An anatomy of a last-minute Christmas buy....

I thought I'd finished with my Christmas buys for Phyllis. Then I got the bright idea: Hey! I bought her a stove percolator for her coffee (one of her requests)! I'll go buy her some Dunkin Donuts coffee! Yeah! (because coffee drinkers swear by the stuff, I guess, and I know Phyllis loves it)

What made it even better was that Phyllis was out running last-minute errands. I thought, okay, I'll sneak out and sneak back with Phyllis never knowing. I hurriedly dressed in my sweats (yes, I was lounging in my jammy pants lol) and hustled to the car. Luckily, the grocery store is only a few blocks away. I pull in and am about to get out of the car when I see this other car the next aisle over that looks suspiciously like Phyllis's. I stared a little harder, like if I kept staring it'd change into a Smart car or something. But nooooo, it was still a Hyundai, and YES, it was Phyllis's car. I decide to take the non-busy entrance into the store.

I rush to the coffee section. Each time I pass an aisle, I look to make sure I don't see her. Get to the aisle, grab the Dunkin Donuts coffee (and, oh my God! $17.99 for 24 oz?? but then I know she's worth it, and I frequently bought her Peet's coffee from San Fran that costs more). I hurry up to the "express" lane. Annnnnd... of course, they're changing shifts. The woman who's leaving has her money bags out and is counting out money. I keep watching for Phyllis, thinking, "hurry dammit!" Finally, the woman is done. I have this smile plastered on my face the whole time, mind you. I practically thrust my $20 into the cashier's face and just then, I see Phyllis approaching the checkout about four lanes over. It took all my will power not to scream, "give me my freakin' $2.01!" Finally, I get my change and practically run out of the store. I jump into the car, still keeping a look out for Phyllis. Driving home, like a scene from a crime movie, I keep checking my rear view mirror, but I was free and clear.

I pull into our drive, careful to park in the same place I was before. Bound up the steps to our porch and mess with the keys for two seconds. Then I run back to the wrapping paper, dash into the den where the scissors and tape are, and then hustle to the dining room. I cut the paper... haphazardly... but I still manage to trim it before slapping tape on it. I run to put the wrapping paper, tape, and scissors back where they belong. I place the package behind of all her other packages, so she doesn't notice. Then I hang up my coat, change back into my pajama pants, and attempt to look like I hadn't run a 100-yard dash. Less than five minutes later, I hear her honking outside to let me know she's back. The only boo-boo I made was leaving my keys on the table, but she didn't notice, thank God.

All I have to say is Santa has nothing on me. I'm sure I could do that "wink of an eye" thing... no problem.

Happy Holidays everyone!

From my loving wife, Phyllis....

Thank you so very much for the continual words of encouragement and concern that each of you have sent us. I know that you are busy with your own lives, but you have stopped to let us know how you much you care. We are both touched and grateful.

 

Chris’s dad is progressing and continues his treatment for lung cancer. Her mom, as you may know, is now in a nursing home. I too am making progress but have been recently diagnosed with MRSA for my long-standing infection. Chris has shared with me how many others that she has chatted with have issues of serious illnesses with their partners in life. We have prayed for God’s intervention in easing the pain and helping cure the illness.

 

I personally want you to know that I am humbled by your gentleness. Words are truly not adequate when one reaches out their hand and their heart to express an act of kindness.

 

I also want to thank my family and especially Chris for being the person she is. She is an incredible human being, just like those of you who are care giving to another. Chris has supported me through my tears, helped me when I was fatigued, changed my dressing on my wound... and the list goes on. I have never heard her complain or say I am too tired. I have way too much time on my hands to think, and perhaps that it where I should be, but the wonder of giving never falls short. You, the caregiver, you the note writer, are amazing in that you are tireless. You look for ways to help and you ask for nothing in return. Blessed be each of you. Thank you again for thinking of us, caring about us, and letting us know that we are okay.

 

Kindest wishes,

Phyllis

 

And the days roll slowly by...

When I first wrote about Phyllis and my dad's cancer, I thought I'd write about the journey, maybe once a week, once every two weeks. But as the days blurred one into the other, I found less and less time to write and my energy waned. And here I am, more than six months later, finally finding time to post a blog. I should say I made time to post.

