I use-ta have words...

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worthy comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us"   Romans 8:18

I love words. Duh. I love the English language - at how expressive it can be with its many nuances and colorful colloquialisms. And I like big words and made up ones, too. But more than that, I have known that God gave me a gift of words and language.

Contrary to popular and comfortable belief, all but one of God's gifts come with strings attached. Big, tough strings that never break. God expects us to use each and eery one of the gifts he has given us -  not just for whatever, but to grow His kingdom. Seems fair. I'm not going to even hint that I am good, or even mediocre, at using any of the gifts He has given me. On good days, I am probably a C-. Don't get me started about the bad days. But I still understand The Lord's expectations and I am blessed when I actually do what He asks.

I have been indescribably blessed by writing and the responses I have received during this journey of cancer and treatment and all the ins and outs of this unique time. But then...my words went away. I am not sure if it is the radiation that is derailing me, or the fact that I have enough contraband coursing through my veins to qualify me as a card-carrying drug mule, but either way....words....gone. It seemed to me sensible that God would be more clear as to the words and really give me a hand on this (I'm playing hurt, Coach! Gimme a break!!), but no...He just asks me to....wait....and (worse)...LISTEN!!

So. I did. I guess that's kind of the good news-bad news part of this leg of the journey: I find that I am not able to do much more than that. Oh, except for having some outrageously fun pity-parties, and anyone who knows me at all knows how much I love to entertain. At the beginning of this particular adventure, I had myself convinced that I would be spared the discomfort usually associated with pounding out of a monster like this. After all, I had Faith!! I loved JESUS!! And He would make treatment a piece of the proverbial cake!!!

ahem....not so fast....

Maybe I can blame the drugs again, but I seemed to have forgotten the Bible that I was reading. It is full of all kinds of promises for Believers. Yes, there is the promise of Eternal Life and abundance and blessings - in Heaven. Oh, yes, Jesus blesses us here on earth, also, and promises to NEVER leave us nor forsake us. But the same Savior also promises trials and pain and suffering. And I think it being sucky is a major component in the criteria that defines "Trial". oh, yeah.... now I remember...

So, this is what treatment - and this particular trial - looks like: it is a Monday-Friday gig, even though I have yet to do that. I had my first zappage on a Tuesday, so four days that week, and this week was mercifully broken up by Thanksgiving, thus making it a three day week followed by a one day week. But this week and next...five whole days in a row. Each session - all four sites - takes less time than it does for your dentist to go poking around your mouth, then say "rinse and spit"...and far, far less uncomfortable. In fact, I generally snooze a skosh, it's so kinda chill.

When I look back at my loopy first entry after my very first treatment, I think perhaps, just perhaps, I jumped to some erroneous conclusions. See above. The second treatment day, Greg and I met Don at our Wednesday evening Bible Study at church and I was still feeling pretty perky. Not so bad!! Yes, God is preserving from discomfort in this battle and trial and stuff!! Somewhere around the 2/3 mark of our Pastor's lesson, I noticed that the floor seem to be getting closer by a wee bit. Not only that, but lying on said floor seemed like a more and more viable option. I wasn't in pain at all, nor nauseous. I just had apparently run a marathon without remembering it. I know I had conversations with my wonderful CCW (Calvary Chapel Westside, for you newcomers....and old timers) family, but it's kinda hard to remember any of 'em.  Sorry, my beloveds.....

As treatments and days moved on, I began to feel what the literature promised - both the Bible and the stuff about radiation. Now, before you start feeling too sorry for me (something which you will never be better than me at doing. There goes that control thing again), let me tell you that it isn't like I am being so nuked that I "ding" when done, nor do I have things glowing or falling off of me...or out of me. It just is very...unpleasant. I have an undercurrent of queasiness that most mommies can relate to as part of those first fun weeks of pregnancy - but no amount of little crackers help. Fortunately, they have some pretty decent anti-blewp medicine (yay... more DRUGS!!!), so it's tolerable.

My palate has also been effected, which, as a foodie and cook, bugs me endlessly!! It was very interesting on Thanksgiving as I did my usual self-indulgent cooking like a psycho Martha Stewart. No, that is NOT redundant. Anyway, we had a few of our friends over, and I had budgeted my time and energy so I could get as much done as I could without turning myself into a blob that Don would have to pour into bed while entertaining our guests. Food done, people here - it was time to enjoy! Except...everything, EVERYTHING tasted so bland and the same to me, I was just miserable. But how blessed am I to have such friends who love me so much they ate a ton! Obviously, things came out better than my mouth was telling me, but it was still a rough one for me. See, did I not just TELL you how gifted I am at feeling sorry for myself!?!? Anyway, I have figured out how to eat brighter tasting things when I have an appetite, so it's not so bad.

The fatigue is something that I find that hardest, I think, but even that we have figured out. If we have anything to do on the other side, we get it done before treatment, because the steamroller with my name emblazoned across the front finds me about the time we are rolling into our part of the island. Again, completely manageable. For a more patient person.

I am beginning to walk a little more normally...for me - so that bar is kinda low to begin with. I am still pretty weak, and I won't be able to get in the water for another couple weeks because these targets that they painstakingly placed with likely come off!! Frustrating - but I'll live. I'm just quite eager to get back in, visit my fishies, and start building my muscles back up.

