Just another week?

“I think sometimes that I am more positive in the blog, in writing to all of you, than I feel for myself.” So begins today’s posting on Larry Siever’s 'My Cancer' blog on the NPR website. I am only at the front end of my introduction to “Cancer World,” but already I know what he means. His posting ‘Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride,’ is well worth reading.

My lung cancer has been diagnosed for over a month now. It is Stage Four Adenocarcinoma. The medical professionals all agree that is a very aggressive form of cancer. Without treatment I have been given six months to live. When I see the sadness in the Doctors’ eyes I know that they have written me off as terminal. The statistics are not good, but these Doctors do not know me. I am not willing to roll over without a fight, nor would Bob let me. So when I hear the words, “Another week or so won’t matter,” I want to scream, “It matters to me!” Despite the cancer I am in excellent health and want to be given the opportunity to fight this cancer while there is still a good chance. According to a June 2008 research report, treatment with Tarceva may give me another two years to live. It would at least give me a fighting chance and that is all I am asking for. But lately there has been delay after delay; doctor’s schedules are full, 4th of July weekend coming up, need for pre-authorization from insurance companies, and just plain foul-ups. By placing assertive phone calls this morning (Bob), and through the efforts of my primary doctor to expedite things, we were finally able to get the Zometa infusion scheduled for Wednesday morning… it is a drug used to strengthen the bone in cancer patients with bone metastases. But it looks like another week will go by without starting any treatment for the lung cancer. To some it is just another week… to me it is one more week without treatment. How many weeks are there in six months?

… PLM

Hurdy gurdy

This weekend brought record-tying temperatures, and a visit from our friends Melanie and Lee. We welcomed both the weather and the friends. After a cold, late spring I am not going to complain about a little sunshine. Fortunately for us, the cottage, built in 1937, stays naturally cool without the need for air conditioning, and the rustic picnic table invites us to enjoy an early evening meal outside. We bought a chaise lounge on sale at REI and placed it under an apple tree… it is a perfect place for me to take an afternoon nap or read a good book. Melanie tagged along with Bob and me Saturday morning on our weekly visit to the Bellingham Farmer’s Market. More vendors, more people, more food, and more musicians… a lovely cello player, a grey bearded banjo player wearing a John Deere cap, and a man wearing a red fez who played a hurdy gurdy, also called a wheel fiddle. When there is so much energy and life going on around me, I want to take it all in, fill my eyes and ears with the bright colors, exotic sounds, children eating snow cones, a man dressed in a turquoise spangled fish suit, plastic buckets filled with cut flowers, a woman walking away from the market, in her hand a basket overflowing with leafy chard, a box of strawberries, and a branch of mock orange. My own energy cannot keep up with what goes on around me and I soon tire. But I will be back again next Saturday.

... PLM

A Cat's Day

Sitting in a comfy chair in the sun. Watching the rabbits and squirrels and birds as they pass through the yard. Taking a long nap. Misty knows how to do this well… I am learning.

… PLM

No Cure

Today's discussion with Dr. Nestor, the medical oncologist confirmed what the other physicians have been saying (or hinting at) – there is no cure for Morningstar's cancer. They will do everything possible to extend her life and improve the quality of the time that she has left. But there is no cure. There is a new drug (Tarceva) that they want to try for women who have never smoked with adenocarcinoma stage IV lung cancer, but that depends on a specific genetic finding. The doctor is sending the tissue sample from the just completed biopsy to the University to see if she qualifies. We will be waiting about a week to see if this new drug can be used. While it is not considered a cure, extending life to two years is common. If she is not a candidate for Tarceva, then they will begin conventional chemotherapy immediately.

Despite this news, there remains the small number of survivors, some 2 percent or so that live for years instead of months. We will do everything possible to make sure Morningstar is in that select few.

In addition to the doctor, we met one of the principle nurses and were shown around the treatment unit and given a bale of informational documents, DVD's, and brochures. All nice folks with very positive attitudes. One quote: "We will help you kick butt" seems to sum up their approach toward patient support.

Now we wait on the results of the genetic study.