Phyllis and my dad are progressing in their treatment. My dad is still receiving chemo. The mass on his lung has gotten smaller, but the chemo leaves him weak. Phyllis is battling an infection, having to undergo surgery to "evacuate" the wound. She did complete her external radiations before the surgery. She'll be moving on to the next stage of her treatment--internal radiation--on Friday. After three of these, she'll progress to the last stage--her final three chemos--and should be completely done in November. In the midst of Phyllis and my dad's treatment, we've also had to deal with my mom's health issues in July. We had planned on starting on a vacation in November. Now, as the month draws nearer and as Phyllis continues on the bumpy road called recovery, we realize the vacation will have to be put on hold.

I had such an out-of-body experience the day of Phyllis's surgery in April. It was when I thought the cancer had spread based on the surgeon's reaction and the "grit" in her lymph nodes that he removed. Thank God that wasn't the case. It was diagnosed as Stage IA uterine cancer. She's had to undergo the treatment because it was also diagnosed as "high grade" and the cells can be aggressive. So, they're treating it aggressively. On the morning of her surgery, though, I was convinced it was the worst-case scenario. I happened to be in the hallway outside the surgery waiting area. I looked down at the huge picture windows they have at the hospital. And I see the sun is shining. I'm thinking, this isn't right. It should be dark and storming with rain pelting the glass relentlessly. In other words, I didn't understand why the world had not just stopped on its axis for everyone else. Because it sure had for me and for Phyllis's family that day.

Since her diagnosis, we've had a lot of "moments." Moments when Phyllis would look at me with tears in her eyes and say that this was too much for me. Every time she has said that, I've told her, "No, I love you and you would be doing the same for me, wouldn't you?" I've also reminded her of the characters of Eleanor and Daphne in my book Survived by Her Longtime Companion. There is a scene in the book where Daphne says, "I don't want to be a burden to you, Ellie. Ever." Eleanor tells her, "I'd never think of you as a burden. You're my heartbeat." I was speaking those words to Phyllis when I wrote that well over a year ago. I just didn't see this in our future. How could I?

Life for us will never be the same. Anyone who's had cancer or is a partner or a loved one of someone with cancer knows what I'm talking about. Little things that meant so much before now seem trivial. We've simplified our lives as much as possible because again, we know what matters and it's not possessions or a bigger house. It's our love. It's not that we didn't know this before. It's that this experience has hammered it home. We've grown even closer, something neither of us thought was possible.

During this journey, of course we've encountered others who are undergoing treatment. We've been amazed at the immediate camaraderie and connection to the point where Phyllis will talk with someone and they instantly share what's going on, what kind of cancer they had, how many radiation treatments they've undergone, how many are remaining. We've also encountered complete strangers stopping us at restaurants to either say that they've battled cancer or someone they love had and "God bless you. You're in my prayers." These are memories that will stay with us forever.

Throughout these six months, my writing has pretty much come to a standstill. It's only been recently that the spark has returned, albeit a little each day. Flashes of scenes and dialogue are popping into my head at unanticipated times... just as they used to. Today, when we were driving to Phyllis's appointment, she asked if I was upset with her. I think it was because I was quiet. I said, "No. Just thinking about my writing." When we were moving to our home from the condo two weeks ago, she threatened to lock me in the den and post Buddy at the door so I'll write. I wouldn't put it past her, and I know Buddy would have her back.

Sometimes, I've not been sure how I'm dealing with everything. Then I think about my faith, my love for Phyllis, and my love of my dad and my mom... of my family. I realize I have two choices: to put one foot in front of the other and keep on walking or to curl up into a fetal position and suck my thumb. I've chosen to keep on walking, but believe me, I've had many moments of allowing myself a good cry.

 

I do know this. With the dawn of each day, when I open my eyes and turn beside me... I say a prayer of thanks to God for blessing my life with Phyllis.

Surreal...

"Surreal" is the best word to describe what's happening around me. My dad has been diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer with a possible lesion in his liver. We'll know the results later this week from his PET scan that was performed today. My dad asked the oncologist how long he had. The doctor kept saying, "Do you really want to know?" I think he asked my dad three times. He finally said, "ten months." But he said they don't like to tell their patients the estimate, which I understand. With chemo, it could be longer. If it's metastasized into the liver, it could be shorter.