The weakness has definitely led to a couple moments of embarrassment. No, that's not accurate. Utter humiliation - but in a very entertaining way. A few days before Thanksgiving, I dropped Greg off at the 24 Hour Fitness and did our Thanksgiving shopping before going to treatment. One of my stops was Whole Foods for their sesame sticks. I ran into CCW family members Erica and her son, Samuel. I shoulda held on to them. After chatting it up, smiling about our errands, we split up to our different parts of the store. Mine was right at the front in those bulk food bins. And there they were. At the bottom row. Before all this nonsense, I was a relatively flexible little old Grammy, and strong, to boot. Have I ever mentioned that I am a prideful person who likes control and barely has a grip on reality when it comes to my limitations!?!?!? Squatted down, got m'sticks.... Could. Not. Get. Up. I tried reaching for the bins behind me, but I had visions of pulling the whole array down and being drowned in a sea of dried beans and other miscilaneous legumes. Behind me was a sprout-chewing, protein-smoothie-guzzling, ginger-headed biking-type examining the bulk food bins that had become my prison walls. I had no pride because I had no chance. I asked him for help, which he politely gave - then while saying "no worries!", he nearly sprinted for the other side of the store. Yeah...better that way for both of us, I think....

The good news is that the pain is definitely beginning to go away!! Howz that for a big ol' Praise God!!  To begin with, and as promised, the pain got worse before it got better. As they zap the oogies, healthy tissue gets nailed, as well. Not only that, but one of my radiologists (tell you about my nuclear entourage another time - but they R-O-C-K!!) described it as poking a hornet's nest. Oh, yes. Very good one. But since I have made friends with these things called pain pills, it was easily handled. This weekend I noticed a distinct easing in not only the site pain, but of the pain that plagued me to the point of seeing the doctor in the first place. To say I am grateful...I would be searching for the right words even if I had the full compliment at my mental disposal.

So, now I wrap this up. I want you all to know just how much your words of encouragement are part of this fight. I'm not always very brave or patient or cheerful or even very nice. But God is endlessly faithful, and He has surrounded me with people who continue to lift me up when it is hard. Ironically, and sadly, we found out this week that our brother-in-law (Don's sister's husband), Howard, has a recurrence of throat cancer - this time in his esophaegus. I now appreciate more the battle that he has, just as Don understands what Kathy is going through. It is part of the irony that Don and his two siblings are watching someone they care about fight this hideous enemy - Don and his sister, a spouse, and his sister, Carol, a grandchild. I ask your prayers for them as you pray for me.

This should be an interesting week. Somewhere, I need to start our annual manifesto known as the Dalton Christmas Letter. Not everyone on our list knows about this...adventure. Even Hallmark does not make a card for news such as this. But I trust in God to give me words. After all...He did give me a few zillion for this post...

Opening Salvo

Today was a big day. No kidding, Sherlock.

It is now tomorrow - even here in Maui. We just got back from the airport after picking up Greg! Oh, yeah - did I mention that Gregory is back!?!? No!?!? Well, he is! It seems that the Lord really wants this guy around to help us out, and we could not be more happy! It's kinda tough on the guy though, since he is able to be here because he is still unemployed - and he has not had twelve minutes of true unemployment since he started working when he was in High School. So, a crazy cheap fare from San Diego appeared ($150.00!! Can you believe it!?!?), and we all knew that he was meant to be back here.  Thank you, God!!

All this followed a few hours of time-killing at dinner, Walmart and Starbucks, which of course, came after my first encounter with the Weapon of "Mass" Destruction. get it?!!?? Mass?!!? As in tumor!?!?!? Oh, man, I crack myself up!!! And even at this hour...dang, I'm funny.... So, the Lord is not only by my side, he brought Star Trek along, too!! It blows my puny mind to think of the crazy smart minds that God created to invent this ginormous beautiful zapper.

Anyway, it was awesome and painless and a little weird as the radiologist kept coming over and drawing pictures on me. It may not be permanent like the tiny tattoos, but these bright blue crosshairs are in semi-indelible ink. They are gonna be a part of me for a while. I feel kind of like an urban wall if the NRA were doing the graffiti.

But God is very merciful. Totally painless - as in no sensation at all - and all I had to do is lay still. They kept saying I was doing great. I told them I studied Laying Down 101 as an undergrad.

But I'm tired. Did I mention a big day!?!? So, thus ends my shortest blog ever.

You're welcome.

Standing on the Ridge

"...today you are going into battle against your enemies. Do not be fainthearted or afraid; do not panic or be terrified by them. For the Lord your God is the one who goes with you to fight for you against your enemies to give you the victory."   Deuteronomy 20:3-4

In almost every movie or tv show that has some kind of battle in it, there is a moment when the central character stands on a ridge top and looks down and across at the enemy with whom he will be engaged in combat. Often, it is the night before, and it is a moment of introspection, anticipation, and apprehension.

Tonight, I find myself on such a ridge - albeit, a metaphoric one. But the battle is real, even if there are no actual encampments with torches and singing soldiers around bonfires. I'm looking down and across at an ugly enemy who disguised itself as something benign for years until it was discovered almost too late. Almost.

It is three months since this particular enemy was discovered, and less than that since we found out the type of venom it was harboring in its fangs. In the time between then and now, I have had more mood swings than a fifteen-year-old girl with boy troubles. I have periods of great hope and near-excitement for what God is doing - and has already done. But then, I have moments where I think that I just simply cannot do it. In fact, I just won't do it. But, this is kind of like labor - once you start it, you pretty much to have to finish it, one way or the other. Mommy can't just suddenly decide that Junior is just fine where he is, any more than I can decide to change my mind and not have cancer.

There are already a few things that have been lessons and blessings (my head so wants to say blessons and lessings), that even if God healed my tomorrow, they are indelibly printed on my soul.

