On the front porch at Frankie's

this is the only poem i wrote that was conceived in prison. it had been an awful day.  some dude in seg had been screaming all morning, on guy has ripped open stitches and had stuffed batteries into the open wound, and we had called 911 two more times for other trips to the hospital.  We were all feeling pretty frazzled.  after lunch, it was music time in the psych room.  Our clinical social worker (who was also a musician, last name was rockwell!) entered with his guitar.  the music was like cool water..i got up, stood in the doorway so I could hear the chords better.  and later that evening, sitting on the front porch at frankie's drinking a mint chocolate iced coffee, Mint Tenor was born. Thank you, Rockwell.

on the front porch at frankie's,

we sip iced coffee

and watch friday roll away

under the tread of cars passing,

hear the waft and fade of street voices

that call to an unseen someone, somewhere.

i am a tense tangle of days;

he is an oasis in the midst of chaos.

he strums me quiet,

graceful fingers along the

fretboard ease away the past week's

rush and roar cacophony

as he plays honeysuckle in dulcet chords

that float through traffic's whoosh

like yesterday's lost thoughts,

or the ghost scent of flowers

hidden in pine thickets.

his voice tastes like chocolate and

mint tenor that settles my mind

and spreads through my limbs

like balm,

or the cool drift of twilight

on summer eves,

and behind closed eyes

i feel only him,

hear only him

and the whispering marvel of how

he sings me peaceful.

Swiss Cheese for Brains

This may be difficult -- my typing skills have headed south and continue to worsen, but i'm thinking journaling might help me a little.  SO, I will exercise what's left of my brain in between the 23 lesions and look back over my career in prison, for a while.

Back in 1998, I was looking for a job, and was called by a former customer from the restaurant.  "We have a job opening in medical records, and we would really like it if you applied."  That was amazing to me, since these people knew little of my qualifications except that when we ran out of tartar sauce, I could create my own quick recipe and throw it together.  It must have been great sauce! I applied and was recommended for the job.

On the first day, my supervisor took me on a tour of the hospital floors where I would be filing in patient records. We climbed the stairs to G-2.  There was a short man standing in the hallway, and supervisor said, don't get too close to him.  He will push you down the stairway.  No problem!  on the way back to the office, i hugged the wall and stayed away from staff and inmates who could possibly have been hit in the head with a lock in a sock and suffered traumatic brain injury, something I understand a little better, these days.

From medical records at one facility, I transferred to a satellite unit in medium custody , which was also a mental health unit.  I was the ward clerk.  There, i met the most wonderful person, Psychologist Dr. H.  He and I bonded, and often I would go to his office to borrow a cup of calm.  my office was located upstairs where the segregation unit was, and all day long, there was something going on. you wouldn't believe the things someone will swallow to get a ride to the hospital -- razor blades, flip flops.  or worse, what they would suitcase (insert into their rectum), like a tattoo gun.

This job was probably the hardest one I've ever had, but also the most satisfying one, because it toughened me up and made me completely unafraid to take matters into my own hands and find solutions to big problems.

One young man was very ill and I had been trying for weeks to get him an appt.  we had a provider on the unit only 3 days a week, and the provider at the hospital, rightfully, could not and would not talk to the ward clerk.  I passed this info on, but nothing happened.  Then one day, nurse Anita called me and said..if you don't get an appointment for him, he's going to be D E A D dead.  my heart almost exploded. I hung up, called UR and said HELP ME!  if this guy doesn't get an appointment, he's going to be DEAD dead!  Told them the problem, they changed providers and he got his appointment.

I was seldom afraid and often disgusted.  One man on seg thought he was satan.  another man roaming the hallways thought he was Jesus and had his name changed to EZ Christ.  One day, i was in the nurses' station when he came to med pass.  The social worker said, Ms. B, have you met Jesus?  and so, i was properly introduced.  That's the only time I spoke to EZ.

Once, a guest of the state stepped in front of me and laughed.  I was returning from lunch and said.  what, i have mustard on my face?  and he replied - sometimes, you drink dr. pepper!  It's hard to miss the hilarity in that...

There were encounters that made my hair stand on end.  i was always picking up vibes, was behind someone on the stairway, and felt a dark cloud.  turns out he was decompensating. instincts on cue.  and there was the inmate who wanted to be my janitor and became angry when I told him, no, you aren't.  He was later demoted for doing something perverted in the ladies' restroom.  no need to say what.

eventually, a position opened up at my original facility.  I applied, went back, became a transcriptionist and transcribed for a korean, egyptian, afghanistani and an american.  More challenges, but i was bored.  one year later, i went back to medium custody and became the transfer coordinator.  will never forget my first swap.  we had to get rid of one at our unit, so i took another from a different facility.  Wrong!  the one i accepted had left a gang, and they had marked him as food for other gang members by tattooing him with burn marks.  the very evening he arrived, he was sent elsewhere.  well...i wasn't bored.

i recently had to leave that position due to health issues and will probably never go back. My original nickname there was Deborah's pit bull because i was notorious for running inmates away from the door or out of my office.  my final nickname was secret squirrel, because if I did let an inmate in and he had something to confide to management, i passed the message on to the top.

what an adventure.

