"Him"

Dear Lily,

After all this time, I finally found... Him.

John Saxon

This inside joke is one of my most cherished memories of you. 

The Damn "Christmas Shoes" song

Six years ago this month, my sister called me to tell me she had decided the fight was over and she was not going to take anymore cancer treatments.  Instead, she was going to spend the rest of her time on earth enjoying her family as much as she could.

She died two weeks after Christmas.

Never once before or after my sister's death has that damned song "Christmas Shoes" brought me comfort.
I wish IT would die.

"Knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door." - Bob Dylan

My sister, Lily, came knocking on my brain as I woke up this morning.
I have no idea what she wanted to tell me, but it was her.  Twice.

She:  Hey!
Me:  What?
She:  Just a sec...
(I drift back off to sleep...)

She: Hey!
Me:  Is that you?
She:  Yeah.
Me:  What's up?  I wasn't thinking about you or anything, was I?  Is it an anniversary or something?
She:  Nope.


That's it.
And that's good enough for me.  :-)

Forever Watching Over Me

At my two-week post-surgery consult with my gall bladder surgeon, I ask about the OR nurse who held my hand as I fell asleep.  I tell my doctor how sweet the gesture was and how it reminded me of my sister Lily who used to work in surgery and used to comfort patients the same way.  I ask if my doctor always works with this nurse Linda or if they just happened to come together on my surgery day.
It was simply chance, my doctor explains.  And then to be sure she and I are thinking of the same nurse Linda, my doctor speaks a last name.
My jaw drops.
Can you believe this?
The OR nurse who held my hand has Lily's middle name for a first name and my mother's maiden name for her last name.

You guys, I can't make this stuff up.
I am truly not that smart.

Lily's bear




"The best thing next to a doctor."

  This is Lily's bear.
Two years ago, I found it in a box of Lily's things that Army Sister and Lily's daughter packed up for me to keep.

It's a scrubs bear.
Someone gave it to Lily when she earned her certification as a surgical physician's assistant.

The Husband recognized it.  He said Lily had shown it to him once and had told him it meant a lot to her.

So, now it means a lot to me.

I've been keeping it on my bedside table since.
While cleaning Saturday morning however, I moved it.  I set it nestled it in with the stuffed animals I kept from my own childhood.  And I left it there.  Thought maybe it would like hanging with "friends", hanging with other fond memories instead of sitting alone.

Sunday morning, I had a wonderful dream with Lily in it.  Army Sister, my two brothers, and Dad were all in it.  Like before, Lily gave me a long, wonderful hug.  I was delighted that I could touch her and she wasn't a ghost.  When we parted, she held my shoulders at arm's length for a moment, then she walked into the next room and was gone.  I looked at my other family members and said, "She waited for me.  You were all here, but she waited for me."

I woke from that dream feeling very happy.

And later, when I noticed her bear communing with my stuffed toys, I smiled because I knew why she visited me in the dream.
Good bear.
Good bear.

The last goodbye

"The other night
You wouldn't believe
The dream I just had
About you and me..."
- Some Nights by fun.

This is just for me.
It is not the funny.

***

I fell asleep last night thinking of Lily.  Been thinking of her a lot lately and I don't know why.  There are no anniversaries of hers, no birthdays, no "this is when she found out she had cancer" dates or anything.
Best I can figure is she's checking in on me and I'm just picking up on it.

What I was thinking specifically was the last time I saw Lily alive.  We were all home the first year Dad had to celebrate Mom's birthday without Mom.  Everyone was on their way to church the same time that I was climbing into my car to drive home to Wisconsin. 
Lily hugged me goodbye a little longer than usual.  I would find out later that she knew she was going to refuse any more treatment, and she knew this would be the last hug she'd give me.  But I was in a hurry because I'd wanted to say goodbye to the relatives across the street before they left for church.
It's not like I blew her off, but it was a moment that should have been savored.  Not hurried.

Before you tell me "It's okay, Roses.  She understands," let me tell you about the dream I had.

I fell asleep with this last hug on my mind.
After feeling my sister's presence for a few weeks.

In the dream, she is hugging me hard.  I am weeping into her shoulder, "I have missed you so much."
"I miss you too," she says.
"I haven't seen you since December 3rd."
"I know.  But see?  That isn't the last time you got to see me anymore.  Now we have this."

***

I got to give my sister the goodbye hug I wish I'd given her.
Because now we have this.

