Year in Review... continued
July 2008
July was a month for beginnings and endings. I began the first of many chemotherapy treatments for my lung cancer (photo), and for that reason we made the difficult decision to sell our cabin and property in British Columbia, and move permanently to Bellingham. July was also a month of visits from my two sons, starting on the 4th when Jeff brought us Fourth of July fireworks, and later when Greg flew in from Sedona, Arizona. Greg celebrated his 45th birthday while he was here.
Excerpt from Chapter’s End
Two years ago exactly we packed all our belongings into a U-Haul truck and headed north to this small log cabin in the Skeena River Valley of northern B.C. The time we spent there was immeasurable in its richness of challenges and experiences. Where else could we live side by side with wolves, bears, cougars, and an active beaver pond as our closest neighbor? The Seven Sisters Mountain hovered over our cabin, a protective guardian through all the seasons of the year. We made life long friends and shared their ups and down. Sadly, we must close that chapter of our lives. We have made the hard decision to put our cabin and 123 acres up for sale. (Morningstar)
August 2008
In August my hair fell out. The month also brought the third round of chemo treatments, a trip to Seattle for a second opinion, and a visit from two sisters bearing wild salmon steaks from the Kenai River in Alaska and flats of berries from Oregon. “We have to keep you healthy,” they said. Our cat family grew when we adopted “Meadow,” a longhaired dilute torti. And we moved into our new home, a third floor condo on Garden Street.
Excerpt from Sadness
It is one thing to talk about hope, attitude, and learning to appreciate each and every day. It is quite another to look into the eyes of those close to you and see their worry and fear. It is often I who feels the need to comfort and reassure them. It is easier to be the one with cancer. I will not be the one to suffer when my last day comes. It will be those closest to me who will feel the loss, the grief… the sadness. And if I am sad about anything, it is that. Until I lost my hair I could pass through stores and restaurants with no one the wiser. I still looked “normal.” Now even the waitress looks at me differently… not in a bad way… but with a sad knowing that this woman has cancer. I don’t feel sad, but it is all around me. The only thing for me to do is to smile my brightest, laugh my loudest, and say, “Save your sadness for the many who have never truly lived. I have had a great life.” (Morningstar)
September 2008
The cabin and property in B.C. sold within weeks of putting it on the market. That meant that Bob had to go back and pack everything up. He did it in ten-days. While he was gone, my sister Judy and niece Tamara stayed with me for a week; then my son Jeff came. I completed my fourth round of chemo, and then the decision was made to discontinue the Taxol and carboplatin... they were no longer working. I stayed with the Avastin.
Excerpt from Nothing to Regret
Bob is in Canada, packing two years of cabin living into boxes. His e-mail read, “Guess that a lot got done today, it just seems that there is so much more. But how can I complain when I have mountains wherever I look and deep forests all around.” Our good friend Richard is there too, lending a hand wherever he can.
Kitwanga to Bellingham Update: (September 23) Bob arrived home at 11 o’clock this morning, bearing a box of Tim Horton donuts. After two days of steady driving and 900 miles, he decided to take the rest of the day off. Unpacking will take place tomorrow, with the help of my son Jeff. A big thank you goes to our good friends Richard and Cheryl in Kitwanga, who helped make a big chore a little easier, and sent Bob off Sunday with a full stomach and a Care Package of munchies to eat along the way. These are the kind of people who make the world a better place, and our lives all the richer for them. (Morningstar)
October 2008
With my chemotherapy treatments reduced, there was no need for weekly blood testing... and the stress of moving was behind us. Now we were able to enjoy autumn days filled with Farmer’s Markets, an outing on Chuckanut Drive, and visits with friends. Chiron, the sailing vessel that began our off the grid venturing, was sold to a Canadian from Vancouver Island. And we eagerly dropped our presidential election ballots into the drop box in front of the Whatcom County Courthouse.
Excerpt from Full Circle
They say that the two happiest days in a boater’s life are the day you buy your boat and the day you sell it. Well, we have come full circle… Chiron, our 47-foot sailboat has been sold. I won’t say that it is one of our happiest days. There is a certain sense of loss. Chiron was more than just a boat to us; it represented an adventure, discovery, and a transforming experience. The day we loosened Chiron’s mooring lines and sailed away from the dock was the beginning of a new life. (Morningstar)
November 2008
I don’t know when the countdown begins when you are told that you only have six months to live, but I know that reaching goals big and small takes on new meaning. November marked six months of living since the diagnosis. It was also Lung Cancer Awareness Month, though few people were aware of it! Mostly I was grateful to have lived long enough to see the first African-American elected to the Presidency of the United States. To me and others, Barack Obama represents HOPE for our nation and the world.