It Was a Bear of a Day or...getting my life back.

Yesterday was Mother's Day.  We all loaded up and headed for Golden China Buffet because this mama didn't feel like cooking for a crowd, as much as I love them.  It was fun - we laughed until the other diners started looking at us like we were nuts.

It was so great to get out of the house, so wonderful to feel good for a change.  And then, on the way home, I saw something coming out of the woods. Even while I was yelling, watch out, watch out, watch out! I was trying to figure out what the heck WAS that.  It wasn't a dog; it was much too long for that, a little too big for that, but it was running on all fours, straight for our path.  Jim swerved all over the road trying to miss it. Thank God no cars were coming! and just before we hit it, or it hit us, I realized it was a bear.  I know our tires went right over it - had to - felt that awful thud.  I never looked in the rear view mirror, just couldn't.  We stopped at a nearby store, turned around and went back.  It was gone, so my hope is we didn't kill it.

It was an adolescent, maybe 100 pounds or so.  Mama had probably kicked him out of the den, and so he went looking for love in all the wrong places.  He didn't find it on Highway 211, that's for sure. Hope you're ok, big boy.  If we could have avoided you, we would have.

Shortly after, we made it home.  I sat in my chair and trembled for a while, and noticed the neighbor's kids walking through my yard - again.  One of them is around 15 years old, very tall and large.  I had asked them numerous times not to use my yard as a shortcut, not because I'm the mean old lady next door, but because I don't want a bunch of people I don't know in my yard at any given time.  After the 12th time - NO exaggeration - yesterday, I stepped out on my porch and waited for them to come back - which they did.  There were about six kids, including the big one, and I said, Hey, I've asked you kids so many times not to walk through the yard.  The big one was carrying a 2x4,  which did not escape my notice.  the big one said, I'm sorry for walking through your yard, BUT - and then he went off about another neighbor, a dog, a dog bite, drugs and "she disrespected my little cousins." I went to the little one to inspect his leg - no broken skin, thank goodness.  "She done called the law and gave them MY description," the big one went on.  "So ok, then!"  Like that justified his walking through with a 2x4.  I don't know what he was going to do with that, but he headed straight for the neighbor's home.  "don't go over there, you're going to make things worse." But he kept going.  So i pulled out the big guns and little bit of a white lie.  "I work in law enforcement."  He dropped that 2x4 like it was on fire. "and the best thing you can do is go home, call your parents, and let the law handle this."

A while later, two deputies walked through my apparently community property lawn sans 10-72's, so I assume Big Guy wasn't arrested this time. And the drug dealing neighbor lady is still alive, NOT having been killed by blunt force trauma with a piece of wood.

That kid is headed for big trouble and will probably BE big trouble if his parents don't step in and get him under control.  The worst thing is, they're leaving him in charge of four small kids and their older sister.  They've given too much responsibility to someone who doesn't have the maturity or impulse control to handle it.

Looking back over all of this, it was a miracle no other cars were on a busy highway while we swerved our impotent way all over the place to avoid a huge animal.  It was a miracle I decided to go outside to confront the big guy after letting it slide all day.  Maybe God has plans for me, yet.

Done!

Hopefully, this will be my last chemo post.  My last treatment was four weeks ago.  Since then, life has been pretty slow due to being exhausted and glued to the sofa, and then things went south.  Platelets were way down, I had petechiae and purpura, and then my red blood cells started dropping.  I had a blood transfusion on Wednesday, and have felt somewhat better.  I can breathe!  I can walk from one spot to another without chest pains or having to lean on whatever is available.  For that, I am truly grateful.  Hopefully, I can return to work June 1.  Sure could use the money.  Disability doesn't pay very much, but I would have been lost without it.

I started thinking back over this whole episode in my life.  I don't know what the future holds, or where I stand as far as cancer goes - no scans.  Go figure.  But I have learned a few things, and here they are:

What Chemo Taught Me

Hair

Losing you hair isn't' the end of the world. 
It's nice to ride with the windows rolled down without it blowing in your face.
It takes a lot less time to get ready for an outing without it.
Winters are a lot colder with no hair!
I cannot tie a scarf worth a flip.
Hats can hide a multitude of sins.
Eyelashes are a must, but you can do without them.
Eyebrows?  What eyebrows?
The face is so smooth without it!
It looks ugly growing back in, but it's fascinating to watch it grow and thicken.  I wasn't looking at myself in the mirror, I was marveling over that thick carpet making its resurrection after being killed with poison, and my body should be able to do the same.

Human Nature
No one can understand what cancer is like unless they have it, and no one can understand what chemo does to a person unless they experience it, but that's true of any life experience.
Conversely, some people are kind and are a lifeline when you feel like shit.
You find out who your real friends are (to include family) when you are recovering from treatments.  And just because they don't understand or are afraid/uncomfortable doesn't mean they don't care.  In some cases, it doesn't mean that they do, either. ;-)
Chemo and cancer made me want to be a better person -- not completely from the religious aspects of mortality, but to have a mission to help those who need a friend or a simple act of kindness in their day.  A little goes a long, long way.

