"Cautiously Optimistic"

Friday August 23, 2013

The second half of this post was written by my dad, even though he doesn't know it.

What a month it's been!

Since I last wrote (7/18), Mom got a haircut.  And manicure.  And she was pampered for an afternoon. 

She hadn't had her hair cut since they shaved it for her brain surgery.

So, a friend of mine who is a Cosmetologist came over and spent a few hours with her at home, pampering her and making her feel oh so good!

Then about a week after that, I got married.  The wedding was beautiful, the weather was perfect, and along with Mom, our families were able to share in our big day.

About a week after we got home from the wedding, I was asked to sit with Mom for a Saturday to give her best friend a break, and allow my dad to attend a Saturday class.

I was happy to do it.

Then my dad gave me a heads up that Mom was probably going to ask me to shave her head that day.  He said her hair was falling out in clumps, falling into her food and always getting in her mouth.

When I got there that Saturday morning, I could see right away what he was talking about.

I knew I couldn't shave her head.  It's not that I can't work a set of clippers, it's the emotional part - shaving my mom's head... because she has cancer...  and the chemo is making all of her hair fall out... 

So, I called my friend.  Luckily, she had a little bit of time - and she is GREAT with people, especially in difficult situations.

Mom wasn't nervous about it at all.

So, off it came.

And the first time I took Mom in the house to look in the mirror, we both stared.  Silent.

And then our eyes met.

And we realized we were both crying. 

And we hugged.  And cried some more.

I looked at mom and said, "It's just hair.  You are still beautiful.  You will always be beautiful."

She looked back at me and said, "I know, but it's CANCER.  This is real.  This is really happening.  How did this happen?"

And then, through her sobs and tears, she said something to me that she says A LOT. 

She wrapped her arms around me and said, "I love you so much.  So much you'll never know.  You will always be my little girl.  I know I had to share you with your mom while you were growing up, but it was one of my greatest joys to be a part of raising you.  You will always be my little girl.  Don't forget me.  Don't forget who I used to be.  Don't forget our memories."

We held each other and I assured her that I would never forget.

I will never forget that moment. 

Or the moment just a week prior to that day when I walked over to her after the wedding ceremony and bent over to hug her.  Our eyes met again and she told me how proud she is of me.  She told me how much joy it gives her to know that the girls and I are happy.  And as she is saying this, my eyes are welling up with tears, looking back at a woman that physically, is so different, but in her eyes I see the same woman I have known since I was 4 years old.

I looked over at my dad and he was crying as well.  I can only imagine what he was thinking, watching the two women in his life have a moment like that.  There were so many different dynamics taking place at one time...  needless to say, it was a very special moment, and a very special day.

So, Mom wears her hats and head coverings with pride. 

She no longer has hair falling out everywhere.

And she is down to three radiation treatments.

I was told by my dad after the wedding (he waited to tell me so I wouldn't stress) that Mom's tumor had grown back 2+ inches in the three weeks between her brain surgery and the start of radiation.

Originally, the tumor was about the size of a racquetball. 

So, this sucker is VERY aggressive.

And this is the part of this post that my dad will take over.  I haven't had time to update, so he took the liberty to update his Facebook status a couple of times in the last couple of days.  Here's what he wrote:

Wednesday August 21, 2013

" Well ok... the term is "cautiously optimistic."  We are down to four radiation treatments left to go, (the same for chemo for now).  We saw the doctor after treatment today as we always do on Wednesday and asked, "What do we expect from here?"
 
 

As the radiation completes, we should expect the brain to begin to "settle down", swelling due to the treatments should begin to subside bringing fewer issues.... You will notice a few words such as "should" and "settle", hence the cautious portion of the term. The optimistic portion comes from "fewer". At some point, usually about three months, there will be an MRI to scan her brain to determine the effectiveness of the radiation. As for the chemo, the medical oncologist MAY choose to continue further treatment for a time not yet determined. Most of those decisions may be based on the results of the scan. Now for the " optimistic". We can now be optimistic that all of this has done the intended job of reducing and even eliminating the tumor which has proven to be difficult at best. With reduced swelling, there should come relief in the form of added clear thinking, understanding and reasoning. Along with those comes added freedom and independence to do more of the "simple daily tasks" that we all take for granted on a daily basis and just do them as we always have without any thought…something that has been missing for way too long now. I want to thank my family and friends for all of the well wishes, prayers and help that have been extended to us so far. I say keep them coming, we are not there yet and have a long way to go still. I love you all…For now we wait……cautiously optimistic.

