Visitors please . . .

Anybody want to come see me next week?  The once welcomed silence has now become deafening. All healthy visitors are invited.

Today I . . .

tried meditating and fell asleep. :)

walked 12 blocks to the hair salon. Fountain of Beauty. :)Got a much needed shampoo and hair cut and then walked back.

learned three new yoga poses.

read some of my Lance Armstrong biography.  (He's a tad cocky, isn't he?)

lost my appetite but forced myself to eat broiled fish and broccoli for lunch.

negotiated Dillon's room clean-up over the phone after we left Frio the cat locked up in his bedroom from Sunday until Bruce returned yesterday.

declined Ben's request for the home computer password because he likes to go to websites he shouldn't.  Enough said.

worked out by upper body with free weights.

watched 'Ellen.'

And I have another 4 or 5 hours until bedtime.  Ugh!

Hollis

Yesterday, Monday, November 22

I had just registered at 7:45 am in radiation oncology to have a couple of more x-rays prior to me starting radiation treatment today, Tuesday.  I was a little nervous since I was starting chemo a later that morning and welcomed the quiet solitude that an early morning waiting room presented.

Bruce and I were looking over my schedule for remainder of November, when, like a SNL skit cue gone bad, entered this beast of a man from stage left.

"Hey honey," he loudly called across the room to the receptionist, "You got any of yer good 'ol coffee made yet?"  He threw his jacket over the chair in another area of the waiting room.

This thirty or forty something old guy had his hat on backwards, a missing front tooth, his tee-shirt sleeves cut out and with it not quite covering his self proclaimed 320 lb. frame, primarily from his navel to his salad plate sized belt buckle.

'Honey' didn't respond, but that didn't stop him.

"I'd been late if my aunt hadn't called me to wake me up.  Did I tell ya she was gonna buy me a brand new '99 Pontiac?  It's comin' from Odessa."

Still, no response from 'Honey.'

About the time he was discovering a full pot of coffee in the corner, a doctor walked through the waiting area and they exchanged 'good mornings.' And then this guy loudly tells the doctor, who obviously doesn't know him, the good fortune regarding the gift from his aunt. I winced and wished that he would just shut. it. up.

Bruce sensed my discomfort, and I knew he shared it with me. Then he turned and our eyes met.

"How er ya'll this mornin'?" he howled across the room. 

I just smiled, faintly said "just fine" and quickly went back to the schedule, in my head chanting and maybe even whispering outloud, "Do not come over here. Do not come over here. Do not come over here."

I elbowed Bruce as he grabbed his jacket and headed our way. No! Crap!

He plopped down across from us and again repeated the story of the Pontiac gift, as if we hadn't heard it the first two times. 

He said, "My name is Hollis" with Bruce and I acknowledging him silently, but not daring to offer ours.  I was annoyed and wanted to be left alone.

I caught 'Honey' looking my way and grinning.

"Do you wanna see a picture of my dead dog?" he asked me without hesitation. I immediately thought this had to be a joke.  Were we on Candid Camera? I couldn't find the words to respond. 

Finally I asked, "Hollis, is your dog dead in the picture?"

"Well, no ma'am.  This neighbor kid and I kinda had words the other day and when I left the house, he came over and kicked my dog right between the eyes and kilt Sweetie on the spot.  But this picture was taken before he done that.  I have it as my wallpaper on my phone.  My daddy called me and said, 'Hollis I hate to tell you this but yer dog is dead.'  He tolt me I'd better not do anything stupid so I had to simmer down before I got back to the house.  And when I got there, shore 'nuff  there she was. Deader than dirt."

UNbelievable. So politely, I looked at his picture of Sweetie, which was a cute little Pomeranian.  As soon as he took the phone back he shot out a series of questions/statements, without waiting for any response.  (Bruce whispered that he didn'nt need us, he could easily carry on a conversation with himself.)

"I weigh 320 pounds and told my mama that that I had to lay off the chicken fried steak."  My thought:  Really.