Feeling Better
Sometimes you have to put yourself first.
The laundry will still be there.
A chair works for clothes just as well as the closet or the chest of drawers.
Vitamin B-12 is a miraculous substance.
A little makeup helps a lot!
Rest when you need, and let your body heal.
Dogs make the best nurses.
Doing for someone else who feels worse than you makes you feel useful.
Children make your heart smile.
Music soothes the soul.
Prayer and meditation are lifelines.
Hydrate, moisturize, take your meds!

Looking at Life
You can't fix everything for everybody, but you can be supportive.
People will hurt, but they are resilient.
Sometimes, it's better to keep your mouth shut and let situations work out for themselves.
Praying never hurt anybody.
Being a walking anachronism isn't a bad thing.
Judge Not.  It ain't your job.
I don't think you can love everybody, but you don't have to hate those you just can't love.
Forgiveness is necessary.
Bitterness is counterproductive.
Sometimes you just have to go outside and revel in nature.
Each moment matters.  Make it count.
I have been blessed with love, provided for when I didn't think there was a way, protected when I could have been hurt.  I can't say life has been unfair.

That's it for now. 

Finally

It's quiet this morning - everyone is keeping to themselves, and that's not a bad thing.  It gives us all time to focus on what we need to do and where we need to be in the future.  Also gives us some time to build energy.  Always a good thing.

Finally, finally, I completed chemo, yesterday.  It's a good feeling to know that now, I can really build some energy, get my platelets up, build some red blood cells and grow some magnesium. My fervent prayer is that the treatments did their thing and that my change in lifestyle will keep any future cancer at bay.  After all, I have been sliced, diced, nuked and poisoned!  Living through all of it just HAS to have a happy outcome.

If my next set of labs come back good, I can return to work in May.  If my energy surges, I can get the house as clean as it should be, and the yard will look spectacular!  I haven't been able to pay attention to the outside since last May, when all this came to light, and needless to say, it is a jungle out there.  I'm considering having a yard company come in for the worst of it.  I've never handled a chainsaw (that's right!  need chain sawing) in my life, and it is NOT on my bucket list.  Then, there will be debris to haul away.  Another thing I want to do is build a fire pit - the one of my dreams! - out of either brick or cinderblocks so that when I gather up the pine cones and cut down undergrowth, pick up limbs, etc...I can do a nice little burn at dusk, and sit there with a glass of tea and enjoy the fire.  Peaceful!

Looking forward to the future is so wonderful.  having a positive outlook is even better.  And having gratitude trumps both.  I thank you, God, for all you have done, and for the people you have sent into my life.  Please take care of each and every one of them.

One More To Go

I'm a little over 4 weeks since chemo, and will have 1 more on the 21st of March.  The last one! I am overhoyed and apprehensive, at the same time.  No scan, per the doctor, so how will they know treatment actually worked?  How will I know if the pain I feel is just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, age-related aches?  I don't have answers to either question, BUT!

I am determined to do everything in my power to make sure my body is as cancer proof as it can be. A week or two ago, I started paying attention to diet, more specifically, nutrition.  Lots of veggies, no red meat, organically fed chicken, omega 3 eggs, wild-caught salmon, and since sardines are (ick) the worst things I ever tasted, Kipper Snacks.  Added green tea (not much for now, don't want anything to interfere with chemo), ginger tea, all those things (or, most of them) that stock a cancer killing kitchen.  I can't tell you whether or not there is a slaughter in progress, but  good HEAVENS, there is such a change in my mood!  That can probably be attributed to the omega 3's, and if it's true, I will never again take another antidepressant. 

I woke up yesterday morning, and magically, had the desire to shower, dress, and put on some make-up.  To do some laundry, which did happen, but amazingly, not only did I wash clothes, I PUT THEM AWAY!! Regardless of how breathless I was, regardless that every step felt like slogging through cold molasses.  That was a big step for me.

There's a big possibility this could be because the last chemo was so long ago and the side effects have abated significantly, but the diet probably has a lot to do with it, also.  Resume work day is May 1, and I was wondering how in the world I could do it.  Maybe it will happen, maybe my energy will increase, maybe I can get my life back!  If I do, it will be better than it was before.

I want to give back more than before.  There are so many places and situations that need community involvement...going to see where I can best serve. 

For now, I need to get up and get things done.  It's a good St. Patty's day!

Just Looking Back

On the surface, my life has been little more than ordinary, most times boring beyond words.  Yet, there is so much more, below the surface.  I have truly been blessed.

I have seen a skulk of foxes running toward my car as I drove down Ashemont Road.  Have seen racoons playing on an embankment, have watched a deer hunker down and make her escape while a group of hunters with their backs turned plotted their hunting strategy.  I never said a word, just admired her and snickered a little at the hunters.  Have seen two deer swim in the pond where we were fishing, and have watched one eat crabapples at the fence.  I have escaped injury when the neighbors' horses broke through their fence and thundered through my yard, shaking the ground, running for all their worth.

