Little holiday snippets

Last week. Mom and dad hop off the max line and meet me in downtown portland for a marvelous Christmas visit to a department store--their gift. I try on outfits--a classy dress with nobby fabric...a suit that I wish looked good on me but just doesn't "do it"...two shirts dad brings over himself...we finish with a pair of slacks, drapy sweater and a cheerful undershirt. Then we head into a nearby coffee shop for hot cocoa and a slice of gingerbread. It's cozy and stuffy and humid with melting snow and exhausted breath from our fellow coffeshop patrons. We watch cars slip and slide on the street outside; we eavesdrop on two policeman watching their fellow officer deal with a car stuck on the max line.

Christmas Eve. Dad is redecorating the tree, with a present for mom. Single sheets of paper, a picture of a hot rod car on one side, a calendar month on the other. (We learn later--a year's worth of dates to the theater.)

At the coast. I awake and head upstairs. Mom's still in bed, cuddled in the master bedroom of the rental, with windows on nearly all sides. She's wearing her lightblue beanie hat. It's soft and gentle and makes her seem so small. I savor ten minutes with her, all to myself.

Everything so precious.

Valarie

How about that Wonderland?

Snow is falling on snow here. The Scion parked out front sports a 16-inch crown and all the neighborhood evergreens preen in their albino furs. Are we ready for Christmas? Welllll. Sort of. Nathan pulled an all-nighter last night and is toiling away at the dining room table on part of his proposal for his dissertation, due "before Christmas". I hope that means before we need the table for dinner which is always lamb piroshkis made by the three musketeers and some black bean soup this year made by yours truly.

After dinner, doors close throughout the house, folks yell, "Stay out" and "Who has the tape?" and there's much flurry and snipping of catalogs and scribbling of pictures to represent presents still residing in stores, and much composing of tags that give a hint of what's inside a box, but not too easy a hint. We're lucky to finish before Christmas day. Last to bed is Mr. Claus, who fills the Christmas stockings to overflowing with toothbrushes and jars of olives and trail mix and whatever else occurred to him as he raced down the aisles of Fred Meyer. Somewhere in the midst of all this we read aloud Astrid Lindgren's Christmas story, The Runaway Sleigh Ride, about family and how every child counts.

For Christmas breakfast we always have a Port Townsend Sunrise, dreamed up during our magical years in Port Townsend. Here's how it goes: Crowd a cookie sheet (if there are six of you or a smaller pan for fewer people) with slices of bread. Cover with slices of orange cut crosswise (the sunrise). Sprinkle with walnuts and chopped dates. Put lots of eggs in a blender and fill to the top with milk. Add a little cinnamon and salt and pour the blended mixture over the bread. Bake at 375 till the milk-egg mixture has set (20-30 minutes) and serve with warm applesauce poured over the top. Yummm. Yum.

Weather permitting, the Hamms will caravan to the beach to spend a couple of days with brother Alex and his family in a 3-story rental with a hot tub and a view of the ocean. Whatever your holiday plans are--and staying home with a warm afghan and a good book also sounds good, I hope I can trust you're spending time with someone you love appreciating what means the most to you this season.

With love from the Hamm household,

Diane

Is It Cold or What?

I don't know what it is about these cold, clear days that makes me feel like tap dancing across the stage of my life. Maybe it's all that light that makes me shoot into action like the amaryllis my friend Gina gave me at Thanksgiving. Or maybe it's just the exhibitionist in me soaking up all the accumulated sunshine of you all's loving concern. At any rate, (and I'll whisper this is order not to tempt the fates) i'm feeling great this week. I've been able to get lots of good hours of writing in and have a good appetite--trying to stop the weight loss.

We're looking forward to the return of the kids for Christmas, too, and to some special time shopping with each of them. Who could say we're not blessed to the hilt. I hope you all are keeping warm and energized and not too harried with extra demands of the Holidays.

From under the mistletoe, a kiss from

Diane

Reality Check

This week Jeff and I realized we've fallen into a pattern of expecting a revival when my chemo treatments end. We've been lounging around, putting things off. I've dreamed of reclaiming my brain, shedding the fuzzy effects of chemo on thinking capacity. Somewhere along the line, though, I began to suspect there might be more to this than 6 treatments, a remission and a likely return. On Tuesday, at my 4th chemo treatment, we pumped the doctor again. Though my tumor marker numbers have been steadily declining, he anticipates I'll need two additional treatments plus one year of maintenance chemo--one drug instead of two, every four weeks. After that, it's anybody's guess.

But the upshot is, I realize this may be as good as it gets, so I better get my kuttocuss in gear. So today, despite being feverish, I hunkered down in front of the Christmas tree (quite possibly the source of my fever) and spent several hours revising a manuscript. Hooray, you might say. I just hope my fuzzy brain remembers a few days from now which manuscript I worked on and what in the world I was attempting to accomplish in it!

Some good news for all my wonderful ladies and for those who love them: According to my chemo nurse, the FDA recently approved a new ovarian cancer screen that should be out after the first of the year. It's expected to be a routine part of a woman's annual exam--yes! Yes! This is not the CA 125 tumor marker some of you may have heard about that is unreliable because it registers inflammation from any source in the body (not just ovarian cancer). Ask your doctor about this new screen at your next exam. As some of you know, the reason ovarian cancer is so deadly is because its symptoms are rarely recognized until the disease is far advanced like mine.

Love to you all,

Diane

Round 4

Mom will likely have more updates, but wanted to let you all know that she went in for her fourth round of chemo yesterday. I'm mighty proud of how well she's been holding up, thanks in part to all of you, but also due to her general stamina and strength.

Last Friday she about walked the pants off of her sister and niece (Aunt Lorie and Alicia) and me as we attempted to complete some Christmas shopping. It might have had something to do with the smoothies she's managing to force down. I'm awaiting the day when she actually admits to liking them. (Here's where she'll wryly comment, "Over my dead body!")