Phyllis had her D and C last Tuesday. After waiting through a weekend that seemed to go on forever, the doctor called last night after hours. We had given up on him calling. When I was taking Buddy outside, I was wondering if he might call after his office closed. I walked back in the condo and Phyllis is on the phone. She's waving me over to the other phone to pick it up. I'm trying to judge by her facial expressions what he's said so far. I click the button and hear "oncologist." Phyllis tells him I'm on the phone and she repeats what the doctor had told her to confirm it: endometrial cancer. He wanted to confer with the oncologist today to make absolutely certain it was cancer before he called. The oncologist had an appointment opening this morning. Phyllis has a CA-125 blood test tomorrow to check for ovarian cancer and a CAT scan with contrast to make sure it hasn't spread outside the uterus. After they get those results, they'll decide on treatment (chemo/radiation). Surgery should be in the next three weeks when the OBGYN surgeon and the oncologist can coordinate a date.

While I was listening to him talk, I moved to a chair and sank down. I had feared Phyllis had uterine cancer because she was exhibiting a lot of the symptoms. In fact, we both thought she probably had uterine cancer. But thinking it and hearing it confirmed are two entirely different things.

After we got off the phone, we hugged each other and cried. Then we made phone calls. I sent out e-mails.

I had a therapist appointment today at 11:00. Phyllis's appointment was at 9:30. I told her I wasn't going to the therapist appointment. But she came out of his office and insisted I go (my therapist's office is just across the street from the hospital complex). She had to talk to them about scheduling the tests.

During my appointment with my therapist, I told him this was "surreal." And that I felt like I was watching someone else going through all of this. He said, "You realize that is normal, don't you?" I did. I also told him I found myself "compartmentalizing." That there was my dad's cancer and there is Phyllis's. I can't think of them at the same time. It was the only way I could deal with it.

My brother is coming in from overseas next weekend and will be here two weeks, which is good. We can talk as a family. And Phyllis has such a strong relationship with her family. Her family is my family, and mine is hers. We're very blessed that way.

The really odd thing was, as we were sitting in the oncologist exam room waiting on the resident to come in first, I stared at the linoleum. I was tapping my foot and my knee was bouncing. And I thought that this is just like the scene from my book, Two for the Show, when Lisa and Frankie were waiting for Frankie's doctor to enter the room to discuss the lump they had found in her breast. Again... surreal.

We've decided to still go on our trip to Atlanta for my book launch party Friday night. We'll be leaving early Thursday morning. We both need to get away, if only for a few days.

Phyllis is worried about me dealing with my dad and now this. I'm worried about my dad and her. But as long as I talk about it and continue to allow myself to feel what I'm feeling (like crying when I need to), I'll be okay. And as long as Phyllis is by my side, I'm okay. She has such a strong faith in God. She keeps saying, "I'm right where God wants me to be. Whatever happens, happens. He'll look over us." You know how some people say those words, but they're just words? They don't really mean them? But Phyllis? She means every word.

So we pray. We stay together as a family. And we accept that sometimes, that's the only thing you can do.

Random words... not quite a poem...

A blade of grass, a soft breeze, a vague memory of playing with childhood friends.
Life passes so quickly... the years become a blur.
But I hear the distant voices of my youth...
"Can Chrissy come out to play?"
And away I went on another adventure, another game of army, another game of football.
Life passes so quickly...
I still hear those voices, but only when I take time to watch the blade of grass move gently in the wind.
I feel like that blade of grass... fragile, yet strong, as I hold my own against the turmoil in my...
Life that passes so quickly....

Reality....

As I suspected, the phone call a week ago from the doctor's office was a mistake. What the woman should have said is "the results were inconclusive" and never uttered the words "good news" or "benign." The biopsy results came back on the second procedure my dad had done, and it is lung cancer. The next step is an appointment with the oncologist on February 14, the same day Phyllis has her D and C. Her procedure is at 6:45 a.m. I'm hoping I can get her settled at home and resting, then accompany my parents to the oncologist appointment in the afternoon.

I'm glad I was able to talk to my parents and make sure they didn't accept the "benign" diagnosis but rather wait until this next procedure. That I thought it meant the doctor hadn't gotten enough of the mass for an accurate pathology report. And thank God, we were all being realists about this. It doesn't take away the anger I have with the phone call giving my parents that little bit of hope last Friday morning. It wasn't handled right. At all.

