underway.

Unfortunately the progress is the other team’s.

On Friday, my mother made the decision to stop treating her ovarian cancer. For almost three years, palliative chemotherapy, her otherwise excellent health, and the smart, compassionate care of her physician, Dr. Tammy Roque, have kept the tumors in stasis.

Gray and pending, no doubt, but still.

We began the new year with bad news. Her disease had eluded the poisonous chemotherapy and found a new home in her brain. It immediately set up six malignant outposts, each of which began to march.

A radiation oncologist ordered total brain radiation, hoping to shrink the tumors and avoid any new symptoms. While we can’t be sure, it does not appear to have been successful; no one can be certain if Mother’s worsening aphasia and balance are caused by tumor spread or continued inflammation from the treatment.

And uncertainty intruded elsewhere. The usual question - “Have you reached a point where the treatment is worse than the disease?” - was not really pertinent for her case. Mother had no idea what the disease felt like on its own. The treatment was, however, causing such fatigue and lowered blood counts that her doctor had to postpone two infusions. When the weakness and fatigue did not improve, we faced the decision point.

Only one drug remained in Dr. Roque’s arsenal, and while it held out a very small chance of effectiveness it also promised severe side effects, ones that would not be easy to bear in a weakened state.

We’ve always known the cancer would win. That was never in doubt. The time had come to concede.

So on Saturday, my mother transitioned from treatment to hospice care.

Her focus can now be on living rather than fighting.

I’m not sure how frequently I’ll be posting over the next few weeks. I’ll be spending more time with my mother and my focus will narrow. I hope to just sit with her, listen to her thoughts if she chooses to share them, and be a calm presence in her life.

Please continue to check the blog, though, and send compassionate, comforting thoughts our way.

Bright, Bright Sunshiny Day...

It’s been a good long time since we merely chatted…about 18 months. So grab your hot toddy, pull up closer to the fire, and listen to me ramble about what’s on my mind.

• The Obama inauguration was an overwhelming joy. I stopped trying to force Young Girl to “get it” once I realized that her blasé attitude is an object lesson in why he was elected. His race is simply not a big deal to her, and not just because of her age. She’s had peers who look like Sasha and Melia all her life. They’re just two girls about her age who have the incredible luck to be living in the White House. Oh, right. They’re African American. Whatever, Mom. During the President Obama’s speech, The Man saw a bald eagle flying out at the ranch. We agreed it was a beautiful, positive omen for the day and the future.

• I have not truly been happy for a long time. But more importantly, I had no idea how blue I’d become. I’ve taken some actions to ameliorate the situation, and I’m pleased to report that the sunshine is breaking through and I’m feeling better than I have in years. Oh, yeah, the menopause thing being over could have a little something to do with that, too.

• As to the above, if you are not happy, and you know what you need to do to feel better, and you can’t do it no matter how much you know you should, please discuss with your health care provider the possibility that something might be up with your body. That’s all I’m saying.

• We’re having a string a stunning, crisp, sunny days. Still, sunny, blue skies with temps in the 40s and 50s are my idea of perfect weather. But I’ll take sunny post-snow days, too. Hint, hint universe.

• My mother continues her miraculous response to her cancer treatment, despite metastasis to her brain. She’s finished radiation for the 6 brain tumors, and is waiting for the go-ahead (neurological stability for a month) to join a clinical trial. She’s breaking all survival expectations. GO MOTHER!


Enough self-important yammering. As soon as I can, I’m headed outdoors.

The Light. The Tunnel.

I am now officially able to plot my departure for Oregon. At the oncologist's today, my mother received the bad news/good news talk that we've heard before. The tumors are growing again, and her tumor marker continues to rise. But two drugs remain in the arsenal, and she started one today. I was assured that the disease would make no radical downturns in the next two months, even if she did not respond to the first drug. 

As I told Mother today, "Don't forget: you had ten times this much cancer in you before you even knew you were sick."

The house is in high gear, what with route planning, Small Child's summer camp/activities selection (this all had to wait until we knew which state we'd be in), gear collection (where is my bike helmet?), and wardrobe organization. I'm paring down this year as there's a chance I'll be driving home in something less bulky than the Silver Minivan. If so, my cries of joy will ring from the redwood forests to the Gulf stream waters.

My big decision? Dare I drive with Large Dog and Small Child? Or do I repeat last year's plan and find someone to fly out with her? Fuel prices are, alas, impacting the decision. I've been waiting all year long for those five or six days of solitary road bliss, with my dog's sweet sleeping head on my lap and the westbound road ahead.  Am I selfish because I don't want to spoil it with whining, even from the lips of one so dear?