Divorce, Death, Cancer

I have a dear friend whose father is in the last stages of cancer, actively dying. He's at her home, and she and her family are caring for him, along with a home health care cast of many.

We live in the 21st century, getting man on the moon is something of the past. Sending space ships to Mars is nothing. Latest movie - Netflix; latest book, Amazon; latest cancer remedy - morphine? chemotherapy? "make you comfortable"?

I'm disappointed at the medical and political world when it comes to treating those with cancer. Although I'm going the traditional route with surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, no one can tell me this is the best, only, least invasive, safest "cure" for cancer. No way!

Cancer is not cured, rather it's sucked, molested, scalpelled, pulled, intoxicated, burnt, in an attempt to rid the body of cancer cells. I am more sick now than when I found my tumor. I am sick from chemo, and I now consider that a blessing; I am not sick from cancer, like my friend's father - yet enough is enough!

Cancer, and all of its treatments is a multi-billion dollar industry. If there was/is a cure for cancer, it certainly isn't going to be able to raise its beautiful face in time to save us, our parents, and perhaps even our children and grandchildren. Think of all of the people who would be without a job if it wasn't for those few cancer cells in my body and the "necessary" treatments to rid my body of these cells.

My insurance covers an enormous amount of my cancer treatment, yet still, we will have spent more than $30,000, out of pocket. "Thank God I have insurance." Yet prescriptions, specialty drugs, medical supplies, transportation, meals, physical therapy, and making our home cancer-ready are not covered (some minimally). No small amount, considering I have not been able to teach for 2 semesters, Scott has taken 8 weeks off work to be with me, and I have cut my work hours down - can anyone say, "Loss of income"? I'm not asking for a fundraiser, what I'm saying is cancer is expensive - and I'm sure I've helped the healthcare industry sustain some form of physical comfort with this pay-out.

If cancer was a divorce, and I was suing for benefits, I would surely ask my cancer spouse for reimbursement for: irreconcilable differences, back wages, infidelity, failed expectations, emotional abuse, physical abuse, loss of independence. I would give cancer all the custody it wanted, I would ask for alimony, I would sue cancer for desertion, and I would petition the courts for divorce on the grounds that cancer has committed multiple acts of physical abuse and disfigurement. I would sue primarily for abandonment - my self is gone - cancer has replaced me with someone else.

If I could, I'd fight cancer only with green drinks, vitamins, supplements, oils, exercise, meditation, conversation, laughter, and prayers. Yet the "system" has made that even more expensive than traditional treatment - sad. I can get morphine, codeine, percocet, taramadol, Oxycontin, but I can't get lavender, peppermint, frankincense, or medical marijuana. I can get suppositories, but I can't get prune juice. I can supplement but not replace - at my expense.


Today I get another ultrasound on my left breast, tomorrow I get IV fluids, and every day I take my prescriptions and supplements to counter-act the affects of chemo/poison. On Wednesday I will have my last chemotherapy treatment. I will sit in a chair and FEEL the IV drip into my chest - first Dexamethasone to suppress my immune system, then Phenergan to combat nausea, then Benadryl to decrease the likelihood of spasms, convulsions, allergic reactions, and then Taxol - once my body is in shock, this poison is dripped into my system (I can't visualize friendly medication beating on those monster cancer cells; there is nothing friendly about chemo) - all of this with MY approval and the approval of the medical world and the FDA. Paid for by my insurance. Then I'll come home and eat ginger for nausea, rub tea tree oil on my nails to eliminate the possibility of fungus and nail death, I'll eat whole grains to ease digestion issues, rub lavender oil on my temples to relax my body, and plug in the humidifier to counteract the affects of drying out, paid for by me. I will pray that my nerves will become healthy and strong, that my hair will grow back (even the hair on my body that I don't want, I'll welcome now), and that I will be able to once again live day to day rather than hour to hour.

I'm not an ungrateful bastard. I'm a confused citizen of the planet - trying to blend two worlds - and they're just not fitting together. And my heart and head cannot make sense of this mess.

Tonight, my friend will hope to comfort her father by: rubbing his legs, holding his hand, whispering stories of life together, comforting him with a warm blanket, a tender kiss, and a simple prayer, "Oh God, please take better care of Dad than cancer/the medical world has, please."

As my friend says, "Helluva time; helluva time."

Parenting

My parents are my next-door-neighbors; this often brings up images of sitcoms where similar relationships are key to the comedy/drama of the show. Scott and I made the choice, 7 years ago, to buy the house next door to my parents, which is also across the street from his parents (and my son and his family live 2 blocks away). Oh goodness, we're now the sitcom! What were we thinking?