Other news? The holiday countdown has commenced. Alex and I hauled a tree over to mom and dad's last weekend from our family friends Arnie and Susan's Christmas tree farm in McMinnville. My little house has its first tree ever; mom and dad's is up earlier than ever before. It's a welcome, cozy, friendly feeling. Can't wait for Jess and Nathan to head home so we can get started making piroskis with lamb, raisins, feta cheese and spinach. It's a Christmas Eve tradition that started a while back but I have no idea where it came from--we don't have Russian roots.

Best to all of you,

Valarie

Leftovers

I'm still smacking my lips over the garlic mashed potatoes and divine gravy at Thanksgiving, gravy drippings provided by my brother-in-law's perfectly roasted and stuffed turkey. As usual, Jesse and his cousin Logan alone required five pounds of potatoes between them. Jesse also put away a full quarter of the apple pie from home--good thing there were two other pies and a cobbler for the rest of us. Nathan arrived in time for dessert, having missed his flight out of Manchester on the east coast, which provided him with a hilarious story. For one thing, Security is a little touchy about bricks of cheese in large quantities in carry-on luggage.

After overindulging in all our traditional Thanksgiving fare, we Hamms plunged into a raucous solitaire tournament with cards recycled by Jesse from his days as a professional poker dealer. I have to say I'm really not much of a game or card player--it has to do with my limited attention span--but ever since I joined the Hamm clan decades ago I've been a solitaire aficionado--multiple-player solitaire, you understand. As in 4, 5, 6 players all throwing their aces into the communal pot to build on. Oh the shouts, the curses, the shrieks of dismay! (I did have to forcibly remove Jeff's jack of spades from a pile I'd been watching Forever to put my own jack on.) We finished the day with a grand slam 8-person frenzy, played on the floor. My stomach muscles are still complaining about those 3-foot reaches across the playing field.

Jeff and I were able to have a quiet day with Nathan before he returned to Dartmouth. Nathan's my fellow artist, and it was great to have his encouragement on the greeting cards lined up on the piano that I've made in hopes of someday writing you all. He also appreciated a painting I did last winter for Valarie that keeps having to return to the artist for "adjustments". Imagine my pique when Jeff and I sneaked the altered painting over to Valarie's for reinstalation while she was still on Thanksgiving sabbatical in Port Townsend, only to discover we no longer had her house key on our key ring.

I've now put away my paint brushes in preparation for the writing prescription Nathan is sending me. The whole family seems to feel that my brain may evaporate entirely if I don't at least Make An Attempt to exercise my writing muscle every day. The good news is an editor who saw a preview of my work in October has written that she'd be happy to look at my entire middle grade manuscript as soon as I finish some revisions she suggested. That kind of revision concentration will have to wait till after Christmas. For now, being able to make Christmas lists will be challenge enough. Thank goodness for my sweet sis Lorie and her daughter Alesia who are coming this week to help with Christmas shopping. I have the best sister and sisters-in-law ever. May you, yourself, have at least one.

Diane

On file

This weekend Jeff and I had a few quiet days together for the first time in a long while. We puttered around, companionably doing housework, watched a couple of movies, walked to the library. We've begun going through our household filing cabinet, set up twenty-five years ago with a great sense of control over our lives. Like all systems, it required (but never got) regular maintenance and grew less useful over the years. Tackling it is a good warm-up for hitting my writing files, which are gargantuan by comparison. The nice thing about this chore is it serves as a panorama of our lives together. The first batch of files contained School-Nathan, School-Jesse, School-Valarie, Plumbing & Wiring, Entertainment, Getaways-Washington, Getaways-Not Washington, Projects. We reduced them by a good 12 inches. Some of what got saved: the diagrams for how to dance the tango and the rhumba--someday we may dance again; the sketch of the rose arbor we built for our house in Port Townsend, the sketch of the reading couch and matching cabinet built for our Ballard house in Seattle; the sketch of the sweet little patio refuge we made with cedar, pebbles and a curving brick planter for our house near Children's Hospital. We realized in looking through them how much energy we had then, what an adventure it was to imagine and create, how important home has always been to us. The most intriguing thing we tossed out was a government pamphlet on How to Slaughter Beef. I promise you I have never had the slightest intention of slaughtering a beef, and now, without that pamphlet I can plead ignorance of having the slightest idea how to do it in the future. Amazing what a person can free themselves of with a little judicious sorting.

Today I'm seeing the smoothie naturopath to see what ideas he may have for dealing with my night time stomach aches. The lining of the stomach and intestines, as fast growing cells, take a hit with chemo just like the cancer. This past week I was given a $6800 shot to stimulate my bone marrow to make more white blood cells--a standard treatment after chemo sessions. Probably you're wondering like we do--what do people without insurance do??!!

May you have a nice Thanksgiving with someone dear to you. The Hamms are heading to Seattle for dinner with Jeff's brother and his family and all our children. I'll be packing along my healing quilt, a heating pad and a good book so I can slip away from the party when my head starts to droop. I can hardly wait for a piece of pumpkin pie.

Diane

Delicious Friday

Mom and me. A stroll down mainstreet for crepes. Home to sit on the couch. Cozy toes together, talking women's talk.

Valarie

If you wonder..........

If you wonder if you've arrived at the right blog, don't run off! Jesse Allan, who's returned to school to study web development, has itchy fingers whenever he stops by this site. Looks pretty cool now, but it could morph again, even as we speak. Cyberspace imitating life!

Diane

Sunshine at last!