"I'm comin' here for the radiation. R ya'll here for the radiation?"  My thought: No we're here for the atmosphere.

"The hardest part is the waitin." My thought: The smartest thing he's said so far.

And last, but oh-so not least . . .

"Do ya'll know the worst part of your body to get an operation on?"

Silence.

"It's yer head.  When they saw into yer brain, thangs can go South real quick."

I thought Bruce was going to fall out of his chair.  Well, that explained it. For whatever reason, at that moment my heart melted and I thought of Mother Teresa of all people.  She would have told him her name.  She would have gone and sat beside him and perhaps held his hand. 

So, although I am by no means anywhere close to being MT, I did tell Hollis my name, and felt horribly guilty that I was initially so uncomfortable and irratated by him. And yes, I fell short (waaaaay short) of taking his hand,  but I did smile and thanked God for sending Hollis to me that morning.

Hollis made his way back over to the coffee pot and said to the receptionist, "Honey, did you know I'm gonna to be suin' my neigbors?  All I want is enough money to buy me a new dog."

Soon after, I was called back for x-rays and left Bruce in the waiting room with Hollis still 'a talking.

He told me later, his eyes filling with tears of of laughter, that Hollis had asked him where we lived and when he responded, "San Angelo" Hollis said,

" I been to San Angelo once.  I just love that Sea World."

:)

The Kiss

Before entering the Mabee Clinic at Scott & White to start my chemo this morning, I grabbed my husband's hands and asked him to pray with me.

He did. Amen.

Then I asked him to kiss me like the plane was going down. 

He did that, too.  Aaaaaamen!

The Visit

Sock monkey slippers put away, pajamas in the drawer, pictures of family carefully placed around my new hang-out for the next few weeks . . .
and the hotel room phone rings.

"Pam Tallent is here to see you."

It took a second to register.  Pam Tallent?  Pam Tallent? Pam Tallent!  My room mate at Southwest Texas State!  (Well, technically not my roommate because by the time that we got settled in our dorm room for the second semester my daddy was there in the Ford Country Squire to hall my special ass home.  We had spent much of my first semester having a LOT of fun.)

I squealed and ran out into the hall to meet her.  Both of us in tears, we couldn't stop hugging each other.  It's been twenty-seven years and I swear it was as if time stood still.

I am on such a Pam Tallent Jeanes visit high right now.  I can't think of a better way to start my stay in Temple, Texas.

Re-thinking Thanksgiving

I've been thinking a lot about Thanksgiving lately.  

The love in cooking my great grandmother's congealed cranberry salad, my grandmother's Southern cornbread  dressing, my Maderia wine basted bird and my single side of oyster-crawfish dressing just for me.  Having too much wine prior to my mom's arrival the years she comes this way. :) The little table tents created some 8 years ago by my kids with handwritten bible verses of thanks and decorated with assorted leaves,  that serve as place setting cards to this day.  (A little worn, but even more special with each passing year.)

For a few moments I felt sorry for myself because I am not going to be able to indulge in the joy of cooking a feast seeping in tradition and love this year in the comfort of my own kitchen. *Damn cancer.* But with a little more thought, I realize that my most memorable Thanksgiving to date, didn't have those things at all ~ no cranberry salad, no dressing, no Maderia soaked bird, no wine and besides my kiddos and me, no other family close by . . .

Thanksgiving 1997 I found myself newly single and a mom to a three year old and two almost-two year olds.  I was hell bent on making it fun and somewhat easy, with just my boys and I.  So we decided we would 'duplicate' the first Thanksgiving and pass a GOOD time.

The plan was to have a picnic down on the Concho River, just a couple of blocks from our home. We roasted turkey legs underneath one oven element (the bottom one had given up so that took awhile.) And we roasted other stuff like corn on the cob, sweet potato fries, and maple syrup glazed apples for dessert ~ and packed cubes of cheddar cheese, assorted fruit and a can of whipped cream just for fun. Finger food.