Bob

the wabi-sabi house

It had been a long day. We checked out of the motel at noon and weren’t to arrive at the cottage until 5 pm. We spent part of the time at the Lake Padden Park, watching runners, walkers, and bicyclists as they used the circular lakeside trail. When we arrived at the cottage, Hannah was still finishing up with last minute packing. Neighbor girls were washing the windows inside and out, reminding me all the more about how remarkable this turn of events really is… Hannah is moving out of the house that she normally lives in three days a week, so that we, perfect strangers, can move in. Seeing that I was tired, she put me in the sunny bedroom, and covered me with a soft shawl, “This was my wedding cloak,” she said, “It is the cloak of good healing.” She softly closed the French door and I was left to fall asleep in quiet peace, while the household activity drew to a close.

Later in the evening I noticed a book lying on a coffee table. It was called, the wabi-sabi house (all small letters) by Robyn Griggs Lawrence. It describes perfectly the house that Hannah has generously allowed us to use for the next few months. What is wabi-sabi? “Japanese wabi, meaning humble, and sabi, which connotes beauty in the progression of time. Together, the phrase invites us to set aside our pursuit of perfection and learn to appreciate the simple, unaffected beauty of things as they are… Intimately tied to Zen Buddhism, wabi-sabi is an aesthetic that welcomes comfort and a subtle spiritual component into the home. It is not a decorating style, per se, but a mind-set. To create a true wabi-sabi environment, one must slowly strip away excess and learn to be satisfied living in the moment.” This is a place of peace and healing where I can live in the moment.

... PLM

Today is a Gift

“Yesterday is history, tomorrow is mystery… today is a gift.” ...Eleanor Roosevelt

I always look forward to opening my mailbox in the morning to see who has written. But the LaQuinta WiFi has been problematic of late… with no connection at all this morning. Starbucks and Barnes and Noble charge for the use of their WiFi – a fact I find odd and slightly disturbing. WiFi use is free at the Avenue Bread on Railroad Avenue in downtown Bellingham – Power to the People – and so we sat there this morning with cups of great coffee, the daily breakfast special, and our laptop computers. The clientele here is a little more colorful too. Finishing breakfast and our online work, we decided to walk to the Saturday Market, only a couple of blocks away.

There is something about the energy of a place like this that fills me with gladness… the beautiful displays of organically grown fruits and vegetables, the pots and trays of herbs and nursery stock, bouquets of fresh-cut flowers, musicians playing acoustic instruments, children, families, and seniors with walkers and in wheelchairs… everyone carrying reusable cloth shopping bags. Suddenly I grabbed hold of Bob’s arm and stopped; silent tears streaked my face. Isn’t it funny that with all the weeks of testing and cancer diagnosis I have shed no tears, but here in this happy place I found myself crying. These are not sad tears; I tried to explain to Bob. It is just that if I only have a short time to live, I am glad it is here… with people like this… small farmers, and potters, artists and bakers of wholegrain bread… people who care about the good Mother Earth. Am I betraying my will to fight cancer by thinking about my death? I hope not because these thoughts come to me unbidden; they sharpen everyday images and I see with greater clarity. As we walked back to the car, the cell phone jingled in Bob’s pocket. It was my son Jeff calling. Yes, today is a gift.

… PLM

Friday, A Day of Mixed Results

Late this afternoon we met with Dr. Thompson and reviewed the results of Wednesday's biopsy. Unfortunately this latest study confirms that Morningstar's cancer has metastasized beyond her lung, making this a Stage IV cancer. This changes the strategy for treatment. The most likely approach will now be chemotherapy alone and the decision to use radiation or not will be put off for now. We will be meeting with the medical oncologist on Tuesday, June 24 to decide on treatment.

This is difficult news, but we remain committed to working just as hard as it takes to get the most out of treatment as possible. Both of us accept the facts, but we are hardly the sort of folks to roll over and accept the consequences without a good fight.

The good news is that we have found some remarkable new friends and a new place to live that will be healing in itself. But I will let Morningstar tell about that part of today's news.

