Happy Birthday, Jim

December 3, 1950...you were born.

December 3, 1969...the first of what was to be 32 birthdays together...age 19 to age 51.

December 3, 2009...the 8th one without you.

Happy Birthday Sweetheart...you will be forever 51.

I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

December 3, 1950 ~ May 24, 2002

Update

Today is 14 days since surgery.

It's been an up and down number of days since the allergy to the percocet showed itself Tuesday a week ago. Going cold turkey with nothing but ibuprofen for pain relieve was a little daunting, but it and the heating pad got me through the worst of it. Ridding myself of the allergy effects was something else. It finally took mega doses of benadryl assisted by the ibuprofen for me to quit scratching like a mangy dog. Still a few itchies if I get too warm, but since I'm mostly cold these days that doesn't happen too often.

The surgical staples came out yesterday and the results of ALL of the pathology tests were negative. What a relief. I didn't realize until the Doc said the words how much I had been dreading the test results.

His only area of concern had to do with the fact the cancer was more than halfway through the uterine muscle. There is no evidence that it breached the muscle to go elsewhere, but he gave me the option to have preventative radiation in the pelvic area. He recommended that I do some online research and talk to people who have and have not had the additional radiation; both for possible side effects and reasons to or not to do so myself. I go back in 2 weeks for a follow-up pelvic exam and we will talk some more about my thoughts on preventative radiation.

All in all I am feeling much better, particularly since I'm not being pinched by the darn staples every time I move. Yay...freedom.

Now I can begin walking more than just around the house and work to rebuild my muscle strength. I'm starting slow, so nobunny worry that I'm gonna do too much. Besides I have 4 watch dogs right here in the house making sure I behave.

Come spring we'll be camping and kayaking again.

2 months after diagnosis I am officially a cancer survivor...I stand amazed and grateful.

Hello...My Name is....

Pain...

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

I met pain today.

Oh, I’ve met it before to be sure…much of it recently.

Today was PAIN.

Pure, primal, soul deep, dark, roiling, bone scraping, grab you by the collar, teeth rattling, if you think… move…breathe…I WILL kill you…unadulterated…PAIN.

And, all I could do was lay flat, still, jaw clamped unthinking through the vortex until it spat me out the other side tired, sore and wondering WTF.

Before THIS pain, I only thought I knew what pain meant. I am left humbled before that pain and respectful of those who endure it over a long haul.

The Chinese have a saying that pain is weakness leaving your body…must be one helluva lot of weakness living in there.

Tomorrow’s another day.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

It dropped in for another round this morning…not as long, nor quite as hard, nor so deep…just a reminder I suppose that some weakness remains.

We'll try again tomorrow, 

More Thoughts from the Other Side of the Knife...

WARNING: TMI to follow…if yer not interested my current fascination with the workings…or in this case…NOT workings…of my body parts…stop reading now.
That having been said; one should not abuse a perfectly good and innocent cup of coffee in such a way, but I was in pain, so I did and it worked. And, I felt like my two year old “in-training” Grand Daughter, wondering “Hello…so I made in the potty… now, where’s my prize?”


OK…so, in a way, I got my prize; but you know what I mean.


Hey…I warned you.


I also have a not so pretty red rash, finally receding hives and the what remains of an irritating itch caused by an ALLERGIC REACTION TO THE EFFEN PERCOCET!!!


(No, Herr Doktor….Morphine doesn’t work and the patient is allergic to Percoset. What’s left?” OY)


Which is why yesterday, while not the worst day in the world, was also not the greatest day...going cold turkey off the stuff and all. Yowzers, Bat Man.

During the whole deal, the crazy thought would casually flit across my mind that maybe…just maybe…I could take one or ½ of one…just to get me through the rough patches, yanno, cuz they DID work as pain killers.


Somebunny, slap me….the stuff gives me hives and makes me itch…even my blinkin’ eyelids itched…am I nuckin’ futz?


Imagine, if you will, that I was really hooked on those things. (after 3 days, prolly, not, but my mind went there anyway.) What then? “Please, Handyman….just one?” You can use your imagination for the rest.


Sheez, lew-eeze.


So…it’s strictly ibuprofen for the duration.