Excerpt from I’m Still Here
In October Bob and I visited a favorite nursery near LaConner and brought home various pots of herbs, a maidenhair fern, and newly potted bulbs of paperwhite narcissus for forcing. I titled my Blog posting for the day, “When the Paperwhites Bloom, I’ll Be Here,” and I wrote… “The pot of narcissus bulbs sits near a south facing window, the green tips an inch high. I have no doubt that I will still be here when their sweet scented blooms brighten a winter day.” Winter is still weeks away, but today the delicate blooms of those paperwhite narcissus fill the room with the fragrance of spring… just in time for Thanksgiving. A marvelous confusion of time, but I am still here. Bob says I need to aim for something a little farther away. How about my birthday in May? (Morningstar)
December 2008
The big story for December was the Arctic blast of cold air that stayed with us for several weeks, bringing to the Pacific Northwest lots of snow, ice, and frigid temperatures. After two winters living in a log cabin in northern British Columbia, it felt more like a winter holiday to us. We loved the snow. It didn’t keep us from driving up Mt. Baker Highway to get our Christmas tree, or to the Nooksack River to view the eagles, or from spending Christmas with our friends on Whidbey Island. On a personal note, the big December event was starting a new designer drug cancer treatment… Tarceva… and discovering its horrendous cost. We also learned that the Avastin infusion I receive every three weeks is even more costly… $10,000 per infusion (thankfully covered by my health insurance). Despite a rash on my face and dry skin, it all appears to be working well and we greet the new year with renewed hope. Happy New Year to all our friends, relatives, and readers of this blog!
Cost of Living
Today we learned that Morningstar’s Tarceva is going to cost $4536.99 (about $151 per pill) for a 30-day supply. Her insurance will only cover a portion, making her co-pay $1874.03 each month. The information came by way of a telephone call from the pharmacist who has become a friend over these past months. When I told Morningstar, her first reaction was disbelief, then tears. “We can’t afford that, for a few more months of life… that’s all that we are buying.” That was her initial position. Wrong. I told her that each day was precious and you can’t put a dollar figure on its worth. After this brief sadness came anger at how unfair our health care system was – how we would find ways around the immediate problem, and we would enjoy whatever time we have. The last dozen years together are a testament to doing things our own way – never backing down because it’s difficult or impractical. Well, that’s us, and we aren’t going to back down now. (Bob)
Later Note: Through the drug company, we were able to find a non-profit organization that will cover my co-pay.
.
July was a month for beginnings and endings. I began the first of many chemotherapy treatments for my lung cancer (photo), and for that reason we made the difficult decision to sell our cabin and property in British Columbia, and move permanently to Bellingham. July was also a month of visits from my two sons, starting on the 4th when Jeff brought us Fourth of July fireworks, and later when Greg flew in from Sedona, Arizona. Greg celebrated his 45th birthday while he was here.Excerpt from Chapter’s End
Two years ago exactly we packed all our belongings into a U-Haul truck and headed north to this small log cabin in the Skeena River Valley of northern B.C. The time we spent there was immeasurable in its richness of challenges and experiences. Where else could we live side by side with wolves, bears, cougars, and an active beaver pond as our closest neighbor? The Seven Sisters Mountain hovered over our cabin, a protective guardian through all the seasons of the year. We made life long friends and shared their ups and down. Sadly, we must close that chapter of our lives. We have made the hard decision to put our cabin and 123 acres up for sale. (Morningstar)
August 2008
In August my hair fell out. The month also brought the third round of chemo treatments, a trip to Seattle for a second opinion, and a visit from two sisters bearing wild salmon steaks from the Kenai River in Alaska and flats of berries from Oregon. “We have to keep you healthy,” they said. Our cat family grew when we adopted “Meadow,” a longhaired dilute torti. And we moved into our new home, a third floor condo on Garden Street.Excerpt from Sadness
It is one thing to talk about hope, attitude, and learning to appreciate each and every day. It is quite another to look into the eyes of those close to you and see their worry and fear. It is often I who feels the need to comfort and reassure them. It is easier to be the one with cancer. I will not be the one to suffer when my last day comes. It will be those closest to me who will feel the loss, the grief… the sadness. And if I am sad about anything, it is that. Until I lost my hair I could pass through stores and restaurants with no one the wiser. I still looked “normal.” Now even the waitress looks at me differently… not in a bad way… but with a sad knowing that this woman has cancer. I don’t feel sad, but it is all around me. The only thing for me to do is to smile my brightest, laugh my loudest, and say, “Save your sadness for the many who have never truly lived. I have had a great life.” (Morningstar)
September 2008
The cabin and property in B.C. sold within weeks of putting it on the market. That meant that Bob had to go back and pack everything up. He did it in ten-days. While he was gone, my sister Judy and niece Tamara stayed with me for a week; then my son Jeff came. I completed my fourth round of chemo, and then the decision was made to discontinue the Taxol and carboplatin... they were no longer working. I stayed with the Avastin.Excerpt from Nothing to Regret
Bob is in Canada, packing two years of cabin living into boxes. His e-mail read, “Guess that a lot got done today, it just seems that there is so much more. But how can I complain when I have mountains wherever I look and deep forests all around.” Our good friend Richard is there too, lending a hand wherever he can.