Bob

The first day of summer. I put on the summery cotton dress my friend Melanie had given to me a week ago… “You’ll need something for warmer weather.” At the time she said this it was a cold, wet, and dark spring day. I had my doubts that we would ever see a warm, sunny day. But today arrived with blue skies and sunshine… summer has indeed arrived. And this was the morning we would meet with Hannah, who has offered us her cottage near Lake Padden. As we drove into the tree-shaded driveway, Hannah came out of her house to greet us, enveloping me in a warm hug. We sat in her comfortable living room, with pots of maidenhair fern and angel wing begonias basking in the sunlight that poured through a bank of uncurtained windows. We drank herbal tea and quickly becoming acquainted. Hannah (photo at left) is a nurse at St. Joseph’s Hospital. She is a Buddhist, and a yoga instructor… her cottage and gardens reflect that aspect of her life. We easily came to an arrangement and will soon be moving into Hannah’s cottage where I can spend the summer days weeding and caring for the garden. The garden has always been for me a healing and nurturing place. We will see no bears here, but there are deer, squirrels, rabbits, and many birds. Lake Padden is a short walk away with a 2.6-mile trail around the lake. Through the good graces of others we have found a sanctuary to call home while I wage my fight against cancer. Last fall we traveled for two-and-a-half months across Canada and the United States looking for signs of hope (for the state of the world). Hope looks brighter today.

... PLM

Good things happen

The idea of a long needle being inserted through my back and into my pelvic bone was enough to keep me awake the night before. A bad experience with a local anesthetic and steroid injection several years ago made me anxious and skeptical about how painless the biopsy procedure would be. I was given a Valium tablet to help calm my anxiety prior to the procedure, “This will make you a little sleepy.” Nope! I was still quite alert as I was whisked through halls and doorways of the procedures unit at St. Joseph’s Hospital. The Valium didn’t work, but the warm, compassionate, and friendly care I received did. Everything was done to make me comfortable.

I thought I would just go to sleep during the CT guided procedure or at least lie there quietly without moving, but I evidently ended up talking about our off the grid lifestyle in northern British Columbia… I don’t even know how that happened. The doctor and technicians seemed to know quite a bit about me already, and kept asking me questions. When they learned that I wrote a blog, they asked what it was called and pulled it up on their computer screen. They looked at the photos of the cabin and wildlife. Somewhere in the haze of sedation and pain killer drugs, I remember Dr. Jensen saying that he would give me a CD with the computer images of all my diagnostic tests, including this CT guided biopsy… “You might want to post one on your blog.” And the nurse Joan was telling me about another nurse who had a place that we might be interested in… with a garden, wildlife, and a large park just across the street (Lake Padden Park). Again, I don’t know how this came up. Did I mention that we had no real place to live yet, or did she read my latest posting on this blog? It really doesn’t matter how these things came about… it just seemed like the sky opened up and showered me with all kinds of good people and things. I can’t remember the names of the others who were with me during my biopsy, but I do remember how they made me feel… like I was special, and that they truly cared about me as a person.

It took longer than expected and Bob was a little apprehensive while waiting for me to return to my cubicle. Consequently, he was amazed to hear the conversation and laughter as I was being wheeled back through the hallway. Joan gave Bob phone numbers, an address, and a map printout to the available cottage. Later Dr. Jensen brought us the promised CD and interpreted some of the images for us on a computer screen. (Unfortunately the CD would not work on our Mac computers, so you will be spared the image of my biopsy… for now.) Bob heard Dr. Jensen telling other staff about our writing and was urging them to check it out when they got home. It was all such an amazing experience. I would be lying if I said it was pain free. It was not. But what I had anticipated with dread has now become one of my best memories so far in this new chapter of my life, regardless of the outcome of the biopsy (Friday afternoon at the earliest).

... PLM

I won't let it ruin my trip

“After that day, your life is never the same. "That day" is the day the doctor tells you, "You have cancer." Every one of us knows someone who's had to face that news. It's scary, it's sad. But it's still life, and it's a life worth living.” So begins Larry Siever’s blog called MY CANCER on the NPR website. I remember that day, sitting in the exam room with Bob and my son Jeff, hearing the ominous words; non-small cell lung cancer, adenocarcinoma. At the end of the discussion, the doctor asked, “Do you have any questions?” I shook my head, no. I was already asking myself, “How am I going to handle this?” Twelve years ago, Bob and I flew to Guatemala. On the same day that we arrived, my backpack was stolen with everything I had with me other than money, passport, and plane tickets, which were secure in a money belt that I wore. We sat in the local bus station contemplating what to do next. Maybe it’s just my stubborn nature or the fact that I don’t like others to determine my fate, but I refused to let our whole trip be ruined by one setback. So we boarded the bus for the long 12-hour ride to the Paten region in northern Guatemala. This one event set the stage for all sorts of experiences that we would not have had otherwise, like Bob bartering in an open market for a pair of black panties (for me of course), and my pantomiming my desire for a comb to a group of giggling women gathered behind the counter in a tiny Flores shop. So the answer to my question about how to deal with the cancer diagnosis, is the same as it was twelve years ago. I won’t let it ruin the trip.

