Infusion

I wore fur and diamonds today
took extra care with my makeup my hair
practiced my lines in the mirror
then marched in
and sat in the big chair
the same one I always sit in
by the window so I can
see my reflection
in the glass
only to discover
that everyone
was cheering and clapping for the silent
hairless man with the IV
sitting just across from me
in total
peaceful
surrender

Thank you, Cancer

for showing me how precious time is

a commodity of this world

wasted often

on petty worries and frustrations

owning too many things

bickering

planning way ahead for tomorrows over which I have no control

robbing myself of todays

but no more

wiggling my feet and toes every morning

stretching this 50+ frame

jumping out of bed each day or imagining

that I still can

to see who gets there first

me

or the sun

Thank you

for giving me a love of this body

that never cared about stretch marks

or fat

looking in the mirror

how often I berated her, and for what?

when I should have been saying

Thank you! You’re amazing! I love you!

that astonishing journey of carrying another soul

within mine

three times was I granted the privilege, three!

now I see a miracle every day

would never trade perkiness for the wisdom

these sagging breasts hold

or a dancer’s dreams

for discovering the abstract beauty

of varicose veins and stretch marks

triumphant scars of motherhood

and being female

and alive!

Thank you

for helping me open my mouth

that short span when I could neither breathe

nor sing

a gentle reminder

of how much I have to say

finding new notes I’m sure weren’t there before

were they?

speaking up more easily

and I’m still practicing and you are patient

but this I know

that stuffing it,

hurts

and for that

I am sorry

adjusting the direction I was headed

why did I care what they all thought?

or worry that my truths might

be different from theirs?

Thank you

for expanding my vision

I see them now

the ones I’ve passed so often as though they were invisible

what a little fool

when I thought it was all about me

perhaps I didn’t want to see because

I would have to learn how to get

out of my own way

acknowledge my own mortality

looming

like a vacant marquee sign

when all this time

you were just waiting for me

to fill in the blanks

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to my Apartment...

The day that I was moving into my new apartment, June 18, is the same day that I got a call from Dr. K (my oncologist) telling me to check myself into the hospital. I had had a CT scan done earlier the same day and the results showed some problems with my lungs. I told him that I couldn't go because I was in the process of moving. He paused--I'm sure he wasn't anticipating that kind of response, and then he said, "But you can't breathe!" I realized he was right--I was having a tough time of it. Then a friend from church called just to check in and see how I was doing, and she ended up taking me to the hospital while Chantel supervised the others as to where to put my furniture in my new place.

That night Dr. Henry appeared at my bedside in the ER and I felt immediate confidence in him as he explained my options. Later, Austin and another elder came over and gave me a priesthood blessing which gave me instant comfort. Dr. Henry operated the next day by doing a pleurodesis--a fancy word for a procedure to permanently prevent the accumulation of fluid around the lung. This is a surgery that I had talked with Dr. K about several times and had already decided to have done. I had even made an appointment to see Dr. Henry--and thought I would have the surgery later in July or August. The way it happened was so sudden that I didn't have time to worry or stress about it. And the recovery is going just fine. When I came home from the hospital, it was to my new apartment and almost everything unpacked and put away, thanks to my amazing girl.

I love my family so much. And when I say that I don't mean just my children and grandchildren, but my mother, my siblings, their spouses, their children. I'm grateful for each one of you, for what you contribute to each others' lives and to mine, for the way you choose to live, for your love for each other. We are a blessed family.

Happy Father's Day

Because of my joining the Dayley family at just barely 16, this man,Ardell Dayley, played a huge fathering role in my life, teaching by example, commitment to family, hard work, perseverance, love, humility, and honesty. This is one of my favorite photos of my father-in-law, taken in the four- acre family owned Christmas tree farm that was behind our house in Martinez, California, because this is so typical of how I remember him. The tree farm was a great place for the kids to play, for parents to hide from their kids (which we did on occasion so we could talk with some privacy), and the opportunity for us to spend precious time with Mother and Dad every fall and winter for eight years when they came from Idaho and parked their travel trailer to run the farm. Even though Larry and Dan did a lot of work on the farm year-around, it would not have survived the way it did without Dad's hard and consistent work during the farm's busiest season.

