Our Diane...

Found: Restful Accomodations with Water View

2010-07-19T21:26:00.000-07:00

Dear all,

Has been some time, but we wanted to share with you a few pictures of the ceremony we held back in May to put Mom in her final (physical) resting place. It has been quiet here on the blog for awhile--we haven't quite figured out what to say next, so you'll have to pop by on occasion.

It was windy, clear, and blue when we first arrived in Port Townsend and got to work on Saturday trimming bushes and pouring concrete. Sunday was another matter--windy, grey, and a little bit wet. Together they were perfect--the right pairing for our insides and outsides and saying goodbye.

Dad put the 5-sided purple heartwood box in the ground, nestled in tissue. And we had some quiet time, while tamping down the dirt. Dorn & Norma said a few words and promised to visit her often. The headstone wasn't yet ready, so we made do with a photocopy and the line of crow tracks across the bottom of the footing, made in the night before the concrete set.

We are grateful that you joined us last year, in Vancouver or in spirit, to celebrate Diane--on this day that was strong comfort for all of us.

love,
the Hamms

Recent Remembrances

2010-04-27T07:52:00.000-07:00

Cousin Tammy has become, with much hard work and time, a master cake maker/decorator. Last month she made the most wonderful cake, celebrating Mom as a writer. So here you are:

"The Storyteller"--Enjoy!

Tammy also pointed us to Amazon, where Rock-A-Bye Farm continues to charm readers.

2009-05-24T13:26:00.000-07:00

All of you helped us fill the room to capacity, and then some with your appreciation and love for Diane. Thank you. And if we didn't get a chance to talk it was only because there were so many of you--we are grateful for all of your support.

Dear All,

We finally have put up photos of the memorial service and some of the happy times we (and you) spent with Diane in April and March. As we work through photos we'll put more up, so check back every now and then.

-nate

Here are the photos of Diane and her various crews 'round April:

And of all of you who kindly made the trek to Vancouver to join us in celebrating Diane:

(Thanks to Uncle Dave for manning the camera.)

Pie!
You were all so good and left your shoes on the porch as Di requested.

Celebration photos coming soon

2009-05-11T09:06:00.000-07:00

Thanks to all of you for joining us on Saturday to honor mom's life and her cherry pie. Your presence and words were warm and strong. Please check back here in a bit if you'd like to see photos from the celebration.

- Valarie

In Memorium

2009-05-03T14:29:00.000-07:00

Dear to Diane's heart was Pimpollo, a children’s home in Juchitan, Mexico. The photo above shows Diane on one of our trips there working her face painting magic on the kiids.

Also you probably do not know that Diane's grandmother, Jesse Trueworthy, ran an orphanage, the Paul Clark Home, in Butte, Montana for many years in the 1940s' and 50s'. Diane often recounted vivid memories of spending time there as a child, right down to the squeak of the bed springs in the frigid upstairs girls dormitory.

As one of her final wishes, Diane asked that I make a donation to Pimpollo in her name. As some have asked, if you would like to join me you may do so by going online to FriendsofPimpollo.org making a donation and noting in the "Comments" field Diane Hamm Memorial. You may also send a check care of Friends of Pimpollo to:

Friends of Pimpollo
P.O. Box 1107
Salem, OR 97308

Thanks!

Jeff

Join Our Celebration of Mom

2009-04-30T13:30:00.000-07:00

Help us celebrate who mom was and what she's left behind--from her art and life philosophy to her family and famous cherry pie.

We hope to see you there.

- The Hamm Family

Celebration - Saturday, May 9th, 3:00 pm
Red Cross Building (E.B. Hamilton Hall)
Fort Vancouver
605 Barnes Road
Vancouver, WA 98661

Cherry Pie Chowdown - Post-Celebration to 7:30 pm
You bring yourself; we'll provide mom's pie.
Mom and Dad's house
2223 D Street
Vancouver, WA 98663

-0-

2009-04-29T06:58:00.000-07:00

Our beloved Diane. Died 4 am, April 29, 2009.

These snapdragons are treasured in our family and they have been the view from Mom's bed for the past few days. Dad and Lorie wrote down these words from Mom about the dragons early Sunday morning:

"...For me that picture has always been a picture of joy-[a] picture of our family. I have loved that picture; it contains our family lightness. Darkness helps contrast the lightness so you appreciate it. Unless it’s there, you don’t see the joy. And it’s noisy, and there is chatter and activity, just like a barnyard. I would have to paint you a picture but given my present state…."

Bless all of you for your kindnesses, large and small.

-nate

We will post details of the memorial service in a little while

Picture of the evening

2009-04-28T21:42:00.001-07:00

I'm sitting in the red chair in the living room, at mom's feet. This is the chair the family has snuggled in, read in, cried in, dozed in since my childhood. (Mom and dad once said they'll be giving each of us kids a "red chair" when we marry; for now, we all share this one.)