Yesterday we headed over to the coast with Valarie and her Alex (whose birthday it was) and Jesse to celebrate the return of the sun after a solid week of rain. It was lovely to walk along our favorite beach at Pacific City where barefooted toddlers played in the sand and middle-aged surfers paddled out to catch "the big ones". My crew climbed the sky-scraper sand dune and did the wave from the top for me. Motion and fresh air are a big pleasure for me these days. So is having people at home in my kitchen. This past week my brother Dave and sister-in-law Lucy from Calgary were with us. Lucy baked and planned meals and spent a solid day on her knees weeding my flower beds. Dave flipped pancakes, fixed the dishwasher and suspended a golf ball from the ceiling of the garage so I won't crush the table saw when I attempt to squeeze the Scion in. It was great to have such loving caretakers with us.

This week I'll have my third chemo round. The cancer marker numbers are down, which is good. The naturopath, who concocted the protein smoothie I bravely--let's hear it for me!--force down each morning, counts us among his "hopeful realists." Hopeful realists enjoy daily life in between preparing for what may be a future not of their choosing. My family has their dips, but is hanging in there.

May there be sunshine wherever You are this week.

Diane

Times a changing! - a few words from Jesse

We touch only those that desire to be touched by our wisdom!




We seek only the moment of truth where there in lies a belief that we must hold onto that which compels us to never let go!




A glimpse into the future, reflects upon us a past untold!




Unwavering in our determination to shatter reality & defy existence, we conquer our fears, learn our desires, and set a path to that untold land of ever lasting bliss!

In Love, Hope & Peace!

Jesse

And Many More..........

This weekend we celebrated my 59th birthday in a mini family reunion secretly planned by Jeff--what an accomplishment! My three brothers, sister and two sisters-in-law, from Canada, Montana and Bend, cooked in my kitchen, set up slide shows, told family stories and caught up with each other and with me. It was a joyful time as well as a sobering one as the Johnston stoics confronted, each in our own way, the possibility that sooner than normally expected we'll be one less.

Jesse, Valarie, her sweetie and a family friend were also part of the party. I wish you'd dropped by! Join us here for a peek.

Post-election

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister's eyes, into
Your brother's face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

- Maya Angelou, from "On the Pulse of Morning"


Valarie

Volleyball insight...

Had a volleyball coach once say that even if we were playing terribly as a team, all it took to change the mental game and start winning was one person who could "fake it till you make it."

Seems like that's what it's all about right now.

Valarie

Sarah's beautiful quilt

This here is a quilt of love and healing made by Sarah. That's her daughter on the right, Megan, then me on the left and Dad. Whenever mom needs a nap or bit of warmth, she wraps herself in the colors and coziness of this art. Thanks, Sarah.

A Plot Twist

Chemo II was a pretty good day. We knew the routine. It didn't seem nearly as medieval as the first time. The IV stands were just IV stands and not pikes dangling implements of torture (although you could still argue........). Familiar faces, caring staff and a remarkably upbeat atmosphere in this large open room with 20+ cancer patients made it easier. Diane cruised through the day, ate a good meal afterwards at our nearby Mexican cantina and is now tucked into bed.

The overall game plan has however changed. The liter of fluid drawn from Diane's chest cavity last Friday registered cancer cells and Dr. Rushing confirmed under Diane's cross examination this morning that there are likely tumors in the thoracic lining. This means she will stay on the intravenous chemotherapy in order to fight cancer both in the chest and the abdomen. Inserting the port into her abdomen for direct infusion of chemo into the open spaces of "the lower half" is on hold for now.

Diane also pressed Rushing for the numbers. So that you all know, here they are: Her cancer is now classed Stage IV (they are categorized Stages I - IV; she was formerly IIIC). Chances of complete cure are now less than 10%. Survivability is in the 18 months to 36 months range (formerly 3 years to 5 years). These are of course averages and Diane is visualizing rowing crew, with Valarie setting the pace as stroke, and steering clear headed for that thin channel, that 10% of the river.

The chemo day closed with the good news that the tumor marker (CA-125) measure for Diane dropped slightly through the first chemo session, from 298 to 288. Small movement but in the right direction. The doc was happy with it and so are we.

Thanks so much for your concern, love and support. We are buoyed by you all.

Jeff

Round two

This weekend: we cut mom's hair. She looks cute. Really. Never knew mom had such an attractive head on the outside (inside we've always known there was something there). Jesse shaved his too, and I must say he looks quite chiseled.

We have a bunch of photos to share. Jesse just needs to get them off his camera (hint hint).

Other news: They drained more than a quart of fluid off of mom's lungs on Friday. Mom reports she can breathe much better and I've proposed signing up for a marathon.

Other news II: Mom felt like eating this weekend. Saw her take down some eggs, half a chicken sandwhich, a nibble of oatmeal cookie, a decent sized bowl of chicken soup....That's reason enough to celebrate!

Other news III: Mom heads in for round two of chemo today.

Tally ho, mom.

Valarie

Friday evening, pre-dinner update

Bit of a random post, but here goes....

It's 6:30 pm. Right now, mom is back at the hospital getting an ultrasound. Appears as though there may be more fluid gathering in her abdomen, making it harder for her to get a full breath. They're heading in there to see what's up and perhaps to drain some of the fluid. Dad is actually still sitting there, waiting. The appointment started at 2:00. We were thinking it would be more like a doctor's visit--less formal--but no, she's in the nightgown, in a hospital bed, the nurses are fretting about getting in an IV, taking her blood, botching it, taking blood again...mom trying to be patient as they poke her again. And now it's just waiting. I headed back home to take the chicken soup off the stove before it burned. Now I'm waiting for the call to go pick them back up again.

Tomorrow is a big day--mom has indicated it's time to cut her hair. Little strands, and more strands have slowly been falling and collecting on her jacket and shoulders. She's been a trooper--hasn't said much about it--but I know this is a big deal. Feeling like she's a bit delicate right now. And the harder, longer road is just beginning. But we'll keep on trucking...

One other thing: just want you all to know how much your cards and notes mean. People say that when they receive cards, but just looking at the variety of pictures and notes on the counter...reading the words...they keep us going and I know they are supporting and helping mom. She crys over them sometimes, but they're good tears. Don't know if she ever realized how much love there is out there for her; suspect she wondered if she'd be going at this thing a bit more alone instead of wrapped in the care and good energy you send our way.