My parents sound remarkably okay over the phone. I wasn't able to go to the pulmonologist appointment yesterday afternoon. I was at my own appointment on the far northside and couldn't be reached. Phyllis and I didn't find out until last night. In order to get their minds off everything, my parents went to the casino and didn't get back until late. After we got off the phone, Phyllis started crying. I held her. Then it was her turn to hold me while I cried.

I'm sitting here listening to my "Most Relaxing Classical Music in the Universe" double CD. Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings" just played. It's such a haunting melody and it fits my mood. Now, I think I'll put in some Melissa Etheridge and tune out the world.

Sometimes, reality sucks.

From one extreme to the other....

This morning, on our way to Phyllis's doctor's appointment, we got a phone call from my parents. The pulmonologist's office called and said, "We have good news. It's benign." But they also scheduled another procedure for my dad next Wednesday where he has blood work done at 6:30 a.m., plus some other procedure where he's put under and is asleep for four hours. My parents were a little sketchy on details. I don't know if this is where the doctor goes through the chest wall with a needle. He said he thought he had gotten to the mass but wasn't sure if he got enough tissue. I do know whatever my dad is having done Wednesday is to confirm 100% that it is NOT cancer. I just don't know if it's the procedure the pulmonologist had talked about on Tuesday.

While I'm very happy about this report, I'm almost afraid to be too happy. I don't think I will be completely relieved until they confirm everything.

I don't know how the doctor could stand there and say, "Yes, it is cancer" and start talking about chemo and radiology. I almost want to smack him when I see him again for putting us through this if it does turn out to be benign, which I hope to God it does. I tried calling my mom and dad, but I think they may be out celebrating at the casino.

I hope to be completely ecstatic when they get the results back from this latest procedure.

Phyllis's D and C is scheduled for February 14. The doctor explained everything to us this morning, that he wasn't worried about the fibroids. But he is concerned about the bleeding and the thickening of the lining of the uterus. I look forward to the end of this month when alllll of this is resolved. I feel like a yo-yo or that I've been on a roller coaster, you know? At least a roller coaster of emotions....

Waiting for the prognosis...

My dad's bronchoscopy showed a large mass that the pulmonologist said was cancer. He showed me the images on the computer screen. The photographic image looks exactly like a photo I saw in a medical text book in college showing a lung with a malignancy. Knowing it's your dad's... I don't know how to explain it. It seems surreal. And talking to the doctor, I almost felt like I wasn't there as I asked questions with a detachment--like it wasn't me asking the question. It was after he walked away that I allowed it to sink in. But I know none of this has hit me the way it will in the coming months. I have periods when I cry, then they pass. My dreams have been disjointed, so that when I wake up, I don't really feel like I've rested.

I'm trying to stay busy. My day job is helping in that regard. But I need to do my own writing. I'm sitting here listening to Elvis's "Ultimate Gospel." I try to draw comfort from little things like this.

Tomorrow is the visit to Phyllis's doctor appointment. We'll see how that goes. Just spoke with my dad. I've been dreading picking up the phone when I see it's my parents' number. His doctor's office called while they were out. He has to go through another procedure. The doctor must not have gotten all the way to the mass. He had told me if they didn't, they'd have to go through the chest wall. That will probably be next week.

On a totally different note, it's been crazy here in Indy with the Super Bowl and it got crazier with the out-of-towners arriving today. It's cool, though. Phyllis is working at the City County Building's observatory deck tonight, running the elevator until ten. She said Lucas Oil Stadium looks fantastic with spotlights and a huge Super Bowl XLVI sign out front.

Okay... time for dinner. Thank you, Elvis, for these songs.

What is the purpose of a blog?

I remember way back when, asking a friend, "What the hell is a blog?" She explained it's like a diary or something similar where you tell people out in cyberspace your thoughts, experiences, etc. and they can comment back. I thought... huh. Then did nothing with it because I had no need.