First is the consistent, loving, cheerful attitude of EVERY medical person we have met! I know that Maui Memorial has this reputation of being somehow less-than, and to my friends - and I love you all - who insist upon continuing to disparage, criticize, or otherwise say not-nice things about this very unique hospital, please rethink, or at the very least, refrain from doing so out loud. All hospitals are full of germs and things happen. I have a friend who is now a doctor in Dallas (HI, SHARON!!). She told me things about the two hospitals in which she did her internship and residencies that would make anybody rethink the medical system. That is because these places a run by humans, who are just as prone to mistakes and mishaps like the rest of us. They put in insanely long hours, work with people at their absolute worst, take the blame for things over which they have no control - but are still there on the front lines doing everything they can to save the lives of total strangers as though they were closest kin. As I stated before, I have had more experience with hospitals than I ever wanted, but it gives me a measuring stick. The two hospitals I have spent time in here in Hawaii have been filled with such loving and gracious spirits. My care has been exceptional. I have never been treated with anything but warmth and compassion and as an individual - never one of a herd. The education and training of these doctors is impressive - and they further demonstrate their smarts by escaping the rat races on the mainland and practicing their art in paradise. Sounds like the kind of medical entourage that I would have picked for myself - but God did it for me.

Another thing is the overwhelming love - and food - of the people in my church. And at my former home church in San Diego. And a group of prayer warriors who were part of a team that prayed for a missionary team in Rwanda. And family (but technically, I think think they're supposed to. It's the code...). But it has really brought into focus my fierce independent streak. okay. I will call it what it is: I am a sort of personal control freak - meaning, I don't want to control you, but I sure want to control me. In fact, that is the primary reason I stayed away from drugs (until now!) and more than a little alcohol. I wasn't that much of a goody-two-shoes, I just hated anything that messed with my head. But what kept me safe until I actually developed a better value system has matured into that fierce independence better known as pride. I hate when anyone has to take care of me - even my sweet husband. I am not overstating this. I hate it, despise it, loathe it. I have no problem being there in a pinch for someone. It doesn't make me better than others, but because I am in that position of control, I feel more comfortable. This has been a real humbler. I have had to accept help in the most basics of functions - physical and otherwise. I have had to let others drive me around. I have had to accept meals prepared when I so love to cook. Small tangent: Fortunately, this is the best cooking church we have EVER been a part of - which explains the TEN POUNDS I gained in about ten days!! Enchiladas, chimchangas, beef stroganoff, pasta with meatballs, creamy chicken & rice & broccoli, roasted chicken, desserts...and ONE salad!! and then there was the second night - AHAHAHA!!! Kidding, obviously - but you get my point. And each meal prepared with love, brought with love. For me and mine. I am blessed by a blessing I feel uncomfortable accepting - and maybe that's the biggest blessing of them all.

Another side to that same coin is my need for privacy. Yes, I am a ham, in many ways. No one will ever accuse me of being shy. I am unafraid to speak in front of three or three hundred - and I have done both. I have been pretty transparent about my shortcomings - and some of them are E-P-I-C!! But I am very, very private when it comes to my needs. I hate admitting to being sick. I hate admitting that we need prayer for some financial challenges. I hate admitting how insecure I am. Or how lonely I can become. I hate admitting needing help (see above paragraph). Again, however, this need for privacy is also pride. I like my image of being the always positive, always friendly, always happy lady. I may be those things much of the time, but certainly not always. This past weekend I was leveled by an intestinal bug that could have come from all the meds or some just-a-wee-bit-too-old cranberry-pomegranite-cherry drink. Doesn't matter which - it was just plain miserable. This meant that my weekend of fun was messed up. The weekend of messed-up fun was right on the heels of Don's two days off, which were also supposed to be fun. Since the first three days of last week were spent driving back and forth to the other side for medical stuff, we opted to make Thursday a "no-pain" day - meaning, Denise stays in bed, legs elevated and as gorked on pain meds as she is allowed. But that was supposed to lead to an all-fun Friday. Did not happen. Don had to go to a work breakfast, and by the time he got home, I was already feeling a little off. I was not a friendly-positive-happy lady. It had been a rough week. I began to question God in less than respectful ways. I began to wonder if I really wanted to fight this fight. I could, without much effort, list off a dozen people who would have been there for me - to listen, comfort, and pray - if only I had not been so worried about my image. Privacy is a two-way prison.

I find that I, in my darker moments, think about the life we had a few short years ago. While I don't think there is any such thing as a charmed life, there are certainly blessed ones - and the Daltons certainly fit in that category. We had a pretty large, beautiful home in San Diego, with a pool and jacuzzi, koi pond, aviary, etc. We had parties. We traveled. Life was pretty dang sweet. Oh, of course, there were some really tough times, too. You can't raise three sons and be married for over twenty-some years with shedding some metaphorical blood. And those epic shortcomings of mine?? So on display at that time. Now, years later, we had a financial shift thanks to...well...actually, the economy takes the blame, but it was God teaching some pretty self-involved (although LOVELY) people a very painful lesson. Our sons are dealing with some trials in their lives, which is the quickest way to to get to parents' hearts. And now this. But....when I get my eyes off of myself, and back on the Lord who loves me, I realize that NOW is the blessed life! I see my husband and sons loving in me in a way that blows my little drug-pickled mind. I see my sisters and brother and nieces and nephews and cousins and in-laws just rallying to my side. And I get to do all of this, see all of this, while living in my absolute dream location. I love Maui. I picked the perfect place to get better. Yes, my life is rich and full and blessed.