Kitwanga to Bellingham Update: (September 23) Bob arrived home at 11 o’clock this morning, bearing a box of Tim Horton donuts. After two days of steady driving and 900 miles, he decided to take the rest of the day off. Unpacking will take place tomorrow, with the help of my son Jeff. A big thank you goes to our good friends Richard and Cheryl in Kitwanga, who helped make a big chore a little easier, and sent Bob off Sunday with a full stomach and a Care Package of munchies to eat along the way. These are the kind of people who make the world a better place, and our lives all the richer for them. (Morningstar)
October 2008
With my chemotherapy treatments reduced, there was no need for weekly blood testing... and the stress of moving was behind us. Now we were able to enjoy autumn days filled with Farmer’s Markets, an outing on Chuckanut Drive, and visits with friends. Chiron, the sailing vessel that began our off the grid venturing, was sold to a Canadian from Vancouver Island. And we eagerly dropped our presidential election ballots into the drop box in front of the Whatcom County Courthouse.Excerpt from Full Circle
They say that the two happiest days in a boater’s life are the day you buy your boat and the day you sell it. Well, we have come full circle… Chiron, our 47-foot sailboat has been sold. I won’t say that it is one of our happiest days. There is a certain sense of loss. Chiron was more than just a boat to us; it represented an adventure, discovery, and a transforming experience. The day we loosened Chiron’s mooring lines and sailed away from the dock was the beginning of a new life. (Morningstar)
November 2008
I don’t know when the countdown begins when you are told that you only have six months to live, but I know that reaching goals big and small takes on new meaning. November marked six months of living since the diagnosis. It was also Lung Cancer Awareness Month, though few people were aware of it! Mostly I was grateful to have lived long enough to see the first African-American elected to the Presidency of the United States. To me and others, Barack Obama represents HOPE for our nation and the world.Excerpt from I’m Still Here
In October Bob and I visited a favorite nursery near LaConner and brought home various pots of herbs, a maidenhair fern, and newly potted bulbs of paperwhite narcissus for forcing. I titled my Blog posting for the day, “When the Paperwhites Bloom, I’ll Be Here,” and I wrote… “The pot of narcissus bulbs sits near a south facing window, the green tips an inch high. I have no doubt that I will still be here when their sweet scented blooms brighten a winter day.” Winter is still weeks away, but today the delicate blooms of those paperwhite narcissus fill the room with the fragrance of spring… just in time for Thanksgiving. A marvelous confusion of time, but I am still here. Bob says I need to aim for something a little farther away. How about my birthday in May? (Morningstar)
December 2008
The big story for December was the Arctic blast of cold air that stayed with us for several weeks, bringing to the Pacific Northwest lots of snow, ice, and frigid temperatures. After two winters living in a log cabin in northern British Columbia, it felt more like a winter holiday to us. We loved the snow. It didn’t keep us from driving up Mt. Baker Highway to get our Christmas tree, or to the Nooksack River to view the eagles, or from spending Christmas with our friends on Whidbey Island. On a personal note, the big December event was starting a new designer drug cancer treatment… Tarceva… and discovering its horrendous cost. We also learned that the Avastin infusion I receive every three weeks is even more costly… $10,000 per infusion (thankfully covered by my health insurance). Despite a rash on my face and dry skin, it all appears to be working well and we greet the new year with renewed hope. Happy New Year to all our friends, relatives, and readers of this blog!Cost of Living
Today we learned that Morningstar’s Tarceva is going to cost $4536.99 (about $151 per pill) for a 30-day supply. Her insurance will only cover a portion, making her co-pay $1874.03 each month. The information came by way of a telephone call from the pharmacist who has become a friend over these past months. When I told Morningstar, her first reaction was disbelief, then tears. “We can’t afford that, for a few more months of life… that’s all that we are buying.” That was her initial position. Wrong. I told her that each day was precious and you can’t put a dollar figure on its worth. After this brief sadness came anger at how unfair our health care system was – how we would find ways around the immediate problem, and we would enjoy whatever time we have. The last dozen years together are a testament to doing things our own way – never backing down because it’s difficult or impractical. Well, that’s us, and we aren’t going to back down now. (Bob)
Later Note: Through the drug company, we were able to find a non-profit organization that will cover my co-pay.
.
posted by Looking for Hope | 12:04 PM
2 Comments:
Hello Morningstar!
I just came across your blog a few days ago while reading up on Wabi Sabi. Reading your year in review has given me a taste of your life, and your writing, and has touched my heart. I pray you will see the paperwhites bloom, and for peace for you and your family as you face this journey through cancer. My family faced cancer a bit over 10 years ago, so I can understand a little bit of what your family is feeling.
From a northern Canadian (Alberta!)
Jill
Morningstar,
I found your blog a couple weeks before your cancer diagnosis, but I can't remember how. I'm far away in New York.
I don't really know anything about cancer, with no history among family and friends. You are my teacher, and you are teaching me that what matters is living.
I enjoy reading your blog. Thank you for sharing your experiences and perspective so generously.
Kate
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