Of course, period appropriate clothing was in order.  I gave my boys of a choice of being an Indian or a Pilgrim.  And you can only guess what all three of them chose.  I painted them up for war (no sissy peaceful Indians at our house) and we created Indian head dresses for each.  I was the token Pilgrim with my large construction paper gray hat with a yellow buckle.  And at about 3 o'clock (remember the slow cooking with one oven element) on a sunny Thanksgiving afternoon, three hungry little Indian warriors and a mama Pilgrim marched (with an occasional skip or two) a couple of blocks to the banks of the Concho River, our basket full of finger food and four turkey legs, with my biggest little warrior trying to manage carrying an old quilt of my great grandmother's upon which we would have Thanksgiving dinner.

What a sight we must have been.

It was the most precious Thanksgiving Day ever.  And with that memory, I am inspired that this year will be just as creative in Temple, Texas.  When you get right down to it, Thanksgiving is not about the food and the annual ritual.  It's about being with family, whether it's one you were born into or one you've created for yourself, and being so incredibly thankful for them and all of God's blessings, no matter where you might find yourself.  Location? That's just geography.

Happy Thanksgiving everybody!

Angela's New Crib

Angela Halfmann
Candlewood Suites
1850 Scott Blvd.
Rm 104
Temple, Texas 76504

November 21 ~ December 24
Maybe a little longer

Just STOP it and let me off

I'm talking about the roller coaster ride that I've been on over the last few weeks.  I just got the word late this afternoon that now my PAP has come back 'suspicious of malignancy' and I'm off to Temple early, early tomorrow AM for a cervical biopsy.

I'm a little annoyed. And scared.  And just want to know what's what so I can get my mind where it needs to be to destroy this unwelcomed thing that has taken up residence in my body.

The Wait is Over?

Sweet Dr. Cuervo just called.  The wait is over. (Hold on a sec while I search for something wooden.)
Moving to Temple this Sunday.  Treatment begins on Monday the 22nd.

I feel like throwing a party.

But maybe I'll just juice me some carrots instead.

Introducing . . .

my chemo drugs.

http://www.chemocare.com/bio/mitomycinc.asp
http://www.chemocare.com/bio/fu.asp

The wait

More of the same
It's the waiting that drives me insane.

Tick, tock . . .tick, tock

The Report
The worst case scenario:  Staging 3B ~ Could be in lymph nodes. Not sure because the PET scan showed a little lighting above the tumor in a small area of a lymph node.  If it has indeed spread,  the odds are 50/50 that chemo and radiation will work.  Better Scenario ~ Staging is at a 2-something without lymph node involvement. Success rate is much higher.  Either way, treatment is exactly  the same.

THAT I could handle.

However, my start date for treatment is now up in the air again.  Next week or the week of the 29th.  I was told this about the time we had scheduled most everything beginning on the 23rd and were headed out the door.  So that plan that I had worked so hard to wrangle, to feel, to accept . . . is naught.  And even more concerning to me: The chance of the cancer spreading.

"I will have you answers before noon tomorrow, I promise, Mrs. Halfmann."

*You'd better, Little Missy, or my very special ass may just may have to come take care of some bidness.*

Tick tock . . .
tick, tock . . .
tick, tick,  tock . . .

Sock Monkeys make . . .

the world go 'round.

Where the Spirit Meets the Bone

Have compassion 

for everyone you meet
even if they don’t want it. 

What seems conceit,
bad manners, 

or cynicism 

is always a sign
of things no ears have heard, 

no eyes have seen.
 

You do not know what wars 

are going on down there

where the spirit meets the bone.

~ Miller Williams

God is love. God is everywhere.

I can't remember a day that I did not believe in God.  I was mad as hell at Her once. Back in 1993 when Daddy died.  But for the most part, whether God was in my head as being masculine or feminine, or a little of both,  I have always walked close with my higher power.

As a child, in thunderstorms where lightning cast horrific shadows through the piney woods outside my bedroom window, I felt my God with me. In my turbulent 20's, when I was lost much more than I was found, I felt my God with me.  Not too long ago when I began to question the whole concept of Jesus Christ, I felt my God with me.