Mom is in the hospital bed. We moved her there yesterday in order to more easily adjust her resting position. I'd hoped she would die sitting on the couch--more homey, less medical--but the bed makes sense given how difficult it's become to move her.

She's asleep. A slight grunt comes with nearly every exhale. A washcloth on her head. The knobby blue shawl covers her skinny shoulders and deflated breasts. On the bookcase, a mug of flat gingerale, untouched since this morning. Beautiful flowers to my right. A card from Sarah, with a picture of Port Townsend's Chetzemoka Park (mom's favorite), displayed to my left.

Jesse and Nathan are on the couch. Nathan: researching the stages of death...what to do afterwords...trying to prepare for something you can't really prepare for. Jesse: reflective and quiet...so gentle.

An unframed painting of mom's is propped along the windowsill..it's of pears...four versions in a row like stop action photography. Mom rediscovered the painting when we sorted through her sketches three weeks back; dad liked it so much he snagged it for his office but hasn't had a chance to take it there yet.

Aunt Lorie kisses mom's forehead and heads to bed. Dad settles in on the green couch.

We sit. Watch. Wait.

Is this the last night?

Valarie

Where we are

2009-04-27T23:22:00.001-07:00

Sorry, all, but no cheery pictures at this time. Doesn't quite fit where we're at right now. Fortunately, Lily, Isaac, Elissa and Nigel dropped off this magnificient box of colorful doughnuts that we determined picture-worthy (and taste bud worthy, too).

Mom had a significant pain increase over the past 24 hours. Went from 3 mg of morphine an hour to 8 mg. Took us a while to get her evened out; she refused to take the oral pain meds yesterday afternoon. Can't blame her--last thing she really had any control over. Today, she's sleeping, somewhat fitfully, but doesn't appear to be in as much pain as yesterday. Her lucid days have likely come to an end. No urnination...very little fluid intake.

Even though we knew this was coming, it's still terribly painful.

One bright spot: we think we've found the right place for her memorial service. Tentatively scheduled for May 9th. Odd to be planning this already, when she's alive; even odder to be planning something so meaningful without her.

Valarie

2009-04-27T11:14:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, Mom had some ice-cold watermelon--one of the few things that won't plug her up. She devoured it in about 30 seconds. Ginger ale finally has competition.

We are in a bit of a holding pattern here. Mom has told us repeatedly that she is ready to go--that she wants to go. And her vitals and mental clarity have led us more than once to think she would go very soon. But come each morning-time she has lasted the night, her tough body plugging away; her spirit weaker but still there. Yesterday she kept Dad and Lorie busy from 3 am until 5 am recording her thoughts on dying...a philosopher to the end.

The hospice nurses are of course circumspect--the I-have-no-crystal-ball metaphor is frequently used and continually unsatisfying. Their estimates range from a week to weeks, though in the next sentence they caution that her condition could change rapidly.

I can't speak for the others, but I feel very much in a time bubble, where the days pass quickly or slowly with much activity or none at all. There are so many parts of her history and her approach to la vida that I know I will wish I'd asked her about. But there is scarce perspective from her bedside in the living room, leaving me few triggers for those questions. And it would be impossible and exhausting and selfish on my part to try in any case. Instead I am attempting to content myself with the little gems of herself that she shares every now and then.

"Carry on my sweets," she says.

-nate

2009-04-24T12:01:00.000-07:00

Mom was never a heavy drinker, but has more than made up for it in the past few days. This little smile will show up and she'll say "get me some of the special stuff," and we'll run to the kitchen and fill up a little glass with ice and ginger ale. We are rewarded with a happy look on her face and the satisfied little "ahhh" when she finishes and lets the straw fall from her lips.

-n

2009-04-23T19:02:00.000-07:00

Jesse's home! (The bundle of brown hair, lower right.)

2009-04-23T12:28:00.000-07:00

With all of our energies focused toward mom these last few days, the hours pass in a rush or not at all. Even though we haven't responded to all your love and thoughts please please know that they're getting through. Every card and email elicits a laugh or a cry or a smile or a good thought in all of us here. (Fyi, we're working on getting the Zumba video from Meg.)
-n

2009-04-22T19:00:00.000-07:00

While you might imagine things are mostly serious around here, every now and then some humor happens. Like this afternoon, when Mike, Lorie, Dad, Mom and Mary were thoroughly enjoying a video of Val and Mom doing Zoomba in the kitchen. (Meg recorded it on the sly weeks ago.) Will let all of you imagine Mom and Val sashaying around in the kitchen as they do.
-n

2009-04-22T14:12:00.000-07:00

Most of us have spent a little time next to Mom, enjoying her company, soaking up a bit of her warmth and passing along some of ours.

And crying. But right now, that can happen anytime, anywhere around here.

The light comes in through the windows and fills Mom's room. She and Dad had it painted yellow, with a white ceiling. It feels big and warm and comforting.

Val and mom this morning, with the ginger ale.