I'll tell you - we were thinking both sets of parents would need our love and support as they grew older. Scott's parents, now deceased, were both in their 90s when they passed away (his mom 2 1/2 years ago, his father in October, and their house sold just this week). My parents, Clyde and Alice are 81 and 76.

And we've been able to help them - cooking extra food for Scott's parents, Scott mowing 3 lawns instead of only ours once a week, shoveling snow, running errands, running over to help with something, sharing meals, and for the most part it's been good.

Yet sometimes, parents know too much! If our car is gone, it's - where have you been? If the lights are off early, it's - are you OK, you went to bed early last night. If we're not at church (where 4 generations now sit on one pew), it's - we missed you at church today. If there's an extra car it's - who's been at your place? And if we have kids over for dinner, we think, and think, and think about whether or not we should have/shouldn't have, invited parents. And when we go somewhere, we'd best check-in, just in case. And we do the same to them! Family reunions? We FR with them every day! Damn it!

On the other-hand, living next door to parents has had its advantages - I'm going to the grocery store, anything I can get you? Can I borrow that . . . Can you put the rolls in your oven? Can you come take a look at . . . Would you pick up . . .

I've had a love-hate relationship with my parents for years. I'm the oldest of 7. I got married when I was 2-weeks 19, and when I look back at that, I know one of the main reasons I married so young was so I could leave home! However, I've lived with my parents, as an adult, 3 different times, for about 3 years total. And every time, I haven't wanted to be there, and they've opened their hearts to me. When I was younger, I didn't want to be like my mother - I swore I wouldn't have a big family, I wouldn't learn how to make cinnamon rolls, I wouldn't worry over my children, I wouldn't . . .  And I'm sure I'm not the only woman who has thought these things.

But my parents have done pretty darn well with their 7 children and butt-load of grandchildren. They've taught us all that we can do anything we want, we can reach for the stars and touch them. They have been supportive of all of us in our different endeavors, from going to Luthery school to becoming a chaplain to moving into the nether-regions of Montana. They are a support, physically, emotionally, financially. I believe we are all independent stubborn "I'll do it myself" adults because of the way we were reared, and this keeps all siblings tied to our parents, yet independent of.

Rambling - too much to say -

So here I am, cancer. Next door is my dad with 13 (?) stents in his heart, a bad back, and neuropathy in his feet. Yet he spends nearly every day in his shop turning beautiful wood bowls and vases. When he's not doing that he's in his magenta Lazy-boy reading woodworking magazines, sleeping, or watching TV while trying to stay awake, and he does cook. And my mom? She spends her days serving - that is her talent. She gave her lungs to the Lord about 11 years ago, and she suffers daily from asthma-related crap. Yet she tends grandkids, and great-grandkids (which just pisses me off because I should be, but I can't right now). She goes to the grocery store, bakes, cooks, feeds. She loves doing family history, reads while trying to stay awake, and plays on Pinterest and Facebook. They push through, they are living, not surviving. And they are examples of "no whining allowed."

And I didn't want to need them during my cancer journey. I wanted them to come along, in the back seat, with what information I shared (and it was going to be minimal). And then my first chemo treatment made me so stinkin' sick that I through that intention out the window and called my parents/neighbors. Now my mother keeps my treatments written on her calendar, "just in case."

Sunday - just like almost every other day for the past 3 months (even when I couldn't eat, Mom made sure Scott was fed, even with Wendy's close by, and he can open cans just fine), Scott and I ate dinner at our neighbors'. I was basically laying on the dining room table, too tired to even sit. Yet my parents had made a lovely meal, and their food is their love, and we felt it.

We moved to the living room, where I could recline on the couch, and we visited, like adults, friends, reminiscing, learning. We are blessed to have amazing neighbors - there are days when we wish we could move away, that distance makes better family, and my folks probably feel the same, but for 90% of the time, we love being next door. There is no way Scott and I could have "worked cancer" without their support. They have been totally with us on this cancer journey. No parent should have to watch their child suffer, yet here are my parents, in the "Autumn" of their lives, helping me! I should be the one helping them. Yet there are days when all I want is my mother near to me, her hands rubbing my shoulders, hugging me, or at least reading in the next room, so I can holler for her if I need her. Her words of consolation and support. Days when I want my dad, his hug, his encouraging words.