All is well.

Thinking of my sister Lily...

I've been thinking about Lily a lot lately, but in order to tell you why, I'll have to tell you more about that medical procedure I mentioned last week... and in order for you to make the Lily connection with me, I'll have to explain what I was doing in the mid-80's...

***

Around about 1985, the first "Back to the Future" movie starring Michael J. Fox was popular.  I loved that movie.  I saw it three times in the theater.  I dragged my mom to see it.  She didn't understand why it was so funny that Huey Lewis had a cameo in it.  (Ironically, I hauled my butt home after play practice Wednesday night to find my boys up late watching that very same movie for the very first time.  They thought it rocked.)  Anyway...

Also around 1985, I was attending classes at a college in the same city where Lily lived and worked.  My schedule was an odd one where I had an early morning class and a late evening class... but on opposing days.  I was commuting at the time, so it was pretty tough driving home late from one class only to get up early and drive back for the early morning one the next day.
So, Lily invited me to spend the night at her place on the days these two classes clashed.

It was like having my own house.  Most days, she was still working when I got out of class.  She let me eat her food and play her stereo.  Very often I'd bake her some cookies or brownies which was a nice surprise for her when she came home late.
But, mostly I remember playing her stereo.
Every time "Power of Love" by Huey Lewis came on, I'd crank it up and dance around Lily's livingroom.  I had a whole dance routine worked out by the end of the semester.

That's what I was doing in the 80's.

***

Earlier this month, when I went in for that medical procedure that didn't include cookies, I thought of Lily a LOT.  Every time I'm in a hospital, I feel like she should be there.  I see medical personel walking the halls and wonder if any of them works in surgery like Lily did.
So, I already had a heightened sensitivity to Lily, right?

This particular procedure I went in for is related to my gall bladder.  (I'll skip the suspense and just tell you now that my gall bladder does not work and may need to come out.  But it's not life-threatening, and it's not cancer.  So, I'm good.  This story is way more about Lily than my guts, anyway.)  My visit included an ultrasound to look for gall stones, and since there were none, I got a second test that I can't spell and can't find on the internet but it sounds like "appata biliary".  I called it "a pat my belly area" because that's what the word sounds like... which Lily would have found hilarious.  For this test, I got an injection, then I got to wait about an hour while it worked its way through my system, and then I was run through a machine that measured for 20 minutes how my body reacted to another injection.

Let me stop there and explain that I'd poked around the Mayo Clinic website a little and looked up gall bladder issues.  All I could find was that if you have gall bladder problems, it's either gall stones or you need to have your gall bladder removed.  No other options.  Either you have stones, or you lose your gall bladder.
Crap.

So, when the ultrasound showed no stones, I saw the writing on the wall.

I was led to a lab where some white coats gave me an IV for the injection.  And that's when the music in the room started playing "Power of Love". 
Not the sappy, watered-down muzac version.  The actual song.
And there I was, dancing in Lily's livingroom. 

I wanted her to be there so bad.  To explain the procedure, to tell me what to expect better than the tech's were explaining.  Assure me that losing my gall bladder isn't the worst thing. 
To tell me everything was going to be okay.

I wanted it so badly I almost felt her hand on my right shoulder, almost heard her tell me, "I'm here."
But I told myself it was wishful thinking, my imagination.  I had already been thinking about her.  This was just a coincidence.  It's a song, for pete's sake.

The staff sent me out to the waiting area for an hour where I crocheted most of a candy corn hat and wondered what everyone else in the room was in for.

Then, it was time to go back in.
Get stuffed into a machine like cream filling into a Twinkie.
(Okay, not really.)
But, I'm lying on this platform, surrounded by a giant machine with nothing to do for 20 minutes but think and listen to the music.

Guess... just guess... which song came on as soon as the machine started its 20 minute hum.
Guess.

Katy frickin' Perry.
I kid you not.

Lily was there, dammit
She was there, and I almost missed it.

***

Several times a day I think I should call Lily and ask her what she thinks about this gall bladder thing.
We'd always relied on her as our medical second opinion... our medi-speak to English translator.
So, I miss her several times a day, now.

But, at least now I know she'll say hello... if I'll listen for it.

Why Katy Perry makes me cry

(This is a Lily post, and it has the word "cry" in the title.  Sooooo... you've been warned.)