 

Thursday August 22, 2013

"cautiously optimistic" part two……We had another radiation treatment today, (3 more to go). After that we had an appt with our chemo doc. Starting tomorrow we drop one steroid, down to two. Over the next three weeks the plan is to slowly ween her off of the rest of them. About a week after radiation is done she is to start a new routine of a different chemo. This one is through an IV, (up until now they have been pill form). The new routine will be approximately once a week for what is now an undetermined amount of time. He was not happy that the tumor had regrowth to the size of a jumbo egg three weeks after surgery. "This is an aggressive tumor so we need to be aggressive with the treatment"…his words.

"What can we expect from here"? What we hope to see is a reduction in the puffiness of her face from the steroids, improved leg and arm strength, hopefully increased reasoning and thought processing. The swelling of the brain should begin to subside from the radiation. In about a month, we will get an MRI scan to see if radiation and chemo has been effective in shrinking the tumor or even eliminating it at least for the time being. There will be additional scans about every three months or so to monitor progress. Do we have hope? Of course we do. Do we still need prayers? You bet! You would have to have a crystal ball in order to be able to tell what is to be much beyond today. Everything I've read, everyone I've heard is nothing short of grim. There are hundreds of people that get these grade IV GBM's every day. Many, even more of them go on to survive for anywhere from a year or two and some for many years. It's never without struggle, never without a Herculean effort, always with yet another round of treatments in one form or another.

Is there hope? Yes.

Can we do this? Yes.

As long as we continue we will be "Cautiously optimistic"

So there you have it.  We fight on. 

And we need you to fight with us.  If you feel the desire to help out financially, please do.  The monetary donations that we have received have ALL gone to help pay mom's medical bills.  And the bills are still coming in droves.  Dad is struggling to keep up - but doing his absolute best.  We have a long row to hoe yet, this isn't over by a long shot.  Please, share the fundraiser website with those you know.  Share Mom's story.  Click here to donate - it's free, and it's safe.

I have to say, the day Mom got her hair cut, we were blessed beyond our wildest dreams.

As I posted in "In Dad's Words, Get Me Off This Ride!", they didn't have air conditioning.  And their refrigerator had quit working - they lost almost the entire fridge and freezer full of food.

On the day Mom got pampered, they received a new fridge... donated.

On that same day, they also received central A/C - also donated.

The outpouring of generosity is amazing.  The network of prayers - all over the world - is amazing.  Humbling.

Please continue to pray.  Pray for answers.  Pray for healing. Pray for Peace.  Pray for patience and peace for those caring for Mom on a daily basis.

And please, share this story.  Uplift those you know who are going through a similar battle.  Let them know they're not alone.  No matter the outcome, we still have to endure... so let's stick together.

In Dad's Words, "Get Me Off This Ride!"

Thursday July 18, 2013

While I realize it's been a month since I last wrote, a lot has happened.  Not only with Mom, but in my own personal life as well.  Finding the time to actually sit, much less sit and write has been difficult. 

But it's time.  It's time to update.

I can't thank you all enough for coming here as often as you do to read the updates.  So many of you depend on this blog for updates on your friend, sister, mom, colleague - whomever she is to you, and it means so much to us.

The last update was titled Fear Has Crept In, and it was accompanied by A Lesson On The Brain.  At that time, we were still just learning about this monster, and what it was doing to our Mom, sister and wife.

We are still learning.

But boy have we learned a lot.

Mom spent 3 whole weeks at Mary Free Bed Rehabilitation.

In those three weeks, Mom had many triumphs, and some setbacks as well.

And so did Dad.

The first two weeks were pretty "normal" if you can call them that.  By normal I just mean routine: wake up, therapy, rest, lunch, therapy, rest, dinner, consult, visitors, etc.  Next day: repeat.

She was originally scheduled to come home on Tuesday July 2nd.  But on Saturday June 29, Mom had a seizure. 

And then she cried, inconsolably, for almost 3 days.

And it was just her & dad.

For three days.

Dad called Mom's sisters to let them know what had happened.  But to alert the rest of us would've brought on a "phone storm" i.e. calls, texts, messages, questions - that he just couldn't; physically, mentally, emotionally couldn't handle.

So we found out mid-week what he had just gone through.

He was also protecting us from seeing her in such a state as he himself had never seen before.