I'm going through something they've never been a part of; this is as new to them as it is to me, and they're reading and learning about breast cancer, yet they don't offer advice, they share, but they've never said, "Have you considered . . ." not in my whole life have I heard that, and there's plenty of times they could have certainly pulled that question out, legitimately questioning what I was choosing. They trust - and that's the virtue of my parents - they trust their family - trust that we know what's best for ourselves and our families. But the trust is deeper - they trust our decisions, our points of view, our paths - even when these choices differ from theirs. 

Vegetarian

OK, I don't eat meat, unless I'm in Alaska, and then I'll eat fresh caught halibut and salmon. Otherwise, meat is not on my list of must haves at mealtime. I used to tell folks "I don't eat meat," because I didn't want to be labeled, but that was 25 years ago, and honestly - I'm a vegetarian, vegan if I could, and I'm fine with that.

My kids grew up with a vegetarian mom and a dad who ate what I cooked, and they did likewise. If we had hamburger for tacos, fine - they browned the hamburger, put the taco seasoning in it, voila, tacos. If they wanted a hamburger they took a frozen pattie out of the freezer, thaw, cook. Hotdogs, similar. Sausage, just fine. Bacon - of course. Chicken - fine, in fact, I'll fry/broil/stir-fry/grill it. Turkey - I'll roast it/crockpot it. I'm fine with that, I just really don't partake, but I'm not going to push my eating habits onto someone else, not even my kids. So my children seldom ate meat, at home. They understand that eating vegetarian is no big deal, and that cooking vegetarian is easy, not complicated.

In fact - I'd rather pick out the meat than tell a host, or caregiver, to cook me something special. And if you want meat, OK, I have no desire to set up a kosher kitchen, it just isn't that big of a deal.


Being a vegetarian is very simple. Think of it as this - 3/4 of the plate is filled with fruits, vegetables, complex carbs, and 1/4 of the plate filled with protein. Think - eat lower on the food chain - if cows eat grass, wouldn't it be best if we ate the grass rather than the cow?! Let's put that to work, easy recipes:

Sauteed vegetables, whole wheat flour tortilla, beans and brown rice, salsa.
Sauteed vegetables, whole grain pasta - or lightly steamed sliced cauliflower or cabbage, with a marinara sauce.
Sauteed vegetables, brown rice, peanuts/cashews, teriyaki/soy/thai sauce, and egg rolls.
Nice tossed salad, bowl with nuts, bowl with rice/noodles, bowl with beans, other toppings, whole grain roll or slice of whole grain bread.
Soup - any of the above with some vegetable, or chicken, broth, some added seasonings, and there you go. Add a slice of bread, perhaps some jam, yum.

Last night for dinner we had - Eggplant Parmesan - kinda. Zucchini patties from Costco, Chicken patty for Scott. Whole wheat pasta, marinara sauce, salad. Easy - both pleased.


If you're interested in cooking vegetarian, just remove the meat, add a few more vegetables, add some extra seasonings, spices, herbs, and there you have it, vegetarian - add some cheese; vegan - leave it be.

Don't replace meat with extra refined carbs or extra cheesy sauces, or even tofu, just let it be. And think color - if the meal is full of color, it's probably healthy! All white, probably gonna kill you - some day!

 Not sure if I agree with the Whole Grains group - too much for me, 

should swap places with the Dairy and Legumes section.

Missing - Me

 Missing

Ronda Walker Weaver

Last Seen: Late Sept. 2012

Alias: Hun, Ma, RondaLyn

 

 If you have seen Ronda, please tell her that she is missed. 

Please let her know that she will be OK if she goes home. 

Please tell her we love her. 

Ronda may have changed her appearance - gray skin, puffy - as if on steroids, and no hair.

Her husband reported seeing someone who looked like her at Utah Cancer Center, however, she had on a hat, was curled up in blankets, covered in rice bags, 

had an IV bag hooked up to her right side, and she was not smiling. 

He could not positively identify this person as Ronda.

There are some days when I miss me - today is one of those. 

Where am I? 

Can I be found? 

What does the future hold if Ronda is lost and a new Ronda replaces her?

Cancer & Work

When I was told I had cancer, on Sept. 5, 2012, my doctor told me I would need to dedicate the next year to cancer. I laughed, thinking I had "it" under control if I dropped my 2 UVU classes and backed off from chaplaining, that would just leave me with my full-time job, which I work from home. And so I did. And everything was fine until I needed IV fluids 3 times a week, in addition to chemo every other week. And everything was fine until I needed 2 naps a day. And everything was fine until I couldn't clean the tub, mop and vacuum floors, climb the stairs, cook, lift the laundry hamper, concentrate more than 15 minutes, and on and on. And Scott has done what he can - pick up prescriptions, buy groceries, run other errands, pay the bills.