Easter 2010, I flew to Nashville to (as I put it) spend Easter with my seester.
She'd just begun chemo therapy, and the family was trying to provide tag team care for her.
That had been my week.

One Tennesee morning during breakfast, Lily's daughter and I were verbally sparring when I won the argument by reciting Katy Perry song lyrics to her.  "You change your mind like a girl changes clothes..."
"How do you know that song?"  (You, meaning an old person.)
"I dunno."
"Oo," said Lily to her daughter, "maybe she knows Ke$ha."
Daughter then asked me, "Do you know Ke$ha?"
"Who's Ke$ha?"

Ke$ha, they told me, is a pop star who had attended the same high school Lily's daughter was currently attending.
"Blah, blah, blah?" Lily asked me.
"What?"
"Nope.  She doesn't know."

Well, Ke$ha or not, I felt a little like the "cool" aunt because I at least knew one Katy Perry song and its lyrics. What I hadn't explained to either of them was the reason I'd been listening to radio stations that play artists like Katy Perry.

The timeline is a little blurry for me, but ever since Lily had called with the news of her cancer, I had begun searching for music that was more cheerful. Too many of the musical selections my usual radio stations played were softer rock, and they played crappy songs like the one about the tumor patient who hoped everyone got the chance to live like they were dying. Yeah. That's a great sentiment. You know who likes those kinds of songs? People who aren't dying.
And people whose sisters aren't.

I needed to listen to something else. So, I scanned my radio for stations that would never play that particular song.  I searched out music that would simultaneously pound all thought out of my head and kick my ass.  Slowly I became familiar with artists I'd never heard before. I borrowed Lady GaGa CDs from the library because I'd heard of her and wanted to see what she sounded like. With the discovery of a young man named Enrique Iglesias, my inner cougar started to growl.  Pink had the most delightful combination of anger and snark.  (I didn't truly fall in love with Ke$ha until her song Blow was featured on a Monday evening episode of "Chuck" this year.)

Somewhere along the line (perhaps it aired after Lily had died), I caught a bit of the TV show Glee and was captured by a song. 
"Hey, I like this song," I said to no one in particular.
It was Firework by Katy Perry.  It was beautiful.  I more than liked it; I embraced it.

For many days, perhaps weeks, I loved that song.  Poked around on my scanner constantly while I drove in case it was playing on another station.  Then one day at work, when no one was looking, I thought I'd treat myself to a little sneak peek of its video on YouTube.  Yay!  My song!
If you've seen the video, and you've realized how devastating my year had been with Lily's cancer and Mom's death, you'd have begged me to stop watching.  You'd have thrown yourself between me and the screen.  Because once the little girl with the chemo bald head appeared, I lost it.  I burst into tears right there at work.

"Do you ever feel already buried deep?
Six feet under screams, but no one seems to hear a thing.
Do you know that there's still a chance for you?"

Everytime I heard the song on my drive to or from work after that, it moved me to loud wailing tears.

I still loved it.
But it was so much more a Lily song now than it would ever be my song ever again.
I wondered if I'd be able to watch fireworks on the 4th of July without thinking of my sister.
And I realized it wouldn't be such a bad think, really.

Even though I've been contemplating Katy Perry and my sister a lot over the last few months, it seemed appropriate to share this particular thought with you today... on what should have been Lily's 50th birthday.

Just days after the entire country lit the skies with fireworks.

Remember that hair I donated?

I received a letter of thanks from Pantene Beautiful Lengths yesterday. Though it's probably a form letter they send to everyone, it nearly made me cry.

Exactly one month since Lily died.

If you know a woman who's lost her hair through cancer treatments, please encourage her to contact the American Cancer Society and see if she can get one of the free wigs Pantene has helped create.

What to do (and not do) when someone dies

(I started writing this when Mom died.  During Lily's memorial, I wished some folks had read it.  I do not consider this list the be-all, end-all... so, if you have additional suggestions, feel free to mention them in the comments.)

It's okay if you don't know what to say when someone close to you loses someone close to them.
DO say something.
You can e-mail, snail mail, or just say in person, "I don't know what to say.  I'm so sorry."

It's that simple.
Please do that.
It truly is enough.

***

DO share memories.

If you have a story about something the deceased said or did that means something special to you, please tell it.  You can share this at the funeral, in a card, or in passing several days/weeks/years later.  Some members of the family may have never known about that side of their loved one.  They will certainly appreciate that their loved one touched your life.