Dad had learned in those few days a little more about this monster they call GBM.

He learned she will most likely never be cancer free, and there is no cure for this disease.

He learned that this will most likely kill her.  When?  They can't say.  But we can read statistics.  Statistically, every day we have with her now is a blessing.

I say most likely, but they spoke more in absolutes.  I hate absolutes.  Especially in this case.

He and Mom talked about her options.  She wants to try chemo and radiation.

And that's a whole other animal.

Every person is different, but still.  It's chemo and radiation.

Mom said that she will decide when she has had enough.

On the side and away from Mom's earshot, Dad asked the question that I'm sure every first-time Stage 4 Cancer family might ask... How will my wife finally pass?  Will she be in pain?  Will she be suffering?  What can I expect?

The answer he received was as gentle, but honest as I'm sure we could expect.

He was told that the brain doesn't feel pain, but it senses pain for the rest of the body.  If you were to pinch Mom, she would feel it, but only because her brain told her body to feel it.

As this progresses, her brain will slowly lose the function to sense pain for the rest of her body.

He was told that most patients pass while they're sleeping, or they at least pass quietly, and that it isn't painful.

But what about the weeks and days before that moment?

Well, that is yet to be determined, but again, there are statistics, and every person is different.  We will take things one day at a time and give her as much comfort and reassurance as we can.

On Thursday, the Fourth of July, I spent about 3 hours with her & Dad.

I sat through her therapy, in both awe and disbelief at what I was seeing.  I was so proud of her, as I would be watching my own children accomplish things they couldn't just a few weeks before.  But I was also sad.  I was viewing my mom as "childlike".  I tried to chalk it up to the cycle of life.  Aren't kids supposed to care for their parents in later life?  Isn't that the natural cycle of life?  But this was different.  She's not 90 years old.  She's not even 60 yet.  This monster has come and stolen my mother's personality and most of any resemblance of the woman I used to know.  Sure, we see glimpses now & then, but overall, she's just so different.

We talked about the rough week she had had with her seizure and all the crying she did.

She understood what happened, but it was all a fog for her.  She was on so many medications, that trying to remember was near impossible for her.

She kept saying that she felt "foggy" and she didn't want to be so "foggy".  She wanted to think clearly, and to be able to enjoy things like she used to.  She was looking for a moment of clarity.

So I gave her one.

I recently became engaged, and I hadn't shown her my engagement ring yet.  So, I walked up to her and held out my hand to show her.

She gently grabbed my hand, held it to her face, and started crying.

Happy tears.

Finally!

And then she didn't let go.

I sat next to her and her gaze went from my hand to my face, and back.  She said she was so happy for me, and it was everything she wanted - just to see me happy.

We held each other for a few minutes, and she wiped her tears.  She loved that moment.

And so did I.

Well, the seizure had also postponed her chemo consult with her Oncologist.

And her homecoming.

So we looked for little things coming up that she could be excited for.

The next day, July 5th, she came home.

Home.

For good.

For now.

As she got used to the comforts of home, she also had to learn how to get around, and be more independent than she was used to.  She has her best friend there with her every day to assist, but each day she made progress.  Big or small, it was all progress.

She made some meals by herself.  She carried her coffee through the house, walking unassisted.  She gets up and gets what she needs from the kitchen without help.  She goes outside to sit on their shade porch for fresh air.

Either her best friend or Dad takes her for walks every day to keep her blood flowing, and to help her get some fresh air.  This also helps to keep her somewhat limber and alert.  Plus, she loves the outdoors.  And she can play frisbee with her dog - a pastime she has always loved.

Last week, she had her chemo consult and they decided to start her chemo on the 23rd of July.

After the consult, Mom said she felt like she has some hope and something to live for.  Not just a death sentence.

She also got fitted for her mask for radiation:

As the temperature rises (heat index over 100 degrees) in the heat of summer, Mom and Dad don't have Air Conditioning.  Dad also told me that their refrigerator quit working, and they were reduced to using the spare, smaller one in the basement.  Dad's lawn needed to be cut (the neighbor had done it for him the week before), and when he went to use the vacuum, he realized it was broken.  He had a mountain of bills to scour through - most had been opened, some had not.  They come in droves these days; too fast for Dad to keep up with.  Here's the link to Mom's Fundraiser, should you feel the desire to help financially.

He was having a very rough week, to put it mildly. 