And She's always been right there in life's celebrations as well.

Since marrying my Catholic husband, I find myself praying not only to my God, but to Mary and to Mother Teresa and sometimes to specific Saints and finding great comfort in them.  I've taught my children to find God in people and in nature and have taken them many times on walks down to the Concho River on Sunday mornings to sit still, listen, pray and give thanks.

But it was in  my kindergarten Sunday School classroom at Gladewater's First United Methodist Church, where I first remember the simple yet profound words that made such a lifetime impact.  I recall carefully creating a sign cut out of yellow construction paper with my Crayola drawings of African violets (my great grandmother's favorite) and a piece of purple yarn glued to it for hanging.  On one side: "God is love." On the other: "God is everywhere."

God is love.
God is everywhere.

And these two precious sentences continue to embody my heart and my soul, some forty-two years later, as I press forth in my recovery.

God is love.
God is everywhere.

The Blanket

Sometimes the unexpected takes your breath away. 

This blanket, given to me by Ben, Zach and Dillon a couple of days ago, represents not only my boys at all ages, but the relationship to which their dad, Scott, step-mom, Leah and I have risen over the years.

Though we've had our differences, in the end we are all family, forever united by our children.

This just may be the most precious gift I have ever received second to having my boys.  And it was planned and created by their step mom, the most recent pictures of them taken just for this project a couple of weeks ago.

I am touched beyond words.

Some days are diamonds, some days are stones

It's been quite a roller coaster ride on this unexpected journey. Sometimes I feel like a fraud.  Just because a blog post may come across big and bold, doesn't mean that I don't have my moments/minutes/hours of tears.

Right now my special ass just hurts.

Compassionate Health Care

From the moment I fled San Angelo into the arms of Scott & White I knew I was in the right place.   Each of my doctors are highly regarded in their field ~ Wong, Capen, Thomas, Thawani and Cuervo. But above and beyond their noted expertise, each of them, along with the nursing and support staff, define the word 'compassion.'

Yesterday in surgery, right before my anesthesiologist, Dr. Gibson, sent me away to Margaritaville (as he described it,) my OR nurse was holding and rubbing my hand, and the tech was patting my shoulder.  Gibson was singing the Jimmy Buffet classic.  My eyes welled with tears as I thanked God I was among angels. (And perhaps one drunk. :))

A sweet little something . . .

While driving to my first infamous surgeon's appt in San Angelo about a month ago, I said tearfully to Bruce, "What if I end up with a colostemy bag?  Will you still love me?"

Without hesitation he took and kissed my hand saying, "I've been looking all my life for a woman with a colostemy bag."

And that's one of the many reasons why I adore my husband.

Top 15 things I've learned on my journey thus far

These are in no particular order.  And this list is probably going to change or expand as I give it more thought.  But for now . . .here she goes:

