So, I’ve been playing around with my garden on MySpace and tending other gardens.  It’s become addictive.  Especially for someone who could kill a plastic plant.  I don’t know how I ended up with such brown thumbs, Dad could grow anything.  Mom had a house plant once that died.  Oh, she had tried to save it, but in the end the poor thing looked like something out of a wasteland.  Dad found it in the garage and within a few weeks, he had it looking beautiful.  Don’t get me wrong, Mom does well with most plants,  and so does my sister.  Me?  I don’t even look at plants for fear I’ll destroy them.

But I love looking at the gardens on MySpace.  Some of the people there have absolutely beautiful designs and are very imaginative.  I’m trying, and I have an idea for a design.  Something in memory of Dad.

Jessie

Go Vols!

As we enter into the Christmas Season, and most eyes turn to literary works such as A Christmas Carol, I look to another of Dickens’ classics - A Tale of Two Cities.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”

Last Thursday, my mother, sister, and I went to the hospital to visit my new grandbaby (the best of times). He’s so beautiful, and alert, and full of life, and while I feel so truly blessed with my family, my heart hurts. We all shed tears of joy and sorrow, because my father wasn’t there.

It was this time last year when we learned of his cancer (the worst of times). One of the most poignant memories I have of him is about a week afterward. We were sitting at the kitchen table (our favorite spot), and he told me, “And if I die, think about the adventure I’ll have then.”

You can see why I always say Dad is my greatest inspiration.

Now, I have a new chapter in my own life’s adventure. Being a grandma. I can’t wait to show up for grandparents day at school on my motorcycle with cupcakes in the saddle bags. Oh yeah, Dad would totally appreciate that.

Jessie

8.24.07: Already Missing You, Dad

First, I want to thank all of you who kept my family in your prayers. All of us, Dad included, appreciated them, the good thoughts, and kind messages.

He passed August 23, 2007, at 3:30 p.m., peacefully in his sleep. He fought so hard for so long (since November 2006 when the first stage 3 tumor was found), and even the morning before he passed, he was trying to get out of bed. His body gave out before his mind and heart gave up.

He and Mom would have celebrated their 54th wedding anniversary this December. His last words were to take care of her, and she was holding his hand when he passed.

9.7.07: The haze is slowly starting to fade, and I’m getting back into what my *normal* everyday life was before last November. Mom still has some health issues, but she’s doing very well. I’m looking forward to finishing some of the projects which were ignored, and having some new stories out soon.

Jessie

The answer is really simple. I believe in it. Oh, not the hearts, and candy, and roses, sort of romance the hawkers sale during Valentine’s, but the happily ever after.

If you’ve been reading my blog in the past 7 or 8 months, you know my father is dying of cancer. My mother has a sever blockage in her carotid artery and is having mini strokes. About 2 weeks ago, she had a bad fall in their garage - the washer won. She looked like a raccoon for about a week, but thankfully she didn’t break any bones, which is a miracle.

Dad cried as the medics took her out.

Honestly, none of us thought Dad would make it this long. They stopped any kind of treatment 3 weeks ago. He’s been in and out of hospice, and we had another scare today. However, he rallied and managed to get out of bed, eat a little, and was sitting at the kitchen table when I left.

He doesn’t want to leave Mom.

Their 53 years of marriage haven’t been perfect, but it’s been perfect for them.

That’s why I write romance. It’s not a dream, or fairy tale. It does exist, and I’ve been fortunate enough to have been surrounded by it. My parents found it, my sister and her husband found it, and I found it (17 years this Saturday).

Jessie

I don’t eat a lot of peanut butter, but about two weeks ago, I bought a jar (low fat Peter Pan) to keep in my office. Working 9-10 hours a day, I felt the little protein boost in the afternoon would help. Uh-huh. Just my luck, the jar I bought is one in the infected recall. I haven’t had severe symptoms, except for last Sunday, but I have eaten at least a tablespoon of peanut butter almost every day for the past two weeks. I’m sending the lid back and getting a refund. But what’s really scary is I’ve been delivering dinner to Mom & Dad a couple of nights a week. I haven’t handled their food, only the packaging, and I do wash my hands, but we spend almost every minute in their kitchen when I’m there. Thank goodness I haven’t handle any of Dad’s insulin or needles. I’ve got to make some phone calls.

To all those buried under snow, I hope you have power and water, and please stay safe. It’s cold here (downright frigid for the South - lows in the teens), and I’m ready for spring. The weather people are predicting snow for us tomorrow. Saturday, which figures. No snow day from work.

Dad goes Monday to have the port inserted for his chemo. It’ll be an all day thing, and I’m sure it will wear him out. He’s now almost bald from the radiation treatments he received and still very tired.

I hope everyone has a great weekend.

Jessie

…or the world’s biggest optimist?

That’s the question I kept asking myself yesterday morning. The doctors sprung Dad from the hospital Friday night. So I was at their house bright and early Saturday morning. Made coffee, fought my way through the maze of medications, prepared his insulin injection (the steroids are making his sugar high), and I was ready to sit for a few minutes. But no. Dad was out of cigarettes.

Did I mention he has lung cancer?