Sneezing.


Welll…I hope not do to THAT again for a number of weeks. Nor coughing unexpectedly, neither, thank you very much. OUCH!!!!


Laughing.


OK...it hurts some…but, it also feels good. Does that make me masochistic???


What ever.


Laughing’s good.


Walking straight up and down is good.


Sitting more or less upright is good.


Sleeping on my side is very good.


Food is getting better. Fruit is wonderful. And, the chocolate someone from TN sent me is MAH-VEL-US!!!! (said in a high pitched sing-song voice)


So, all in all, and given the alternative…Life’s not so terribly terrible.


And, it could always definitely be worse.

Notes from the Other Side of the Knife...

1. Staples are stoopid sutures...they hurt and Doctors shouldn't do them. (That or they should HAVE them and then they wouldn't DO them.)

2. Morphine doesn't always work. (Atavan, howsumever, keeps you from stroking out when the morphine doesn't work, your blood pressure shoots up and you get all twisted out of your sheets about it.) Just ask me.

3. Percocet does...but it makes me itch.

4. Hospital food isn't...food, that is. I don't know what is IS. But, food...it's not.

5. The staff was wonderful...all the way to the lady who came in and cheerfully...really...mopped my floor every morning.

6. I don't want to be a recovery room nurse. If I said out loud what was going through my head when she asked me a) Mrs. xxxx? What is your name. (George Washington, of course) b) Mrs. xxx? What is your birthday? (Yesterday) c) Mrs. xxx? Do you know why you are here? (Don't YOU?)  d) Mrs. xxx...you need to breathe (No...I think I can probably not.) See what I mean? I don't know that I DID say what was in my head, but, I'd take money that there are people who do.

7. It is apparently unusual to pee 2 litres worth of liquid in the magic hat in the toilet bowl over night. I'f I had known that I'm sure I could have arranged to put some of it on the floor where I thought it was going any way. I mean, really, I walked in there under my own steam and without rining the bell. You'd think I could pee as much as I wanted.

8. Passing gas at will is not one of my gifts. Right now I wish it was. Ugh.

9. The Doc and his Resident (female) were cool...I actually like them...my purple hair didn't bug them and they thought my "fight like a girl" tee shirt and sock monkey jammy pants were alright.

10. I'm grateful for my life...my family...my friends...my Handyman...especially my Handyman...Thank You....I did not do this alone.

Today's Program...

is brought to you by the letter "S".

"S" is for surgeon whose hands will remove that fat, festering toad squatting in my southern hemisphere.

All prep is done...liquids drunk, Fleet's fleeted, hairs tipped in power points of brilliant Eggplant purple and all that jazz.

Here's to you Doctor, sir, to the return of health to this aging frame, to the man who shares my heart, to the friends and family who love me...

to...

Life.

Uterus Cakes....

Really....my son sent me this link this morning. Couldn't decide at first if it was an "ewwwwww" moment or an I wish I'd thought of that when I was having my "Farewell to Josie's Uterus" ta-kill-ya shots.

Uterus Cakes (click link)

OK...so actually eating it might be a mite..uhm..weird...

But...

Then again...

Very weirdly apropos, neh?

Eat the cancer that eats you?

OK...Maybe not.

Pain Killers, Heating Pads and Stock in Kimberly-Clark

My friends, the first two and wishing I had the last.

If I thought I had to deal with this much longer, I'm not sure I would.

That's not meant to be arrogant or funny or dark humor...I have a much clearer picture of why some folks opt out and a sincere respect for those women (and men) who deal with cancer and it's attendant issues over the long haul.

Immawuss and freely admit so...waiting for the pain meds to kick in as I was wrapped around the heating pad was interminable...I found myself thinking I would vote for legalization of marijuana for medical use inna heartbeat. Maybe California isn't completely whacked after all.

Who'da ever thunk a person would welcome going under the knife to have body parts purposely ripped out?

Only 5 more sleeps.

Sorry this is not one of my "stand and deliver" posts...how arrogant wuz that anywayz? Last night sucked.

Today's another day...I'll find my Qi and punch the lights out of that fat toady bastard festering in my lower parts.