Each day, he goes to work and comes home to the huge stack of bills that keep coming.  He assists with Mom to give her best friend a break.  There's information overload, appointments to make, and keep, phone calls to make, and return, dinner, laundry, and conversation with Mom that is repetitive and sometimes exhausting... when you're already beyond exhausted.

He does it all with a smile, and wakes up the next morning to do it all again.  She is his best friend in this whole world.  She is his life partner, his beautiful bride whom he loves and cherishes more than anything.  No matter the circumstances, he will love her and care for her until the end.

But Dad needed a break too.

My fiance went to the house on Friday to mow Dad's yard and touch up the landscaping a little.  While he was there, Mom's best friend told him that Dad could really use a break and asked if there was anything he and I could do to help out.

So on Saturday my fiance and I took Dad golfing.  We didn't give him the option to say no, or to tell us that he had things he needed to get done.

We started with 9 holes.  We didn't talk about Mom, or bills, or work.  We just laughed.  We had a few beers, enjoyed the amazing weather, and let Dad take a load off.

9 holes turned into 18.  We had so much fun!  It was SO good to see Dad laugh and enjoy himself, and us - something - as we hadn't seen that in a while.

I'll admit I was sad when we dropped him back off at home.  I was sad because he had to go right back to his "new" life.  I feared he was beginning to resent his situation.  We had so much fun, but he had to return to reality.  I wanted so badly to take him away longer.

But he was happy as a clam.  The reset button had been set, and the next time I spoke with him he had organized the bills, made phone calls and taken care of some things he hadn't the energy to do before.

Someone had anonymously sent them a room air conditioning unit.  He said it brought the temperature in their house from the 90's to the low 80's.

He also shared with me that Mom's latest MRI had shown some tumor regrowth already.

So they started chemo and radiation a week early.

Mom is now walking with a cane so that she doesn't have to hold the walls to get around.  This is a little more freedom for her.

So she will do 30 days of radiation and chemo.  And another "new" routine ensues.

So far, she has not felt any ill effects of the treatments.  This is wonderful news!

Her goal is to make it to my wedding... on her birthday - August 1st of this year.

We chose that date for many reasons, but the fact that it's on her birthday and she will be able to come is an extra blessing.

After the wedding, we will have new goals for her.  Daily goals, weekly goals, and longer goals.

I have some projects up my sleeve that I'm going to give her this weekend to help keep her busy and involved in the planning of the wedding.  I know this will bring great joy to her, and also help her stay task-oriented.  It will help prevent her from wallowing or feeling "foggy".  It will help to give her some purpose.

Amidst the storm, we have seen the sun.  We have been amazingly blessed... and the blessings keep coming.  Our family is overcome with emotion and gratitude to the people who have blessed us with a hand (or an air conditioner), time, kind words... everything.

Life is short.  Life is precious.  We are smelling the roses, although the ride won't stop to let us off.  We will continue on as we have been, but please know that we cannot do it without the love, support and prayers of everyone out there who can't be here.

All I can say is "Thank You".  From the bottom of my heart.

Thank you.




 

Closer To Home

Friday June 14, 2013

Well this week has been exciting...

Not really.  It's been rather difficult.

Dad took Mom to her post-op checkup in Novi on Tuesday.  She had been regressing some in the days prior to the appointment, and he was looking forward to getting some answers about what was going on.

A CT scan at the appointment showed swelling on her brain.  So much swelling that it had pushed her brain off-center a little.  The left side had a hole where the tumor had been.  Her brain swelled to fill that hole, and started putting pressure on the right side of her brain.

Post-surgery, she was taken off steroids cold turkey.  Some patients can handle that, some need to be weaned.  Apparently, Mom is one of the latter.

They promptly admitted her to the Neuro ICU.  They immediately placed her back on steriods to try to gain control of the swelling.

Obviously, we weren't prepared for all of this!  Dad hadn't packed any clothes or necessities for them to stay.  He headed back home that evening to pack some things...

Over the course of the next few days, she began to get better - slowly.  She saw Physical Therapists regularly.  At this point, she cannot walk without a walker, her speech is ok, but just not what it used to be.  Her eyesight has deteriorated - she cannot dial numbers on the phone, or text or type. 

It was a waiting game to see if the swelling would begin to subside.  And it did.

We had heard little from Dad while he was there with her.  It was a whirlwind for him.  Yesterday, I finally poked & prodded to get him to give me an update on her condition.  Through tired eyes and exhausted fingers, he texted what he could, following up with a phone call.