-n

2009-04-22T13:51:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, Dad and Mom went outside. It really was lovely, warm and smelled like spring and we sat out on the porch swing and chatted. Today too, but we had her bundled up and wrapped head-to-toe. She's so beautiful and calm in the quilt Sarah made for her.

Early morning musings

2009-04-22T01:09:00.000-07:00

Laundry whirs in the dryer. Mom rests. The house is quiet after a full day of family visits, of mom's gentle requests for gingerale, of getting her up and down from the bed, and finally--on her request--out for a stroll in the wheelchair in the sunshine around the block.

Hospice also made their first call--a gentleman named Jim. Here's my snapshot: a discussion about milligram vs millilitres of pain meds, the incessant beeping of the automatic med dispensing machine, Jim talking loudly on his cell phone beside my mom's bed because he couldn't figure out the med dispenser--I gave her ear plugs--insurance, funeral homes, mom wanting to sign her signature on the forms: small, long, slow, impossible to read except for her classy "D" for "Diane".

Fortunately, that visit came to a close. And after a long nap, mom perked up late in the afternoon. Her speech was a little clearer, and her eyes are bright--she's soaking up the love around her.

This is what she wanted, this is how she wanted to go. At home. With family. She told me numerous times how much she'd appreciated the way her father had passed just a few years back...he'd fought against the paralysis of his stroke, then accepted where he was and absorbed the life around him to help ease his way out of his own.

I don't know where mom is in the timeline. Don't really know how to do this whole preparing for death thing. Feels like such a gift in some ways...as though mom is breaking the trail and testing the waters for us as she always has. Guess someone has to go first. You just don't want them to go quite this way or quite this soon. Had lots of things I wanted her to be here for. Know she's come to terms with not having them; it's more my deal now than hers.

And I don't know how to watch a man, my father, grieve for the fading of his wife, my mother, who's been his partner since they were college students. You just can't fix it.

He is doing right by her every step of the way.

Valarie

2009-04-21T18:53:00.000-07:00

On Sunday afternoon, we spent a nice hour with Mom, Dad and Val outside next to the water. Apple and cherry blossom trees were blooming all around...it's spring and it was lovely. Couldn't have asked for a better day.

-n

Home, again, Finally.

2009-04-21T04:45:00.000-07:00

Mom is sleeping now in the Dining room (as she should be, it's 4:30 AM), easily and every now and then drowsily asking for some ginger ale. Yesterday was a big day. (Minor medical details follow.) A small procedure removed the most irritating nose tube and put in a more comfy (and easier for us to handle) direct stomach pic line. Her bowels are constricted in a few key places and the doctor says the severity and number of these intestinal speed-bumps will only increase. So traffic in her small intestines is at a standstill and appears as though it will stay that way despite a last ditch medical effort on Saturday and some good work by Mom in the past two days. So she's home now, and Ralph and Lorie and Dave are here too.

The folks at the hospital were real good to mom, and her brand of sass and smiles charmed the lot of them, those that could be charmed at least. While they were sorry to lose her company, it was with a lot of relief (and perhaps a little trepidation for me at least--at the hospital there is at least the illusion of getting better) that she and Dad and Uncle Dave cruised home in her favorite zippy little car yesterday about 9pm. I followed shortly thereafter in the subey after a brief loss of composure. She's wanted to come home ever since she got there and we wanted her back home, away from all the beeps and thumps and loud talk and that damn hospital bed that always interrupted our conversations with a loud and insistent wheezing at particularly important moments.

Val's housemate Emily brought by some fine chicken enchiladas for us last night and after testing some of the gear left for her by the hospice folks we called it an evening and ate and rested. Having the crew here is so good--catching up on everyone, talking about mom, planning out just how this is all going to work. There are laughs too, and smiles, and the sort of generally upbeat nature that defines our families. Grandpa Harold would approve--other than sporadic sobs 'n tears no one appears to be feeling sorry for themselves overmuch. We all know where this leads and all we can do is keep her comfortable and calm and aware of our love.

I haven't been much of a writer on this blog--more of a reader, along with most of you. Living so far away in NH kept me out of the day-to-day here. But we do what we can. So whenever I have been home I've taken as many photos as the family could bear, and then some. And in the last few days I've done the same, snapping away somewhat selfishly when maybe it wasn't the best manners or propriety. But we only have one take and Mom ain't coming back, so.... Photos will be up over the next days and weeks as this endgame plays out. An ongoing electronic wake or something.

It's getting towards the end of this third watch of the night, and the sky to the east is lightening up with that pale yellow that fades upwards to violet. Dave and Ralph are on next and I'll see if I can get back to sleep.

love to you all

nate

Glide Path

2009-04-18T05:49:00.000-07:00

Although last Tuesday's surgery to insert stents got Diane's kidneys percolating again and lowered her blood pressure, pain and nausea became increasingly difficult to control. This culminated Thursday night when on returning home from work I found her listless and confused. Valarie arrived to help and we decided to book Diane first class by ambulance to ER. We were met at the hospital by her oncologist Dr. Rushing and, with the help of a great ER doc, through the course of the night determined that she has some sort of a bowel obstruction. She was admitted as an inpatient with a plan to try and get her cleaned out.