So thanks.

Valarie

How to post a comment on this blog

Mom mentioned that a few of you are having trouble posting comments on the blog. I've added a new column on the right "How to post a comment" that explains how. If you still have problems, please let us know! I'd rather walk you through it than not have you say what you want to say. We love hearing from you all!

Valarie

Quick snapshot...

It's Thursday, 3:59 pm, and mom's calling me at work. She's finally hungry. And not just generally hungry, she wants Indian food.

A few hours later, Jesse (who's down from Seattle), dad, mom, Alex and I are sitting at a little table in a little restaurant on the second floor of a house. Chicken tikka masala. Panooch palaka (that's not spelled correctly, I'm certain), naan, rice, mango lassi....and chuntey. Mom specifically wants chutney.

She doesn't eat a ton, but there's something so heartening about watching her chow down on something she really wants.

It's Friday. Jess, mom and I make a quick stop at the doctor's office so the nurse can take a look at how mom's port wound is healing. Mom was concerned by the crustiness; apparently, it's just the glue they put on there to help it heal. We're relieved.

Next, we head to Mary Catharine's, a store nearby, to check out the wigs. Jesse and mom both model them. We look at colors. Cuts. Some look pretty dang good.

Jesse took photos with his camera. Stay tuned--we'll share.

Valarie

A Little Slow on the Upbeat

Have been low key this week after chemo. An afternoon nap is essential, but even that doesn't prevent a 4 o'clock dip or that after-dinner laying my head on the table like a child overdue for bed.

Still, this weekend I gathered my Saturday energy and rode with Jeff down to Silver Falls State Park outside Salem, where a host of my writing buddies congregated at the annual conference of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators. The head honcho had let them know of my surgery and challenging road ahead and some had read the blog. Everyone penned encouraging notes for me on the inside covers of a copy of Lorie Ries's picture book, The Punk Wig, about a mother going through chemo. It's a lovely book, very well done.

It was wonderful to see them all. Each hug was a blessing. Either I'll be back at Silver Falls for the full three days next year, or I won't...regardless, I'll carry the loving thoughts of my fellow scribes and artists with me.

While I was there, I spent a couple of hours critiquing and hearing my own work critiqued--a very important part of being a writer--. The next day I was fired up enough to dive into revisions on my picture book manuscript, When Big Bad Met Goldie Rocks.

Today I returned to my Qi Gong class, a gentle, centering exercise form that predates Tai Chi. I'm hoping to keep it up as I work my way through chemo. Getting out of the house to breathe fresh air and be around people with vitality is refreshing and keeps my attitude pointed in the right direction. Now, if I could just find a way to reignite my appetite.........

Diane

Loving Words from Las Vegas

I doubt my cousin Danny would consider himself a poet, but he has a poet's way of getting at the heart of things: "...........after reading the blog about you telling about your mom, I realize how much you are like her and your daughter like you. I think that is something to be proud of. Your daughter has a way with words and the entries are easy to flow with. I know what you are going through is tough and scary. What you said about being away from friends and family because you moved is somewhat true. What you don't know is how many people that know you like myself are praying for you and thinking of you. Di, being from Las Vegas my whole life I know a good bet when I see one and you lady are a good bet."

Last night Valarie asked me how I'm doing emotionally. A part of me is resting now. A part is secure in my outlook on life and death. And a part has a little weep now and then when loving words like Danny's reach me.

Diane

dancing matt for dancing mom

mom:

this guy quit his "real job" to travel the world doing a jig, because that's what he loved.

reminds me of you--both living the passion and the pure sense of joy.

http://www.wherethehellismatt.com/

watch the video in the middle of the screen. sound on.

love you,

ya daughta

chemo commences

update: mom started chemo this morning.

what it was like: she slept. says "i didn't get a chance to do much."

possible side effects: achy bones and nausea.

she's on steroids: really (makes the chemo drugs work better). says she "might be up till the wee hours getting emails out."

doc says: port will go back in, later.

valarie

weekend adventures

quick weekend update:

mom and i spent all saturday afternoon visiting bathroom remodel stores (saw some impressive sinks) as alex and i have plans to add a bathroom upstairs and redo the one downstairs at my little house in north portland. mom held her own the entire time, firing off questions to the salespeople and providing commentary and ideas all the way.

all three of us also made our way to a new (to us) mexican place, autentica, for some tacos al pastor and sopa azteca. very tasty. brought back pleasant memories of my time in Oaxaca--and mom's and my trek up through mexico when i moved back to Oregon.

where was dad? at the beach, taking a bit of time to himself. mom jokingly referred to our afternoon together as "mom-sitting". nah, mom, it's just us hanging out like normal.

valarie

JUST ROCKIN'

Just rockin' in my little boat out in the sea. It could be a lazy afternoon in early fall, except for the storm clouds of boredom gathering on the horizon. Boredom, the ultimate denial of living. I've even allowed myself to shed a few tears, as in bored to tears. Or maybe I was weeping over the loving cards from friends in today's mail, which remind me of a little story in two parts.

Part One: When I was growing up in rural western Montana money was often tight. Once a month Mom laid out the bills on the dining room table and wrote checks in full for only a few of them. The other creditors received a small payment to carry our accounts foward. Bill night was the one time our usually calm mother was snappish. Still, she made it clear that as long as we had our health, we'd be fine. Then, one day she lost her health. The last years of her life she was bedridden, unable even to hold a telephone. She bore her situation with grace, only rarely allowing herself to weep. We learned there was a corollary beyond health. We learned when health is gone, love remains, and love saw her through. Her love for us and ours for her.

