It's a God Thing...

Hello. My name is Denise....and I have cancer.

Now, unless you belong to some support group or you just have an uncomfortable way of introducing yourself, you would normally begin with a preamble of sorts - especially considering that I haven't written since my anniversary last November. So, I will preambalize - briefly - but just so you don't feel like your missing Season 2 of "Lost".

When this adventure into the Land of Oncology began, I had faith and hope and optimism - and some energy. In our last episode, I was about to finish my first round of radiation and I was excited to make our trip to Southern California for Christmas. I felt great, with little to no side effects. I was soooo excited!! Then my legs decided to do their Redwood tree impression - not in height, but certainly in girth. When one gets kind of a horrified look from a doctor, this is not good. Anyway, this guy gave me some stuff so the legs shrank some. I had been over-the-top ridiculously excited about the clothes I would be wearing - cute jeans and snazzy shoes, instead of our usually (but fun!) shorts and slippers (flip-flops to you mainlanders). Not to be. We had been jacked up to do all kinds of fun Christmasy activities - with me wearing every adorable pair of shoes and boots and jeans and stuff that I don't waer here. Well....not so much. Even though my legs were not sequoia -sized, they still had the circumfrence of an old ponderosa pine. And texture. I was stuck in uggs and old lady black fuzzy pants for the duration. To reeeeeally make the experience special, radiation sickness hit me about the second day there and I was relegated to one activity a day. Do I sound self-pitying!?!? Good. Hate to think I was the only one with this little gem of info. BUT!!! I was still with my favorite human beings that God ever dreamt up - and it was good!

We returned after nearly two weeks to begin the courses of chemo that would last until early May. Sorry to elude to "Lost" twice in the same blog, but I plan to bounce back and forth quite a bit as I get caught up, so I will leave all the chemo news to the side for a bit...

So....it IS a God thing. Maybe you might not think so - especially given the current state of affairs. But God has been all over this. if you don't see how, just understand that His ways are always better than ours. Always. Even when life - and God - seem the most cruel and callous. There He is. God.

My lessons in this began a whole stinkin' long time ago. The youngest of four, I was raised going to church, and I knew about Jesus. Kinda. But only inasmuch as He had something to do with Christmas and Easter. Okay, I knew He was born on Christmas, but I have to admit, to a little girl the idea of Jesus being alive after being dead sounded a lot more like a really creepy, scary thing than the best thing to ever hit humanity. I also knew that Sunday meant church - except for my father who sat home, watched hockey and ate milk toast. But we went to church.

I was a crazy tomboy growing up, and not very popular. My hair was fine and kind of stringy. Try as my mom might, she couldn't keep it looking neat. No sooner would she have the flat hair in a couple of pigtails or a pony, I'd be off running to school, turning up there, hair askew, my dress a mess (no pants, those days), and my shoes usually untied. I actually had a third grade teacher stand me in front of a mirror to point out what a mess I was. By the time I was in fifth grade, I had glasses. Those were not the days of stylish frames. Nope. These were the good old "four-eyes" days. I also was born with a too-small nose, which meant that my glasses were perpetually at half-mast - especially if I had been running. And I was still running. By the sixth grade, the dye was cast. Even though I was quite athletic, I was neither cute nor charming nor one bit popular.

I had a life rope, though. A girl named Laurie. She lived in the house behind/above (it was on a hill and we kept up this happy argument for decades) and I loved her with all my heart. It wasn't always easy. Her birthday was two days after mine and one of the few times I had a party, everyone else went to hers. No malicious intent. It's just the timing. But we became best friends after I stuck with her when her other best friend had left her high and dry over some tiny incident. We were thick as thieves after that.

Laurie also struggled mightily with self-worth. Raised in a strict Irish Catholic home, she was a middle kid with an older sister she worshipped and a younger brother she adored. Both of them were popular in their own right - but I knew that Laurie was the gem. She made me laugh like no other and she made me feel special. We stayed side-by-side through the ravages of Junior High and early high school. By that time, Laurie had begun to struggle with her weight just as everything started to fall Physically into place for me. It didn't change much of anything for either of us, though. I was still unpopular at school. In fact, I wasn't that popular at home, either. My brother was the next closest to me in age, but that was nearly four years. By the time I was fourteen or so, he was out of the house. My sisters had long since left, so I was alone in a house with contentious parents who were never really sure how they felt about each other - or me, so I felt.

