Bittersweet Symphony

A surgical procedure, a wake, a funeral, a baptism, and a football game. Three days of highs and lows, of tears and laughter, of anxiety and relief. So how was YOUR weekend?

My beloved uncle Gubby passed away early in the morning on the 15th of October. I delivered the sad news to his daughter Lisa (aka my cousin and best friend), each of us mourning and comforting each other at the same time. Despite what we knew was a serious illness, I don't think any of us expected so quick a demise (well, MJ did but our hopefulness outweighed her expertise when it came right down to it). Lisa and Mike (her brother) flew in to make arrangements, get Gubby's affairs in order, pack up his apartment, and finally to join with our family and friends in saying good-bye and sharing our memories (good and bad) of a man who lived life on his own terms and was so damn meticulous and organized about his finances that he actually wrote the words "Titty bar" in his check register when he withdrew money for - *ahem* - a night out on the town. We reminisced about his love of women, wine, sports and song; we giggled over pictures like the one above (no mere coincidence, we think, that his nickname was "Bud"); we cried unexpectedly at some photo or memory that came upon us unbidden; we prayed together at his grave site. It was not all sad - my cousins, my brother, Warren and I will likely smile inwardly when we hear words like "Carvel" "penis" and "M-crib" (inside jokes all) and we will be able to say that we made the most of our time together despite the sad circumstances of our coming together. And it was our wonderful and amazing friend Patti who made it possible for us to do so, putting together and setting up a post-funeral feast at my house that allowed us to relax, unwind, and focus on each other. She is nothing short of an angel.

And just a day after the funeral - a joyful christening of my granddaughter Addison, whose mother Emily chose well when she asked Taryn and Ian to be her godparents. Addison was a trouper, sleeping through Pastor's pouring the water over her head at the baptismal font and making nary a peep as he escorted her up and down the church aisle so that all could view God's newest child. I am confident that all those family whom we have lost in the past year (too many!) and years gone by were keeping watch over the proceedings, perhaps even making their presence known in our hearts.

What's a Sunday without a football game? Put together 2 Chargers fans (Lisa and Mike, both raised in San Diego) with a houseful of Jets fans, add in lots of delicious leftovers, mix it with an exciting comeback effort on the part of the Jets and you have the makings of a raucous but relaxing afternoon. My uncle, the consummate sports fan, would have absolutely loved it.

And finally - a deep, deep sigh of relief on my part and on Chris's part. On Friday, Taryn underwent a core needle biopsy of her breast because of a lump that was found late last year. The results came back yesterday and she is fine. I have kept this torturous secret not so much because I expected that they would find cancer (I was 99.99% sure that they wouldn't, despite my history), but because the thought of my 20-year-old daughter having to even CONSIDER the possibility of cancer, the thought of her undergoing this type of procedure at such a young age, the thought that in a worst case scenario that I might not be able to help her heal, the thought that it is I who have brought even the idea of this scourge into her life, just devastated me to the point where I could not even talk about it. Just the remote possibility of breast cancer touching her life horrified me; I needed to share my roiling emotions, my tears of terror, my guilt and my sorrow with only a few close friends and family. It is not over - she will have to be vigilant her whole life (as she was this time, coming to me immediately and doing all the doctor visits and tests that she was told to do). But for now, we take a deep breath and rejoice in the good news.

And so goes the bitter and the sweet. I'm sure my family will gladly join me in saying "Hey 2011! Enough is enough already!"

Blessings and Love to All.

Count On Me

Here we go, dear readers - let the countdowns begin.

I have just completed round one of my chemotherapy; round two began Wednesday. Each day ends with me saying something along the lines of "2 days down, 12 to go until I'm off the pills again." And - surprise, surprise! - 14 days of pills goes REEEAAALLY slowly, while 7 days of no medication just flies by. I'm counting pills, counting days, counting side effects, counting weeks until my next appointment, counting the number of courses until follow up scans are scheduled. And to make matters worse - I am now counting dollars. More on that later.

Let's start with side effects - they continue to be present, but (relatively) mild. I would say that most of the time I have the energy and interest to do not only what needs to be done, but what I would like to do as well. I did, after all, buy myself 2 new pairs of shoes yesterday (and will likely catch hell - deservedly so - from my sweet cousin Susan for NOT getting them at her store). I'm all too aware of the cumulative effects of chemo, so for now I'll just be glad that it's not very debilitating. It does, however, suck that chocolate doesn't taste quite as good as it does when I'm not on chemo. You are indeed a cruel master!