And tonight, I am looking down and across at the enemy camp. I'm not going to lie and say I'm not afraid of what it's going to feel like, what the side effects will be. I spent the larger part of last week crying about the upcoming loss of my hair once chemo starts in January. But this battle is a little more unknown. And my heart pounds in apprehension. I think about the leaders in the Bible. Did Gideon's stomach twist before he and his three hundred faced down the huge armies of the Midianites? Did Joshua have sweaty palms before he blew the trumpet at Jericho? And David. Did that little shepherd kid want to toss his cookies before tossing a stone that killed Goliath? Almost assuredly, yes. Even Jesus - God Himself - sweated blood in anticipation of His torture and being crucified.

I certainly don't compare myself with any of those - especially our sinless Lord who took that pain, torture, and cruel death for my sake. I just know that I need not let the devil tell me that my faith is weak because I am scared of the unknown. I need not feel like a hypocrite because of my weaknesses - wanting my way, my privacy, and my nice life, I know that they are all part of the same trial and part of the same disease that God is preparing to rid me of.

I'm looking down and across at the enemy camp. I'm ready to go to battle.

The Substance of Things Hoped For...

...the evidence of things not seen...

The Apostle Paul gives this eloquent and succinct definition of Faith in his letter to the Hebrews (11:1), yet it is an idea and way of believing that most - if not all - Christians still grapple with. My friend, Vania, stated it clearly last week, after we had been praying for a quick clearing of the insurance red tape so the scheduled surgery could go as planned, and it cleared - much to our shock and amazement.

"We say," said Vania, "when we see the issue, 'oh, God's got this. No problem!', and then when He does take care of it, we say "Really?? You're kidding!!'" In other words, perhaps we don't believe quite so much as we say we do. We ask for the miraculous, proclaiming praise for our omnipotent God, then drop our teeth when we see miracles - minor or major.

As if we didn't have enough evidence of God's power all around us and in the Bible and throughout history and over insurance companies, we were about to be blown away by something that still boggles my already boggled mind.

To get to that part, we have to go through this part: my globectomy - the original lump that has apparently caused all this rucus. A few episodes back, if you recall, they did a biopsy on said globular mass, but found only icky dead stuff inside with no active cancer cells. It turns out that that this is the likely culprit after all - a muscle sarcoma. I know. I said that last time...or the time before.

At any rate, this was a bad guy, icky, globular - and tied up to a few things inside my leg, like arteries and nerves and stuff. What made this all so crazy is that this had been there for a number of years, but had been wearing its lipoma-muscle-knot-tendon disguise, so it got away with just sitting there. It also did nothing offensive or obvious like causing discomfort or being visible. Of course, the fact that I am not now, nor ever have been, a skinny minnie when it comes to ANY part of me - let alone legs that used to run sprints - might have helped with that last part. What was getting almost comical was how all the medical people were asking when it started to bother me. Well.... NOT UNTIL YOU PEOPLE STARTED POKING AT IT!!! But the decision was made to remove it - or as much as they could - before starting radiation.

As I told you in one of my leapfrogged posts, this is called a "de-bulking" procedure. Dr. Lyons, my surgeon-without-a-nicname, made it very clear that this was not a "cure" type surgery because it had already gotten out of the barn, so to speak. Had this beast been still contained, with no signs of spread, then they would be taking a more aggressive "cure" type action - which would have meant taking the ENTIRE quad muscle!!! YEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOW!!!! have you seen the television series House?!!? About the junkie, cranky, brilliant doctor who is forever hobbling because his quad muscle died and disintegrated!?!? Well, I wasn't ready to be Dr. House in any way, shape, or form, so I'm thinking that this ain't so bad. So, the plan was to get about 90% (at best), and have the rest nuked away.

Just before I went in, Dr. Lyons and his anesthesiologist (my next new bff) were ultrasounding the heck outa this bad boy. What I just saw as gray squiggles, just like almost ANY ultrasound (yes, I even mean those of your baby the size of a wasabi pea...even though it is the cutest wasabi pea ever!), they saw as a problematic wad of goo and cancerous calcifications. While the nurse anesthetist was doing her best to start iv's (yes, plural) with veins that are ready for "Intervention", thanks to all the zillions of tests and previous iv's, Dr.'s Cutter and Gas-Passer were looking at the gray squiggles and pointing at a pulsing squiggle that they identified as the femoral artery. I didn't disagree, even though I had been on Webmd only 24 hours previous. The point they were making to each other was that this thing was in a delicate place (you're telling me?!??), and actually crossed over into the groin area (again, you telling ME delicate!?!?). As they were deciding different ways of shaving and planing of this thing like a lump of aged cheddar, I just lay there chatting with the nurse as she kept drilling for oil. A few minutes later, I was in the O.R., headed for blissful oblivion. My work was done. It was now up to them. Well....up to them and whatever God had in store.

The night before, I had been with Don, and much of my church family, at our Wednesday night worship and Bible Study. At the end, our dear friend and Pastor, Steve, has folks lay hands on me and pray. His prayer was specifically that the doctors be shocked by what they find, and that this tumor be able to be lifted cleanly away from all nerves and arteries.

The Substance of things hoped for....

Don, Steve, and Kim (Steve's wife and my dear, funny friend), were waiting for the doctor. When Dr. Lyons came in, the dude was all excited and downright giddy - with a picture of a red, nasty glob in tow. The tumor had lifted clean away. It was encapsulated in a way that NO ONE saw. It was whole and intact. I had been marked to receive 3 units of blood, because they expected this highly vascularized (lotsa blood vessels) to bleed like crazy once they being the shaving process. I needed no blood. The surgery was to take a least 2 hours. It was less than 90 minutes. I was to have drains for a least a couple of days, and be in the hospital 3 or 4. I had no drains, and was out in 48 hours.