Basically, this is what I learned:

She is now walking with the assistance of a walker. She needs continual rehab. Today, she is being transported to Mary Free Bed (the best) via ambulance for inpatient rehabilitation for an undetermined amount of time. We are told that chemo and radiation treatments won't start until swelling is down significantly, and rehab has improved her physical limitations.

Her symptoms should improve with time and rehabilitation.

Emotionally, she's on a roller coaster ride.

She is frustrated.

She is petrified.

I could hear the pure exhaustion in his voice.  He sounded near defeat.  Every now & again, I heard hope.  He's still got it.  He'll never lose it.  One thing about my dad is he is a fighter.  He never gives up.  Never.  And this is the most important, toughest fight he's ever had to endure.  That's his best friend, his life companion, lying in a hospital bed.  And he is helpless to take her pain away.

Behind her, he stands.  Waiting to catch her, to carry her.  And down the line, stands us - his family.  Waiting to catch him.  And even further stands our friends and loved ones, waiting to catch us.  And so on...  We will endure, we will stand firm with hope for one more day, tomorrow being better than today.

She will be in good hands the whole way.  With the move to Mary Free Bed, she will be in the best place to get her well for this leg of the journey.

And she will be one step closer to home.

Life As We Knew It...

Tuesday June 11, 2013

It's been just over 10 days since Mom had surgery to remove the nasty Grade 4 Glioblastoma (GBM) tumor that has invaded her brain.

I've tried to give her & Dad some space to get acclimated at home, and used to their new routine.

Here & there I get an update from Dad.  Last week Thursday's update went like this (In Dad's words):

"Not doing too badly so far.  It was hard leaving the house this morning.  It seems like I have been gone from work for a month.  I was about to leave the house when Mom was getting upset about the cat trying to move around on the bed and bumping into her head from time to time.  She had a really bad headache this morning, so I gave her some Tylenol and helped her back into bed in hopes that she would get more rest.

We have spent the last few days trying to figure out a routine for meds, sleep, etc.  I think we have it pretty close now.  I gave [her best friend / caretaker] the rundown of the routine as we have it now, how the last few days have gone, what needs to be done, etc.  Like I said, it felt wierd leaving the house.

At lunchtime I checked on things with Mom and her headache was gone and she had gotten some good rest.  They were going to attempt to do a little walk this afternoon.

I have been keeping very good notes and records so that I don't have to rely on my memory when we go back to the doctor next Tuesday (the 11th)."

I got another update from Dad yesterday, followed up by a text message this afternoon.  She is currently in the ER again; going to have to stay a couple of days.  Here's that one (again, in Dad's words):

"Well, the weekend overall wasn't too bad.  Your brother came over Friday evening and cut the grass for me and visited a while.  It was a good visit and I am very grateful to him for doing that (one less thing I would have to try to squeeze in). 

Neither of us got much sleep Saturday night - it was just one thing after another.

Saturday during the day, she and [best friend] managed to get her in the shower so that she could wash her hair and get cleaned up.  We have a seat that fits in the tub that she can sit on while bathing to make it easier.

Sunday we got up and had our coffee together as "normal".  She is up only for a couple of hours before she gets tired and needs a nap again.  We did manage to get out of the house for a bit in the afternoon for a short walk.  That exhausted her and not long after getting back she had to nap again.  She slept until almost 8:00 pm and back to bed by 11:00 pm.

She says that everything she puts in her mouth lately tastes bitter, so finding food that settles well is becoming a bit of a challenge.  She seems to be a bit weaker and says that her legs feel like they don't want to support her very well so I, (or someone) has to help her get around the house as she is pretty unsteady on her feet.

Some of the short term memory that appeared to come back after surgery seems to be losing ground again as she was being repetitive with me quite a bit.  I ended up having to cut her french toast for her as she had a tough time getting it done herself.

I'm not reading too much into this as it may be normal for things to appear to make big improvements in the "right after" surgery and then seem to settle back to "pre-surgery" issues for a time.  We have no baseline to measure any of this as far as what to expect, what is normal or otherwise.  We have to be back to see her surgeon tomorrow, so I will address these things with her doctor.

Tomorrow will be a long day and I'm sure it'll wipe her out (and probably myself as well), but some answers would be good to have...  One day at a time."

I got a text message just a bit ago from Dad.  This is all I know, so I apologize for the clifhanger, but AS SOON AS I know more, I'll update.