I have had the love of many good dogs throughout my life -- two of them protected me from what they perceived as threats, and very well could have been.  

I have felt the sun warm my skin, and water cool the burn in the summer.  I have heard the sound of snow against snow, have marvelled at the renewal of life in the spring.  I have watched the sky, heard the birds singing as though they were rejoicing at the break of day.  I have watched the mist rise from mountain tops, and have been lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean as it found its way to shore.

I have confronted an undercover drug enforcement agent when he asked me where he could score some good stuff (a serious case of mistaken identity) and lectured him on the dangers of drugs, and how the people behind my place of employment were being strong-armed out of their social security checks.

I have fled with my mother to safety after finding her, bloodied, trapped in my drunk father's arms, have later poured his stash down the drain in front of him. At a later time, I had the good sense to scream for help when, stone cold sober, he tried to choke me.  He let me go.  And once, when I was fifteen, I stopped him from leaving the house with a loaded gun, bent on revenge, and was able to talk him down.

I have made mistakes, poor choices, but managed to work through them and come out a little worse for the wear, but a little wiser.

I have carried life twice, and may not have been the perfect parent, but I learned what it feels like to love a child and have been awed at how powerful and enduring that love can be.

I have walked down the halls with a concentrated population of rapists, murders, and other offenders and have been protected and safe.  I have read sex offenders their duty to report and have had them tell me unbelievable bits of information I never asked for and didn't want to know, and have wondered about why and what the purpose of hearing and seeing all of this has been.  I have entered an intensive control block and have been treated respectfully.  There IS a power in the universe that watches over all of us.  Of that, I am certain.

I have lost my brother, parents, and best friend in a short period of time and let the pain and grief take me under and stayed there until, one day, I found myself surface and carry on.  All of us...all of us...have more strength than we ever knew, and can survive that which we thought would surely kill us.

I have battled cancer, am still battling cancer, and am not sure which of us will win the fight, but I don't have time to be afraid, until the wee hours of the morning when all is quiet and there's too much time to think and regret all that I have not done or seen. I worry my life has been too dull, I haven't done enough for other people or myself  and every time I ask myself what I should do, the response is immediate - Fight!  And that's what I will do.

I'm just not finished being amazed by life, just yet.

Encouragement? i'm going to take it as such

Got the test results from my CA 125 test.  The value is 19, normal range is 0-35.  The lab included a disclaimer with words to the effect of - these results should not be an indicator of the presence or absence of cancer without other tests.  BUT - I'm taking it as a sign of good things to come.

It's a good day.  :-)

Bald is Beautiful

On my visits to the oncologist, I see ladies with pretty scarves covering their hairless heads.  Some women can carry off that look, kind of cute and feminine.  They definitely don't wear that resigned look on their faces, and the ones I've seen still have their eyelashes and eyebrows.  In the face of what really matters - fighting for their lives - hair loss seems a fair trade-off.

Trust and believe, it doesn't seem that small when your hair begins falling out.  Two weeks to the day of the first treatment, I was riding in my husband's truck, windows down, and I kept seeing these wispy things fly around the cab.  What IS that?...At first, I had no idea, but I caught one.  It was my hair, detaching from my head in the wind.

It isn't that hard to describe that first reaction:  a little bit of horror mixed with a little disbelief.  But I knew this was coming, Dr. S. had said it would happen.  Yet, i was overcome with grief, and I cried.  It's not that my hair was so beautiful, but it had that wave to it that gave it a smoky, 50's kind of look when it was cut right.  And besides, I was kind of attached to it.

I had the foresight to buy some chemo caps before treatment began, so I plopped one of my head when we got home.  Took it off a while later and it was full of strands.  By then, I was used to the idea of losing it.  It's a trade-off, and it's temporary.  I can live with it, in more ways than one.

This morning, it's coming out in clumps.  My eyelashes are next.  I can feel them itching and stinging, and I'm scared to rub them or even put mascara on.  Losing those might be a little harder, but, there again, a trade-off.  And they will grow back, too.

It's nothing but vanity, you know?

I wanted to prepare my son for my new look.  He's taking all this a little hard, even though he tries not to show it.  I know because when we talk on the phone, he says I love you before we hang up.  He is a young man of few words and an overabundance of testosterone that keeps him from always showing his softer side. When I told him of my impending baldness, he said, Let me know when you get it shaved so I can shave mine, too.  His show of love and support brought tears to my eyes, but I hope he doesn't shave his head.  Again.  he spent the last 5 years looking like Mr. Clean (his choice) and has just recently began sporting his hair again  - complete with a little styling and some gel to keep it looking that way.  He is handsome with or without, but he looks really nice with, and I can tell he likes it.  I hope he'll keep his.

Today, I'm going to the prison for an employee appreciation dinner.  Can't decide whether to wear my cap or not, but probably will.  Would hate for the fan to hit me and blow hair all over everybody's food.  After that, I'll be off in search of bandanas, hats, and some earrings.  Might as well rock the look!

It really is a small price to pay for a chance to live.

Never thought I'd want to go to work this badly.