The plan got more complicated however when she began to throw up early Friday morning. That removed the option of treating this from above with medications and fluids. So this is where we are: They have not given up trying to resolve the frozen bowels. A procedure will take place this morning to try and "restart her engines". We wait 24 hours to see if it works. If it does not they will insert a tube into her stomach so that acid and fluids can drain and not nauseate her. At the same time they will insert a tube into her right lung so that fluid will not build up and cause her more pain and breathlessness. We are told these are both very portable, painless devices.

The bigger picture is that the chemotherapy agent Doxil is not doing the trick. The cancer is advancing. Dr. Rushing will not administer another chemotherapy drug unless her bowels are working. However even if they do start functioning the next drugs have a 12% to 15% chance of having some effect. Even then the effect would be largely marginal. Remission is no longer in the picture with mainstream ovarian cancer treatment.

As a family we have done some research on alternative therapies and we just do not want to go there. You all know Diane. She has a clear, strong sense of how life is to be lived. This is not it. So while we are still holding out hope that she can turn all this around (and would not put it past her to do so) we are preparing to bring her home and for hospice care. She is so brave.

For those of you who wish to see her, you are all welcome. Please stay in touch so that can coordinate with and make the most of each visit.

Jeff

Here's to happy kidneys

2009-04-14T12:47:00.000-07:00

Breaking news, just in from dad:

"Dr. Arroyo just came in to say they have finished and Mom is in recovery. He was successful in getting both stents in although the right side was much tougher than the left. So much so that he almost didn't get it through.

She's in recovery now and expect to be able to bring her home today. The stents are good for three months or so."

Go kidneys, go!

- Valarie

On the Not Quite so Light Side

2009-04-13T22:26:00.000-07:00

Diane heads into the hospital tomorrow morning for, hopefully, an outpatient procedure to insert stents into both of her ureters. Apparently tumor mass is constricting these ducts (they connect the kidneys to the bladder) to the point where urine is backing up into her kidneys and hindering their function. As a result a toxin in the blood, creatine, is building up. The fluid retention is also elevating her blood pressure quite high. We'll update you all tomorrow evening.

Jeff

and to keep us from getting too serious....

2009-04-13T21:38:00.000-07:00

So the nurse faxes me back the Family Medical Leave authorization form I need for work. The doctor has filled out all the fields....date of diagnosis...side effects patient is coping with...there are also some specific yes/no questions:

Does the patient need ongoing care? Dr. Rushing has marked "yes" with an "X".

Is the patient experiencing ongoing symptoms? "X" for "yes".

Is the patient pregnant? A big fat "X" on the "yes" line.

No ovaries, but apparently still pregnant. You are a miracle, mom.

Valarie

On the couch

2009-04-12T19:33:00.001-07:00

Mom and I sit on the couch after a long week.

On Tuesday, we met with the doctor. No change on the Doxil. Still hasn't kicked in. Dr. Rushing says to give it another four weeks to see if her CA125 goes down.

Throughout the week, her creatine levels went up and down. Indicates how well her kidneys are filtering out toxins. She and dad go in tomorrow to see if it's time to see a urologist.

On Friday, she headed in for some fluids at the clinic. Blood pressure high...and then a headache so splitting they gave her morphine. It's taken her until this afternoon to get her legs beneath her again. She was pretty wobbly. And yesterday she was sick.

And yet, today, while Dad drops Jesse off at the train station, mom and I curl up beneath the quilt Sarah made, and we talk. I watch her eyes--her pupils are dilated from all of her medication--but she's breaking through the fuzziness to be there for me.

"Honey," she says. "Even though I'm loopy, I wouldn't want you not to tell me about how you're doing. There isn't drowsiness I wouldn't push through to talk."

I cry. And she holds my cheeks in her hands. She's still my momma--and so brave.

Valarie

The great juggler

2009-04-06T17:04:00.000-07:00

So lately (though it's better this week), it's been going something like this:

pain.
take pain med.
get nauseaus.
take anti-nauseau pill.
throw up anyway.
get weak.
take different anti-nausea pill.
get loopy from anti-nauseua pill.
get backed up.
get dehydrated.
more pain.
more pain med.
pain med bad on kidneys.
stop that pain med.
take more of first pain med...

You get the picture. I would call it perhaps the most difficult and painful of juggling acts, and it's been beating mom up lately. Talked to the nurse on Friday and she mentioned how much everyone loves mom at the clinic...and how they're all amazed at how little pain medication she's taken...Think mom finally realized that the pain has reached a point where it's more preoccupying and disorienting than the loopiness the meds cause.