"We are at the hospital right now in ER.  They did a CT scan and found swelling.  Back on steroids and will be admitted for a day or two to make sure things start coming back."

I didn't prod for more information - I'm sure he's utterly exhausted.  He'll get back to me when he gets a down minute, or when mom rests.

Life as we knew it is over.  This is now our life, dad's life, Mom's life... until it changes again.  Each new day is a brand new puzzle needing to be put together piece by piece, only to start again the next day.

Please continue to pray!  Pray for Mom, the doctors caring for her, pray for my dad, for rest, knowledge and peace.

If you didn't catch this link in my last post, this is the link for the fundraiser.  As well as another place I post (shorter) updates, pictures of Mom, etc.  Mom's Fundraiser

Check here for updates, to donate, to leave a message of hope for Dianne or Dad, anything.  It's a great website!  And please - share, share, share!  Let's get the word out about this nasty disease and come together as family and community to help Mom through this fight!

Nothing Short of a Miracle

Monday June 3, 2013

Well, she made it.

She made it through the diagnosis of her brain tumor.

She made it through a heart attack.

She made it through brain surgery to remove a poisonous tumor.

We learned on Friday that the tumor was removed.  We were told that it was completely removed.  The physician that told us this little tidbit was not the actual surgeon that performed the surgery.  It was one of his colleagues.

Shortly after we received this news, the surgeon came in and elaborated.

Maybe we were all just high on the news that the tumor was gone.  Maybe we were just so incredibly hopeful that this was over.

I know we weren't naive.  I know we knew better.

But the news he delivered was crushing... and I think we all knew it was coming sooner or later.

Some preliminary tests had come back.  Yes, the tumor was removed ("grossly", meaning most of it) - but the cancer was not.  Her brain is still littered with cancer cells.

He said it.  That word. 

Cancer.  It was true.

Grade 4 Glioblastoma.

You can find out more about what a Glioblastoma is on the American Brain Tumor Association's website.  I set that link to take you right to the glioblasotma page.

It's gnarly.  Nasty.  And it looks really bad in black & white.

But we have to remember that every person is different.  Every person fights differently.  There are statistics, and there are miracles.  In my opinion, Mom's story is already nothing short of a miracle.

Immediately following her surgery, it was so hard to look at her.  She ate like a little bird.  She could barely speak.  She could barely open her eyes. 

We were all waiting in such anticipation to see how she was.  Did she know who we were?  Did she remember what she was doing here? 

By the late afternoon / evening the day of surgery, she was so exhausted and on regular doses of pain meds that all she did was sleep.
And we were still waiting to see.

The next day, she progressed more.  Physical Therapists came to assist her with simple things.  They asked her questions about how she felt, what was missing, what was difficult.

By the second day after surgery, she was carrying on full conversations.  Reminiscing back 25-30 years.

But when the Therapist asked her what the date was, she couldn't answer.  When asked what month it was, she couldn't answer.  When asked what year it was, she immediately said 2013.  Yay! 

She could name every person that was in the room with no problem.  She could feed herself with ease.  However, reaching for things and picking them up was quite a task.

Mom described it as though you were standing in front of a mirror.  There's a tube of chapstick on the counter and you reach for it, but you have to use the mirror to guide you.  Naturally, you may tend to go to one side or another of the item.  Or, you may think it's farther away than it really is.  But you can ONLY use the mirror to find it.  You cannot take your eyes away and see the item in its real position.

And she had no peripheral vision on her right side.  You had to pretty much be directly in front of her for her to see you.

So, her vision is a little off.

She could not stand on both feet with her eyes closed.  She would fall over.

She could not walk - anywhere - without assitance and holding onto the wall for guidance.

She could touch her nose, and then reach out and touch a hand in front of her with her eyes closed.

She could not do "flap jacks" with her hand.  Take one hand and hold it out palm up.  Take the other hand and flip flop it on top of the other - back & forth.  She could not do that.

She could not complete certain sentences using proper English.  She forgot which words went together to complete a sentence.

She had a hard time reading (her dinner menu, for example) and having a picture in her mind of what she was reading.  Immediate memory was not clear.

At least on this day.

Today, day 3 post-op, those symptoms are already subsiding.  She is talking on the phone, walking through the house mostly without assistance.  She is reading better.  Her sentences are more accurate and "normal".  She has her incredible sense of humor back.  She remembers things, stories, people. 

My dad described it as something "amazing" to watch as she continues to get better hour after hour.