And...the Winner Is...

May I have the envelope, please?


Literally.


It came in an envelope.


"We are pleased"...blah, blah..."assist you with"...more blah, blah..."please call us for the particulars".


What ever hue grateful is....color me that.

Meeting Liz…

The Universe delights itself in reminding me what a schmuck I can be…it must…I give it ample opportunity.

Having a momentary “feel sorry for me” moment after filling out yet another huge pile of “please pick me” paper work and lamenting on how hard it is to ask for help, the diminutive, bubbly sprite before me says “I know…I’ve been where you are.”

Looking at this petite imp with a personality as buoyant as a brightly colored helium balloon, I give what I know must be a “sure…what do you know” look.

Then she tells me what she knows…and I am truly humbled.

At 40 she is an 8 ½ year widow. Not quite 32 when she was left with 2 boys to raise…2 and 6 when their dad died…with no skill beyond being a full time mom and wife as they had married just out of high school.

Liz…petite, perky, beautiful little Liz…has gone back to school, gotten a degree, continued to raise her sons and…as if that is not enough for the Universe…has survived Uterine Cancer while she was at it.

(I am woman…hear me roar)

We speak then as comrades in arms…sharing secrets only those who are widowed know…secrets survivors know.

Survivors…survivors, by god.

We talk some more.

In the end she thanks ME for the opportunity to talk, what a pleasure it is to meet me and how much she hopes they can find a sponsor because I need to survive, too. For my kids, my grand, my mom…for my Handyman.

(Dammit woman…don’t make me cry.)

Cheez lew-eeze.

Here’s to Liz…to her spirit…her spunk…and the lesson she taught me yesterday.

To Liz...

Long may her Qi shine.

Farewell My Lovely

Scheduling today...surgery is tentatively set for Nov. 12...radical hysterectomy...it all comes out.

The biopsy showed Grade 2 cells...middle of the road, but my uterus is a bit bigger than a baseball. Further review will tell whether the new surgeon thinks robotic surgery is feasible. The current oncologist admits he doesn't have enough experience to feel comfortable trying to remove one that big with the DiVinci robot at the cancer center. I appreciate his candor.

I have an elevated level in the blood test, but he's not sure that it's not caused by the fibroids. It does tell him he needs to check the pelvic lymph nodes closely upon surgery. Since staging will not be done until then, I just have to wait and see what turns up.

Still...my mental image is that the surgery will remove everything and all will be well.

Pride Goeth Before the Paperwork

Think not?

Bare your financial soul and odd-ball family dynamics to a non-profit seeking assistance with mega-medical expenses when health-care insurance is beyond your reach and you can’t afford all of the out-of-pocket charges on your own despite the fact that you show up at work every dang day.

Please don’t get me wrong.

IF they choose me (pick me…pick me) I will be grateful beyond words…beyond pride quite bluntly.

Yet…it has taken an emotional toll to gather it all up and put it all out there for non-profit scrutiny.

Is it 5 o’clock yet?

I needa margarita…or…some JD onna rox…or a massage…or…

A hug.

Here's one to Pride...

Another to paperwork...

And, last, but damned not least...

A huge one to Life.

The Dark Path

They sneak in, yanno.

The dark things you stuff behind the sofa when you're awake and keeping yourself busy.

The OMG's...the "what if I waited too long's"...the "I don't wanna do this" thoughts that tickle the mind at night.

Gotta keep a lid onnit...hold it in...stuff it down.

Can't let them be afraid...the family...they worry enough already.

(Crap...didn't I do this once already when Jim died????)

sonofabitch.

It's OK...it'll be OK.

Oncology doc and my research say it's treatable...curable...rip the bastard out and all will be well.

That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

To life.

A Womb with a View

Ultra-sound tomorrow.

Oncologist needs to see how big the garage door needs to be and whether it will be robots or fingertips deposing the toad king from the throne.

They're also gonna poke me and take a few million blood samples.

Wheeeee...I get to be a pin cushion.

Ain't life a kick inna pants.

That's Life

That's life

I tell ya, I can't deny it,

I thought of quitting baby,

But my heart just ain't gonna buy it.