...the evidence of things not seen.

There are times when my stuff might almost need a disclaimer, warning all you who lovingly read, but do not Believe. But that's wrong. In fact, I think this one should come with a "Claimer", as in I claim the name of Jesus. Oh, not the 2:00 a.m. "I-claim-in-the-name-of-Jesus-to-stand-up-and-do-the-Hokey-Pokey-and-here's-your-million-dollars-once you-pay-me-a-few-thousand" type of false claiming, but the claim of our hearts to the One who claimed us.

And as I still revel in this amazing thing - and by the way, Dr. Lyons was still giddy the next day! - I am now being asked to believe yet again. Don and I met with Dr. Labradoodle (main onco) and Dr. Tswing Tskirt Tsai (Radiation onco) for the overall picture as we begin to engage the enemy in earnest.

To summarize: I get mapped and tattooed tomorrow. Hopefully, the tattoos are not of a real big map. These, from what I hear - and study on the internet, of course - are just little dots so they can nuke the same place each and every time. Of this, I am glad. I do not relish the idea of two techies playing Nuclear Battleship with my tumors. The therapy will be five days a week for five weeks. This will have me in fine fettle (what is a fettle and why do I want to be in a fine one?!!?) by the time we hit San Diego on December 20! I also get to be one of the first to use the brand spankin' new Nuke Tube. And, yes, it is state of the art, not something they picked up on E-bay from a "real" hospital on the mainland.

When we return home to Maui, chemo will start. Since it is now clear to them that it is not Thyroid Cancer, the sequel, and it is simply a sarcoma (muscle cancer), they will be using a broad spectrum, potent set of what Dr. Altaha (Labradoodle) calls the backbone of chemotherapy. In order to possibly narrow the scope, they actually sent some samples to the Mayo Clinic for a second opinion! Did I tell ya!?!?  I'm a stinkin' ROCK STAR!!

But rock star status notwithstanding, I still have some not-so-fun stuff ahead. As radiation begins, the dying tissue will cause pain to get worse before it gets better. That's okay. They have me on MORE narcotics!! wow...I really am a rock star..... ANYWAY, once things start settling down, then the pain will go away. Away away. Like it hasn't been away in over a year. Makes my head spin. no...wait....that's the morphine.... or the other stuff....

Once chemo starts....I will be sporting a very clean, smooth style on my noggin. Yup. Losin' m'hair. I wish I could sound all brave and strong and la-dee-da and stuff, but honestly, that's not how I feel. I know, it will grow back, but gee-mo-nee. I am a girl. I am a girl with LOTS of brushes and LOTS of hair product. Yes, I know that there are my girlfriends in Maui totally dying at that bit of trivia, because, quite honestly, the top-down jeep in my usual hair stylist. But I like having options. I'll be okay...I just need to process.

And I need to have F-A-I-T-H. I need to remember the miracles that God has already brought down our path. I need to remember His sovereignty and power and His MERCY!! It is going to be okay!

I'm closing this out, now. The pharmacy is taking over in my system. But I just wanted you all to know. I wanted you to know the amazing ways that God is working over here. I'll get silly about the goofiness that we've encountered (and it is considerable), when I do my next post.

And, Vania, I promise to try to not be shocked the next time the Lord answers a prayer so quickly and specifically.

Medusa Hair and an Eggplant Thigh

(*a little note to start: this is taking me a few days to write. Make that, several days. Seems that sitting at my desk for extended periods of time is not an option for the time being. In fact, I barely get a sentence done at each sitting. Between the discomfort from my banged up leg, and the morphine, and the banged up leg, and the morphine, and the....wait a minute....this sounds familiar.....  Okay. I think you get the point. I am also finding words are disappearing on me. Yes, I usually have more words than this. Scary, huh... So, forgive the extended nature of this post. I hope it sounds cohesive and coherent. Barring that...may at least be entertaining....)


I have discovered one of the most unique and unexpected positives about getting older and gaining perspective: the joy of being wrong. Now I am not talking about doing the wrong thing, because that's never good, and I'm not talking about saying the wrong thing, because that's just mean, and certainly am not talking about wearing the wrong thing or accessorizing wrong, because, well...it just makes me shudder to think about it.... I am talking about having a point of view or an outlook on a particular subject, and possibly even arguing enthusiastically your point - only to find a ways down the road that you were W-R-0-N-G!! And it turns out to be the best, happiest wrong you could be.

Case in Point: when Don's Real Estate biz was swirling around the commode for the umpteenth time, he wanted to work for one of the Time Share sales places around here. Nuh-uh. Tell me, don't you get just a wee bit heebie-jeebied at the mere mention!??? Well, I got a LOT heebie-jeebied. Don and I had been to at least three, and had not once left NOT livid. I don't like schmoozey pushy creepy smarmy high-pressure condescending superior salespeople. Of any product. And I am a former Tupperware Lady!!! Anyway, my hubby is none of those things on his worst day, and I still just believed in him and his business so much. Don believed in eating and paying rent and having health benefits. After a few reeeeeally enthusiastic....discussions, shall we say, I finally quieted down long enough for God to speak to me, I backed off - and Don got this job which is not a thing like the days of olde. He loves the program, (most) of the people, and the benefits. The benefits which got me into the doctor.

Soooooo happy to be soooooo wrong!!

Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I knew I was going to have my left femur "stah-bih-lised" by one of the O-cubed (Ortho Oncos on O'ahu). I am fascinated by medical stuff, and I also wanted to prepare myself for what might lie ahead. So, of course, I hit the internet, knowing that this is where any of us can go to diagnose and choose proper treatment for ANYTHING. Figuring I knew what to search for, I plugged in "femur replacement" - because, after all, everything that can be found on the internet is totally factual and is just as good as a decade or so of medical school and who needs doctors when you have webmd!?!? Actually, Since I went to college to study religion and psychology, this qualifies me to got to actual Journal articles - which I did.

HOLY MEAT SLAB, BATMAN!!! Greg was still visiting, and since he was pre-med for his first semester at San Diego State, he was maybe even over-quailified to look at this stuff. The "eeeaaauuuw!!" that emerged from his lips didn't sound quite professional, however. What we saw was  what was purportedly a human leg, laid open from mid-calf to mid-hip. Neither Greg nor I are the squeamish types, but the prospect of that being done to my leg....ehh...yech.  But fascination took over and we got a little lost in looking at the amazing apparatus that would be attached to my leg.

After a bit, I looked at the after care stuff, which was my original intent for looking all this gory stuff up. After reading this, I want to go back to the meat slab. Five days in the hospital in traction - which, to me, meant one thing: BED PAN!! Then four-to-six weeks on crutches - meaning, no ocean for at least another month. This had me happy not a bit -which is what led to my yelling-at-God-in-the-open-jeep meltdown detailed in the previous post. But, I finally resigned myself to whatever would have to be - and we packed up for a week on O'ahu.

We scored big on the flight over to O'ahu from here - Don finding uber cheap tickets that were from our little local airport (5 minutes away) instead of the main one in Kahalui (50 minutes away). I still managed to make us nearly late. I am NOT used to moving this slow! Taking a nice sized puddle jumper to Honolulu was great - but it would get interesting later.  But more on that....later.

We also opted to rent a little car, trying to avoid the hilarious/calamitous/near disasterous adventures of cab rides. Besides, Don would need a ride back and forth between hospital and hotel. Never, in all our visits to Honolulu, have we failed to get lost. This was no exception, even though we got their little nav system. For one thing, she spoke tooooo sloooowly.... or she was reading her map and not sure where we were going either. At any rate, Don, the tiny lady in the Nav, and I had quite a tour of the area surrounding our doctor and the hospital in which all the stuff that was gonna happen was gonna happen. We finally made it though - after discovering that the street didn't quite go through. But we made it.

To say that this collection of doctors is impressive is an understatement. The group is an entire floor of orthopedic surgeons, and their credentials and specialties are equally so. After checking into the main registration desk, we were then sent to another suite of rooms to meet my young surgeon. And i do mean young. The youngest yet. He graduated high school only THREE YEARS BEFORE OUR OLDEST BOY!! But considering the group he was  part of, we didn't question.

Okay. So now we have as part of my medical entourage: Dr. Darren (Asian Doogie Howser) Egami, the ortho who has championed this from the beginning;  the main oncologist, Dr. Ramin (Dr. Labradoodle) Altaha; the radiation onco, Dr. Diane (Tswing Tskirt) Tsai, and now, my onco ortho, Dr. Gary Blum...num-num-yum-yum. Too stinkin' good looking. But, as with the others, super qualified and educated and smart enough to PRACTICE IN HAWAII!!

Let's cut to the chase (or chase to the cut...AHAHAHAHAHA!!!! I am too funny for my own good....ahhhhhh tears of mirth I must wipe away....). Our visit to Dr. Blum (num-num) was thorough and made me oh-so-happy - not because he was good-looking, but because he let me know quickly how WRONG I was, and oh, how happy I was to be so wrong AGAIN!!

I asked about the mile-long incision. He said, no, three small ones! I said, out of the water for six weeks? He said, no, two weeks. I LOVE THIS GUY!! Don thought that this meant it wouldn't be quite so painful, to which Dr. B (n-n) said, uh, no, it will definitely feel like someone hammered a rod down the middle of her femur. Shoulda quit while we were ahead...

Now I have to write faster. Just took all my sleepytime and painkilling drugs which means I could be nodding off in the middle of this. Like some of you all are. Don't lie.

We showed up for surgery (after having been a little lost...again) at the snazziest looking hospital ever! Queen's Medical Center lies above Waikiki, and looks more like a museum or old hotel - with historic displays and plaques, and hardwood floors so shiny that it is almost indecent for skirt-wearing ladies. Having checked-in, we then went to a holding area where we, along with other surgical patients...held. Technically, they were considering this a day surgery. Crazy, huh? We went from days in the hospital in traction to being bounced in a day, in less than 48 hours! But hold we did, and found ourselves blessed by a couple of prayer phone calls from a couple of our favorite prayer warriors. Awesome....truly blessed and overwhelmed....just awesome.

I met my new best friend in that time - the anesthesiologist - who SEEEERIOUSLY looked like he was a high school freshman dressed up in his dad's scrubs for Halloween. But he became my best friend after giving me a mix of anesthesia that did NOT have my insides looking for the quickest post-surgical exit. But I'm ahead of myself...

When it was my turn, Dr. B(n-n) came down to drive the gurney himself! I have had more experience with surgery than I ever intended, and this was a first. I found out later that this guy is so insistent about being hands-on in every aspect that he has no interns or residences that work for him. He is the original DIY Doc. My surgical staff was made up entirely of men - and, yes, most of them Hawaiian Hunky Men. Either that, or my new BFF had started the drugs earlier than I knew....at any rate, kinda okay with it!