In the late 60's, early 70's, a little something called the "Jesus Freak" movement began in Southern California. I remember a "Life" magazine cover depicting head-bands-over-long-hair hippies with one arm around another with the other holding a pointer finger straight in the air, meaning "one way". It eventually birthed what we know today as Calvary Chapel. I was still attending my Episcopal church - doing all the right things because it was time to do them - but Laurie had started attending a Bible Study that changed her life. It was Laurie who introduced me to Jesus. She not only told me about the amazing people she had met at this bible study, but she also gave me my first New Testament - The Good News Bible. It had the physical conformation of any paperback novel, with it's cover depicting a newspaper - but inside was pure gold. In fact, it is still my favorite go-to translation when grappling with a passage or introducing the gospel to another.

As a brief side note, as happens so often in our lives and busy society, Laurie's paths and mine diverged and we lost touch. But I can never stop thanking her or loving her. She changed my life. She introduced me to Jesus.

The lonely kid who was never invited to the cool kids' table was now invited to be a permanent fixture near the head of the ultimate cool kid banquet table. The sad girl who felt out of place in her own family was now a child of God, and equal heir to His Kingdom. What had been not much more than tradition, ritual, and nice stories from the Bible was now apparent as truth, and as Love. God.

I would love to say that my walk with the Lord only progressed and I followed Him without wavering...but I have a healthy fear of lightning bolts or huge fissures opening in the dirt beneath me. Like so many, I wandered off the path set before me. I was rebellious and undisciplined when it came to my own personal walk with the Lord. I stopped reading my bible every day and I was still attending my family's church without truly connecting the dots. My wandering feet led to some rather stunning life-changing. More details on that another time....but suffice to say, God once again plucked me from the snares I had jumped into myself. He turned the ashes I gave Him into beauty. God.

Soon, I met the man I was to marry. In fact, I knew I would marry him even before I loved him. God seemed to get (duh!!) that i was now so determined to escape my living situation at home by marrying the first guy who would have me. But God is also ENDLESSLY merciful, so he brought me the best. Problem was....Don was not saved. Shoot. He wasn't even biblically housebroken. Though I knew that God was telling me to be patient, and I knew we were wildly unequally yoked. Don and I were married  six short months after our first date. But again, the Lord knowing the entire span of my chaotic life protected us during early difficult years - difficult only because I pushed things too fast in my desperation to get out from where I was living. But a few years later, Don DID accept Christ, but we had hurt each other a lot on the way to the blessed marriage God had designed for me all along. Thirty-six years, three sons, one daughter-in-law, two grandchildren later, I am more head-over-heels than I ever thought, and I look at my family, blown away by my abundance. God.

About four years ago, our kids grown and gone with successful lives of their own, Don and I began this, our Big Adventure! Having visited Maui many times, and my husband realized that me and Maui were as much made for each other as he and I. Oh, Don loved Maui, all right. We both love the laid-back life, and he was hoping for new adventures. I wanted to snorkel and paint and go to the beach and snorkel and write and suntan and snorkel and run my business and snorkel and...well, you get the drift. So, in May of 2008 we put our beloved Alejo Lane house on  the market. I knew that God was going to show HIS power by overcoming a crashed Real Estate market by selling our house at top dollar in about two weeks. Instead of fourteen days, it took fourteen MONTHS!! But God made His blessing clear, as two separate offers came within forty-five minutes of each other and at the the same price. July 31, 2009, we closed escrow...and Denise and Don's Big Adventure began. God.

We set our feet on this island as residents on September 1 of that same year. We arrived with only Don's Lexus waiting, and plans to try to find me a Toyota Solara convertible. We also had no place permanent to live, but stayed in a vacation condo for three weeks until we found more permanent digs. On the second day, we found an ad for my dream car - three floors directly below our place and parked next to our rental car! Deal made and I was a happy chick cruising the island in my silver solara! We found our home a few days after that - a beautiful condo in Ka'anapali, with small ocean views , a pool and jacuzzi in the complex, and right on the Ka'anapali Kai (South) golf course! We could not have planned it better. But we hadn't. God.

