A year already

It's nearly time to return to West Virginia. A year has passed and it's been a rewarding one. Living with Za for a year has been delightful beyond words. I regret that we cannot be physically as close to Gabe and Robin. Thank goodness for Skype.

Another blessing this year has been the reinforcement of our friendship with David and Barb. We have had some wonderful times with them - always comfortable and easy. It's impossible to think that the easy access we've had to them is about to be withdrawn.

More wonderful friends include our neighbors here in Keene, Jaime and Bonnie. How can it be that we became immediately close to them? I just have to believe in some kind of divine guidance that led us to share a house together. I can totally see them fitting in to the farm community. I want them to visit soon!

As for my health, well, it seems to be pretty much the same. That's a good thing. I suspect that the cancer is there, probably growing slowly. But I'd just as soon believe that it's gone, maybe permanently. The trouble is, I don't feel like it's gone. There's pain and fatigue that won't completely disappear. My CA125 is slightly elevated...still well within normal range, but perhaps creeping upward. My oncologist at Dana Farber is amazing. I will miss her and the trust I put in her. A clinical trial she had me sign on with tested tumor samples and discovered a mutation that could lead to future treatment options. Keeping my fingers crossed in so many ways.

And finally there's this Spring in New England. It is slow to arrive, so that each new thing blooming gets noticed. Soon the fruit trees are going to all be exploding with blossom, and it will be marvelous to see. There's tulips, daffodils, hyacinths, all popping up in the yards nearby.

Tomorrow we climb Mt. Monadnock. I wonder if I can do it?

Postscript:  We did go all the way to the top. 3 days later my thighs still hurt, but....it was worth it.

Home and then Home Again

We just returned from a lovely two-week visit to WV for the Thanksgiving holiday. Returning to our own house on the ridgetop was simpler than I'd thought it would be, and not as poignant. The house in New Hampshire also feels like home. I wonder just how strong my allegiances are. We probably hold ourselves a little bit in reserve, knowing that life can deal you a change at any moment, completely disrupting routines and associations. Some may see this as pessimistic. I assure myself that it is realism or maybe flexibility. I don't want to be shattered by unforeseen catastrophe (cancer, house fires, hurricanes, you get the picture). Neither do I want to be constantly and anxiously looking over my shoulder. How to face the future is a big topic on the Ovarian Cancer discussion group with whom I participate. I think all of us would prefer to live in the moment...Not too many succeed. Still, I know I'm fortunate to be able to enjoy so many things. Willie G and I have great explorations; living with Za has been both educational and joyful; visiting Gabe, Robin, and Neva is a privilege, and the West Virginia community feels like a blanket of truth and compassion that I can wrap around myself.
Merry Christmas everyone and a hopeful New Year.

No news is good news

Well, I realized today that I need to correct the last post. I wasn't as stoic as I thought. I only went about 10 weeks between check ups. But the good news today is that there are no changes in my condition, and so I won't go back to Dana Farber until the middle of January. Have I mentioned how wonderful my doctor there is? I just really like her a lot. She's kind, funny, patient, compassionate, and smart. Now, back to practicing my Tai Chi moves.....

Cancerversary

I'm a year out from my first NED (No Evidence of new Disease) report. This fall I have gone a total of four months without testing or seeing the doctor. That's the longest ever, and it's been fine. Now as I approach my blood test tomorrow I notice I'm getting a little angsty, but I've learned to believe that I (we) will handle whatever the results bring up. I don't feel really different, so I expect nothing has changed.

I think I should apologize to everyone who got news of my diagnosis from Facebook. What was I thinking to announce it like that? I just didn't know the seriousness of this particular disease, and I was too shaken (and later drunk/drugged) to phone each loved one individually.

I've just found a Tai Chi class to join and hope that will help me deal with constant joint pain.

Fun news: Oregon for the entire month of September was terrific. Neva knows who Grandma and Grandpa G are for sure.

It's apple time here in the northeast. We went to a U-pick orchard and brought home a peck of several apple varieties and made a crockpot of apple butter. That was so easy and delicious that we went to an abandoned golden delicious tree today and picked up a peck of groundfalls and are now brewing our second batch of apple butter. We'll be giving some of it away......to those lucky few who want some.