One of the most difficult parts of this whole deal is how consuming the disease is. It seems bad enough to be going through it; at least you want to be able to enjoy some of the things that make you feel normal. But so much of mom's time is in management now. On Friday, she spent from 1:00 until 9:00 in the hospital getting a CAT-scan and her weekly lung drain.

BUT all is not despair. Like I said at the beginning of this post, she was well enough for me to mosy on over with Alex on Saturday night to parade off my dress and haircut for an awards ceremony that night. She and dad were cuddled on the couch watching a movie together. Love seeing that--and dad's gentle kisses to her forehead.

We're off to see the doctor tomorrow. COME ON DOXIL!

Valarie

Could it be--hair?

2009-03-28T09:42:00.000-07:00

The good news: I woke up one day last week to discover the sudden reappearance of my eyebrows! A peek under my night cap showed a downy covering of black fuzz there, too--imagine. Now if I can just ask one more small favor of the Great Provider: could my hair not return as the kind that sticks straight out--the electrified model--but instead, something cute and curly?

Joyful news: as you may know, the kids were all home this past week on a work/play retreat that stood in for a trip to Europe, or even one to New York. We saw a play--the farce "A Flea in her Ear." Went out for a great dinner with a guest appearance by brother Alex and sister-in-law Mary from Eastern Oregon. Had professional massages and a night of music provided by Nathan on fiddle, Jesse on my old guitar from student days in Mexico. We made cherry pie--the passing on of a family tradition and lots of tasty, colorful feasts which I enjoyed with my eyes, mostly.

Then came the work part. As my dad would say, there were too many chiefs and not enough Indians. Talk about take-charge kids. Boxes were dragged from the basement, contents hurled into piles according to each person's separate value system, while I frantically tried to save whatever treasures might be cowering among the junk. Now that everyone's gone home, we still have, uhumm, several minor mountain ranges traversing the plains of our major living areas.

Most importantly, though, we sorted through our thoughts and hopes on end-of-life issues--not in a morbid way--to be sure we were in agreement and can move on to enjoy the months or years ahead. We laughed, we cried, we appreciated each other as never before. Two months from now we'll know if the current drug has successfully stormed the fort and can maintain me for a decent stretch. In the meantime things are likely to continue rocky. That is, more time spent on the fighting rail of the track than on the scenic one.

As for Magda, the Divine, she impatiently awaits her writer's hand, having been left in the middle of announcing to her daughter Silvia that she was marrying the gringo, Sr. Karl, whom she has known six days:

"You're not going to be a Mexican anymore?" Silvia looked horrified.
"I suppose not," said Magda. "But in my heart, I will always be."
"You don't even speak English! How are you going to communicate with that man?"
Magda wanted to explain how Sr. Karl had used sign language to encourage her to go parasailing and how she had felt when he put his speechless arm across her shoulders. She was just the right height to fit under it. She wanted to say that words were of less importance when you were matching spirits—you understood each other instinctively, while if you were mismatched, no quantity of words could bridge the gap.

Have loved hearing from you. May spring be sunny and greening wherever you are.

Diane

BLAH time

2009-03-16T12:09:00.001-07:00

Despite a wonderful visit from her sister, Lorie, this past week has been a bit uncomfortable for mom. As she mentioned previously, she's on the pain killers now, which means it's quite a dance between various types of drugs...and it's a dance where it seems as though your partner is constantly stepping, no stomping, on your feet.

She began taking vicadin...which made her nauseous, so then she took anti-nausea which made her super drowsy...then she was sort of okay but the pain wasn't under control...so then she went on the fetanyl patch, which made her sleep away most of the weekend (sans a movie or two and stroll around the block with dad and me yesterday)...and then, joy of joys, made her nauseous and sick again later last night. BLAH!

As I write, she's getting poked by Laura, her acupuncturist. Am hoping that'll help keep everything down. I continue to be amazed at how well she takes most everything in stride, at least on the outside, even if she struggles privately. Aunt Lorie has helped us put the next couple of months in perspective, i.e. looking at them as a temporary state until the doxil kicks in and begins kicking the cancer cells' butts. (Sorry mom, had to use "butt".)

Fortunately, there are good things to look forward to--Nathan and Jesse head down and over on Friday for four days of family bonding and basement "stuff" sorting.

And before I forget...have been meaning to tell you all again how heart warming it is to know you're all out there. The cards, the blog comments...means a ton to us.

Valarie

No Extra Points for Stoics

2009-03-06T17:13:00.000-08:00

This week has shown me how lucky I've been till now to be relatively pain free. While we're waiting for the new drug to take effect, which could be up to three months, the cancer cells appear to be having a heyday in the vicinity of my right lung. The irritation refers pain to my shoulders and lower ribs and does a good job of distracting me from other things. My doctor gives no extra points for stoics and said today I better get used to the fact I'm going to be needing the heavier stuff, i.e., narcotics.