Always I must be realistic. Illness is not something I do well. I have had very little experience with it. Actually it is the extended convalescence that I do not do well with. Lying around watching TV bores me to tears. Inactivity depresses me. So yesterday I started thinking of ways that I can keep my brain active and my creativity flowing as I spend my days in treatment with possible side effects. Writing, of course. Is it time for a memoir? Reading too. I have a number of books sitting on the bedside table; Robin Cook’s “Crisis,” Rachel Corrie’s “Let Me Stand Alone,” Vickie Girard’s “There’s No Place Like HOPE.” Crossword puzzles, like my favorite online daily crossword. Cross-stitch needlework… it was what I did while sitting beside my father’s hospital bed as he underwent chemotherapy many years ago. The repetitive nature of cross-stitch is like a meditation, calming, soothing. A quick trip to Michaels across the street, and I now have a frame and a beautiful cross-stitch kit ready to begin. Summer will eventually arrive (although lately that has been in doubt) and sitting on a park bench in the sun sounds good. Playing with Misty, scratching his tummy. Being held close in the darkness of night, knowing that I am loved. E-mails waiting for me when I open the computer in the morning. That is what living with cancer will be like… but it will be LIVING.

... PLM

A Room at the Inn

When we left our cabin in northern British Columbia, we did not anticipate an extended stay in Bellingham. Nine hundred miles from home, we checked into the La Quinta Inn with only the bare essentials in our overnight bags. My diagnosis of cancer changed the planned quick trip to the need to find suitable housing as I begin the regimen of cancer treatment. As yet we don’t know what that entails or how long the treatments will take. We asked at St. Joseph’s Hospital if they had a list of affordable temporary housing for patients like myself, who find themselves far from home. They were very sympathetic, and said they would call around to see if anything was available. Later they called Bob to say they had a list for him to check out. The short list consisted of a very nice (their notation) condo unit in Blaine (north of Bellingham) for $2,450 per month, a very nice apartment in the Lairmont Manor House (only available for 2 weeks) at $1,875 monthly, or the Lion Inn Motel for $1,200 monthly ($50 per day for 6 days – the 7th day free). Mary, at the St. Joseph Hospital’s Cancer Center on Wednesday also tried finding us a place. Her list included a small apartment in a nearby Retirement Living complex. We liked it but the unfurnished apartment cost $2,000 per month (plus a $1,000 one time entry fee), and we would have to furnish it with rental furniture and buy everything else needed… towels, bedding, even the shower curtain. Clearly impossible to even consider. Without any good alternatives, we will remain at the La Quinta Inn where they have kindly given us a “compassionate” room rate, and wait to see what the future will bring.

… P.L. Morningstar

Sunday in the Park with Bob

I love picnics. So when I pulled back the curtains this morning and saw what a beautiful, bright and shining day this was, my first reaction was to think of parks and picnics and lying on a blanket in the sun. Just a short drive away, down Meridian Avenue, is Cornwall Park… a swath of green in the midst of paved parking lots and freeways. With shady groves of cedar, sunny open fields, blooming shrubs, bike and walking trails, birds and squirrels, it is a peaceful retreat from the hustle and bustle of city life. So we picked up a turkey sub at Subways, chocolate chip cookies, and bottles of lemon iced tea, and headed to Cornwall Park. We spread a blanket in the sun, in the middle of a patch of English daisies. Families rode by on their bicycles, people walked their dogs, and groups of young people threw Frisbees back and forth across the field. I opened my new Robin Cook novel and read, all thoughts of cancer far, far away. It is Sunday. The sun is shining. A little beagle pup stops by to inspect the remains of our picnic, her tail thumping happily while her owner tries to call her away. I savor this day, not knowing how many I have left.