And if I didn't think it was worth one single try,

I'd jump right on a big bird and then I'd fly

(Frank Sinatra)

 

So, it's done...told my kids...they took it 'bout as I expected...some tears...some hugs...they need time to process this. DD told the GrandMonkey. My Handyman has 2 more of the 3 to tell.

Myself...I'm emotionally wiped...telling people...staying up beat...walking the walk and talking the talk...I'm just plain tired and I've only been at this for 6 days.

How do they do it? Those who have a long forecast before them.

Hell...I'm whinin' 'about the 2 pills I have to take...one big ass vitamin (pre-natal because the oncologist says they're better) and the blood pressure meds (cuz he won't operate until it comes down). There's also the analgesics for "discomfort", but those are PRN at appropriate intervals. What if I had handfuls of them?

Got one of those 7 day pill box thingies as a reward for being a big girl and taking my flue/pneumonia shots like a trooper. (that damned pneumonia shot made my arm sore clear up to my neck...whine...whine...whine...I'll have a little cheez with that please) Open I took them...closed I didn't. Geez.

OK...I'm just tired...I feel like crap...tomorrow will be better with some sleep and the reduced stress of having told those who need to be told.

It's life, yanno?

Day 5 begins with anxiety.

Today I tell my chidren...I seriously don't want to do this...they've been through enough losing their dad...despite my plan to outlive the cancer, they cannot hlep but go there even if its for just the briefest moment...I hate putting them through the stress.

I can only hope that as they see that I am confident as to the path and the outcome, they will also relax and be reassured.

The harder parts of this journey is telling those who care and the financial fallout fromt treatment. Because I have some small means of self-payment, I qualify for no financial assistance.

Survival of this cancer is still likely to leave my offspring saddled with unpaid medicals bills 20 years from now since my plan is is to live a long life beyond the removal of this festering bastard from my body.

Alas, it is yet another of those thing that is what it is.

I can waste my time and energy fretting or I can hitch up my boots, put on my big girl panties and get on with living life.

I choose life.

Hey Now Here We Go

And it's hey now here we go

D-J don't you play nothing slow

Keep those girls out on the floor

Gotta make 'em wanna come back for more.

Been here since the sun went down

Be here when it comes back around

Worked all week it's time to play

Gonna get a little bit sideways...

(Dierks Bently ~ Sideways)

Children's Charities Cancer Research and Treatment Center.

That's what it says on the building.

The waiting room though is filled with adults...I am not in the children's section...I say thank the stars for that for the kids...it's enough THEY have to deal with their own cancer...they don't need to see adults with it.

There's the elderly man in the golf cap with no hair beneath; the woman my mother's age with small tufts of hair here and there; most heart capturing of all...the beautiful young woman/girl with the bright red scarf artfully wrapped around her head...

It was clear to me that I was "different".

My own cancer has, most likely, a prognosis entirely unlike theirs.

Uterine cancer is typcially confined by the boundaries of the uterus. In it's design to protect the baby growing within, it also defines the boundaries for the cancer doing the same.

As I begin my own journey on this path, I get to have a white knight who goes in to forcefully remove the bumpy arsed toad squatting within its cocooning walls..to rip the evil bastard from the castle and save the damsel in distress.

And as relieved as I am for myself, I cannot help but wonder at the long term for each of these other folks passing through the doors of the building marked Children's Charitites Cancer Research and Treatment Center.

It is humbling.

I wish them life.

Flutterby's

Day 4 begins with flutterbys and nothing in the pot or on the pad.

WTH? For week upon week it's like the great flood and now...nothing...nada...zip...zilch...zero.

I'm nervous, but not afraid.

They've already given me the answer.

Today is a matter of stage and degree...along with the ever so popular joy of the feet in the air thingy. Geez...I guess I'm gonna hafta get used to that. UGH.

What I need to know next is what they're going to do to evict the evil squattor taking up residence down south.

Soooo....the Handyman and I will together do the do, spend time by the river and have dinner with friends.

What happens next is what happens next.

To Life.

In Other News

Day 3 and H1N1 has come to Casa del Outlaw.

DD's BF's little girl.

It's official.

What else could I do?

She couldn't go back to mommy's...there's a 6 week old baby there.