Part Two: When Jeff and I left Salem, I told him it needed to be our last move. It takes us 3-5 years to really feel at home in a community. I didn't want to find myself in a hospital in a new place with no one to visit me. Guess what? I ended up in a hospital in a new place. But the fact was, I was too sick to greet anyone but family. The fact was, my friends from every place I've ever lived found me. That's you all. You let me know with flowers, loving words in cards and telephone calls that you were thinking of me. You've cleaned my house, cooked me dinners, made me a healing quilt, sent me a personal spa, offered to drive to Vancouver to take me to chemo treatments. New acquaintances in Vancouver have also come forward, assuring me there are good people waiting everywhere I go. End of story.

As for my little boat, rockin' like a cradle, I'm feeling like it's time to do some rowing. To gather the wool of my brain together and focus on small goals beyond eating protein and taking pills on time. Writing seems a world away right now, but my piano is not. Today I opened a music book I bought last Christmas when I had the piano tuned for the first time in years with the hope it would entice Valarie and Nathan and Jesse to play while they were home. I don't remember that they did, but I do remember that the book I bought, which had a passionate piece I'd longed to learn since college days, turned out to be far beyond my skill level. Nevermind. Today I turned to that piece-- Malaguena-- and vowed to master it, measure by measure. Today Malaguena. Tomorrow, the world.

Diane

Musing

I've always had this sense that what's meant to be will happen. In the past, this has provided some sense of relief...it's served as a little mental bumper that kicks in and says "Enough, stop pushing! Let things fall into place (or not into place)." Occasionaly, it's even made some of the struggles feel less personal and the disappointments less potent.

I gotta say, this cancer thing isn't one of them.

I don't mean that as a big, philosophical statement or emotional outburst. It's just that when we learned that the chemo port in mom's abdomen needed to be taken out, I was just...disgusted. Sometimes enough is enough, and "let things fall into place" seems very off in this particular situation.

So there. Blah.

Valarie

GLITCH

I had my easy chair all picked out in the double row of facing recliners in the chemo salon. My row looked through floor-to-ceiling windows on the trees in the parking lot and the street beyond. Once I got settled in, the nurse extracted four ounces of royal red from my arm pic for pretreatment analysis. She pointed out the baby refrigerator with cool drinks where I could stash my brown bag lunch of cold meatloaf sandwich and red grapes. It would be a 6-hour day, she said. Newbies need to go slower and be watched for adverse reactions to the chemo drugs, which for me would be two different kinds going into my pic. Later, when my abdomen completely healed from all the extensive surgery three weeks ago, they'd pump a third, big-gun drug into a port in my stomach. The nurse also pointed out the blanket warmer, where I could extract a soothing comforter as desired.

After putting a reserve sign on my chair, I followed the nurse into an examining room for a quick update with the physician's assistant before they hooked me up to the drugs. Routine questions followed, including, was I ready to begin. You bet I was! I'm ready to take advantage of those cancer cells when they're down, mercilessly whittled by surgery. I happened to mention a yellow crust on my 3-inch, east-west incision where the abdominal port was installed. Unlike the foot-long, north-south incision that has healed beautifully (according to medical personnel), the port site has not healed. Bummer. Chemo cancelled for the week. Port to come out tomorrow. Follow up next week to see about commencing chemo then and to consider options for new port or not. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh. I gotta tell you, I had all the many kindnesses and good wishes of you all condensed into those chemo bags to run interference for me against the C squad. So, if you could all hold those good thoughts till next week when we get back on track...............

As always, Diane

status update

So, here's the skinny on mom:

She's eating better than she has in a long time. It's good to see her actually eating from a normal sized plate. We're still trying to fill her with protein, however, so yesterday we did a smoothie tasting. What did we have to work with? Three kinds of juice concentrate, five types of frozen fruit, bananas, lime, cream, cocount milk, hemp protein powder, rice protein powder #1, rice protein powder #2. Fortunately, we came up with a couple of decent options before I burned the blender out.

Anyway...so, she's eating better. Her legs are less puffy due to better nutrition and a calf and foot massage from her good friend, Sarah. Seems like there is more fluid building up again in her abdominal area, however. We're all feeling that the chemo probably can't come soon enough at this point; good thing it starts tomorrow.

This afternoon, dad, mom and I head off to the chemo orientation class. Only one of us was supposed to accompany mom to the class, but dad put his foot down (go dad!) and we're both heading in with her. We'll share what we learn.

Valarie

musical shirts

So I'm starting to appreciate what mom has gone through all these years--that is, in terms of shopping. Although neither of us are very good at it (i.e. we primarily look and try on but rarely buy; it drives dad nuts), mom has always had an eye out for me. I can see her in the dressing room trying on pants, estimating that if they drag on the floor about five inches and sit below the belly button by one, that they just might fit me.

Now I know what she's gone through.

Mom simply wanted a few new shirts. So yesterday I found myself in Ross with a huge cart of shirts and pants. I took them in in batches of eight and did a musical chairs of sorts articles of clothing: Red shirt on, gray sweat pants on. Take off gray sweat pants, put on brown pants. Take off red shirt, put on black shirt. Take off brown pants, put on short purple ones (take those off, quick!).

Really, it wasn't that bad (truth be told, I kind of enjoyed it). And I'm happy to report that of the twelve items I took home to mom, she kept five. That, my dear friends, should be considered a great accomplishment.

Valarie

some thoughts on regular eating

Well, as I'm not a very effective food pusher from afar, I can only offer suggestions on this feeding frenzy business. My brainstorm-of-the-day as I talked to mom yesturday, was that perhaps an egg-timer was in order. The idea being that ya eat, ya set the timer for an hour, when it dings ya eat again, on and on, ad full-stomagum. It seems like there should be a balance between protein for the chemo (and water-retention as I read today) and fiber for general GI health. So maybe you alternate food types.

Now, as there's a good chance of Mom 'forgetting' to reset the timer, I propose that every time she doesn't eat at the proscribed and pleasantly chimed hour, she owes me a buck. And at the end of the week, mails me a letter with the proceeds. More righteously, she could donate it to the Vancouver-Val-Petroleum-Reimbursement-Fund.