Life as we had dreamed it began to unfold before us if by magic. Except for a couple of loneliness hiccups, our world was close to a dream - Don ran his real estate business during the day, working open houses and expired listings looking for new clients. Our new church family at Calvary Chapel Westside became a blessing beyond our wildest expectations. Nearly every morning, FloJo and I would walk down, first to our local coffee hangout, Island Press, then on to the beach, where I would sit and read the Word - the Pacific laid out before me with Lana'i and Moloka'i as backdrops. I might spend the rest of the day writing or painting or trying to find a new angle for my wedding business. By the time Don got home, we were ready to watch the sunset for our own lanai, or better yet, from the tee box on Hole #8. Living on a golf course had unexpected perks, namely, that our dog was allowed to run free after all golfers were gone. FloJo definitely lived up to her sprinter name when she was flying along the fairway! A few nights a month the moon would be so bright that one could play a little moonlight golf. Living just up the hill from the Ka'anapali Resort meant frequent spontaneous visits to Whaler's Village for a little Hula Pie. The apex moment was realized when our entire family came over for Don/Dad/Grampy's 60th birthday that May. Sheer magic. God.

After several months, things began to unravel as quickly as they had come together. Human promises made were revealed to be made from dust. Don's business not only was failing, but his brokers left him high and dry on a couple of major deals. His loyalty was not returned in kind. Instead, he faced a hostile work environment where integrity was more of an abstract concept that one studied for instead of actually practiced. Don stayed on until finally pushed out of one last deal. He struggled on with a newer, smaller broker with good people, and gained one high-end listing and one very high end buyer! By that time, our landlord chose to not renew our lease, so we found ourselves in need of a place to live with our dog. Our sweet life of sunset-watching on the #8 tee box and moonlight golf were over.

The listing client offered an oceanfront bungalow for a couple of months at what he said was a greatly reduced rent - but that dream also quickly dissolved into a nightmare. From there, we went to a little one-bedroom listing of the brokerage at one of the nicest resorts on the westside. It meant we had to board FloJo, but the space was clean and safe and on the ocean during whale season! Don's buying clients had opened escrow on a home on the Big Island - and then closed. They opened on a second one, and it looked like things were turning around. I began the search for another long-term rental. And then it all imploded. Don's buyers' funds were inaccessible due to family and litigation and trusts. Don's listing client turned out to be...shady, at best, wanting Don to fudge with numbers and prices and essentially cheat the legal system. At the same time, the little unit we were in went into foreclosure. I thought that we as tenants would be covered for a least 90 days, but it turns out that the Homeowners Association can collect rent that they deem fair from the existing tenant. Because the unit itself, while shabby and a view of the loading dock, would demand close to triple what we had been paying, and could afford to pay. The dye was most certainly cast. Don told his shattered wife that they would be returning to the mainland to regroup. But somewhere inside my husband knew. God.

When we flew out 9 days later, I was still shell-shocked. In fact, I remained pretty much that way for weeks. We lived in our motorhome, first in a nice RV park in a depressing little desert town, then in various spots near our youngest and his family - including parking lots or the street, at times. It was a nightmare for me. But my husband kept me from flying completely apart, reading scriptures to me nightly, holding me while I screamed and cried out in self-pity, grief, and rage - and praying, praying, praying. Almost everyone thought we were "home" - with the notable exception of my mother. She understood what "home" meant to us now, and where "home" truly was. As much as we are in love with our kids and grands, Maui was now a part of us. Mother got that. Due to her own circumstances, she had to leave the Arizona community that she had grown to love with all her heart. She supported our return from the start...and our deep emotional rift began to close and heal.  In the meantime, the young family who had been dog and jeep sitting were moving out of their condo in Napili - would we be interested in taking over?? Perfect size, perfect rent...and the dog and jeep waited for us there. For the nearly five months we were on the mainland, Don and I got to hang out with grandbabies, have grand mini-adventures, I finished my first novel, and my mother and I found each other again. On September 13 we returned home to Maui. On September 29, Mother went Home to her Lord. God.

While we were thrilled and blessed beyond words to be home, many of the issues that sent us to the mainland were still a problem. Don's Real Estate business had taken a few more hits and extricating himself from his shady client proved to be...a challenge. Don had been talking about the Time SHare business for a while, but I was adamantly opposed. He and I had been to three in our lifetime, and I never left one of these experiences NOT livid! My husband was not going to become one of those sketchy, sleazy salesmen. Besides, I still loved home being in Real Estate and I thought if I just nagged- um...encouraged him enough, he would succeed. Unfortunately, this meant I wasn't listening. Not to my husband. Not to God. There are times when closing my mouth and getting me to listen stands right up there with parting the Red Sea and making time go backwards as far as God's miracles go. This most certainly was one of them. But I did finally listen as God was telling me to be quiet and submit to my husband. In that moment, I knew that I had to trust my husband - and the Lord, most of all. Within a few weeks, he got a job at Diamond Resorts International selling vacation points. A few weeks after that, we were eligible for health insurance and I had my first doctor visit, discussing the severe pain in my left hip. Within a few weeks, we knew the enemy that existed - but we also knew who had the entire thing covered by His Mercy and Power. God.