I'm doing pretty good today.  Neurontin for the nerve pain, nothing else needed. I just hope that, IF there are any microscopic  cancer cells in my body, the chemo is acting like Raid on steroids and killing them all.

Second round is coming up on Tuesday.  I'm a little nervous about that, not sure if they're increasing the dose or if it will be the same.

On the plus side, the laundry room is almost as clean as I want it to be.  Hoping to finish all my projects before next week!

I hear the Aberdeen-Rockfish chugging on by...

We have lived by the railroad tracks most of our lives.  There was a brief stint I lived on Ashemont Road, and even though I couldn't see the train, I could hear it.  Some nights on the back deck, I could hear it's whistle, or maybe it was the Amtrack in Southern Pines, not sure.  It is a lonely sound in the night, somehow mournful, but as a kid, I remember getting so excited when the first whistle came.  We kids would drop everything we were doing - sorry, ice cream, no time for you! - and rush to the glass panels at Grandma's front door to watch the cars roll by.  It was the biggest thing on wheels we had ever seen, a special sighting that filled us with awe and wonder twice a day, like clockwork.

My Grandfather was a farmer.  He owned most of the land on this end of the county and raised produce of every kind, including Congo watermelons.  They are the huge ones that only a grown man could carry, let alone slice.  The Rockfish-Aberdeen would stop, I'm told, and those watermelons would be loaded up and carried to who-knows-where, as I imagine the peaches from Poole's orchard were, too.

The peaches were sold under the Blue Diamond label.  I only know this because my father eventually bought the peach orchard, and I loved plundering in the pack shed.  I found the labels, packing crates, baskets, old equipment...and there was a hand pump beside the shed!  It still worked, and I thought it was the most awesome thing in the world to get a cool cup of water, right from the ground.

A little west of the orchard and the farm was the Sanitorium, built on the highest peak in the county.  The Aberdeen Rockfish rolled past that, too, and the passengers would cover their faces with handkerchiefs so as not to contract tuberculosis.  Back in the day, that peak was called Pestilence Hill.

It was a beautiful old building, more majestic than ominous. It was three stories high, the third floor with a balcony for the patients to sit in the sun to help "cure" their condition.  On the second floor, there was a chapel that gleamed with polished maplewood pews and pulpit.  The chapel was probably the most attractive feature.  The patient rooms were located on the first and second floors, not so austere as you might think.  And there was a fire tower. From there, and the balcony, you could see for miles, into the next county

I know this because after it was consigned to the dept. of corrections, I worked there.  I remember the old elevator that had iron gates around the doors - straight out of a horror movie! No, from another time.  Our office faced the road, and therefore the railroad tracks, too.  By then, the Aberdeen-Rockfish wasn't making daily trips anymore, but there were mornings when we would hear the whistle, and for just a minute, all work would cease as we watched that train seemingly struggle up the hill and on past us.

The landscape has changed, as all will with time.  The sanitorium is closed, but the grounds are still kept up by the state.  The peach orchard is gone, replanted in pines and the land leased out for the pinestraw.  The packshed burned to the ground about 20 years ago, I guess, but the platform still stands, and Grandfather's farmland is now littered with overgrowth and new homes.  The railroad tracks will be there forever, I suppose.  And though the A&R makes its trips only occasionally, it still lives.  I hope it always will.

One Week Later

I'm sitting here, sipping on a powerade zero because, suddenly, coffee is NASTY!  Ick, spit, patooie! Much and nothing has happened since the first round.

A few years ago (i lose track of time), I set out to locate my daughter's sister.  When I was married the first time, the husband had a daughter who had been taken away from him and his first wife. I remember my then-mother-in-law showing me a picture of a chubby, smiling little girl in white dress, and she said, this is Lorinda.  I know in my heart we'll find her one day.  Sadly, Lula passed away before that could happen.

I know her pain.  My granddaughter, Sara, was ripped away from us through circumstances that are ugly and unfathomable - no fault of my daughter's.  It was Beth's ex, who fabricated lies and made it difficult for us to see Sara.  And he ultimately won by fabricating a story of sexual abuse that never happened.  Social Services investigated and cleared the accused.  I wonder if SS investigated Sara's accusations that her father shot her in the knee (never happened), or that her step-mother routinely abused her in small but myriad ways...the child is disturbed, I know this, but I believe with all my heart that she had a lot of help getting there.  Anyway...i haven't seen her in years, now, and it's heartbreaking.  I don't even know where she is, and all my attempts to find her have failed..

BUT - getting back to my original story of Lorinda, I set out to find her one day, after reading her brother's pleas for help in locating the sister he had missed for years.  It took an entire day (that's all), and if Lorinda had not posted on a site for people looking for their biological families, I wouldn't have succeeded.  I even found a phone number, gave it to my daughter, Beth.  To make a long story short, the sisters reunited via telephone.  Turns out that Lorinda lived in the same town as we do, attended the same school as Beth, but they were so far apart in age, their paths probably never crossed.  But they knew some of the same local people, went to the same places..it was truly an amazing parallel.