Fast forward to 2009 when Playing for First was published. I bought a domain and using a template, designed my website. I posted my goings-on there. But then I thought, hmm... would readers be more apt to read a blog? So, like other authors, I started a blog. Once I did, I was never sure the limitations I should put on the posts. Should it be about my writing? Yes. Should I talk about other fun stuff? Yeah. But what about my home life? Where do you draw the line? I decided to err on the side of caution and keep things pretty general. I remember commenting to another author once when talking about my own blog: "I have no idea who reads this s***." Occasionally, I'd get a comment or a reader would come up to me at GCLS and say, "I saw on your blog..." But I had no real feel if I was on the "right" track. I watched what other authors wrote and still wasn't sure of myself.

Well, tonight, that stops. Tonight, I write about what is close to my heart and not worry if it's right or wrong or how others view it. I write for me and will continue to do so for the next several months. If anything, it will be a catharsis.

Monday, my dad had a chest x-ray because his heart doctor didn't like what he was hearing. At all. By the time my parents got home, there was a message on their phone. There is a mass in his left lung. I went to the pulmonologist with him Tuesday. The mass is into the chest wall. Wednesday, he had a CT scan. Next Tuesday, he goes in for a biopsy.

My dad has smoked almost his entire life, since the age of seven. He grew up in a period when it was considered cool--the 1940s. No Surgeon General warnings. No dire predictions as to how it would affect your health. Of course over the years, things changed. Doctors did become aware of the dangers of tobacco use. My father tried quitting on numerous occasions, especially in recent years. But nicotine is a hard addiction to break. Especially smoking the hard stuff like my dad does.

Even though I've been worried for quite some time, it's still a shock to your system when facing what we think he's facing. We of course won't know for certain until after the biopsy. But I don't think it's a good sign when a doctor uses words like "I don't like what I'm hearing," "This is not good," and "it's very probable it's cancer."

My dad and I are very close. I've always been more like his youngest son than his only daughter. This week, things keep flashing in my mind like going fishing with him as a kid and having him tell me, "Sis, you have to be very quiet or the fish will hear you and stay away." When I got older, I realized it was his way of keeping his daughter from chattering nonsense while fishing. I was an unusual child in that when we'd visit other Air Force buddies, rather than go and play with the kids, I'd prefer to stay out and listen to and talk to the adults. My dad always allowed it.

Because of his love of history, I learned a love for history, especially World War II and Civil War history. We'd talk about Normandy and the great odds the Allied soldiers faced there. We'd talk about Hitler and his generals. About Eisenhower and Patton. About the concentration camps. About the battles. And I became enthralled with hearing about Lee and Grant and the Civil War battlefields. About Chancellorsville, Gettysburg. The ineptitude of McClellan. About Lincoln who quickly became my favorite President.

My dad taught me my love of sports. I remember watching the Chicago Bears on a little black and white TV and deciding Dick Butkus was my favorite player. I kept questioning my dad until I understood the various calls the officials made. Because my dad served in the Air Force at Wright Patterson AFB, he'd get tickets to the Cincinnati Reds games during the height of the Big Red Machine. My brother and I would go down with him to as many games as we could. It's only fitting that Pete Rose broke the all-time hits record on my dad's birthday. We'd also discuss how, if a woman could play on a professional men's team, it'd be Major League baseball.

I fell in love with old black and white movies because of my dad. Movies like The Ghost and Mrs. Muir with Gene Tierney. Claudette Colbert in Since You Went Away. Jimmy Stewart in It's a Wonderful Life....

I started thinking about it and realized how much all this influenced my writing with Playing for First and Two for the Show and Amy Perry playing first base for the Reds. With my most recent release, Survived by Her Longtime Companion, I called on that love for old movies and movie stars when writing about the character of Daphne DeMonet.

All of these snippets of my 50 years with my dad have been running through my mind.

Phyllis is facing surgery in February after abnormal test results. We won't know until after that surgery what the outcome will be, but there's a very good chance there will be further surgery. Of course I'm praying for the best, but at the same time I'm very worried--for my dad and my wife.

This has been a tough week and I anticipate tougher ones ahead. I hope to be strong for my mom who is understandably taking this extremely hard. She's also not in the best of health. I hope to be strong for Phyllis. In the meantime, I'm turning to what has given me solace in life--my writing. Whether it's to blog or to work on my next book, From Third to Home.

So... what is the purpose of a blog? I finally decided it really doesn't matter.