While this was happening to me, Greg's life hit a road not just with speedbumps, but one completely torn to shreds. God ripped him from what Greg thought were good plans and a future in Southern California and set him out blind and homeless for this same season that saw his mom being diagnosed and fighting StageIV cancer. It seemed cruel for a loving Father to do. Not once, but twice, God made flights here for Greg cheap, and on just a couple of days notice. Having Greg here helped beyond any measure, allowing for his father to continue work while he drove me to tests and radiation. It was also the richest time we had ever spent with our middle child. That season for Greg had pretty much passed. He is back in Portland, with an even better job at the same facility he worked at before, and another big, Godly house full of crazy Godly people. Greg sounds more content than I have ever heard him. God.

Over the next several months, it was a Mr. Toad ride through scans and blood work and biopsies and more scans. I was sure I must be glowing in the dark with all the radioactive contrast solution being pumped through me. In it all, God not only protected my heart from fear, He allowed the twisted way I have of looking at things to really come through. Never had I been so grateful for my rather warped brain. God also blessed us ABUNDANTLY with loving people with scary smart brains. Maui had just recently opened the Pacific Cancer Center - and I do mean recently. I am among the first to use the "Diva", their radiation device that quietly and painlessly beats the cheese out of tumors. The oncology department, to a person, was nothing but joy, smiles, and Aloha. They knew our names after Day One. We were greeted with enthusiasm that was heartfelt. There were goodies and musicians (although the harp player did seem a little hilarious and maudlin to Greg and I). They give Don and I so much praise for having great attitudes. We explain that it isn't us, but our Lord, because He has CHOSEN us for this time and has CHOSEN them as His weaponry for fighting this monster. No one shuts us off. No one dismisses what we say (at least in front of us!!). They listen. They smile. Most nod in agreement. God.

This time was also a revealer among friends and family. When a cancer, or any life-threatening or catastrophic event is discovered and named, people with either flock or flee - no one remains unaffected. I knew it going in, and while I was sad at some who chose to flee out of fear, I was more than blessed by those who flocked around me. One friendship came out of seemingly nowhere and I found myself trusting another woman in a way I hadn't for nearly twenty years. I can - and have - shared anything with her and I know I am safe. Other friendships deepened. It didn't mean I wasn't sad about the ones for whom it was too much for them - I still love them and I understand - but God redirected me and reminds me daily that He is the one who is always faithful and not to look to humans for flawless companionship. I have failed many people in my life, too. I was never alone. Even when there wasn't a sister sitting by my bedside, maybe reading to me, or talking quietly, or maybe just praying, I was never alone. God.

One of the most special and profound relationships to be blessed in this is that of my oldest sister, Vicki, and I. Recall a few paragraphs above. In my home, we were not taught to love one another. I'm not saying we weren't loved. No, our parents were good people who had come from craziness themselves. They made sure that we were safe and clothed and educated. We camped and went to the zoo. We had fun Christmases...mostly. But as far as being told anything positive, the response was always "well, that goes without saying". Really? To a kid?? Sarcasm and criticism were our family's primary languages. A year or so before my father died in 1990, I knew I wanted to tell him I loved him whenever the heck I felt like it. I wanted to do that with my mom, but I still didn't feel safe enough. But I began slowly with my father, giving him spontaneous hugs whether he wanted it our not! And telling him I loved him. It changed our relationship so much so that when he died of a massive heart attack at 68, I had no guilt. And God allowed my that same Grace with my mom in the months before her unexpected death. This time, I was the one with the sword over my head - the difference being is that we could all see it. As bold and mouthy as I was before, I knew God was reminding me how short all of our days are. Now was the time to say the things that should be heard - repeatedly and often. Vicki and her husband essentially dropped everything last September to be here to help, if need, but mostly just be together. I was quiet for a while, but God pushed me to the point where I had to speak. What started as a disagreement evolved into a wonderful, honest, painful, revealing talk. I made it clear that there would be no conversation that would end without an "I love you" - and there hasn't been. Vicki has been my chief cheerleader, showering me with goofy cards (she sent me a mooshy serious one once and I told her to NEVER  do that again!!). It's especially hard on her because she is the oldest and feels she should be able to fix things. She cannot fix anything about this - but she has learned to handle it with grace...at least around me! Vicki and Dave made it back out for another visit in March and while we didn't get to go out together, I enjoyed vicariously their adventures in our beautiful waters and all around this magical island. my sister and I are diametrically opposed on so many things politically - but it doesn't matter. We found each other because of my cancer and what only the Lord can do. My other sister and brother? I think they are still trying to wrap their minds around a little sister with this dreadful disease. But I still love them so much, and when God gives me that opportunity, I will tell them. Why? God.