If you have photos, give them.  A photocopy on a piece of plain paper is fine.

***

DO NOT post anything on Facebook unless it is in response to something immediate family has posted.
DO NOT initiate any post on your own.
It is not your place to spread that kind of news on that venue.  Ever.

***

DO NOT try to make the bereaved feel better.
DO NOT say, "S/He isn't suffering anymore," or "S/He is in heaven."
These things are okay for the bereaved to say.  They are not okay for you to say them.

Say you are sorry.  Then shut up.
If you get halfway through saying the wrong thing, just stop.  No one will ask you to finish.

***

DO NOT compare your pain.

Imagine you and I are downhill skiing.  We both crash.  You have broken a leg.
As we lie in pain on the snowy hillside waiting for rescue, I say to you, "Quit crying.  I have two broken legs."
Does it make the pain in your one leg go away?  Can you now carry us both down the hill because your pain is less than mine?
No.

Pain is pain.
Even if yours is worse than mine, I still hurt.

DO NOT share what awful tragedy someone else is experiencing.  It will not help.
This is neither the time nor place.  Suck it up, and keep it to yourself.

***

DO bring food.  Bring whatever you are really good at making.
Bring a reasonable amount. 

In the case of an elderly widow/er, DO NOT bring a giant casserole that can be eaten over several days.  Instead, bring individual servings in reheatable containers that can be frozen and chosen one meal at a time.
Even better, package it in disposable containers that do not need to be washed and returned to you.

People brought Dad food, and he ended up giving it away.  It felt like too much.
So, when I made my dad two loaves of banana bread, my sister suggested I slice it all up right away and put pairs of slices in the freezer.  A much more managable serving size, you see.  He won't look at a whole loaf and think how he'll never be able to eat "all that" by himself.

DO NOT bring a dish because it was the deceased person's "favorite". 
We'll sit there thinking how that person won't get to eat any of it.

***

DO NOT buy or make a special token to commemorate the lost loved one.

Dear sweet lord, people.  Do you have any idea how many possessions dead people leave behind?  Everything is a souvenir.  Please don't make me a butterfly, or an angel, or a paper flower...
It's a lovely gesture, yes, but it's just one more thing we have to deal with, and one more thing we'll hate to throw out..
If it makes you feel better, you keep it.  With our love.

***

DO offer to help in anyway, if you can.

DO NOT expect the family to call you and tell you what they need.
Instead, think of a few things you could do.
Drive the kids to events, to school.  Cook a meal.  Wash windows.  Shovel snow.  Organize a photo album or a closet.  Make a run to the store or pharmacy.
Then, call in a day or two and offer to do that thing.

***

My jury is out on the issue of taking photos at a funeral.
For now, I'm gonna say this is something the immediate family can do but you DO NOT.

Really.
Someone lined up my family at Mom's funeral to get a picture.
Know what *I* see in that picture?
Mom is missing, that's what.
"Here.  Enjoy this picture reminding you that your mother will never, ever be in another family photo."

No, my jury is back.
They definitely say DO NOT take photos at a funeral, or a visitation, or the dinner afterwards, or while the family is writing out thank you notes.

***

DO NOT expect someone to "snap out of it" after the funeral is over.  Just because the body is layed to rest does not mean a broken heart and soul is layed to rest as well.  Someone mourning the loss of a loved one has an entire year ahead where he/she will be reminded of the empty place at the table with every holiday and birthday and anniversary.

The first year... is the worst year.

And even after that, it doesn't get easier; it only gets more familiar.

***
Thank you for reading.
It shows you care about people.

Lily 1961 - 2011

These are the flowers I sent to Lily and Army Sister on Friday.


"Sisters are different flowers from the same garden."
-- Author Unknown

That's the quote I sent with the flowers.



God added our Lily to His own bouquet last night.
She was 49.
Our garden is a lot less colorful today.

There's some hair. Where? Over there!

My hair donation is now in the mail on its way to a wig-making facility...

~drumroll please~

It's going to Pantene Beautiful Lengths.
They take shorter lengths of hair.
They give their wigs away at no cost through the American Cancer Society.
They give their wigs to all ages.  So, someone like Lily could get one.

HAIR!

Before...

After...

I like it.  I really do.

But...

Can you believe the stylist gave me Lily's hair style?

I didn't show her a picture or anything.

She just... went there.

I look just like Lily.

Off to see The Wizard

This is a Lily Update.  It has bad news.