Most of my earlier Idaho memories of Dad find him working in the long vegetable garden, monitoring canal water wearing tall rubber boots and carrying a shovel, mowing the big lawn, or walking the rest of the property checking for trouble in the way of gopher holes a horse might step into, fences that needed repair, or an alfalfa field ready for harvest. Later, after retirement (What's that?), Dad maintained that same kind of work ethic on the tree farm in California, constantly trimming trees, checking for disease, cutting out trees that might infect other ones, checking the fence for holes where a few dishonest broke through at night to steal their trees, and repairing the gravel parking lot when ruts developed. He was a man who loathed idleness, not in a preachy way, but as a matter of personality. Dad sat down for only six things I can think of: eating a good meal, attending a church meeting, watching a football game, visiting with a family member, reading (he loved National Geographic, Readers' Digest, The Book of Mormon, and the local newspaper), or resting in the big recliner after a hard day's work. Simply put, Dad was a man who got the job done. I've witnessed that principle at work in Dad's posterity--something they learned from example and can be proud to claim as a legacy of his. Happy Father's Day Dad! We miss you!

Resting and visiting with family. It must have been a Sunday, or we were a group too large for the little tv room, because this photo was taken in Mother and Dad's beautiful and spacious but not often used living room. Mother loved the big picture window that Dad put in when he built the house, and just recently I learned that Mother always insisted on living in a house that faced the mountains. She wanted that and Dad always saw to it, even in the smaller homes he built for them when they were younger.


A picture of my dad at about age 40. I don't have a lot of memories of my own father, something that went missing a long time ago. But I do know that my father was a good and gentle man who loved God and his five children and actively practiced his Christian faith. I can't remember a spanking or even a scolding from him ever. He was brilliant also, his IQ testing reported to have been extremely high. He was in the CIC during his time in the army and passed the CPA exam later in life. My father came from a long line of musicians, men and women who worked more with their minds and less with their hands. Dad was the youngest of four children and his first nieces tell stories of his being their favorite uncle. Dad played the piano, and my mother said, "Your daddy could play a mean saxaphone!" In fact, my parents met during a musical event in which he played the sax and she played the piano. Mom said she wasn't impressed at first because he was a bit cocky, but that disappeared immediately when he discovered that Mom wasn't impressed by that. Dad's siblings and cousin who still live in Memphis speak of my father as a man with great love for family and one who loved to laugh. I look forward to hearing the sound of that some day.

My earliest memory isn't really mine, but my mother has told me the story so often that I can almost remember. She says that when I was born (the third of five children) Dad liked to hold me by cradling my head in the palm of his hand, and my feet resting against the crook of his arm. He thought I was sweet and beautiful and practiced holding me that way until I grew too big. I imagine he must have smiled into my face as well, because I've always known that my father loved me.

One of my favorite memories is our regular trips to Howard Johnson's restaurant every weekend after my parents divorced. We always ate pancakes or waffles, and bacon, and on the way home, Dad made sure to drive us past Graceland for a possible glimpse of Elvis Presley. Dad always slowed the Chevrolet way down and we craned our necks as far and long as we could.

It was a sad day for all of us when we moved away from Memphis in 1969. My father died of cancer in 1972 when he was almost 44 and I was almost 14. Our birthdays are two days apart.

Chemo: Match 2 Round 1

And in the blue corner wearing a Citiknits black and coral three-piece ensemble and a very chic do, we have defending champion Maaaaartha, the Maaagnificent! ding ding ding ding!

So, any ideas how my first chemo here went?? It was GREAT! I felt anxious the past few days but the closer today came, the more peace I felt. No tears this time at all, no feelings of fear or 'I don't want to be here' or out right, 'get me out of here!' Nothing like that. I was actually anticipating this with a fair amount of optimism and a whole lot of gratitude for being in this area with my Tel and getting to see Dr. K.

I saw Dr. K's P.A. today before treatment. I like him very much. Straight forward, compassionate, obvious that he knew my history, even that I'd moved out here recently. Later, Dr. K made it a point to come out to the infusion center and talk with me and Telly for awhile. I was so impressed (again!!) Remember, this is the same man who came to see me in the hospital on his day off...