So now... After months of radiation and chemo. After months of being helpless to do anything but lie immobile on my bed. After months of eating only a bite or two a day, ultimately losing almost 50 pounds. After countless hours of prayers and endless tears. After finding myself in a more intimate relationship with my Savior than I have ever known in my life....the day came when we heard the news we all wanted: total remission. Others celebrated while I was still sick from the "freight train" Dr. Labradoodle admittedly gave me - and for which I was grateful. Tears of joy. Smiles of celebration. Words like "miracle" and "walking testimony" were surrounding me, describing me. A very few, short weeks later, I thought I had a cyst that was growing rapidly out of one of the scars from my femur stabilization last September. I have a history of cysts, and this started small and directly from under the scar. The same surgeon who removed my primary tumor in October, and had been part of the miracle of that mass removing cleanly away when it was supposed to have wound around arteries and nerve bundles did the biopsy in his office. I wanted to hear "fluid-filled". No fluid. When it came back as a sarcoma again, I wanted to hear "encapsulated - no spreading". It had spread a bit to spine and lungs. No one was following the script. Not my surgeon. Not my oncologist. Least of all, God. 

On the way home from the biopsy, I screamed out my pain and anger and broken trust to God. I could not understand why He would do this to my family. Why raise our hopes only to crush them in His powerful fist, like some kind of cruel, sick joke? My faith was still there, but my trust in God had been blown to pieces. I called my pastor. I got his voice mail - fortunately for Steve - and started calm, but then worked myself into the grief-riddled frenzy. I did apologize, but also pointed out that he was God's representative, so...deal with it. I was stuck dealing with it. As was my husband. And my kids. And my siblings and cousins and nieces and nephews and anyone who loved me. The cancer was back. Dr. Altaha (Labradoodle) saw me a few days later, after yet another contrast CT. As he was discussing the new regimen, I asked him point blank if he was just trying to buy me time. He looked me straight in the eye and said yes. He then mitigated it by pointing out the small difference between 60 and 80 and 70. The new math. I now know what he was trying to say, but I didn't care at the time. I realized at the moment that I had put more faith in medicine than I had in God - or at least more than I wanted to admit. On the way home, either that day or another similar to it, I was still wagging my fist at God. He finally broke into my tirade and asked me "Do you WANT to die?" I gave and emphatic "NO!" "Then", He said, "don't. Live. Stay alive. Be alive." And so I am. 

There are many of you reading this who may think this self-indulgent. I imagine you might all think it's exhausting and your eyeballs are burning, but that's what happens when I don't write for a while. But this is from my heart. It's my love letter to God that I am letting you peek at. His Love letter to me is found in the pages between Genesis 1:1 and Revelation 22:21. I fell in love with Psalm 30, feeling as though David spoke it for me, and then I hear it preached on twice within a week - once by Pastor Chuck Smith, who is fighting his own battle with Stage IV cancer, and the late, great J.Vernon McGee, hailing it as the "Cancer Chorus" for those with this disease that God has allowed to live despite it. 

I am blown away by the abundant life He has given Don and I here. Four years ago this morning we woke up as residents of Maui, and not merely visitors. Four years ago we began our big adventure that we were sure we knew all the choreography for. Little did we know that cancer would be our dance partner. But that's okay. In fact...it's great when you know your choreographer. God.

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.

Hiccups and Leapfrogging

I am, at times, a confusing person to read and/or listen to. This will be no different - except maybe more so. See??  Scratchin' your head already, huh...

You see, I have been working on a post about my femur surgery that took place four weeks ago tomorrow, but due to being either in too much pain to sit at the computer, or too hammered on pain killers to find said computer, I never finished. Sooooo, I'm leapfrogging a bit.

Today is my next surgery. And a biggie.

This is what they call my "de-bulking" procedure - which sounds like a radical weight loss program, but is, in actuality, an operation to remove as much of the soft tissue mass as can be done without messing with things like nerves and the femoral artery. After this bit of ick is done, then radiation can begin.