I actually woke up fairly bright-eyed in recovery - hence the permanent BFF status (isn't that redundant?) of my Junior Anesthesiologist....who is probably waaaay older than I think, and certainly waaaaay smarter than most of us ever hope to be. I was fresh as a daisy so fast that I actually beat my hubby to the room. I had a private room, which was nicer than most motel rooms. There was a large comfy chair there for Don, which we later discovered opened up into a quasi-bed-cot-sleeping contraption. But I was comfy, and isn't that what truly matters?

To say that my care was special is quite an understatement. I had the most attentive nursing staff, which for me, meant that they would need to be around for the first walking adventure...to the potty...because I refused to use the dreaded bedpan. I mean, really. I was not about to sit and, you know, on something that looked like a large metal model of what can best be described as a giant Lego Man Hat. SO, walk it was. And walk I did. Well, I guess shuffle would be more like it, and I did have to plan well ahead of when I thought I might actually need to go potty. But we made it through the night, and into the morning for rounds...round...with Dr. B(n-n). AT 6:30 a.m., this guy was still as chipper as he had been every other time we chatter. I think this guy really does love his work!! He expressed how pleased he was, then proceeded to draw a very ACCURATE picture of my bones and what he did. Maybe this is why Dr. Labradoodle never became an orthopedic surgeon - he could never pass the art class. But this guy here was so confident, he sprung me that afternoon - much to the shock of our Calvary Chapel Westside Helping Hands Ministry Leader - or, her short name, The Angel, Denise Smith. This poor girl had met with me and set up meals to begin the next Thursday, not on Saturday or Sunday. oops.

(Oh, Lord love a little fuzzy duck. I am now about to start typing with my nose I'm so sleepy. And I haven't much of a nose with which to type. My plan was to stay up as late as possible, because as I write about one surgery that happened 4 weeks ago Friday, I am preparing for the next one tomorrow afternoon. But no sneak peeks. Guess I'll have to finish this in the morning....)

(**okay...this has been interrupted by that other surgery and the other blog - which means that you will have to figure out the the confused timeline I am presenting to you....WELCOME TO MY WORLD!!!)

Our return to Maui, was to say the least, a bit of a blur for me. I was fairly jacked up on pain killers, and what pain got through was enough to keep me occupied. The one teeny-tiny drawback was the whole wheelchair situation. This being our little Kapalua airport, there was no jetway (duh!) and not even a ramp to accommodate a regular wheelchair. What they do have is one of those cargo lifts (go ahead....make the obvious jokes...), but again, too skinny for a regular wheelchair. Instead, it is a little, armless chair on wheels, with a high back and enough straps on it for a M*A*S*H helicopter-side gurney. By this time, I was sweating profusely from the weather, exertion, and just downright nasty pain. And I then had to grab the necks of a couple of fortunate airport workers as they lifted me into the contraption that would eventually get me on the ground. The began the strapping. By the time they were done with me and bringing me out, all the was missing was the wire muzzle to keep me from looking like a female, sweaty Hannibal Lector. And Gregory was enjoying every bit of it.

Once the cargo lift got me and my strapped-in self down, it was then time to transfer to the regular wheelchair. Having spent a few more minutes sweating and getting slimier, it was now time for me to wrap my arms around a very strong-looking, Hawaiian gal...God bless her. As we were there, my nose to her cheek, as someone else maneuvered the skinny chair out and the regular one in and under, asking her to dance seemed the only polite thing to do. But then I pointed out that she would have to lead.

After what seemed like forever - for all involved - I was wheeled into the little waiting area where Greg was waiting. But not our ride home with friends Johnny and Dixie. Seems someone for got to call and tell them I was on the way home.... Johnny and Dixie live only ten minutes or so from the Kap airport, but egad, that felt like a long ten or fifteen. But their cheerful, loving faces showed up, and somehow, I got into the car. I seriously do not remember that part, but I am sure it was as entertaining as all other efforts to move me from Point A to Point B.

My re-entry into home was met with a bit of fanfare and anxiety from my normal not -anxious pup, FloJo. This doggy gets happy, but not whiny when her family comes home from being gone a couple of days. This time was different, and she knew it. Not only was there whining, but full on frantic-trying-to-get-out-of-the-yard craziness. Obviously, she had to wait, but it was one of those things where you see that dogs are much smarter than humans when it comes to sensing bad stuff.  Not that we humans raise the bar that high, but you get my drift.

I also had the special treat of my very own borrowed walker!! Johnny and Dixie had borrowed it from their 90+-year-old upstairs neighbor. I don't know if the lady just was immobile, or what, but a couple of days later, I got my very own used one - replete with fuzzy tennis balls - that J&D got free from Salvation Army. Wait 'til I show the other girls!!! But it got me around (and does again now), it came with love and a smile, and for freeeeeeee!!

The rest of the night was navigated through fog - with one notable exception: as if Johnny and Dixie had not done enough for us, they also made us a delicious dinner - Dixie's delicious spaghetti and meatballs. I wasn't very hungry, to say the least, but this just sounded too good.  My issues were also that I was pretty much done with sitting up for the night, and I was still orbiting somewhere near the Space Station. My beloved hubby got my as comfy as possible in bed (and OH, did that bed feel good!!!), then gave me a little bowl. Since I couldn't sit up, that meant lying on my back, and placing said little bowl balanced on my sternum. Don offered to feed me, but I told him to just enjoy the chow with his boy while watching college football. I also knew that it was not going to be pretty. Don laid a napkin on me between chin and bowl, asked again about sitting me up, to which I responded "ummnmnm-umnah"...to the best of my recollection.