I figured out why this infusion center feels so different from the one at Kaiser: Not only does it feel more cozy (it's smaller and the people overall are very warm and friendly) the room is more spaciously arranged, the chairs are a prettier color (although they recline and function the same way) and one entire wall is windows! I love that! I love light! I really enjoyed seeing the sky through the tall trees here which are just beginning to bud! So pretty! And we had an early appointment so there weren't very many people in the room. My nurse is great. She explained a whole lot and checked on me often. And unlike Kaiser who gives you whoever the computer will bring up, this place will do its best to give me the same nurse every time. I think that's important both for rapport and because some nurses are way better at putting in IV's. I like knowing what to expect

My new medication is the color of strawberry jello. Just as red as it can be. Some people have side effects, especially the first time they get it, but I didn't. Chantel and I visited for awhile and then I fell asleep from the Benadryl. When I woke up, she had already made my next appointments and had a packet of information for me. The entire visit was just over three hours. The nurse said next time it will be shorter since I tolerated the Doxil, they will give it to me faster next time. Round two in 28 days.

Oh, my gosh! I forgot to tell you something important! I had a good amount of energy today (we went to Costco this afternoon) and I realized that it's because I had my lung drained! Yes! Earlier this week Dr. K arranged for me to see another awesome guy (not too warm and fuzzy but brilliant with his work) and he drained my lung on Wednesday afternoon. I was extremely anxious (translated, in tears) about the visit because of the experience I had in emergency last month, but Dr. Morton was technically incredible. On a scale of one to ten, the discomfort level was a one, and I can breathe again! Yay! I should have gone in sooner. Chantel, I love you so much, and I'm sorry I caused you anxiety and a nightmare by putting off the procedure. I won't do that again!

By way of information

Chemo has not started yet. Apparently red tape at Kaiser is nation-wide, not just on the West Coast. Kaiser here should have sent approval of my treatment plan back to the doctor already, but they haven't. When one of my doctor's employees called yesterday, she found out that the process hadn't even been started! She was pretty upset and told them that someone had to print out the ok and hand deliver it to the right department for faxing to her. I should be able to get a firm start date scheduled today. Hope it's soon because the fluid around my lungs (both sides) is getting worse, making it difficult to move much, talk and breathe. Don't be alarmed...I'm not far from the hospital and I will go in for another lovely lung tap if I have to, but I'm really just wanting to get started on the chemo which should take care of the fluid problem on its own.

Inspected, Found to be Infected, Nonetheless, Directed

Ok, so my title is an attempt at humor and to practice coming up with a 'sexy' title, something one of my very favorite professors talked about as important for every piece we write.

You know how sometimes you do something, or think of someone and call, or go somewhere, and only later do you look back and realize that you were being directed because of what happened after that? This is my attempt to relay the events leading up to today.

I saw Dr. Koutrelakos today, the oncologist, henceforth Dr. K. He is the one I wanted to see, prayed that I'd be able to see, and the same one who was recommended to me last week. But I had my doubts about how it would all work out. Fast forward: I start treatment next week, but instead of 5 hours every 21 days (there goes my weight loss commercial) I will spend one hour every 28 days. I'll have 4 to 6 treatments and from the sound of things, will be able to stay in grad school. I am resistant to the original meds they had me on (about 30% of ovarian cancer patients are) and this one has no heavy side effects. I even get to keep my hair. Hurray!! Ok, now for the coolest part.

Last week before I went to the hospital, I felt impressed to call one of my new friends, but I couldn't figure out why I should call. Finally I quit arguing with the HG and called her. She told me that if I needed chemo again, she hoped I would get to see Dr. Koutrelakos. When she said that, I felt a warm feeling and wrote down his name so I wouldn't forget. That night in the emergency room, (I was there all day) the pulmonologist said she was going to call oncology in even though the test results weren't back yet. (Big duh! But she was cool. I liked her.) I told her that a friend had recommended Dr. K. The next day in my hospital room, Dr. K comes walking in, smiles, introduces himself and proceeds to tell me that he'd heard about me and even though it was his day off, wanted to come see me. (Do you think I was impressed? Let's see...) I felt an instant connection to him, very caring and sincere doctor but then the anxiety started. I didn't know how in the world Kaiser would pay for me to see someone outside Kaiser. I prayed and cried and worried and stressed for days. I wasn't even sure if Kaiser would pay for the emergency visit and all the tests. Then two days ago, I called Member Services and they told me I'm covered for emergency and urgent care all over the world! So I went to Kaiser here to get a referral from the primary care doctor I was assigned to. She asked if I had a preference of oncologists and when I told her Dr. K, she said great, because Kaiser refers all their oncology out because Kaiser doesn't have any oncologists locally. After I got the referral, I called Dr K's office and they got me in the next day. I couldn't believe how easy the whole thing was.