You don't have to read it; you will hear about it eventually, though.

But, perhaps you want to brace yourself first.

***

We have known for weeks that the super-special radiation treatments she got in September and October (the ones we were so excited for and hopeful about) were not working.

She called me Friday night to tell me she has chosen not to take a chemo treatment that was available.  The pain this chemo would cause could likely last as long as the time on earth it would buy her.

You and I know that's no way to live.
What's the point of it?

So, she has made this very brave decision to forego any further treatments.
She has surrendered.

Best guess is she has less than six months left.

***

Nonetheless, I managed to make her laugh during our conversation.

And it involved the fish:
Lily was talking about holding memorial services instead of a funeral because they are new to Kansas, and most of their loved ones are in Nashville where they raised their children and in Michigan where Lily and her husband both grew up.  So, she is considering cremation.  And she asked if I had any thoughts about it.
"Well," I tried to say with a straight face, "do you want the green fish for an urn?"
She was silent.
"Nevermind," I said.  "It doesn't have a lid."
"You'd tip me over and pour me out."
"Forget it.  You can't have the fish because I want the fish."
"I don't want the fish."
"You're not getting the fish."
"Good.  Cause I don't wanna sit here and worry about that fish showing up after I'm gone."

***

I would think, at this point, she could use some guidance and some peace, the ability to finish the things she needs to finish, and comfort to those who love her.
If you feel moved to pray, I think those would work great.

Convergence

The planets aligned, and I am currently in Michigan with all of my siblings and Dad.

Image this:
Just about the time I was swinging around the southwest edge of Chicago, Army Sister was crossing into Ohio from Kentucky, and Lily was flying up from Kansas somewhere between the two of us.

It was like a tri-sister arrow pointing toward home.

Merry Christmas.

The Blue Hoodie Miracle

I apologize.  I promised not to beat you over the head with Mom's death.  However, I had not planned on miraculous things happening.  I did not count on... this.
But, I think you will appreciate this story, if I can tell it right.

Over July 4th weekend, Army Sister, Lily and I planned to go home to Michigan.  Have a "Sisters' Weekend".  Sort through Mom's things.  Attend Mom's family reunion with Dad.

Only, at the last minute, Lily couldn't come.

Going through Mom's clothes was hard.  Maybe I mentioned it.
We missed Mom.  And now we missed Lily, too.
After trying on one of Mom's jackets, I burst into tears.  There was no way I could ever wear it without crying.  Ever.  All it would take is one kind, "That's a nice jacket. Where'd you get it?" and I'd be worthless.
Army Sister and I realized that we could not keep any of Mom's clothes.  It would be too hard.

The packing went quickly after that.
Mom wanted any clothes we didn't keep to be donated to a charity where she often volunteered. We packed up nine boxes of clothes.

Eventually, Army Sister decided to keep some pairs of socks.
I managed to wrap my head around taking a pair of jeans.  For some reason, they were impersonal enough.

And as I emptied Mom's coat closet, I found some sweatshirt jackets.
A pink one hugged me as I removed it from its hanger.
"I will wrap my arms around you in the winter," it told me.  "I'll never have to leave the house.  No one will see you if you need to cry.  Please... take me home with you."

There were two other jackets like it.
I asked Army Sister if she wanted one.
"No," she said.  "I don't think so."
"Do you think Lily would want one?"
"I don't know."
"I'm going to take this pink one for myself.  Is that okay?"
"Sure."

We moved the nine boxes over to Barnless Brother's house where Sister and I were sleeping for the weekend.  We stacked them in the bedroom where my things were.

I cried every night.
"I'm sorry, Mom.  I just can't take anything.  I don't want to give all your clothes away, but it makes me so sad.  I'm so sorry."

The night before I drove back to Michigan, I could not sleep.
I kept thinking of those sweatshirt jackets.
There was a blue one with a hood.  I almost thought I knew which box it was in.
But I definitely knew it had to go to Lily.
I don't know why.  But I knew.

Turns out I didn't know which box it was in.
It was at the bottom of the ninth box I pawed through.
At one o'clock in the morning.

I hung it on a hanger, hugged it, cried on it.
The next day, I took it to Wisconsin along with a crocheted shawl we thought Lily had made for Mom and some scarves we figured she could wear on her chemo-bald head.