Monday night found me weeping in Jeff's arms in the dark, not because of the pain, but because of a presentiment that I may have a lot fewer days ahead of me than I had counted on. As Magda's daughter tells her when Magda cannot be dissuaded from marrying the gringo and following him north to Montana: Don't be dramatic, Mama. This is not a telenovela!

On that score, Magda's story is up to page forty (lost a little time trying to get that distracting pain under control), which completes part one. Here's Magda just prior to the marriage proposal she's helped orchestrate:

The three of them sat on benches at a long table covered with red and white oilcloth and speared rosy shrimp from huge cocktails. Sr. Karl shook his head appreciatively and said,"Buen-o, buen-o."
"Lo mejor--the best!" agreed Roberto.
Magda dabbed at her lips with a paper napkin, as pleased with their praise as if she, herself, were the shrimp.

Jeff is in Washington, D.C. at his annual transportation conference this week. Had to be nudged to go with promises I'll be all right. Sweet Pea Valarie insists I'm to call her if I have the slightest twinge in the night. She'll rush right over. Jesse's here this weekend and my darling sister Lorie comes on Monday from Missoula to keep me company and help organize my head for the things I really do need to tend to. She also does Zumba. Grab the hook--we'll be clattering across the stage together!

As always,
Diane

Quickie update

2009-03-03T08:36:00.000-08:00

Hey there folks,

Quick little update on mom.

While we're waiting for the Doxil to kick in (could be a while), those knarly little tumors are kicking out some fluid into mom's lungs, which causes her a lot of pain. Mom hasn't been sleeping very well because of it, so yesterday they went in and drew some fluid out of her lungs. We're hoping that helps her breath deeper and feel better.

To balance the blech part of all this, we thought we'd share a sweet tidbit too: we've found a french bakery with super tasty caramel rolls. Mom loves caramel roles.

And, for the heck of it, a bit of dialogue I heard about last night:

Dad: Di, how about some broccoli with mayo?
Mom: No.
Dad: How about some broccoli with lemon juice?
Mom: Blah. I want ice cream!

Dad, bless his heart, hurried out to get some.

Valarie

A New Week

2009-02-25T09:10:00.000-08:00

Hey guys, a week with no additional troubling news from the doctor's office. Am not on the experimental drug, but have started the next standard one that's not so tough on the bone marrow. Most folks tolerate it well. As the doctor says, if I want to boogie, now's the time to do it.

Yesterday I superseded myself by putting in six hours of writing. Am now up to page 29 of Magda, the Divine. Here's a line from Magda's becoming aware of her destiny matching up with that of the parasailing gringo who came to woo the young woman next door:

Magda felt a tug at her chest as though she, too, were airborne, tethered to the speed boat by the same great rope that kept Sr. Karl from floating off into the universe like a lost balloon.

As I mentioned last week, Mama Linda, who inspired the character of Magda, was here to visit us from Mexico. She's almost eighty, speaks no English, and is a dynamo. As always, she cooked for us as part of her love made visible, insisting we buy eleven pounds of corn tortillas from the tortilleria to get things rolling. She also prayed unceasingly for me, asking God to "take that illness and cast it into the depths of the ocean."

I'm looking forward to having the kids home at spring break the end of March for a work party to tackle the basement where my accumulated "stuff" hulks. We'll be sorting, saving, reminiscing, letting go, with evenings reserved for eating out, going to plays and generally cozying up as a family.

May the birds be chirping out your window as they are out mine--reminds me of a line I made the kids learn in order to get a popsickle when the popsickle truck came round: For lo, the winter is past. The time of the singing of birds is come.

Diane

One of Those Weeks

2009-02-13T20:09:00.000-08:00

Hello, crew. Since none of the rest of you is even going to dream of getting cancer, I want you to imagine a magnificent Valentine's Day where you receive a hundred red hearts from people who care about you. Think how that will make you feel. Sort of like me. Floating on a layer of love from valentines that have been coming in ever since last September.

The good news this week is I'm on page nine of Magda, the Divine. Am trying to work back into a disciplined writer's schedule. I've signed a contract with myself to at least get in touch with my novel every day and have started a writer's log to keep me on track.

The not so good news is that despite the rally of my red blood cells, last week my cancer marker numbers started backing up the scale instead of sliding down it. That means that all the cells that are going to respond to the particular drugs I was on have responded and the strains that have not are trying to gain an advantage. It was rather a bummer and I kept the news to myself for the weekend while I processed it and until more details were available. A little lonely, but I think I needed to be able to deal with just my own bumming. An occasional bumout is the price of getting on with my life. Sort of like getting your chain jerked when you've been off the leash. But that's far better than staying always on the leash by thinking daily of your mortality.

The doctor will soon be starting me on the next best drug and there is some possibility of joining a trial of the new biologics that target only the cancer cells. In the meantime, the doctor, when pressed, said barring Divine Intervention he does not see me as a candidate for 5-year survival, but anticipates he'll still see me in his office a year from now.