Then - first of December Scott said he was taking 6 weeks off work to help me. Ha! I thought - there's nothing for him to do; he'll be in the way. He hasn't - he doesn't cook, but he has done everything else, leaving me time to work - 30 hours a week, and time to sleep, and time for IV therapy, etc. When I haven't been able to drive, he drives, when I've needed him at the oncologist, he's been there, and we're peacefully co-existing.

So, my ramblings are this: Cancer really has taken over my life; my doctor was correct - I am not cancer, but my life has been dedicated to cancer. And everything else - kids, grandchildren, parents, meals, cleaning, has been turned over to someone else. And I thank those "someone else's" for their help, for picking up the pieces and moving forward, while I work cancer.

Songbirds - Familiar Sounds

I wrote this on 12/27/12, but with all the holiday and chemo happenings, didn't post it. Although I'm feeling more hopeful this week, I think this post has relevance.

Parallel stories:

Moved to Alabama in the hottest time of the year, August. It was 90 degrees with 90% humidity. Hot, muggy, and noisy. 

Tyler (10 then) complained that he couldn't sleep at nights because of all the sounds - crickets, frogs, cicadas.

We moved back to Utah in the dead of winter. Snow covered the ground, the area felt dead. Tyler complained about it being so quiet that he couldn't sleep at nights.

In the late 1800s - early 1900s many families moved from the eastern parts of the US to the Midwest. They weren't part of the initial Homestead Act land-rush but still thought the American dream of owning and living off the land was a possibility.

These latecomers didn't necessarily get the best land; often these sections of  land were miles away from the closest neighbors. While this was usually okay for the men, the women and children suffered from lack of daily conversation and interaction with people of their own age and gender. (I wrote about this in 1999, the article was published in a BYU publication as well as the Utah Historical Journal. It is not available online, but the link above does share some of the same information.)

During this time there were traveling salesmen who would stock a wagon full of necessary goods and them some niceties. One of the frivolities the salesmen kept with them were songbirds. The salesmen had learned that not only were canaries and other tiny birds beneficial for mines and miners, but the women bought them as well. Why? Because they needed familiar sounds around them. They needed bright - colors and tunes to make their homestead a little more liveable.

You can find photographs of farmers and their families taken by these same salesmen from this era. The photographs often are not only of the family standing outside their  soddie, but the furnishings (prized possessions) from the interior were often featured in these photographs. In some photos you will see songbirds in ornate cages.

A tragic play, written by Susan Glaspell, in (1916) and about this time-period is called Trifles, later turned in to a short-story, "A Jury of Her Peers."

I guess what I 'm saying here is that I have been in the winter of my cancer journey. All I can do right now is just make my way through this section, holding on to the joys around me; knowing the past, I can predict there will be a spring, but now, today, it's pretty quiet, and without familiar sounds; it is tough to even get out of bed some days, the pain is too much, too unpredictable, too foreign, and no one is selling songbirds.

This leg of my journey is one of putting on my snow-tires, praying that my battery doesn't die, that I don't get stuck in a snowstorm, that, as my doctor and his staff say, "You just need to make it through this time, it's just hard work."

Postscript - 01/03/13 Went to sleep at midnight, been up since 4am. Steroids, Phenergan, and Benadryl are wearing off. My tongue is numb, toes ache, fingers beginning to ache, legs aching. Yesterday was celebratory, today - pain meds, rice packs, a healing massage, and a soft warm pillow and blanket, please.

Almost There -

So close I can almost taste it, but - the cynic in me refuses to celebrate too early! However - I am now 7/8 of the way finished with chemo (there's lots ahead, including radiation, but I'm learning how to live one day at a time), and I am beyond relieved.

What I do know is this - CHEMOTHERAPY SUCKS - I'll say it over the pulpit if I need to - driving through this leg of my journey has been beyond muddy, stormy, bumpy, and with a filthy dirty map - although the folks giving me directions have been beyond kind. And I do know I still have 3 weeks of chemo traffic to meander through - reminds me of driving the Chesapeake Bay Bridge in stormy weather -

And - if anyone YOU know is going through chemo, put a crown on their head and call them "Beloved." I will forever respect and praise chemo travelers, what a freakin' journey. 

Oh well - good-bye chemo - I'm leaving you soon (to be sung to "Good Bye Old Paint, I'm leaving Cheyenne).