On Lily's birthday, I wrote a note to explain why she was receiving each of the items in the box.
I wasn't sure how much I should say about the blue hoodie.  It seemed important to me, but would it mean anything to Lily?
::shrug::
I typed almost the same thing you just read... only without all the weeping.

I signed the note:
I don't know how you feel about the blue jacket.
But I think it wanted you.
I hope that's okay.

***

She called me Monday.
The box had arrived.

She hadn't made the shawl.  But she was happy to have it.
The scarves were perfect.  Just right for wearing in the summer.

And the blue hooded jacket?
"Did you know," she asked me, "that I bought that jacket for Mom?"
"You did?"
"I did.  It's the most perfect thing you could have sent.  I couldn't think of anything of Mom's I could've wanted, but this is good.  This is perfect."
"I didn't know.  I had no idea."

It had called me from the bottom of that box.
It woke me up.  It wouldn't let me sleep.
I had no idea.
How do you explain that?
Was it Mom?  Was she telling me what to do?

All I know is I sent my sister a hug.  And it fit perfectly.

A lily-livered update

This is not the funny you are looking for.

Today is Lily's birthday.
She made it to 49.  Yay!

She is now living in Kansas.  Her family is together again after 6+ months of commuting, transferring, and cancer-news-sharing.

While Lily responded well to chemo treatments early, her two final treatments were delayed by low white blood cells and plateletes.  And just those short delays allowed the tumors to re-grow.
It the process of moving from Tenessee to Kansas, it has now been 6 weeks since her chemo treatments ended and a new doctor has been consulted.  Scans show the tumors have not only grown, but have also multiplied.

From the beginning, we knew that no one walks away from Stage 5 cancer.
But, we had hope.  She had been doing so well.

Next step is radiation.  They'll stick a needle into her liver and hit the cancer where it lives.
Again, it's not to save her life.  It's to give her more time.

It's to give us more time.

So today, on my sister's 49th birthday, I pray she receives as a gift... a 50th.

Random Sister Update

I spend last week visiting my lily-livered sister.  When I bought my plane ticket last month, I figured by the time I got there, she'd be worn out from the chemo, and I would  be spending most of my time cleaning the house and trying to get her to eat something.
I couldn't have been wronger (it's a word, trust me).  Not only does she feel NOT sick, but she has energy and an appetite.  The only thing she doesn't have is hair.  Her head is Mr. Clean all the way.  In fact, I thought she looked odd because she didn't have his earring to match.

***

Our eldest sister created a special a card for her.  It's laminated, and on one side is the word, "Cancer".  On the other side, it reads, "Be nice to me."  Any time she feels she deserves a little extra consideration, or if something is too hard, or if she is too tired, she is supposed to flash this card.
Playing the cancer card, you see.

We got plenty of milage out of it.
She couldn't remember which day it was.  "I blame the chemo."
Put the remote in the fridge? (And hey, who of us hasn't done that?)  "It's the cancer."

Plus, her husband is Polish, so they are a real hoot.
"I have cancer, what's your excuse?"
"I'm Polish!"
"Okay.  You win."

***

Each day, she wore a different hat that I had made.
::warm fuzzy::

***

At some point early in the treatment process when my sister was feeling anxious, she laid down for a nap.  Her cat curled up on her stomach and settled rather oddly on the liver area.  "Well, okay," thought my sister, "that's not terribly comfortable, but it's not bad."
Then, the cat stretched out a paw and gently placed it just above my sister's left breast; right over her chemo port.
My sister immediately relaxed and felt at peace.

Good kitty.

***

My sister is taking part in a world-wide trial.  Apparently, 88 other people in the world have what she's got. Split into two groups, Group A gets three drugs, Group B gets two.  As her doctor expressed great faith in that third drug Group A would get, we had all hoped she be placed in Group A.  But, she's not.
However, after her post-treatment scan came back with good results, I told my sis that the "super mystery drug" that Group A was getting that Group B isn't getting is probably a cat.
"What?"
"A cat.  They get your two drugs, plus a cat that lies on their stomach.  Like yours did.  You have a medicinal cat.  You have a Group A cat."

***

And here's the good news you were waiting for.  I saved it for last because it really is that good.

After only two of her six scheduled treatments, the baseball-sized tumor has shrunk 50%.  The little tumors ("tumors all over") are smaller, too.
Treatment number four is this coming Monday, and she'll get another scan to measure progress maybe a week or so later.