He also had a winning lottery ticket. Just a few dollars. (We play for fun when it gets over $200m.)

So, he hands me the lottery ticket and tells me to roll it over, which means buy as many picks as dollars he won, and money to buy him a carton of cigs.

I shouldn’t have, but I did. He’s flat out told me, my family, and his doctors that he’s not going to quit smoking.

Well, what do you expect from Roger the Logger, quite possibly the toughest man in the entire world?

Jessie

Well, I’ve had a bit too much excitement this week. Dad went for his 1st chemo treatment Tuesday, but they had done a CT scan on his brain Monday, and the results showed a tumor in the right side of his brain. So, they sent him home with another appointment with a radiologist for Friday. On the way home, he started having seizures. He went back to the hospital by ambulance, and the family was called in.

When we arrived he was still seizing. The ER physician saw indications that the cancer had spread to his liver and possibly his stomach. After a few rounds of really good drugs, they stopped the seizing and ordered a CT scan of the stomach & liver. We were told to expect comfort measures only.

They did the scan late Tuesday night, and we didn’t learn the results until early Wednesday morning–there’s an abscess on the outside of his liver, probably from an emergency gall bladder surgery he had 4 years ago. We also learned that a brain tumor and a brain abscess look almost identical on a CT scan of the brain, and that the tumor could actually be an abscess. They scheduled an MRI for today, which hopefully will give us a definitive answer.

I was praying for a miracle, I’m not going to argue with the results. I’ll take a brain abscess over a tumor any day of the week.

Now, for the title of this post: There’s an old Ray Stevens’ song entitled, The Haircut Song. Here are some of the lyrics:

Well, Butte, Montana just a’passin’ through, one thing I just had to do,
Had to get a haircut and I was worried for my hair.
I had a feeling of impending doom the minute I stepped into that room and laid my eyes upon that barber chair.
It was a macho barber shop. Hair dryers were mounted on a rifle rack. Wasn’t no mirrors. The barber chair was a Peterbilt… Barber walked in; he was huge, seven feet tall, three hundred pounds of spring steel and rawhide. Wearin’ a hard hat, chewin’ a cigar, had a t-shirt on — said, “I hate musicians.”
Threw me in the chair, sneered and said, “What’ll it be pal?”
Now a lot of people would be intimidated in a situation like this…I was not. I am what I am, play my little piano, and sing my little songs. I looked him right in the eye and I said, “I’m a logger - just up from Coos Bay, Oregon. Been toppin’ trees - quite possibly the toughest man in the entire world.”

Dad & I quote the part about playing the piano and singing songs every time we’re together. It always pops up in one of our conversations, usually along the line of,

“Well, what can you do?”
“I don’t know. I just play my little piano, sing my little songs.”

Well, Tuesday night when they finally got him to a room around 11:30 p.m. or so, the nurse came in and asked Dad his name. At this point, he was riding high on the ativan, and he sounded like he’d been on a three day drunk because his tongue was swollen from his biting it during the seizures. He looked her straight in the eye and answered, “My name’s Roger. I’m a logger from Coos Bay, Oregon. Quite possibly the toughest man in the world. Just playin’ my little piano and singin’ my little songs.”

The look on her face was priceless, and we were all laughing so hard none of us could explain why he’d answered that way. His name’s not even Roger. We have no idea where that came from. And he’s still telling the new nurses who come in at shift change that he’s a logger from Oregon, even though he’s completely cognizant. He had a long conversation with one of the nurses about Oregon and Seattle (where she is from) this morning. (He has been there.)

He kicked us out shortly thereafter, and I haven’t heard anything from anyone regarding the MRI. I think I may go home after work and collapse now that the immediate danger is over. The chair I slept in last night at the hospital didn’t provide a good night’s rest.

Jessie

Bi-lateral tumors. Metastasized. Chemotherapy. Radiation. I could have lived quite happily without ever hearing those words. The doctor didn’t complete the procedure to check Dad’s lymph nodes. There was no point after the scope found another tumor in his right lobe. Didn’t want to put his body through the stress of the procedure when the cancer has already metastasized. Treatment can stop or slow the growth, but at this point there is no cure.

But there’s always hope. He’s a fighter, his spirit is good, and his faith is solid. I know those things go a long way in treatment. And I do believe in miracles.

Thoughts and prayers still appreciated.

Thanks,
Jessie

When I think the word heroes, several images cross my mind: super heroes like Batman (my fav); sports figures (though not so much now as when I was a kid); firefighters, policemen, doctors, etc.; and of course, soldiers. Over the past few years, we’ve seen many of our heroes fall, and as I write this, a member of SMRW is getting ready to deploy to Iraq. Our thoughts and prayers go with him.

A little closer to home, though, we rarely acknowledge those who are close to us who are “everyday heroes.” Perhaps, we’ve grown accustomed to the wonder we first experienced when we realized they were our hero. I have several in my life, most of them family members, but my dad has always been my first, and best, hero, as well as my biggest fan. Last week, I learned my dad has cancer. This is the second time he’s been diagnosed with the disease. The good news is the doctors caught it early and the prognosis is good.

But it’s scary, and it leaves me a little lost knowing my biggest hero could fall.

Jessie