Lori traveled from Canada, where she lives with her husband, to visit her brother, sister, and yes, her biological father.  It makes me happy that she was so forgiving and delighted to find her blood relatives.  And it didn't stop there - she adopted my son as her own brother, my brother as her uncle, and she calls me Mom.  What a generous, loving heart she has.

Lori called me one day this week and said, I'm coming to North Carolina.  And I'm staying for good.  So, although I didn't get to meet her on the first trip, I will this time. And though technically,we have no real ties except that she is my daughter's sister, I look forward to having a new daughter to love.

I'm so sorry it couldn't have happened while Lula was living, but perhaps she had a hand in bringing Lori back into the fold.  I'm sure her spirit is smiling.

Chemo

Yesterday, I had my first chemo treatment.  I slept through it, thanks to lorazepam and 40 mg. of benadryl.  I didn't even get a chance to unpack the chemo bag - i had packed books, a blanket, a notepad and pen in case I felt like writing.  I thought the infusion would take 7 hours, but some changes were made to the medications and it only took 4 hours.  Not too bad.

I feel great today.  A little headache, some chest pain that must not be anything serious, because the heart monitor didn't prompt whoever watches those things to call my primary.  Not worried about it. I went to a 3 hour dr's appt. with the radiation doc, went out to eat, and went shopping.  I could run laps around the house, i think, still on that decadron high.  And so is my blood sugar.  Mercy, when it rains, it pours, but better days are coming.  Good things are worth waiting for, and will be as abundant as cliches.

Before the first treatment, I was afraid, mostly of the unknown.  When I got there, I wasn't alone in that waiting room...there were other people awaiting their time in the chair, too. It kind of made me feel like a whiner.

I have an awesome support system - my husband, daughter, family - coworkers have come to me and said, if you need anything, let me know.  Call me, anytime.  Thank you Cindy, for sharing your experience with leukemia and offering your support.  And thanks to Tammy for doing the same, even as she fights her own battle with cancer.  I will pass this same kindess on to anyone who needs it.  This whole thing has been a terrible, yet humbling experience.

I think other patients realize how hard it is to talk honestly about this disease to others.  Family and frinds are afraid, they don't know what to say, they don't want to lose you.  And you want to be strong for your friends and family, so you cry in the bathroom if emotion overcomes you.  You avoid the topic if you can.

When my Dad was in his last months, I was the same way.  I had no idea what to say to him.  All I could do was tell him I loved him.  I moved in with him and my mom for the last two weeks of his life.  We pulled a couple of all nighters, because he either couldn't or wouldn't sleep.  I'm glad I had that time with him, still wish I had known some magical phrase that would have made things right, but instead, he was the one who comforted me.  "It's ok, I'm ready."

So journaling is good.  I can whine myself into a new perspective, think about the pro's of this disease, such as...you realize what's really important in life.  Those grandkids, for instance.  I called Sadie a couple of weeks ago, and that sweet, sweet 3-year-old said, "Can you come to our house?"  My spirits soared three feet above my body - I could have floated to Southern Pines.  And love, my friends, is indeed the best medicine in the world.

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My prognosis is not good.  Still going to fight.

Knowing More.

It has been a little over three weeks since surgery.  I had post-op follow-up last week, and the news was not quite what I expected.  I'm healing well, except for dehydration, but the pathology report was disappointing.  Of the 17 lymph nodes they took, 1 was positive for metastasis.  I figure, 1 out of 17 isn't horrible, but it put me at stage 3. There is chemo and radiation in my future - beginning August 15, in fact.

A lot of things go through your mind when the doctor across the desk from you is rattling off facts, figures, and more information than your blown mind can assimilate.  I just sat there, taking it all in. He said, you don't have confidence in me?  Oh yes, I told him, I trust you implicitly when it comes to my treatment.  You got my cousin through hers, and she had her port removed just three weeks ago.  I trust you.  But it's a lot to take in all at once, and my dear friend Gypsy passed away just this week...cancer.  And you're saying I'll have to keep my port in for 5 years...So, my mind is racing, but I'm in your hands and God's, and I'm going to fight this, too, as hard as I can.

The first treatment is a strike back against cancer and i'm dedicating that one to Gypsy. My friend Gypsy, the bubble of laughter and love who is no doubt a bright and shining star or a comet or some other celestial anomaly smiling down on the earth and all the friends she has here.  For you, Gypsy, as you make your music in the spheres.

The next treatment is a strike back for my Dad.  He chose not to fight it that last time around. He was too tired.  So the second treatment - in your honor, Dad, a blow against cancer for you.  It's a lot easier to fight in the name of others than just myself, but I'm fighting for me, too.  Hard.

I'm in the process of bolstering my immune system with approved supplements, taking my vitamins, eating a healthy diet, and drinking a lot of water so dehydration won't be a problem.

Planning to scrub my house from top to bottom so it will be the cleanest it has been since before the surgery.  Stocking up on antibacterial wipes, bleach, Lysol to keep things right to reduce the risk of infection.