On my end, as per a previous agreement, I promise not to read the New York Times Online before noon.

-nate

ode to eyebrows

Mom and I are sitting in the car at Whole Foods Market. I've managed to feed her some pulled pork, the only thing that sounded somewhat appealing to her from the list dad and I rattled off from the deli selection.

She looks at me, tired.

"I can handle losing my hair," she says, "But I don't want to lose my eyebrows."

Valarie

post-op from the doc

Mom, dad and I headed in yesterday for mom's post-op appointment with Dr. Rushing. In general, he's pleased with where mom's at, though he's encouraging her to continue eating gobs of protein. Apparently she needs more not only to build up strength but to reduce retention of water in her legs. Mom's poor ankles and calves are still pretty swollen. (Protein helps draw water into the tissues throughout our bodies so gravity doesn't send it all south to our feet and legs.)

He also outlined the gameplan: chemo starts next Tuesday. Think we were all a little surprised that it was so soon--I still want her to be stronger before getting started--but since the cancer doesn't stop growing, we shouldn't stop moving forward.

Analogy of the day: cancer as parasite. Dr. Rushing used it in reference to mom's need for better nutrition. I realized she likely had increasingly poor nutrition before we even knew about the cancer, as the quickly dividing cells were snagging all the good stuff she was putting in. Hate those nutrient hogs.

Valarie

At Last

Dear Ones,

Today for the first time in two weeks I climb the steps to my studio to be with you for a spell. I run my hand along the new section of railing beautifully crafted and installed for my benefit by a young craftsman who is scoping out the family, or more precisely, our only daughter, Valarie. I pass the doorway to the master bedroom, where the bed lies unmade with pillows on only one side, where Jeff attempts to recover through sleep from the stick thrust through his bike spokes. And on to the studio where son Jesse hastily made up his cot before returning to Seattle on the train yesterday after building me a set of steps so I can get off the back deck for a walk. He also stirred up a double batch of his super-nutritious, peanut-butter, chocolate-chip-oatmeal, everything’s-going-to-be-fine cookies to tide us over till he comes again.

It has been a lovely weekend of small pleasures and settling in after my sweet sister Lorie from Montana spent a week transitioning us from hospital care to self-care. Who knows what planet I might have been on by now without her careful calculating of my medicine schedules. But mostly it’s her tenderness and companionship that has nourished me.

I’m happy to report that I did accomplish my goal for the weekend: to trim’s Jeff’s hair. After 37 years of being the only one to cut his locks, I consider it my special privilege and responsibility to keep him looking debonair. On Saturday night the kitchen was filled with the intoxicating aroma of home-grown tomatoes reducing in a spaghetti sauce-to-die-for on the stove—chef Valarie and her sweetheart in attendance. On Sunday another young friend stirred up some custard for me. I love people cooking in my kitchen –it’s like observing a still-life set into motion, where every sense is awakened and every possibility of further communion activated. Last night we communed around the table with a future poet-laureate, a young Seattle friend who once gave me a pin that says it all: write or die!

Many of you have sent produce from your gardens and the generous fruits of your own kitchens. I can’t tell you how much the whole Hamm household has appreciated them. After a week of hospital food: yellow jello, yellow broth, brown tea and apple juice—I am truly in seventh heaven with all your wonderful dishes, lovingly prepared.

Your visits, calls, cards and blogs—which Jeff has been printing out for me to read downstairs in my little yellow bower—formerly a tiny den—make me feel tethered and remind me nothing is ever lost in our interactions over the years. I am honored by your kindness and loving concern.

Tomorrow we will learn more from the doctor about lab reports, prospects and the specifics of treatment. Things to be dealt with and planned for, but not limited to. It’s Fall, my favorite time of the year, when the nip is in both the apples plucked from our tree and in the air that has never felt so satisfyingly fresh.

Diane

CHARLENE

Hey Charlene, thanks so much for your concern and for following our progress here on the blog. If I could find your e-mail I would get back to directly but I can't seem to conjure it up so will resort to getting back to you through the blog.

Your offer of a Mediterranean chicken dish perked up both Diane's and my taste buds. If you are whipping up a batch this weekend and it's not too much trouble and have some left over we promise we would clean our plates.

With appreciation,

Jeff

the status on mom

So, how is she, you ask? She feels more like mom every day. All the plumbing isn't quite in tip top shape yet, but we're hoping that all falls into place here shortly.

I am happy to report, however, that her appetite has improved, enough so that when she saw me scooping up a carefully-selected spoonful of casserole for myself--with just the right ratio of chicken, kalamata olives and artichoke hearts--she sweetly said "Oh yes, that looks just right for me."

She and Aunt Lorie also headed out for mom's first acupuncture treatment today. My hope is to get her going regularily to help with any symptoms, like bloating or naseau, and to help rebuild a battered immune system. Sounds like a couple of the needles really hit some important spots, including Aunt Lorie's ear. (Apparently Christina knows caregivers need a bit of love as well :)

Mom is also walking around more outside. She and my good friend Emily made about twelve million laps on the front porch this evening as Aunt Lorie downloaded me on mom's med regime. (One oxie every six hours, one tylenol every eight--don't miss this one--naseua pills as needed, gas ones before every meal and--nate, this one's for you--I added in the "de-lish" fish oil. Tasty.

Our plan this weekend is to get a few more things organized as we gear up for the chemo coming shortly. Dad, mom and I will be at the doctor's on Tuesday to get a sense of what the treatment will really be like. I'm anxious to get a better sense of what that picture looks like.

Valarie

a word from mom to all of you

Last night dad printed out a few pages of this blog and read them off to mom. She's not quite ready to make the trek upstairs to the computer herself, but dad wanted her to hear what you all have been saying and sending.