Me and my yummy spaghetti and meatballs were free to relate in privacy. With every ounce of my already limited coordination, I speared a meatball, managed to cut said meatball in two, and then like a little crane, pulled the fork-impaled meatball the six or so inches to my waiting mouth, which was open and facing upward, chewed, and consumed the deliciousness. Then I took a break. Over the next twenty minutes or so, I continued this process - including twirling the noodles! I am a particularly good spaghetti noodle twirler, I must admit. Bowl finished, I set it back on the nightstand and drifted off into my drug-hazed happy place.

A while later- somewhere between ten minutes and two hours - I woke up to see that the little food elf had made a visit, and there was my little bowl on the nightstand with more of Dixie's yummy spaghetti and meatballs. My napkin/bib/safety shield was still in place from my first serving, so I just placed the little bowl back on my sternum and began to enjoy my seconds. Now, what transpired next is even more of a blur than other....transpirations (I get in my own way with words sometimes, but...just go with it...), but during the whole moving food from bowl to mouth, I either got cocky, lost concentration, or just simply nodded off, because I found myself the recipient of a pasta and marinara facial. The blob was sorta in line with my mouth, but nowhere near its designated target. This marked the end of the meal. Since there was no point in even attempting to call to my beloved caretaker, I simply removed the  glob. Did I eat said glob? Honestly....couldn't tell ya. But Don said nothing about there being anything left in the bowl or napkin....

I, for better or worse, am the veteran of more than a couple of surgical procedures. Not enough to earn myself a spot on a reality freak show, but enough to require extra space when medical forms ask about previous surgery. I should know to not ever judge how great a surgical site looks just a day or two after the damage was done. While I was definitely bandaged from hip to just above the knew, much of the skin was visible, and it was relatively clear and un-swollen.

My sister, Vicki, and I had a conversation during her visit here, about vegetables - particularly, eggplant. While she believes that eggplant is a most delicious veggie, and has a garden full of them back in her Minnesota home. I think eggplant could be the most vile thing I have ever laid my little palate on. Can't find an edible way to prepare it. BUT!! I think it could also be the most beautiful vegetable in appearance (there is a metaphor in that, but I'll save it for another time...). I think the color "eggplant", when used in design, is rich and saturated. But it should never, ever be seen as the color of a leg. After a few days, the bandages started easing off, revealing such an eggplant hue...and my swollen thigh had grown pretty much to an eggplant shape - and not the long, skinny type, either. ahhhh...beautimous......

To add to my overall post-surgical loveliness was the no shower for a week edict. look back up, what may seem volumes ago but is actually only a few paragraphs, to the rather sweat-covered return home. mmm-hmm. Over the years, my hair has gotten much curlier - especially around humidity. It can, at times, look kinda cute. This was not one of those times. So, add together no shower plus mucho sweat plus high humidity, and that equals not so much cute, but downright mythological creature horrifying. Now, while no one actually turned to stone upon visiting me, what rested atop my head was certainly Medusa-like in quality. By Tuesday, it had reached such a level of...of...really, words fail - that we had to attempt washing it kind of adjacent to the tub.

Since standing was not an option, and even sitting long was still not so good, we had to figure out how to manage getting at least seven layers of glech (THAT is the word I was looking for!!), without soaking down the entire bathroom. Our "master" bath is essentially a long skinny room with two sinks on one side, a shower/tub combo at the end, and a toilet jammed in between the two. Somehow, we had to get a chair over to the tub, between the potty and wall, with enough room for Don to stand there with the handheld and wash his invalid wife's head. The only chairs we have are our dining room chairs and a big fake leather desk chair. We opted for one of the dining room chairs - especially considering that the desk chair is on wheels. Might have made it easy to get me to the tub, but hard to keep me there. You know all those romantic book/tv/movie scenes that have these tender scenes of a man washing his wife's hair!?!?  It's so loving....so sweet...such a picture of devotion.... Yeah, well it was none of that. Between him trying to drown me (he swears he wasn't, but I don't know...), me either yelling in pain or at him - because he was trying to drown me - it was less than, shall we say, pitter-pattery-hearts inspiring. But we both made it out alive.

And now, we are almost five weeks after surgery - the titanium leg one, that is. We went back to O'ahu on the 19th for the post-op, and Dr. Blum-num-num was just as nummy and yummy as he was before. He was also even more excited, as he got to show us the x-rays of his work. Impressive, to be sure! The rod really does extend the length of the femur, and there is one long bolt holding it into my hip, and a shorter one just above the knee. Cool stuff. As far as the arm and any further follow up - that will happen in three or four months. Dr. B-n-n is sure that the arm should be okay since it isn't a load bearing bone. But I think he is looking forward to more HGTV-meets-The Health Channel medicine as he gets to pour in some kind of cement or plaster or grout filler. He calls it bio-carpentry. Don't know if that is an actual term, or if he really is as funny as he is cute and smart and gifted and cute.

I am so impressed with this guy's absolute enthusiasm for what he does - but I do remind him that his hands were chosen and gifted by God's hands. He did not disagree. In fact, every doctor hears the same from me. None disagree. Oh, for sure, some might be muttering under their breath as they leave the room because they don't want to argue with the lady with cancer, but I don't think so. We have yet to encounter arrogance, cockiness, or anything short of compassion and sweet spirits mixed with crazy smarts and credentials and education. I expect nothing less as God continues to guide us through this journey.

So, I promised you a long post. I kept my promise. There will be another one in the next couple days about this last bit of action on my legs. I intend to keep that promise, as well. Aren't you glad!?!?

Thanks for listening. You are appreciated. You are prayed for.