Today at the end of my visit, which took place mostly in Dr K's office and reminded me of Aunt Claire's house with color on the walls and beautiful furniture, he asked if I had any more questions and I said yes. "How did you know about me last week?" He said the hospital had called the practice and he happened to be the one "on." I found out that had I gone to the emergency room the day before or the day after, he would not have been the one 'on' when the hospital called and I would be seeing someone else instead. The last thing he said today was that he believes people meet for reasons (implied: beyond our control). Chantel went with me and she is such a comfort and support.

Now, was I inspired to call my friend, even though I didn't know why?
Was I inspired to go to the hospital the day I did, even though I didn't feel that bad?
Was I inspired to make a move to the East Coast when I did and not later, as originally planned? Heavenly Father really will guide us if we will pay attention to the still small voice even though sometimes, especially if we have our fingers in both ears, he's a little hard to hear. I have to say that I've felt the spirit many, many times throughout my life, directing me one way or the other, knowing what to do, what to say, when to keep silent...you'd think I wouldn't spend one single moment arguing when I get an impression. Good thing he is patient and understanding. I am proof that he knows us and loves us and, contrary to what some people might say, cares about even the most minor details of our lives because he cares about us that much.

Well...

I've written and rewritten this, trying to figure out how to share such personal information in such a public space. Part of me wants to protect you--those especially who have extra tender hearts, or tend to worry, or may weep when they hear. But I've been told that I need to stop trying to protect people from the truth. My mom and siblings know, as of today, that the cancer is back. More than likely it has always been there, just too negligible to show up on any tests. The bad news is that there's a spot on my liver. The good news is, that there's a spot on my liver and not multiple spots all over! This is another challenge, and we all know that life is full of them. I will do the best I can and though I wish this were all behind me, it will be soon. Some days will be better than others I'm sure. In the meantime, I've been promised great blessings and I fully expect the Lord to keep His word. I'll need your hopes, your faith and prayers and your positive energy. I will let you know more after I see the oncologist next week.

People keep asking

about my hair. Friends and family want to know if it's growing back (yes), how long it is (not very), if it's a different color(no), or if it's curly (no). Chantel took the pictures below. I have had five different strangers ask me where I got my hair cut or tell me that they love it. I'm so surprised every time...in a museum, on a bus, at church...I plan to keep it short, at least until I start missing french braids. This is the easiest thing I've ever had to deal with.Smiling at Soren who was standing with me against the wall. The earrings were Mother's.

The walls in Chantel's living room are three different colors of blue. Very festive.

Hanging Out

I just spent the last several days at Marty's and Sheila's in Burlingame. Every night Marty lit a fire for us, either in the living room or the outside barbeque. Dinner was sheer pleasure sitting down together in the dining room with big band or jazz playing in the back ground. I love that family. They have been through hell the past year but seem to be coming back to a new normal now that Andrew has finished chemo and he's finally eating and putting on weight again. He is both precious and precocious.The other night he said, "Mom, I think I'm coming back!" He loves nothing more than to "prep" for dinner by washing and cutting vegetables, setting the table, and helping to serve the food. Family mealtime is really important to that little guy. When he's in charge, we sit where he directs. Samantha is an amazing young woman also. She works, attends jr. college, saves money, and has good relationships with everyone in her family. She is fun to talk with and has a strong element of common sense about her.

Andrew is a fabulous artist. The family room wall is covered in art that Andrew created. Most of it looks like it came from a gallery, honestly. Some pieces are painted while others are collaged and still others are 3-dimensional. Yesterday we shopped at Michael's together, picking up scrapbooking paper, stickers, clay, clear glass ornaments and other supplies. I'm on an art kick myself, I guess because of the holidays, but also because I discovered through an art class recently at the Wellness Center (cancer related) that art can be very therapeutic.