She asked me to tell you all how much she enjoyed your comments and that as soon as she's keyboard ready again, she's looking forward to reading and responding herself. (Honestly, I'm a bit worried what sass she'll post regarding the whole passing gas entry...hee heeeee!)

Valarie

back in the swing (literally)

You know when you pull up in the driveway after a long roadtrip? That's what it feels like to have mom at home again, a sense of "ahhh, at last."

She's been doing laps around the living room, and she's documenting everything she eats or takes and when and how much. Aunt Lorie and mom have even nicknamed the meds--"oxie (for pain); "comps" (for naseau). I'm wondering what she'll call the fish oil she's started taking...

Last night, mom sat outside on the front porch swing in her nightgown. I stood behind her and massaged her shoulders; they ache. We didn't talk a whole lot before Nathan called, but we had just enough time to take a breath or two together.

She's already talking about how she and dad may need to adapt and change their lifestyle. "It's not like I want to pickup and go to New Zealand," she says, but there's some shift she's feeling . I tell her I expect her to spend more time on the porch swing. Maybe we'll even outfit it with some cushions and an outdoor heater, I say. She visualizes a cup of hot cocoa in her hands.

It's a peaceful picture.

Valarie

rumor has it...

...Mom is homeward bound today. We now have two-three weeks to fatten her up before chemo starts. Commence with Operation Body Build.

Valarie

Who's who.

Our favorite troublemakers at Christmas last year--glamor shot by Jesse.

arg (and blah)

it's aunt lori calling. "how close are you?", she says. "your mom is starving."

mom finally has an appetite, and she knows what she wants: fingerling potatoes, with some walla walla sweet onion, and irish cheddar cheese. oh, and some homemade vanilla custard with "lots of eggs."

a pot of water has never boiled so slowly. i'm rushing to cook the potatoes, and once they're in, i keep poking them with a fork to prod them along. finally, they're soft enough to eat. i toss them into a container and rush out the door to vancouver.

at the hospital, mom eats. i mean, really, she actually eats. granted it was one potato (no skin) and two teaspoons of pudding, but i still consider it a small victory.

and then this morning, an email from dad:

"Mom had a rough night. Pain and couldn't sleep. She threw up this am too although Kendra (she is here today, hooray!) is not too concerned, thinks it may be because the pm nurse ended up giving Mom too many of her meds at once (she was late on a dosage)."

i'm glad kendra (one of our favorite nurses) isn't too worried, but i'm still frustrated with the night nurse. seems like mom gets better with some nurses and then regresses with others. mom hasn't eaten in a week. i'd like whatever she eats to stay put.

valarie

a call to protein!

so, a small request for help from you all out there.

having undergone surgery, and with chemo on the horizon, mom is going to need as much protein as possible. in fact, according to our favorite nutritionist--adelle davis--that means six servings per day. one serving is 26 grams.

that's a lot, and she can't actually consume straight protein at the moment, but once we get her home, we'll be doing our best.

we've brainstormed some ideas--salmon burgers, tuna fish salad, chicken soup--but would love some additional ideas. of course, we want to make it a bit challening, so here're the limitations:

no milk or yogurt
no beans
no soy

many thanks!

valarie

how to comment on the blog...

thanks to all who have sent along emails and posted to this blog. it means a lot to us to hear from you out there.

in case you want to post but don't know how:

- click on the title of the entry you want to comment/respond to
- scroll down to the bottom of the screen and click the small link that says "post a comment"

valarie

there she is!

at last. it feels as though mom is emmerging.

on friday, i arrived late after work to find her sitting upright in a chair. her eyes were clear and her cheeks rosy as she chatted on the phone with her brother david in canada. seeing her there, looking like she did, made me realize how "off" she's looked over the past couple of months. i don't think i consciously knew or identified it at the time, but i do remember thinking she seemed tired and drawn even though she seamed to have most of her usual stamina. now she honestly appears younger and fresher.

yesterday, she settled into a wheel chair and we took her outside to the beautiful outdoor rock garden just outside the hospital entrance. i was tempted to zip around the hospital corners and corridors to get her there, but she's still battling some naseua, so i held myself back.

taking her out for a stroll reminded me of the time when my mexian step grandmother, Linda, took my stroke-immoboilized grandpa for a wheelchair stroll outside of the nursing home. when it came time for linda to take him back inside, grandpa stubbornly put his feet down and resisted the push of the wheels. he couldn't say it verbally, but his message was clear--don't take me back in there. mom, of course, is in a slightly different position. but i wondered if that thought was running through her head.

valarie

Passed Gas

Quite by surprise the colonic event occurred late last night. This is the best news of the week. Her intestines and colon are waking up. It's causing pain but it's the good kind because as you all know the lower tract has to be in working order before they will let you go home.

Her spirits have returned as has the color in her cheeks (.......well, yes those too). Her laps now extend out into the hallway and around the nurses station. The nausea has subsided, and I am to purchase some chicken consomme from out little neighborhood restaurant, "La Bottega" for her dining pleasure tonight.

If I were a betting man I would say she comes home late Monday or early Tuesday.

Jeff

Two Back, One Forward

Thursday continued downward for Diane as nausea settled in, pain got out of control and fluid began to build in her abdomen and under her lungs. Dr. Rushing said later the post operative "honeymoon" was over. Her traumatized digestive tract has 'gone to sleep'. Not only did that mean whatever meager amounts of sustenance we had managed to get into her went nowhere but the absence of protein in the intestines had caused the fluid accumulation in the abdominal cavity. She was miserable, listless and unaware. Cause for concern.