I'm going back to work for four weeks so maybe I won't have to come off of the payroll and go on short term disability.  And besides...the work will be good for me.  I've missed my work mates, and it seems they might have missed me, too.  My supervisor was happy to hear that I'll be returning for a cameo appearance.  She said, I'll take what I can get.

Life is just full of adventures.  I can't wait to conquer this one.

What - I have an extra belly button??

One week ago today, I opened my eyes, saw a bunch of people I didn't know and promptly went back to sleep.  The next time I woke, my husband was there, and I was in a hospital room.  I remember two things from that day - the same nurse kept coming when I rang the call bell.  Didn't she EVER go home? and when I peeked down my hospital gown, my belly button was sitting up; WAY high.  Drugged or not, I knew that was wrong.

Surgery was successful - that's the word from my surgeon so far.  All the cancer was confined to my uterus.  and apparently, they woke me up a little too quickly and I became combative.  My adopted kid (40s) who works at the hospital was waiting for me in post-op and saw the whole thing.  She said my doc looked at her and screamed - get help!  Which goes to show you...if you try to kill me in my sleep or if I think you're doing that, I will whip some ass. :-D

Back to this second belly button dilemma...apparently, they took the fatty apron from in front of my intestines in case any cancer cells had settled into that comfy sofa and wanted to stay.  According to sources whose accuracy for fact is not known to me, this is also done in weight loss procedures, so that if there is hanging skin that gets infected or something, insurance will cover removing it.  I feel pretty confident mine's not that bad.  As soon as things heal up, i'm considering a little belly button embelishment.  Wouldn't a connecting earring be cool?  ;-)

Still healing, still on drugs, still having trouble with cohesive sentences.  Will write more as I find out more.

I'm just about ready to get out and have some fun.

Proactive Me :-)

WELL!

Now that the shock has worn off, I'm in a better frame of mind.  I won't lie, the last two weeks have been an emotional roller coaster.  First, I was numb.  Then I was pissed - especially at the ER doctor who told me I was constipated and sent me home.  And then panic set in. Every morning, I woke with this crippling fear.  And then I cried. Honey, I cried everywhere -- at work, in the bathroom, walking the dogs, drinking coffee.  But it always made me feel better, later.  So my advice to anyone who receives devastating diagnoses - go with it the first week or so.  Let yourself cry, but don't stay down there.  Do Not Let It Keep You Down.

Yes, I'm still a bit scared.  I mean, who wouldn't be?  But since I have this thing, I have no choice but to fight it.  And battle, I will!  How I reached this particular point is funny, actually.  My husband pissed me off.  I know this has been scary for him, too, but he was MEAN.  He said things to me I wouldn't say to my worst enemy, and I could have beaned him with a heavy lamp, but I like my lamp, so...

When he pissed me off, though, it ignited this spark inside of me.  Fuck you, I thought, and fuck cancer, too.  And that spark has found fuel and burst into flames.

 BATTLE!!!!

My surgery is a week from tomorrow.  My PET scan is Tuesday.  I'm far more afraid of the PET scan, but no matter what it reveals, this girl's going to stay pissed. I have to.

I've researched diet, plan to speak with a RD, have already planned out what will be needed after surgery and have begun gathering necessities.  When the anxiety hits, meditation and a boatload of lavender.  It smells good, and if it does for me what it did for that little frog I found hiding in the plant pot, all the better.  That little frog looked stoned.  He was so relaxed he didn't even move when i poked him.  He only looked at me like..what?

Ah, it's nice to know there's spirit in me, yet.  I will beat this.  Watch.  :-)

Reminiscing

It's one of those once upon a time nights.  It could be the holidays, could be having a little too much time to think, or it could have been seeing an old restaurant customer the other day, not sure it isn't a combination of all those things.  Sometimes, I think about the old days, and how I should probably write down all of them for my grandchildren to read one day.  I wish my mom had written down her memories.  As it is, I can only recall the stories she told about her and Uncle Bill, all those years ago on the little farm in Fairmont.  I wish I had been more attentive.

Anyway, I'm not sad tonight, just thinking of old times and how good they were, even if I didn't think they were, at the time.  So here goes.

Once upon a time, there was a man named Marshall. He was the baby out of twelve children born to Robert and Nannie Belle Parks.  Marshall dropped out of school, lied about his age, and joined the airforce back in the 1950's.  He travelled to places he never thought he would see, to places so different from the large farm his father owned.  He didn't like some of those places..said New York City was dirty, and he would never go back there again.  He was stationed in French Morocco, and there, he bought an Arabian Knights tapestry for his mother, which I have on the cedar chest that also belonged to her.

Marshall's father became ill, diagnosed with colon cancer in his 80's, and Marshall was honorably discharged from the airforce to go home and care for his ailing father, and to take care of his mother.  He found a job at Burlington Industries, and there, he met a beautiful young woman named Janice Britt. Eventually, they eloped to Dillon, South Carolina.  He sang to her on the trip, wear my ring on your finger...How romantic.

He had several jobs after Burlington - one, as a prison guard, but he didn't like the way the convicts (as they were called back in the day), so he quit to become a truck driver.  That took him away from home too much, so in the 1960's, he followed in his father's other foot prints and rented a building to open his own store.  And that was the beginning of an adventure for all of us.