I have to tell you...
I could really believe she's gonna kick this thing. 
I can't wait to see what the next scan brings.

This week in Random

If you're cleaning out your closets and you come across piles of crap that your child does not use anymore, do not send it to your nieces and nephews just because they are the same age as your child was when he/she loved that crap. 
Same age + same genetics does not equal same interests.
Your sisters and brothers know you're cleaning out your crap, and we they will not appreciate being your dumping ground.
Just sayin'...

***

Quick sister update:
She has lost enough hair that she's just gone ahead and shaved the rest.  I have sent five crocheted hats, and she tells me she mostly wears them to bed because her hair stubble feels funny on the pillow otherwise.
She's like my own personal Chemo Barbie doll to dress up.

She says she's saved her hair in a Baggie for me so I can crochet it into a hat.
Heh.
(She only thinks I wouldn't.)

***

I like Facebook a lot more than I wanted to, but blogging is SO much better for stories.

***

When you drop your books in the library's after-hours box, you should have your car keys in your pocket and not in the same hand that's holding the books.
Just sayin'...

She never *did* like liver.

I try very hard to bring you the funny, my friends.
Today's post is not the funny.  It is far from the funny, and I invite you to skip it. I suspect it will be weighing heavily on my mind for quite some time.  I will try not to beat you over the head with this subject in the future unless it can somehow *be* funny.


Let's say you work in a hospital, and you cross paths with a doctor in the hallway.  For no real reason, you decide to ask, "Hey doc, I've got this lumpy area here on my righthand side.  Does it look like anything to you?  Or is it nothing?"
And after a cursory fondle of your abdomen, he replies, "I think we should take a look at that."

The good news is, because you are a valued and cherished member of the hospital staff, you get every test in the book, and you get your results pronto.

The bad news is, it's cancer.  And it's stage 5.

The worse news is, while it's not liver cancer, it's some rogue cancer that has migrated from somewhere else to settle in your liver.  You see, you have some other kind of cancer... but guess what?  You don't have any symptoms to indicate where that other cancer might be.

And you're my sister.

But again, because you are a valued and cherished member of the hospital staff, you're getting attention from people who know you and care personally about you.

***

Oh, yes.  Because she is family, her phone call to me started with, "So, has anyone in the family talked to you recently?"
Crap.  "No one called to tell me anyone has been in the hospital."
"Oh.  Well, I've been in the hospital."
"You work in a hospital."
"Well, yeah..."
"Are you calling me with bad news?"
"It's... news..."

***

I'm thinking of referring to her from now on as The Lily-Livered Sister and The Disease To Be Named Later.
(See how the humor works in there?)

***

There's no prognosis at this time. There's no treatment in motion. They need to know what all they're dealing with first.
For what it's worth, my sister says she'd prefer chemo to surgery. And since she works in surgery, that's really saying something.

***

I immediately pawed through my baskets of yarn looking for something special to crochet.  I'm thinking a hat for her in case she loses her hair. Nice yarn. Pretty yarn.
I have piles of baby yarn.  It's cute and all, but not for an adult woman.
I have piles of afghan yarn.  But, no.  It's all too thick.

Suddenly, I was in a panic to finish the Broncos hat I'm making for Richmond's dad and the two hats I started for the lady at work who'd just had emergency brain surgery.  I had to finish these hats.  I had to make a hat for my sister right away!
I was in the middle of planning a trip to the "fancy" yarn shop north of town when a quiet voice in my head told me, "You have time.  She hasn't had chemo yet.  She hasn't lost her hair yet.  And, honey?  Making a hat won't cure her cancer."
And I got really sad.

***
 Incidentally, when I told Richmond about my sister, she immediately volunteered to be tested to see if she's a donor match.
"You've never met my sister, and you're offering her part of your liver?"
"Of course."
"Huh.  And I was gonna give her a hat."

***

What I want you, dear reader, to take away from this is that my sister didn't feel sick at all.  Didn't look sick, didn't act sick.  No one said, "Hey, you're looking a little yellow.  What's up?"  She wasn't even thinking about making an appointment with a doctor to have this lumpy thing looked at even though she could feel it at night when she rolled over on it.
She just happened to mention it in passing.
Dunno about you, but I don't pass a doctor in the hallway everyday to just mention stuff to.

If something is bothering you, please see a doctor about it.
Please. 
Right away.

Your phone is right there...  it's right there.

If you wait, well, what kind of co-workers have your back?