This is nothing short of a miracle.

We are celebrating small victories.  And we will be doing this for a long time.  I told my dad on Friday (surgery day) that that was the easy day.  And that was a hard day.  The rehabilitation, chemotherapy, radiation, side effects - and all of things that will occur that we can't even comprehend right now - they're coming.

There was a time recently that I was feeling incredibly overwhelmed - like I would never reach the shore.  My dad asked me, "How do you eat an elephant"?

"One bite at a time".

Well we're going to liken this battle with cancer to eating an elephant (but just a little - obviously cancer is very real, and eating an elephant is just not). 

Both seem humongous.

But taken one step at a time, one bite at a time, when you look back, you realize how far you've come.  It isn't insurmountable. 

I've recently also learned that the medical bills are piling up.  They have insurance, and their yearly out of pocket deductible has already been met.  Their portion of each bill after insurance is in the thousands of dollars.  And it's only the beginning.

I set up a fundraiser for them to help ease the pain of medical bills on top of everything else.  My dad still works a full time job.  They have a full time friend and caretaker who comes to the house every day to help Dianne get around, cook, you name it.  Dad is keeping all the appointments, paperwork, transcripts, physicians (neurology, oncology, cardiac, etc) - everything - straight.

If there was anything I could do to lighten that load I would.  This is Dad's new life now.  As a family, and as a community, this is when we're called to help one another.  Here's a link to the fundraiser page:  Dianne's Battle - A Fighter's Journey With Brain Cancer.  You can go to that page to get updates, donate, comment or leave a message for Dad & Di.  You can give anonymously or not, you can keep your donation amount private.  Donations are received through PayPal, but you can give using PayPal, or any credit / debit card without using PayPal.  Any gift you can give is immensely appreciated - and no gift is too small.  Even if you can't give, please visit the site and share her story.  Share her updates.  Get the word out about Brain Cancer.  You might touch someone who is going through this very thing!  Maybe someone out there will be able to relate or share their story to help Mom through this.

Words cannot express the gratitude we feel from the outpouring of prayers and concern for mom.  I know sometimes Dad is brought to tears from the amazing support they have received.

Anyway, thanks for reading.  There are so many milestones ahead - and I want to share them with you.  So keep coming back.

Never Give Up The Fight

Monday April 29, 2013

I would imagine that most, if not all of us have lost someone near and dear to us.  Hopefully, this post doesn't end up being about loss, because it's not meant to be.  However, at this point in my life I am being faced with the thought of losing someone very near and dear to me.

In the very least, over the course of the next year, or years, I will watch this person endure what is probably going to be the most monumentous battle of her life.

I'm going to take you on this journey from my perspective.  I will be as factual as I can with the details.  I asked her if I could blog about this... starting now. Of course she said yes. I promised her that I wouldn't reveal anything super personal or anything that she wouldn't want the world to know. But she knows me. She knows that writing for me is better than any bit of paid therapy I can receive. As close as she and I are, she knows that this situation, no matter the outcome, will be very difficult for me, but I will be her rock when she's around. I will fall apart later. And that will show in some of my posts.

Our family just found out on Friday that my step-mom has a baseball sized tumor inside her brain.  And it's cancer.

Cancer.

I hate that word. 

The mere sound of that word sends my mind into a tailspin.

It's early in the diagnosis.  We know it's there.  We know it's cancer.  We know it's been growing for a long long time.  We know she has to have surgery.  And chemo.  And radiation.

What we don't know is what kind of cancer it is.  We also don't know for certain if it's a solid mass or if it "spiders" out, amoungst many other things.

She and my dad have an appointment tomorrow with the Nerosurgeon.  Hopefully we will know more then.

From what I've been told, this all started within the last week, maybe two.  She was extra-forgetful.  She started getting lost in her own home.  She made a doctor's appointment for Friday of last week, but called my dad to bring her because she had no idea where her doctor's office is.  She's been with her doctor for years. 

As soon as she got to her appointment and told her doctor about her symptoms, they were told to go to the ER THAT DAY.  So they did.  What followed was a series of tests and questions.  A MRI and CAT Scan later, they got the news.

She spent one night in the hospital.  On Saturday when she got home, she was disoriented and extremely exhausted.  She had hardly gotten any sleep the night before (or nights before that), and could hardly keep her balance.  Talking with her was reminiscent of what I would imagine talking with an Alzheimer's patient would be like.  She repeated herself many times - forgot many details of the sentence just before.  She couldn't find the seat that she was going to sit on without someone guiding her back.  A couple of times, she tried to sit and almost fell on the floor.