My father had vision, and a great eye for opportunity.  He chose a location close to home and on the main highway that intersected with the Ft. Bragg Military Reservation, built his own store with a little diner attached to it, and he was quite successful.  My brother and I worked there in the mornings before school.  Mike pumped gas, and I was the burger slinger.  The store was a landmark, and it was also a gathering place for some in the community.

Looking back, I didn't realize how great it was.  The work was hard.  The summers were so hot, running around the grill, playing waitress.  We used to fight over who got to go the the cooler for more tomatoes. But it was the people who made the place, for me.  I can see them all, still, in my mind's eye..Geech, Berdie and his crew, David, Jack, and Eloise.  Twinkles (because we never knew his real name, and he had twinkly blue eyes), the guys from the military jump school...and I met my husband there (the second one).

I won't go into all of them tonight, because it's late, and I'm very tired, but I will write them.  I never knew I would miss them so much, and often, I wish I could go back and do it all over again, only better.

Matthew

Has it only been three days?

It seems so much longer since the winds whipped and the sky opened up.  I sat on the porch watching the wind tangle in the trees, making its way toward my little corner, trying to rip the umbrella from my hands.  What a foolish thing to have, anyway, an umbrella, in a storm like that. But it was awe inspiring, seeing the trees bend to near breaking, then standing again.

But a mere three miles down the road from my house, eight large pines fell onto power lines.  Less than a mile from my house, multiple trees were downed. Just east of us,  Hoke County was already experiencing high water.  In Cumberland and Robeson Counties, water rescues would shortly be taking place.

We were so fortunate in our area.  We aren't in a flood zone.  The twenty six  hours we lost power and water are nothing compared to what our neighbors to the east and west were going through: major flooding, trapped in their homes, trapped in cars that either sank or were carried away in the currents. Folks are being rescued by helicopter from rooftops, by boat from cars that couldn't make it through, from their homes. In Edgecombe County, the coast guard rescued a labrador retriever that swam and tried to climb a tree.

Ten people in our state, alone,  lost their lives during Matthew, with some still unaccounted for.

Never have I seen the likes of this, and I have been in many hurricanes over the course of my life, have huddled in the house and listened to the roof groan and the walls shudder.  But this rain, this slow moving innundation has all but brought North Carolina to its knees. The flooding and evacuations will continue through  the end of the week as the waters make their way into the Cape Fear River and are fed back to the sea. And even then, it won't be over as the clean up begins.

Gasoline is in short supply due to out of county folks making their way to our area to fill up. Grocery stores are nearly depleted.  Traffic is bumper to bumper in small towns as Florida refugees are detoured through to safer routes leading to I95.

I have frantically been trying to get information about my family in Robeson County, which is now underwater.  The entire town of Lumberton is flooded.  Thankfully, news came this afternoon that they are stranded, but ok for now.  We still have no power, water or phones at the prison, and the atmosphere is tense, to say the least, but we will get through this, if we work together.

I think about Haiti, Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, our own southern coast, and as bad as things are,  I am thankful, so very thankful it wasn't worse, because it could have been.

Streaming, or typing just for the sake of emptying my head.

It's embarassing, how long it took me to figure out how to add a new post.  I knew if I clicked things long enough, something was bound to work.

It's the first Saturday in Autumn, a bit warm, but a beautful day after a rainy and eventful week.

On Monday, I noticed the coffee pot in the office wasn't working, tried to track down someone in maintenance to check the breaker, but before anyone could respond, everything electrical on that side of the room started going nuts.  The copier began flashing, the light on the coffee pot got bright, then faded out, and then came the awful sound of something definitely not right, and THEN the smoke started pouring from behind the coffee pot.  Holy crap, it was a fire.

Once upon a time, I was good in emergencies.  Kept a cool head, took care of the situation and only then did my knees turn to jelly.  Those days are gone.  I came out from behind that desk, flew out into the hall calling HELP, MY OFFICE IS ON FIRE.  Luckily for all of us, there were a couple of quick thinking inmates in the hallway.  They rushed in, disconnected the surge protector, and in spite of all the smoke, there might not have been a fire, after all.  I don't know for sure, I was still out in the hall, eyes bigger than saucers, wondering what to say in the incident report.

My supervisor is the classification coordinator.  I asked if she could put the inmates who helped so quickly in for merit days off of their sentence, and she did.  One thing for sure...people make mistakes and pay for them, but when they do something meritorious, they deserve something for it. Both guys were in for nonviolent crimes and are getting out soon.  Another day or two wouldn't make much difference to society, but would mean a lot to them.  I wish them well and hope they make the most of the rest of their lives in a good way.

That little experience left me embarrassed and and with enough adrenalin to run the rest of the week.

The Parks family reunion is today.  All my cousins are gathering somewhere in Moore County, and while I want to go, I have decided to stay home and enjoy some peace and quiet.  A little meditation. A little mindless keyboard prattle.  Me time.  Ain't nothing like it.