This doctor doesn't have a name yet. Well, he has the name his parents gave him and that others call him - Dr. Samuel Lyons - but I mean the one that I give him. The first thing, though, that I though would be an issue is that he is a Stanford man. We are a USC family. But, he seemed to be okay and be able to communicate clearly, so I guess I'll trust him. This guy also looks like he could actually be in MY GENERATION!! Finally, someone who remembers the same bad fashion of the 70's and 80's.

Today almost didn't happen. Well, I mean today would have happened, but not the today that we all planned for. About 11:30 yesterday morning, I got a call from the pre-registration gal at Maui Memorial. In a concerned voice she told me that my surgery was CANCELLED!! It seemed that the insurance had not yet authorized it. I am not one who loses it on phones - or anywhere, actually - with people in this kind of situation. Oh, I'll go off and beat up pillows and teddy bears and my husband and stuff, but I'll not lose control with whomever I'm speaking about the situation. Except for yesterday. I was less than cool as I called Don, the surgeon's office, and anyone else I could think of. I also notified my prayer chain immediately. These are the prayer warriors that I cannot function without!!

Anyway, it turns out that a small hiccup last week turned into this major glottal spasm yesterday. Last Thursday I went in for my pre-op labs - blood tests, chest x-ray, and EKG. Once again, this was a fasting test (you'd think I'd be super model thin by now with all these fasting things, but...not so much), so I made the 45 minute drive over there thirsty and hungry, but thinking about the yummy breakfast I would treat myself to once it was done. But the power was out.

That morning, the power was out in most of the medical building where I was supposed to get stuff done, as well as the state building and county courthouse across the street. Nerts and a half. But I felt for these folks, because what was merely an inconvenience for me was a nightmare for them. These good people had to use their cell phones to call and cancel appointments for the morning - knowing that many were coming for pretty far away. At least I thought it was merely an inconvenience. Since Don and I were going to be in O'ahu for my follow-up visit on the femur surgery on the Friday, I would have to wait until Monday to get my labs done. Because the doctor can't schedule things until he knows I'm not going to bleed out, suffocate under anesthesia, or my heart explode, he has to wait until he sees the labs. Because of it being on Monday instead of last Thursday, the insurance people hadn't looked at it yet - thus, hadn't given it the okey-dokey. Egad. So, very long story not so short but not so long - after tow and a half hours of phone calls and tons of prayer, the insurance cleared it, the hospital scheduled it, and we're good to go!!! Yes, God is even more powerful than insurance companies and hospital red tape...

So, this morning...It is 11:38 right now. I check in at 2:00. I am so hungry and thirsty now that the little flower candle is looking good.....

But I'm excited to go. I truly am. We have been waiting for all these to get done so the next thing can happen - the next thing being the radiation which will begin reducing the tumors. Before chemo begins, we have our visit over Christmas with our family in San Diego!!  PRAISE GOD!!!

My next appointments with the entourage are on the 5th of November. Dr. Labradoodle is looking forward to finding out more info on this little bugger so he can use "exciting" medicine. I love this guy's enthusiasm! At this point, they are still thinking that this is a rare recurrence of thyroid cancer. I love being...rare...!

And I am still not scared! Granted, I would rather be doing other things with my day today, and I am not looking forward to using a walker and cane and hobbling around and such. Being nuked everyday for a few weeks, then having oogie chemicals pumped through me was never on my "What I want To Do When I Grow Up" list. But it isn't on anybody's. And I at least, did get to grow up.

Don and I have a great-nephew whom we have never met. Well...technically, he isn't ours, I guess. Our nephew, Kevin, and his lovely bride, Missy, have been foster parents for a while. Among their children is Jose - a little dude about 7 or 8 (sorry, Missy!!), who has been fighting leukemia. Jose underwent a bone marrow transplant this summer, which required him and Mama Missy to go from their home in Henderson, NV, to Children's Hospital in San Diego. Months of separation from family. Months of isolation. All on this little guy who so deserves a life filled with joy and peace and security. Jose knows more about medicine than any little guy should. And there are thousands more like him.

No, I'm not scared. I am grateful. God let me become a grown-up (okay...chronologically). God let me have an amazing life. And I know I still have more ahead. I know I am prayed for, fervently. Please add Jose and his family and all those like them to your chats with God.

ahhhh....Thursday....Gardeners are here...making a ton of noise outside my window. Time to go.

See you all in a few days!!