This space of time

My main problem right now is neuropathy, a debilitating condition that's a result of the toxicity of chemo. I clump around like a little old lady and wait and wait for the day when this is all behind me. My feet burn and hurt constantly. My balance sucks. Night time is the worst. But during the day I'm not unaware of how much healing has yet to take place. It's frustrating. One of the chemo nurses told me it would take "at least a year" before my feet are healed. I'm hoping it's much sooner than that. In the meantime, I read a lot, sleep, surf the internet, watch tv, go for the occasional errand in the car...I can do a little shopping but any weight on my feet makes the pain worse. I have an appointment next week to see an acupuncturist in the city. And every day, and night too, I'm alone with my thoughts, my prayers, and my faith and patience, which are both being tested...thank goodness for my Telly who calls every single day. Only when I'm talking with her do I remember that this condition is temporary, even though it will probably not be over anytime soon. In the meantime, I'm making plans to move to Baltimore and resume my life as soon as my feet and the weather will let me make the drive.

Rebounding

OK. So I'm back on track. I have some work to do emotionally, still, but I'm beginning to see this experience with cancer as a spiritual halt, a time to reflect, to regroup, to decide what I want, to examine my relationships with my family and friends, with the Savior, with my Heavenly Father...Are they where they should be? Do I have any messes to clean up? Words left unsaid? Behaviors that need correcting? Am I taking care of myself the way I should? Is it part of the plan that we live our lives at such a pace? That we're so busy 'producing' that we miss the basics? Sometimes I think all we produce is chaos or more drama. Yes, of course, I have dreams yet unfulfilled, but I have decided that my relationships with others, both here and beyond the veil, are the only things that really matter. All the other 'things' we stress about--bills, insurance, accumulation of wealth, retirement, tomorrow, and what ifs and whys and on and on--most of those take care of themselves, or they're not worth the energy we spend fretting. I've missed a lot of todays by worrying about tomorrows instead.

I will need to come back to this post occasionally, as it's much easier to talk about zen and making changes than to actually do it. But I have had a second chance at life and I hope to make the very best of it. So until next time.................PS...my hair is growing back in! Now doesn't that sound weird? How does hair grow back in? Baby head fuzz...it's growing out!

The real me

is hurting physically and emotionally. A wise relative sent a sweet email this week; she had noticed that I haven't blogged lately and was concerned about me. I appreciate the care. The truth is, that when I'm not blogging, I'm usually down. And when I'm down, I tend to pull away, at least from most of the world. I will make an effort to blog even when I don't feel my best. At least you'll know you're getting the real me!

Lately I feel as though life is happening around me, and to me, and I don't have much say about how it goes one way or the other. (I can hear Madelyn arguing with me now.) I'm not saying she isn't right. I'm saying that these are the feelings I'm dealing with lately. My oncologist gave me a clean bill of health recently. If my feet were in better shape I'd have to ask myself if I really had cancer at all. The effects of the chemo have been harsh and somewhat debilitating. But what doesn't show on the outside is what it's done to my heart. I think I need to explore that now. I was so busy overcoming surgery and going to chemo and overcoming the effects of chemo, I didn't have the time to figure out what it all means. I know that for some people it wouldn't matter. They pick up with their lives and go on. I'm not like that. The artist in me needs to examine the minutiae. I'm no stranger to depression and I can usually ward it off pretty well, but I began to despair last week when my thoughts began to linger on Sylvia Plath. Her poetry. Her three children. Her suicide by putting her head in an oven. All the trials I used to worry about having to face, I was never asked to. But the ones I've had to face felt hand picked just for me as far as pushing my faith to its limit. Each time I faced a big trial I thought I might die of grief, but I didn't. I suppose looking back now at what it means to have cancer maybe I'll learn something new to add to what I learned from the other trials. I certainly don't want to say, like my friend, that I'm the same, even after all this. Truly, that would be a waste.

One of my friends told me that

throughout her battle with breast cancer, people would often ask her if she had changed or she had learned something new or significant that changed her perspective on life. She told me that the only thing she learned is that, "I am the same bitch I always have been." Of course, she said it under circumstances that made us both laugh, but I think there was some reality to that for her. On the other hand, Rachel has told me that I'm not going through my own trials just so I can come out on the other side as the same person. Now that's a scary thought--staying the same. If I'm compelled to go through the hard stuff, and asking why doesn't get me anywhere, at least give me the reassurance that at some point down the road this is going to make sense to me, and if it doesn't, I will have grown enough as a person to be able be grateful for the growth.