She forgot why she was getting up, or what she needed to do. 

She felt the need to discuss final arrangements.  She is prepared to make them.  And we openly talked about some of her wishes.  Needless to say, this has been extremely overwhelming news for both her and my dad to digest.

And of course, she is scared beyond belief.  I won't begin to speculate what she is scared of, but I would imagine it's what the rest of us would be scared of had we been told that we have two-ish weeks before surgery to hopefully find out what is killing us.  Or maybe she feels she has two weeks to say goodbye to everyone she knows & loves.  Maybe she is scared to leave my dad alone.  Maybe it's not even about the fear of what comes after dying.  I know she's not afraid to die.  Maybe it's the fear of the battle she is about to face - and what comes after when she survives.  Maybe it's the pain she will experience.  Maybe it's the thought that she will never be the same person, or she will lose memories of things she loves.  Maybe it's all of these things. 

I will say this.  Mom, if you're reading this, don't be filled with fear. 

The first time I heard this poem was from you.  You have always taught me about keeping hope and faith alive in the lowest points of my life, when it's sometimes hardest to have hope & faith.  Now, it's your turn.

One night a man had a dream. He dreamed
he was walking along the beach with the LORD.

Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene he noticed two sets of
footprints in the sand: one belonging
to him, and the other to the LORD.

When the last scene of his life flashed before him,
he looked back at the footprints in the sand.

He noticed that many times along the path of
his life there was only one set of footprints.

He also noticed that it happened at the very
lowest and saddest times in his life.

This really bothered him and he
questioned the LORD about it:

"LORD, you said that once I decided to follow
you, you'd walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most
troublesome times in my life,
there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why when
I needed you most you would leave me."

The LORD replied:

"My son, my precious child,
I love you and I would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints,
it was then that I carried you."

GOD is going to carry you through this. 

I remember you teaching me about God closing doors in order to open a bigger one.  I remember you teaching me about all of the trials you and Dad have been through in life, and the one thing that never waivered was your faith.  Never.

We just had a conversation the other day about faith and how important it is to you to take time each day to tap in to your faith.  Keep that up.  I know it will be hard.  But not because you don't want to, but because of the physical toll your battle may take.  If you need me to read to you, I will.  If you need me to remind you, I will.  You are a beautiful, kind and giving person.  Never forget that. 

Never forget the many lives you have touched.  The lives you have saved.  The people you have blessed - just by giving of yourself whatever you had to give.  Sometimes, it wasn't much, or maybe more than you yourself had, but you gave it anyway.

Never, never, never give up this fight...  And I want you to know that if it comes time to give up, you're not giving up.  You're not letting anyone down.  For once in your life, don't worry about us.  We are carrying this load with you, and for you when we can.  You are loved.  You are cherished.  And WE will never give up. 

This is not goodbye.  We have many years left to enjoy each other.  Life events, birthdays, grandkids, great-grandkids.  We are going to take this battle one day at a time, one fact at a time, one moment at a time.  And we will do it together.  As a family.  Our family pulls together - the whole family - and we are strong!

Today, I asked her if I could get to writing.  She said of course... honestly, I don't think she or my dad know how to even begin telling all of their friends and loved ones.  Of course, the family knows, and those that they see on a regular basis.  If you are close to them and you are learning of this for the first time, please don't be offended.  They are focused on so many details right now, with so little time left to put them all together. 

We have begun making meals for them - meals that freeze and can be easily heated.  We're thinking RECOVERY.  When mom has that surgery, she will be in the hospital for a time.  When she gets home, the last thing Dad's going to want to do is cook.  Or clean.  Just little things like that.  We all want a piece of them right now, but without overwhelming, we're just letting them know that we're here.  Even if we're sneaking around in the background.

So, if it's not too much to ask, could you send up extra prayers for us?  Especially Dianne (Mom, Step-Mom, Grams, Aunt, Cousin, Sister, Wife, Daughter-In-Law).  I will be writing regularly throughout this journey.  If you know someone who is friends or family of Dianne who isn't connected somehow, please share this blog with them.  I will try to be as detailed and factual as possible - read as much or as little as you want.  This will also be one of our ways of getting news out to everyone.

And Mom, one more time... Hang tough, and NEVER give up this fight.  We're gonna be just fine.

*Ditto*... ;)