However Thursday ended and Friday has dawned on the upside. She is now back on an IV, strong pain medication reintroduced and sometime this morning an intravenous catheter (pic) will be inserted in her arm and threaded up close to the heart. The pic will be used to deliver nutrients until the food processing unit is back in business. Drugs have so far kept Diane from throwing up but if that unpleasantness occurs they have a plan and will put an ng (I guess that stands for nasal-gastro?) tube into her stomach. In addition Diane's sister, Lori, arrived from Missoula. These two are very close and I could feel the energy when I walked into the room yesterday and found Lori by Diane's side. Lori and Valarie are a formidable duo. Valarie as master chef and Lori as trainer, "No you don't Diane! I said 10 complete laps. I saw you cut that corner and steer for bed. You get back here!"

We are also supremely fortunate to have the right doc. You all know Diane. You may not know, but can certainly imagine, how she might have strong views on the medical profession. Two days after our Labor Day weekend Saturday emergency room marathon we found ourselves seated in Dr. Rushing's office as he discussed the diagnosis and treatment. He said he could get Diane in for surgery the next morning. We continued talking logistics, etc. but Di grew quiet. He watched her closely and then said, "Diane, I'm not sure you are ready for this. Would you like to put it off?" He read her well. She put it off. Then last night, after a long day, he was bedside with her working through the complications and what to do about them. When all the medical steps had been discussed and agreed to by Diane, he sat close to her and asked how she was doing emotionally. He then ended the visit by asking her if she would give him a hug. It brought the biggest smile to Diane's face I have seen in days.

So we count ourselves fortunate. Thanks to all of you who have called, e-mailed, and written with your words of love and support and your offers of help.

This is a journey you always know may await you. There is a heaviness to actually starting it. But we remain hopeful and are resolved to make the most of whatever lies ahead.

Jeff

it hasn't been an easy Thursday morning

we thought she was on the up and up, but she looks worse, has less energy and is more naseous than she was yesterday.

she sits on the side of the bed, eyes closed, and says "sometimes i wonder if i'll ever feel better." she states it without selfpity or drama--that's not her style--but with misery and disorientation.

you will, mom. you will.

valarie

the menu

found mom awake and perky this morning. seemed like she and her roomate, Debbie, had bonded overnight. i'm guessing it was over the terrible food offerings, the good nurses, the not so good nurses, the challenges and triumphs of getting out of bed.

mari, the caring and attentive night nurse, informed me that mom had been up and out of bed multiple times already. made me think of the sense of triumph children experience when they first walk and the pride their parents feel. i know it's not the same, but i was so proud of mom.

and i cannot explain what a relief it was to see her cheeks rosy and her clear, rich, brown, beautiful eyes looking at me...but when i headed back this evening, i could tell she was tired. and soon she seemed so out of it. it took us a while but we finally figured it out--she needed more oxygen. when i talked later to nathan on my way home, i realized that she was basically exhibiting altitude-sickness like symptoms: lack of mental clarity, naseau, inability to make decisions. we got her back on some air and she perked up.

also finally got some food (sort of) down her. i don't blame her for cringing--who wants to eat this stuff. alex, dad and i spent a good hour conncocting all sorts of mixes from the protein powder, applesauce and other sundry ingredients we brought from home or dug up (yes, that terminology is intentional) at the hospital. when we were done, mom's bedside table looked like a science experiment.

the resulting menu?

homemade applesauce a la protein powder
water a la protein powder
rice milk a la protein powder
homemade appleasauce a la fortified vitamin powder
cranberry juice
cranberry juice applesauce protein powder

and the fan favorite (if you can call it a favorite):

gatorade with protein powder--and just straight gatorade

looking forward to the rest and healing tonight will bring her...

valarie

she's made it out of bed

good news to report. mom was pretty out of it for most of last night and this morning, but she's weaned herself off of the morphine and is making some progress. she looks more like mom--and has a bit of her sass back, too. dad offered her a dry saltine (really, she needed to eat it) and she wryly told him to "go to hell". we all took it as a good sign.

she also made it onto her feet. the goal is to get her up and walking a bit more throughout the night. i expect her johnston side--the one that's able to clearly express what she wants--to become increasingly more present the better she feels.

thanks to all for checking in on her and sending healing thoughts.

valarie

the word from the doc - this afternoon

An update on mom...she's in the recovery room right now. Been there about two hours so far. The doctor said the cancer was pretty extensive (stage IIIC). A tumor the size of a tennis ball on her ovary, with outcrops pretty much all over her peritoneal cavity. Spots on the diaphram, in the lymph nodes, appendix. Also had a big mass on her colon. Dr. Rushing opted to scrape off as much as he could instead of removing that part of the colon. There was (is) a lot of trauma to the area so it's likely she'll be here longer, anywhere from 3-6 days. They gave her a couple units of blood, too.

Main thing: he's optimistic that she'll recovery well. He "debulked" the tumors to the 1 cm or less size, which is what they aim for to begin chemotherapy. He did say that she won't get the chemo directly into the pertoneal cavity until later, given that she needs to heal up first. She'll start with the IV therapy only, then add in the localized chemo.That's it for the moment. We'll keep you posted.

valarie

Waiting for mom - this morning

valarie

i'm sitting here in the sunny lobby at the hospital. a pager--like the ones at the olive garden that light up when you've made it to the top of the waiting list--sits on the table. they'll beep us when she's out or the doctor wants to talk to you, explained the lady at the front desk, "and make sure you keep it in a pocket. it doesn't ring loud." sometime--in two hours, three hours, four hours, five--that little pager will light up, and we, hungry for information, will hustle up the steps and into the waiting room to meet with the doctor.

but for now, nathan and jesse are sacked out on the couches even though the sun is streaming through bright and cheery. dad has run off to work to grab some "stuff". somewhere upstairs, mom is asleep, the meditative music playing through her ipod. it's funny, but one of the things i'm most proud of her for, or maybe it's just what strikes me most, is how quickly she embraced that little music device. propped up in the hospital bed, she easily swirled the control around, fit the earpieces into her ears, and closed her eyes--peaceful, calm, on top of it in a very gentle way. i bent down to give her a final kiss before Ken the nurse wheeled her away, she looked at me: "don't be scared."