Please write your congressman when you can and demand that the legislature look immediately into causes and prevention of drug shortages. It's a problem that can potentially devastate each of us: shortages in chemo drugs, anesthesias, and antibiotics. Yikes!

June, 2011

What a month it's been; and it's not officially over yet. But we have moved to Keene, been to Dana Farber, gotten a NED confirmation (via a new CT scan) and life is pretty good. I think I flipped out about 4 times waiting for the medical stuff to clear, but now I'm feeling lighter than air. We have plans to make and places to discover. And even though I don't expect to stay NED forever (but I wouldn't turn it down) I'm not spending much time thinking about cancer. When I remember where we were emotionally and physically last summer, this feels like a fairy tale. I'll take it, thank you very much.

Now, somebody please tell me what to do with this crazy, curly hair!

Moving

We're moving in a week, and after many days of sorting and packing busily, I just got a bit anxious. This home has been my refuge this past year and I'm too attached to it. Breaking out to a new place, new habits, new people is daunting.

Of course, I still feel all the excitement of an adventure. This move is what I want to do, especially since we can always come back here if things don't work out.

I should be a pro at moving. We moved at least every 3 years or sooner when I was a kid. Back then I didn't have any place to call home...it was just the current house provided to my family by the military.

This should be better. Yeah. New Hampshire (or Vermont) watch out. The coons have been let out!

Morbid thoughts

The title here is a heads-up to the followers of this blog. If reading a rant about dying isn't your cup of tea, exit now.
    I just returned from a two and a half week visit to Gabe, Robin, and Neva Jean. The trip involved about 8 flights in all and during these flights I had some compelling thoughts. First of all, it seemed so alien to NOT have Willie G's shoulder next to me. I don't know why, but the absence of his shoulder  was what I noticed most. That's probably symbolic, you know, the strong shoulder to lean on. I know I drop all my burdens on him.
     And being with Gabe-Robin-Neva made me wish so hard to be around many more years to see how things develop with them and to be a part of their lives more. We'll be living with Za for the next year, and I'm really grateful that I get another year to live together. I want to be healthy during that time too. And I really want to have lots of new experiences to share with Willie G. But my markers went up just a tiny shade this past month. It probably means NOTHING, but still....you can't help but wonder, "Is this the beginning of a recurrence?" Ovarian cancer recurs in about 80% of all cases, so the thought (fear) is always there.
     Fear is what I battle with the most. I ask myself what exactly I'm afraid of, and there are a number of things probably, but most likely I am afraid of dying. There. I've said it. I hate that I'm such a chicken-shit, but I cannot bear to think about watching my loved ones be saddened and burdened by my care as I become increasingly unable to care for myself. Cancer is a shitty way to go. I don't want to live forever, but I'd like to choose how I depart, and it seems that a choice is just not possible. I wonder, too, am I afraid that nothing of me will endure after I'm gone? Lately I hear daily news stories of people dying - Japan tsunami, bin Laden's compound - and a voice inside says, "See there? People die every day. You won't (can't) be any different."
     So while I was on an airplane this week that had braking problems and had to return to Detroit instead of landing in Charleston, a part of me thought, "Now THIS would be an ok way to go. Crash! and it's all over." I totally couldn't emphasize with the young woman crying in the seat beside me. She was afraid the plane wouldn't land successfully.
     I'm absolutely NOT going to have another blood test until I meet a new doctor in Boston in July. I'm going to force myself to assume that everything's fine. Even if this is the start of a recurrence, nothing would be done until there was harder evidence. I'm trying to get connected with Dana Farber Cancer Institute in Boston, a very progressive, research-driven clinic. Most of the gyn/onc there are women, which is refreshing, and they are at the top of their fields. Getting the insurance on board and all my records forwarded to them is my current challenge. It's good to have something to work on.
     So I think I'll try to get a copy of Stephen Hawking's The Grand Design  and perhaps, come better to grips with my brief stay on the planet. I'd be glad to hear anyone's theories on death and dying apart from the Christian-We-are-all-saved premise. I think I've heard all of that theory necessary to make up my mind that it just doesn't ring true to me.
     This past winter, during one of our many snowfalls, it occurred to me that each snowflake could be a departed soul. You know, how each one is unique? And that comforted me some. I'd like to be a beautiful snowflake. And of course, I'd fall right here on our ridge top.
     I DO get the "Live each day as if it's your last." and I'm trying to do just that.