He had no where to take her other than his alky dad's place.

I don't think so.

What was I to say...."I'm sorry....I have cancer...I can't take the risk"...that's not exactly the way I planned on letting them know.

Besides...I'm not on chemo...there's been no radiation done to attack my immune system...I haven't even had my first oncology consult yet. (that's tomorrow)

With care it should be fine...other than UC I'm healthy...in fact, I've felt better today than I have in 2 weeks.

On the other hand...I'm having issues with food.

Tastes like dog food or cardboard.

WTF is up with that?

Nerves I reckon.

Maybe after tomorrow.

I can't NOT think about it...eff it all...it's always there skulking about and peering around corners.

Cancer.

Bastard.

My tikki friend says it's all that bitch Eve's fault. (that made me laugh)

She also says she's a praying woman, that she has praying wimmin friends and that her daddy always said praying wimmin get the job done.

Damn you, woman, for making me cry.

Thank you for being my friend...you lift me up when I can't and boot kick me inna arse when I need it. You know where the deepest wells are, you'd beat the bastard that hurt me and you'd sit in jail with me if I get caught.

Can't ask for better than that.

To friends in low places.

The Only Easy Day is Yesterday...

"Life is not complicated and it is not fair, Randy Pausch might have said. It's just hard sometimes." from the Washington Post.

Randy Pausch I am not...

...no last lecture

...no million $ book deal

...no TV interview with a famous journalist...

Only me...no role model for the masses (I'd screw up the job anyway)...just me...

Josie...

Trying to figure out how to do this with some small sense of spirit and grace.

Grace.

Not a word normally associated with me.

Bull inna china shop...yeah...not grace.

Truth is I only know one way to do this.

Stand and deliver.

Highwayman, pistols raised, boots in the mud, standing staunch before the demon that would drag him down.

What the hell do I know?

It's only day 2.

Who knows how I will feel on day 22...222...or 2222.

But, I intend to stand for them all.

Mother took the news quietly, tears in her eyes. What a damn thing to have to tell your 80 year old mother.

Asked a few questions.

Wanted to know what I thought my attitude was going to be.

"I'm sad, Mom, but I'm not afraid and I'm not freaking out."

What good would it do anyway?

Won't change what is.

I can only wait, find out what the facts are and work from there.

This type of cancer...

cancer...

cancer...

(ugly word no matter how many time you type it)

is generally, successfully treatable.

There is always...hope.

And, so it goes...

Things change...the world turns on a dime...as does the flavor of this blog.

I did not expect today to be the day.

8:15 am - The Phone

"Dr. W. is in the office today. He'd like to talk to you about your pathology."

Pathology...

Not Lab Results...

Pathology.

8:40 - On the Road

To work.

I need to work...refocus my energy.

"Que Sera' Sera' "

3:30 pm - The Waiting Room

In a room full of pregnant women I sit...waiting the verdict of last week's biopsies. (A story for another day.)

My mind tries to breach the thinly veneered dam...damn...dam...erected to contain thoughts that threaten to crack it's walls if not held back.

What will he say?

How will I react?

What is...is...and...so...I wait.

4:00 pm - The Anteroom

Blood pressure too high...201 over something...warning, danger, will robinson...up almost 60 points from last week.

4:23 pm (I looked) - Diagnosis

"I'm afraid it's not good news."

Uterine Cancer.

Nope...not good at all.

"No doubt."

I cried a little...I cannot change what is.

Specialist...he's on of the best (aren't they all?)...appointment...Friday.

5:00 - Detour

Picked up dog's meds.

Such a mundane task on a day the world turns sideways.

5:30 - The Handyman

Welcome home hug...sweet.

Coffee...hot.

"Sit down."

Words are hard.

I cry a little...he's been through this before...unsucessfully.

Sigh.

He'll go to the oncologist (I don't want one of those, thank you) with me.

He loves me.

I think he'd go to the ends of the earth for me...

It's humbling...it's...it just is.

The kids will wait until I (we) know what I'm (we're) dealing with.

Mother I will have to tell tomorrow.

Sigh.

11:52 pm - Time for Bed

Thus ends my first day as a cancer survivor.