This week my father's widow from Mexico will be visiting us. Theirs was the marriage where he could speak no Spanish and she no English. Mama Linda is a real spark plug and is one of the inspirations for my novel.

Valentine kisses to ya'all,

Diane

Zoomba with momma

2009-02-10T09:00:00.000-08:00

Picture this....

There I am, in the back of the dance studio at the Vancouver Community Center, and I'm sweating. A lot. For the past hour, I've been wiggling my hips, attempting to waggle my chest, and zip back and forth across the floor to the sounds of latin, egyptian, indian and african beats.

Frankly, I look pretty awkward, which is why I've positioned myself in the back of the class.

If you look up to the front, right next to the instructor, however, you'd see mom. She got her sassy black tank top on, a scarf around her head, and she's moving all over the place. She's amazing. And I'm so proud.

Shake it, momma.

Valarie

Moving Along

2009-02-05T11:39:00.000-08:00

It must be the spring-like weather we've had for the past week that has me making progress. At long last on Friday I finished revising my children's novel and sent it out into the world. Which has freed me to return to my adult novel that I'd been busily gathering material for last summer. Just to make it official: Monday I started the narrative. So there she was, Magda Morales, widow of Madero, sweeping her front patio as though it mattered on a cold February day in Ensenada. I hope to have the first draft finished by October.

My red blood cell count dipped last week, as expected a week after chemo. Because that makes a person anemic and therefore breathless, I slipped out of my aerobics class last Friday when the instructor sent us jogging around the room for the 3rd time in half an hour. Valarie asked me if I was still communicating with my red blood cells, giving them a picture to work with. That sounded a little more intimate than racing through my marrow in a Mini Cooper. I asked them to consider the pomegranate: plump, juicy, healthy. When I reported this to my nurse as she drew blood for another hemoglobin check, she said I should tell them to be fruitful and multiply. :~) What would I do without her.

The lab report a few minutes later showed a 3 pt rise in my levels--50% more than two weeks ago when I surprised the doctor with a 2 pt gain. Amazing what liver pills, creative visualization, and the backing of the home fans can do. I love getting your comments, e-mails, cards and visits. Like the string of a kite, you keep me grounded and encourage me to fly.

Hope you're seeing a little Spring your way, too.

Diane

Good News

2009-01-25T15:38:00.000-08:00

This week brought good news of my cancer marker numbers continuing to fall--at a faster clip than three weeks ago--and of my red blood cell count actually going up--to the doctor's surprise. I credit that to the 4 liver capsules I swallow every day on my naturopath's recommendation. Or maybe it's my daily visualizing a fleet of mini Mini Coopers racing through my bones, stirring up the marrow.

After six treatments, whose cumulative effects are often harsh, I'm still doing well, with more energy than I had back at the beginning. In fact, I have gotten off my duff and returned to exercising. I've added back in one aerobics class a week and one Zumba dance class. The dance class is an energetic blend of latin dances, belly dancing and African moves. I love it and feel proud I haven't had to be carried out on a stretcher yet. In my alternate life I've always been a dancer and an ice skater--something you would not want to witness in real life with a full bladder.

The days fly by. Only rarely do I consider that they may be part of a finite number predicted by cancer statistics. Most days are ordinary in their sweetness. I've started a gratitude notebook, one or two things I especially appreciate any given day. But we try not to make every day so precious that it reminds us continually of mortality. Yesterday Jeff and I were happy enough to be mundanely employed in mopping floors--me--and cleaning the wood ones on hands and knees--Jeff.

The three things I've had to get comfortable with in dealing with cancer are the idea of dying, the idea of living, and the fact I don't know which reality will prevail. My trusty oncology nurse, whose own husband is a colon cancer survivor, says you have to look at cancer like a chronic disease. Like high blood pressure it may always be with you, you have to manage it and you get on with your life.

Love to you all.

Diane, who's getting on with her life

From the beach!

2009-01-17T10:07:00.000-08:00

Well, it's a tardy post but you should all know we had a lovely time at the beach after Christmas. Rain jackets were required full time but the weather lifted enough for a walk out to our favorite big sand dune at Cape Kiwanda. Mom made the big tramp up to the top where, as usual, we could barely pull Dad away from the booming surf and Jesse roamed onto the hazardous Cape itself, followed shortly by the rest of us. Alex and his crew but no Mary ;-( , joined us for some serious cards and eatin'. Hope the rest of you had good holidays and are jumping into this new year with gusto.

-nate

Vrooom, vrooom!