1. A GI doctor who violently crams his hand up your butt and your yahoo  at the same time - without ANY advance warning -  and exclaims "My God that thing is huge!" is looking for a fight. Seek other medical care immediately.  (And he was talking about the tumor - just clarifying.:))
2. A surgeon who decides to do a biopsy himself at the last minute in his office because the first biopsy hasn't come back from pathology -- and he doesn't give you a thing for the pain -- avoid at all costs.
3. If this same surgeon comes back in the office within 10 minutes of the his assault with a lab result that says, "No cancerous cells,"  be very suspicious.
4. If this surgeon's nurse calls you the next morning with the initial biopsy results and sounds like a junior high cheerleader with a syrupy E Texas drawl asking, "Are you readeeeeee?" Hang up the phone.
5. If  this same nurse tries to talk over your crying saying, "I don't think you understand, it's the GOOD cancer.  It can be treated with chemo and radiation, that's IT!" it's time to take her out. And, of course, I don't mean to the Saddle Bronc for a beer.
6. If an oncologist can't work you in within a few days, go someplace else.  Waiting ten days for an oncologist with nasty shoes to tell you he doesn't know what to make of the biopsy results, after his PA assures you it's in situ (contained) earlier that week when you're trying to get in sooner, is unacceptable.  Find a map, get outta town.
7. Commit to being your own best advocate.  Speak up. If you can't for whatever reason, find someone who can. ALWAYS get a second opinion.
8. If there's blood in your poop DO NOT wait.  Do not blow it off as a hemorrhoid, no matter how convinced you are that it is.  GO TO THE DOCTOR.
9. Friends and family and your connection with a higher power are truly all that matter.  PERIOD.
10. Good people do get fired for having cancer.  And for reporting misappropriation of State and Federal Funds.
11. Let  go.  Lean on your family, your friends and your God.
12. A clean, healthy diet matters. Sugar and processed food ARE THE ENEMY.
13. Compassion is alive and well and literally overwhelming in San Angelo, Texas. And in Gladewater, Texas. And in Fayetteville, AK. And in Longview, Texas. And in Sioux Falls, SD. And in Post, Texas.  And in some town I never can remember the name of in Northern Georgia. And in Austin, Texas. And in Granger, Texas. And in Corpus Christi, Texas. And in Dallas, Texas. And in Pennsylvania. And in Kyle, Texas. And in Marfa, Texas.  And in Klein, Texas. And in Galveston, Texas. And in Washington State. And in a zillion other places I can't think of right now.
14. My husband is my hero.
15. And I am incredibly blessed by God ~ beyond words.

Just another body part

Before getting started with what brought me to this place of harboring what I sometimes not-so-lovingly refer to as a 'boulder' in my butt,  I want to clarify, 'we' (pretty much everyone but God) don't know for sure what this is yet. At least 'we're' 99% sure which is a heck of a lot closer than 'we' were just a week ago.  My team of oncology doctors at Scott and White are going with invasive squamous cell carcinoma of the anus, ie: anal cancer, so I am too.  It will all be confirmed with yet another biopsy the morning of the 10th.  This Wednesday.

Having invasive anal cancer  promotes much whispering in social circles.  For one, it has to do with words like, well, 'anus.'  Which, for whatever reason, is somewhat more uncomfortable to say than 'boob' or 'skin.'  It is also a cancer that can have direct links to the HPV virus (OMG, she had SEX,) HIV virus (OMG, he had sex . . .with a man,) smoking and *whisper*  . . .hemorrhoids.  Well, I'm here to tell you, folks, it's just another body part.  And in just a few short weeks, I've gone from  my own whispering to being able to talk about bloody stools and rectal exams at the supper table.  (Not to say it doesn't clear a room in a matter of seconds.)

I'm hoping that by sharing my story, awareness to the symptoms of a crappy disease will be heightened, I will maybe even encourage an early diagnosis for someone else, and I can openly share that, yes, having cancer is insanely scary.  But, to me, it's not as scary as, say, crashing to the ground from an airplane into Caddo Lake from 35,000 feet.(I'm thinking alligators, drowning and oh yes, that dastardly impact) or being pulled to doom while in a tight spot exploring dark underground caves by unidentified and really ugly creatures (think 'The Descent.') Cancer's not THAT scary.

With cancer, there's always hope. . . .while with crashing into Caddo Lake from 35,000 ft or being eaten alive by demonic cave dwellers, there's not so much.

I should have started this a looooong time ago . . .

because now I'm somewhat overwhelmed about this ever growing laundry list of events and topics I need/want to mention to get us all caught up to today, Monday, November 8, 2010.

Let me just say, I'm not a traditional blogger.  I have an obsession to hit 'publish post' well before I am done.  I edit and re-edit.  It may be next week before I have today's post the way I want it.  Or I may have three postings within an hour's time frame.  I know.  Not how blogging is intended.  But that's just the way I and my special ass roll.

Let's get back to the matter at hand . . .uh, oh.  I feel another post coming on.