The Way They Look

It's always in the eyes of strangers but sometimes includes their mouths, too, the way they look at me when I pass them in the grocery store, at Kaiser, or on the street. Occasionally it's in their words, or lack of them, as well. Women tend to smile more than men do. Most children are especially forthright and curious. And most teenagers look away, except for a whole group of them I met once at the motel in Santa Nella.

I was swimming in the pool when they came down and began throwing a football, shrieking and laughing. Several of them initiated conversation with me, both young men and young women, and I discovered they were a Christian youth group from Washington heading to Mexico to build houses for the poor. What positive energy! Obviously, they didn't care that I was bald and I wondered if some of them even noticed at all.

I get the most direct eye contact at Kaiser from people I pass in the hallways with looks that say, "I know what you're going through," or "Hang in there, I've been there, too." Sometimes there's so much compassion in a face that I want to cry. Sometimes there are so many sick people though that I want to cry for that reason too! The Kaiser nurses have been phenomenal the way they treat me. I'm truly nurtured when I go in for treatment.

Throughout this treatment, not all communications have been positive though. Ask anyone who knows me well and they'll tell you that I'm not defensive or judgmental. In fact, I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes I'm even naive to the point of frustrating other family members. But recently in a grocery, a mother and her son were talking about me, and I know it was about me because they were rude enough to stare and point several times while they did it. I was in line, paying for groceries, and they were across the aisle waiting for customer service. The boy looked about 11 or 12. I had the impression he was asking his mother innocent questions. But, since we live in California and some women choose to shave their heads, I felt strongly that this mother was giving her son false information. Her face held a combination of derision and sarcasm. They continued to stare at me and I stared back. It's the only time I've wanted to confront someone directly for their rudeness, but I didn't. I let it pass.

This other experience was so painful it made me cry, for a long time. Granted, I had just been recently diagnosed with cancer, but the insensitivity of the other person hurt me to the core, and I'm sure she didn't have a clue. I'm only writing about this as catharthis.

I was in Idaho with Larry. We had gone to see Mother before my surgery. One night we were sittting outside bar-be-cu-ing with family when a woman drove up to drop off one of the girls who had been babysitting for her. She and another family member stepped over to the side of the car and began talking, out of earshot. It was another one of those instances where I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, realizing that I felt ultra sensitive and ultra vulnerable, but the women were not only glancing back and forth at me whilethey talked, one of them even had her mouth covered with her hand--as if Icould hear her. Eventually they stopped talked and wandered over. The woman who had driven up made it a point to tell Larry, "Well, I remember you from last year but (looking at me) I don't remember you." Insensitivity #1 since I wasn't with Larry on that trip. After a bit of chit chat she told Larry how good it was to see him, blah, blah blah, and then Insensitivity #2, her eyes literally flickered past me so briefly that I still feel like crying when I think about it. I think she said, "Nice meeting you," or some usual comment, but she was looking at the sky, or the garage behind me, anywhere but at me. I, however, was looking her in the face. Shortly after she drove away, I excused myself from the table, crying and went to the trailer. Larry came after me and as we talked about it I realized that the way she didn't see me, she might as well have said, "I don't have to acknowledge you're presence because you'll be dead soon." Now granted, I have no way of knowing what she was really thinking. But the way she interacted with me hurt more than I can say. My diagnosis was new. I was still in shock and felt bewildered, sad, why me? what if? not to mention a whole lot of fear. That night I felt like a soon-to-be non-person. If anything, I'm learning to be even more sensitive to others through this experience. Ok. So I put it out there and I'm not going to give it any more energy.

Last week a man came up to me in a hardware store with a smile on his face and said, "I like your hair-cut." I told him that it wasn't mine by choice. He explained that he and his wife had just gone through breast cancer with her; we stood and talked together for awhile. Their message was basically to hang tough because the end was in sight, that life would get better soon. Kevin and Christine. They both hugged me. Rachel and I were both crying when we walked away, so touched by the kindness of strangers.

