Volleyball insight...

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

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

Valarie

Sarah's beautiful quilt

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

A Plot Twist

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

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

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

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

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

Jeff

Round two

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

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

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

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

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

Tally ho, mom.

Valarie

Friday evening, pre-dinner update

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

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

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

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

So thanks.

Valarie

How to post a comment on this blog

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

Valarie

Quick snapshot...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Valarie

A Little Slow on the Upbeat

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

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

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

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

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

Diane

Loving Words from Las Vegas

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

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

Diane

dancing matt for dancing mom

mom:

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

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

http://www.wherethehellismatt.com/

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

love you,

ya daughta

chemo commences

update: mom started chemo this morning.

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

possible side effects: achy bones and nausea.

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

doc says: port will go back in, later.

valarie

weekend adventures

quick weekend update:

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

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

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

valarie

JUST ROCKIN'

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

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

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

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

Diane

Musing

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

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

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

So there. Blah.

Valarie