I saw my oncologist yesterday, who sees no need to do follow up scans until 4 or maybe 5 courses of treatment are completed. That would bring us to late December, early January. So it looks like he thinks I'll be alive until at least then (haha)! A brief reprieve, perhaps, from further bad news? Or a torturous wait for good news? I just love the unpredictability of this disease (she said sarcastically)!

Over the 17 years that I've been dealing with this disease, the one thing I never really worried about was how to pay for the enormous costs associated with keeping the devil at bay. I had wonderful insurance that, while it didn't pay for everything (I'm still slowly paying off some of the bills from the jaw reconstruction), did cover a significant portion of the expenses. It was the one thing I didn't have to stress about. No more. My company switched to an awful health insurance plan that not only imposes onerous payment responsibilities on its employees, but also does not include ANY of the doctors or hospitals I currently use to manage my disease. And although there is a "transitional care" option, it's only good for 60 days (and that's if approved, not a given even under these circumstances). I'm pretty sure I'm going to need care beyond that time. I know that I'll figure out a way to deal with this (I bet crying will help, that gets the docs every time), and I'm hopeful my company will do what they say they are going to do and come out with some better plan options in December. It's just disheartening to suddenly have this burden added on top of everything else. I know God doesn't give us more than we can handle, but c'mon man!

And yes, there is yet one more burden, although this one I've at least got a lot of support on. My uncle has end-stage COPD/emphysema and is in the hospital right now, trying to figure out where his health is going to go from here. Talk about unpredictable diseases - one day he is told to get a hold of hospice 'cause the end is near, the next day I'm speaking with a social worker who wants to discuss a plan to get him back home. So almost-daily visits to the hospital have helped to wear me down a little but Warren and Bruce and Lisa have all stepped up to try and both ease his anxiety about his prognosis and to also provide him with the comfort of a loving family. It is a difficult deterioration to watch, and we are all hopeful that he can rally and be with us for awhile longer. 2011 already sucks enough.

I would be quite appreciative if you all could say a prayer for the safe journey (all 39.3 miles) of MJ, Jill, and NYBlueforPink during the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer this weekend. Such an inspirational group of women; such strong and committed fighters; such amazing friends. God Bless you all.

In my prayers and I hope in yours as well: Annie, Gubby, Amanda.

Blessings and Love to All.

Dirty Work

The work of undergoing chemotherapy treatment is unpleasant to say the least. After 2 weeks of pill-popping I find myself mourning the loss of energy and well-being that I enjoyed while on the hormone treatments. Creeping in on little cat feet (like the Sandburg poem) is fatigue and melancholy and queasiness and agitation. I don't know what I will gain by giving up my well-self for this unpredictable existence of "good days" and "bad days." I do know that I am moved to tears of self-pity and loss when I am lying in bed, weak and unable to do much more than flop around seeking a comfortable position, wishing for sleep to take away my sadness, as I was last night.

Like childbirth (another messy but necessary job), I forgot what it would be like and so when the should-have-been-expected side effects started I was taken just a little bit by surprise. So soon, I thought? What about my grace period? Not that it has been completely debilitating so far - I go to work, I have my Grammie time with Addison, I'm going to see Taryn in Maryland this weekend, I fervently root for the Yankees. But I start to wonder - what will I have to give up in the coming months? What will I plan on doing - and then have to unplan? Who will I fail by not being there?

I feel like I am closing in on losing this fight. But is that the chemo talking? Or is that reality finally finishing digging its trench into my brain? How do I talk/write about this out loud without scaring the daylights out of those of you still committed to reading about my journey. I imagine that for some of you, you open up this blog now with fear and trepidation that the latest post title will read "The End." (It won't, by the way. Keep guessing.) It may well be that I don't have many readers left; it's exhausting following my story I think. I know I'm tired.

Fear not, there are still plenty of smiles, the latest of which came in the form of red velvet cupcakes (see above) from my dear friend and neighbor Sandra. I am particularly touched by this exquisitely scrumptious gift because I know the hard work involved and the mess that is made when baking these (as Warren put it - your kitchen looks like a crime scene afterwords, with red dust and paste all over everything). My night last night was difficult - my morning was sunny. Thank you Sandra!

Blessings and Love to All.