Love Gifts and Wellness

I've been feeling for a long time that LOVE is going to make me well. I feel it every time I receive a card or letter, a "checking in" or "how are you?" phone call, or receive some kind of unexpected gift. I have enjoyed visits both planned and surprised, breakfasts out, a drive up Mt. Diablo, friends who never hestitate to say "yes" about taking me to and from chemo and sitting with me during the 5 hour interim. I appreciate all of you more than you know, especially my wonderful family both here and out-of-state.

Well, this week in addition to flowers, beautiful jewelry and fantastic books, I received several more lovely and unexpected gifts, reinforcing my feeling that LOVE will make me well. It has! Even though I have to finish the regimented treatment, my doctor told me that the most recent blood tests show no sign of cancer!! The three "fs" friends, family and faith. That's what did it I'm sure. Here are some photos from this week. I love you. All of you.

No, that is not me. She has hair. These are from my view of the cancer treatment center yesterday. I was inclined so the ceiling was part of the view.Everyone gets treatment together, lined up on both sides of the room and two chairs at the end. I was at the end on the left so it was a good photo op.I hope the lady in orange didn't mind the photo. I didn't notice her looking until I saw the picture.

Beautiful, powerful gifts. My darling Telly made the quilt for me to use during chemo. The blue lobelia flowers are from my friend, Marilyn, who also spent a lot of time planting two flats of petunias in my garden, and the painting is from my friend Kirsten (below).

Insomnia

It's coming up on 2:00 am. Can't sleep. Tried prayer and focused breath work, watched a documentary on the Cuban missile crisis of Oct 1962 when I was four, John was nearing open heart surgery, and Rachel was brand new. I channel surfed for over an hour and got to see my favorite scene from Jerry McGuire, but still, sleep alludes me. Marilyn will be here this morning to hang with me for the day. We've been friends for 24 years, since I was pregnant with Clayton. Her visits always ground me and I haven't seen her since graduation. Likely, I'll need a nap at some point, especially if I continue to stay up, since today was busy and productive and I didn't rest at all. But I'm looking forward to being with my dear friend. I should have been asleep by 10:00 tonight.

A loner bong sits here next to me, along with the computer and printer, bills and get well cards, and bottled spring water. I'm to return the bong to its owner when I'm well, or I can keep it "for sentimental reasons" and I just may do that. After all, the first time was hilarious and otherwise, when I'm 80 who will ever really believe me? I suppose I could take a picture of myself...hmmm. Funny, but having cancer has given me permission to disregard (finally) what anyone thinks about me, what I do, how I look, what I wear or don't. Black and shiny, this bong is a large phallic symbol disguised as a car's gear shift, but its a phallic symbol plain and simple. (I'm more aware of these things since attending Mills, an all women's college). I'm tempted to smoke some tonight, but so far I've only used pot during chemo week and not often, although the results have been amazing and terrific, ok'd by my doctor and endorsed by several friends for various reasons. I probably would have tried it anyway unless the doc had warned me of some terrible drug reaction. But when I told him that I had some marijuana and I'd never tried it before, he looked at me and said, "Never? Where were you?" and later I had to admit that back when all my friends were doing it, I was having babies and canning peaches, making quilts, growing a garden, and kneading giant batches of bread dough, long before bread makers had been invented. I didn't miss a thing. Bottom line, I get pain relief and deep sleep when sleep medication and/or pain meds don't do a thing. Tonight, I'm not hurting, at least not physically. I just can't sleep, so writing seems to be the next best thing.

A Woman's Influence

The following is from an email I received from an aunt who lives in Tennessee. She gave me permission to post this. My reply follows:

Dear Martha,

I have found your address and even pulled up your blog spot and read with both tears and pride about what you are experiencing. Using a computer is difficult for me and I often delete when I do not mean to. Also, I am totally new to blogs. I sorta of one finger type and have to go back and correct all of the time, so I am slow. But, I am overwhelmed by all that computers offer.

Back to you, what an inspiration you are and what courage you are showing. You look adorable in the wig, too. I always keep you and little Andrew in my prayers. You could not know this, but I have always prayed for Anne and all of you children for years. I am sorry that I have not gotten to know all of you and that you really do not know much about me. But, you may be sure that I have been impressed with all of you and what wonderful people you are. Your father would be so proud of you for he loved you all very much. I do hope that this reaches you as I often get messages returned. This building has poor cable connections and, recently, my carrier was changed. Now that I know how to get your blog, I'll check it frequently and continue my prayers for God's all encompassing love to surround you and your family and restore you to health of mind, body and spirit.