2009-01-13T20:11:00.000-08:00

Hey y'all,

I'd like you to meet my sweetie-pie brother-in-law, D. E., who lives in an undisclosed town in Western Montana with my sister, Lorie. D. E. drives an 18-wheeler for a living and, like me, detests the sound of a vacuum cleaner. He is also one of the West's best storytellers. Well, as some of you may recall from a blog I wrote a ways back, I've chosen a Mini-Cooper as a symbol for taking control of my life in my current challenge. I once test drove one, and let me tell you, it gripped the road and laid rubber. Last night, in fact, I sent a red Mini through the marrow of every bone in my body to stir up the red blood cells which have been flagging lately. Daughter Valarie thought the visualization might be helpful. Maybe she's having second thoughts about her offer to donate me blood for a transfusion..........

At any rate, back to D. E. He was DISgusted that I would choose such an insignificant car for such an important job as transporting me through the big C. When pressed, he confessed he had never driven one. Furthermore, he said if he ever did, he'd have to wear a paper bag over his head to avoid being seen by fellow truckers, friends, family members. At which point I CHALLENGED him to test drive one.

So, here we have "evidence" of his test drive in his neighbor's Mini. When questioned how he liked the sporty little car, D. E., ever the honest man, admitted he hadn't actually taken the car out of his neighbor's garage! Now, how sporting is that?! When asked why not, he said there was snow in the driveway. Now we've heard everything. Still, I think the masked challenger makes a great pinup on my refrigerator--what do you think?

One thing has me worried--when he signed the picture he wrote Game's On, Sister across it. Do you suppose that means he's challenging me to take an 18-wheeler out for a spin?

Vrooom, vrooom,

Diane

Getting a Bead on Things

2009-01-06T17:30:00.000-08:00

Hi y'all,

We're still here! Trying to right the house after the holiday jamboree. Finally got to the bottom of the laundry hamper this weekend. Laundry actually turns out to be a rather soothing thing these days. Besides being nice and toasty when I fold it, it gives me a feeling of accomplishment and without any fuss transports me from the past into the future.

We had our dining room painted a cheery yellow to match the living room while we were at the beach, which has necessitated reframing the 7 paintings hanging there from an art show I did in Salem some time back. And now that we have the "refresh" bug, Jeff and I are scouting upholstery material for the reading couch (last recovered when the kids were small) and for the bench cushion in the entry way. Making such long term investments seems somehow right at the moment.

On the other hand, in the chemo room at the cancer center where I was getting a dressing change this afternoon, the following conversation took place....

Me: I'm trying to decide whether or not to start the adult novel I've taken lots of notes on. I don't know if I'll live long enough to finish it.

Fellow cancer patient: With chemo brain you forget a lot, so it won't matter if you don't finish reading it.

Me: Actually I meant to write it.

My nurse: I certainly wouldn't decide on the basis of cancer. You're not going to die anytime soon, and besides, you could walk out the door and get run over in the parking lot, like Dr. Rushing (my oncologist) who found himself spread eagle on a lady's hood in the hospital parking lot last week in an attempt to avoid being run down.

Fellow cancer patient: I think you definitely should get started writing.

My nurse: Besides, if you die before you finish it, you'll be dead anyway and it won't matter.
............

:~) I love my cancer nurse. She used to be in the Army. She always sets me straight.

Hugs to all,

Diane

Little holiday snippets

2008-12-30T12:14:00.000-08:00

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?

2008-12-24T10:56:00.000-08:00

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?

2008-12-16T09:19:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-11T19:06:00.000-08:00

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

2008-12-10T08:13:00.001-08:00

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

2008-12-02T14:13:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-25T10:07:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-24T08:15:00.000-08:00

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..........

2008-11-20T21:10:00.001-08:00

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!

2008-11-16T15:17:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-16T01:41:00.000-08:00

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..........

2008-11-11T21:43:00.001-08:00

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.

2008-11-07T12:08:00.000-08:00

Post-election

2008-11-05T09:04:00.000-08:00

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...

2008-10-30T12:39:00.001-07:00

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

2008-10-30T12:36:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-28T20:06:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-28T07:58:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-24T18:28:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-19T13:07:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-10-19T12:38:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-13T16:17:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-10T10:51:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-09T09:07:00.001-07:00

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

2008-10-07T17:59:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-05T22:20:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-03T13:10:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-01T17:23:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-30T11:08:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-29T08:19:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-29T08:09:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-27T20:41:00.000-07:00

some thoughts on regular eating

2008-09-24T21:42:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-24T13:04:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-24T12:55:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-22T13:03:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-19T19:43:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-19T13:13:00.000-07:00

the status on mom

2008-09-18T23:15:00.001-07:00

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

2008-09-18T23:15:00.000-07:00

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)

2008-09-17T09:34:00.001-07:00

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...

2008-09-16T08:19:00.000-07:00

...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.

2008-09-15T11:35:00.000-07:00

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

arg (and blah)

2008-09-15T08:39:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-09-14T09:51:00.001-07:00

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...

2008-09-14T09:48:00.001-07:00

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!

2008-09-14T09:27:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-13T15:14:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-12T09:38:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-11T15:49:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-10T21:20:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-09T21:43:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-08T23:14:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-08T23:09:00.000-07:00

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."