Love, Aunt Claire

Dear Aunt Claire and other readers,

We left Memphis and all family on both sides when I was ten years old and moved to Kansas City. There would be thirteen more moves during the next four years. At sixteen I married and put all my energy into creating and maintaining my own family. My other siblings were scattered, living in other states, but all on the west coast. Eventually I ended up doing what many people were doing in the 80's, and going for psychotherapy. During one visit I realized with clarity that I needed to go home again. It had been almost 30 years. My sister Rachel went with me and we spent a lot of time prior to the trip talking about our excitement and our fears. Aunt Claire you couldn't have known that I was the most nervous about your approval of me. Would I still have manners? Would I act like a lady? Would I be the same Martha that you remembered?

Well, now it's my turn to tell you that even though I loved all my aunts and uncles, you are the one woman I admired and respected the most and I still do. Especially now, when I feel the cruelty of facing cancer alone, I remember that you were widowed and raised two children alone during a time when women had to fight for their right to independence. You were the one who determined your own boundaries and lived by them. Even though you must have shed many tears alone, you are one of the strongest women I know and your example has given me strength and courage.

Since that first visit in 1987, my siblings and I have made other trips home, separately and together, and we've been able to reconnect with family including Uncle Don (now the family patriarch) and numerous cousins. Sometimes I wonder if my life journey will send me back to my roots in a more permanent way. My thoughts these days are never far from my childhood--barbeques in Aunt Claire's backyard with my dad at the grill, chasing fireflies, the giant hydrangea bush next to Granny's back porch, Pop in his rocker with his pipe and the smell of pipe smoke that I love to this day.

Aunt Claire, thank you for your constant love and prayers for us all these years. It's an honor to call you mine and I look forward our next family reunion in Florida. Love, Martha

Treatment #2

Chemo today wasn't nearly as anxiety producing as the first one, although when I sat down in the big recliner and looked around the room at all the other patients getting treatment, I did shed a few tears from not having completely accepted idea that this is where I am. My friend Lyn drove over from San Francisco. She picked me up, spent all day with me. My appointment wasn't until 12:30 and I didn't get home until after 6.

Lyn, Sarah and Sandy and I enjoyed several writing classes together at Mills and graduated together. I posted pictures of them earlier. (Lyn is in the middle with the shorter blond hair). Anyway, I was telling Lyn that usually when there's a challenge or something is going weird, I just tell myself that the experience will be good writing fodder, but having cancer I'm not so sure. She said that the fodder is there, and when I get past all this, at some point, I'll be able to see it. We talked about life lessons too, and what we're supposed to learn along the way, something I fret and worry over. That's when she said, "Whatever it is you're supposed to be learning, you're getting it. You're getting it right now even though you don't know what "it" is at the moment." I'd never thought of that before. I don't have to have all the answers right now to know that "the prize is in the struggle." It's when I get out of the struggle that the answers will reveal themselves to me, and I don't need to be worrying about what those answers are or when I'll find them, but to trust that they are there, and that in the meantime, I'm doing what I need to do...

Bald is Beautiful!

Debutant

dark hairs criss-cross my pillow like abstract art
handfuls of it come out in the shower
the dreaded time fills the bathroom covers the walls and mirrors with steam like a menacing spirit
You will look old and sick without any hair

the three-time cancer survivor at the wig shop places her cool hands on the top of my sore head
like her voice, they are soothing and strong
she looks at me in the mirror at my tear-filled eyes my face that says
I do not want to be here
“Do not cry. You are going to be just fine.”
the buzz of the clippers begins right in the front
wait!
I pass my camera to my sister
the little teeth saw away at the illusion of beauty and suddenly I realize
the darkness lied
there is no loss no reason to cry
my eyes gleam from the mirror larger and browner than before
I feel a freedom, a rebelliousness, a sense of spontaneity
my sister cries and laughs with me
takes photos for my blog
then we hug the woman goodbye and walk out into the sun

I have choices that others do not
the wig is adorable
hats and turbans and scarves and endless fabrics await
but my bald head loved its debut
I can’t wait to show my family
I am more beautiful than ever

I wasn't exactly jumping for joy here
Revealed
This is getting fun