... PLM

Doubly Blessed

Clifford Franklin Morningstar
Today is Father’s Day. I expect that my son Jeff is spending this day with his Dad, either playing golf together or watching a golf tournament on TV. My fathers are gone. Yes, that is fathers, plural. I have been doubly blessed in my life to have had two fathers. My birth father died when I was only four years old, but in the brief time that we had together he laid the foundation for the person I was to become. He was a teacher, an artist, a poet, a 4-H leader, a lover of nature and an avid outdoorsman. He was a family man, helping his widowed mother with the farm and stepping into the father role for his youngest sister. He did the same when his brother died in a logging accident, helping his sister-in-law and her young children. One leg was shorter than the other so he walked with a distinct limp, but still coached the baseball team in the small rural schools in which he taught. There is very little left of his material things; a small watercolor painting, his journal of ink-penned poetry, a set of encyclopedias, a book by Gene Stratton-Porter, and sepia toned photos of my father and his ragtag depression era pupils, some with bare feet. I treasure those things for they tell me much about my father, but his true legacy lies in the effect his life had upon others and me.

Dominic John Venza
My first glimpse of the father who would raise me, came in the last year of World War II. He was a sailor, a first generation American of Sicilian descent, and young. Having met my mother in North Bend, Oregon, they married in Yuma, Arizona prior to his unit being transferred to a naval base in Long Beach, California. Mother and I traveled by Greyhound Bus from Oregon; my hair, naturally straight, was twisted with rag curls and combed out just before arrival. Dressed in his summer whites, Dad met our bus with a hand full of comic books for the skinny five-year old kid that was to become his daughter. My surname name was not changed out of respect for my birth father. That is the kind of man my new father was. Having grown up on the streets of East Boston, he taught me to stand up for myself when confronted by bullies. A lesson that will come in handy now as I fight cancer.

I could not have asked for a better Dad, loving, protective, encouraging, supportive; someone you could always count on. When I cried on his shoulder because I had not been asked to the Junior Prom, he patted me on the back and said, “It’s okay. Boys at this age only want one thing. When it comes time for them to settle down, it is someone like you they are going to pick.” I didn’t believe that, but it made me feel better. Never having built anything before, he built our family home with the help of my grandfather who was a carpenter by trade. A city boy who loved the country, wearing boots, a bolo tie for dress-up, and belts with big buckles. He enjoyed listening to the music of Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson. He loved to tease, and had silly made-up names for all of his grandchildren. Every day of their marriage, Dad composed a short love poem and left it on the table for my mother to find when she got up in the morning. He was a good man with a big heart. Years later I was able to repay him in a very small way by being there for him in his struggle with liver cancer. He said I was his anchor. He gave it a good fight and survived for seven years. Now it is my turn.

... PLM

Misty and Yu-Ling

O.K. Let's start with the admission that the new cat looks something like the old cat. That's right, Misty does look something like Yu-Ling and that was in fact what first caught our attention when we were looking at the rescue cats at the shelter display. But they are very different in so many respects. Misty is just as quiet and easy to be with as Yu-Ling. Misty, however, is a roll-over-and-scratch-my tummy sort of cat. And that is very good for both the scratcher and the scratchee. It's just what Morningstar needs right now and Misty is quite obviously the happy recipient. We have also discovered that cats can be officially declared service animals (with all the rights and privileges) so I will be looking into that on Monday so that Misty can be with Morningstar as she goes into the treatment phase of this journey.

We also discovered that the name our new cat came with - Sir Lancelot (Lance) - really wasn't his. He didn't answer to it after all. So we tried out several other names. He responded to “Misty” by flicking his tail, twitching his ears, and raising his head. Yes! He is in fact the color of mist, and a remembrance of the Skeena River, a first nations’ name which means ‘river of mist.’ Misty is now answering to his new name. If Yu-Ling were available for comment, I am sure that he would approve of Misty, not just the name, but the cat himself; Yu-Ling was a very wise cat.

... Bob

(Photos of Misty by Melanie Hester)

Check the Box

The fragile shell of hope cracked a little yesterday. It happened at the St. Joseph Hospital's Cancer Center where I had an appointment with the radiologist to discuss my PET Scan and what steps to be taken next. I had to check in a half hour early to fill out papers, and to be given Information For New Patients: New Patient orientation, Your Patient Rights, Advance Directives, Billing Information, Patient Consent. Then I had to sign my name and initial each item to verify that I had received them. I have had to do this before and no doubt will be required to do so many more times. It is the law, and supposedly for my protection. I was asked to rate my anxiety level from 0 to 10, indicate what concerns I may have by checking the appropriate box. And maybe that is how I began to feel, like I was no longer Morningstar but rather a “Cancer Patient.” Check the box. Later the Cancer Support Coordinator, with an appropriately sensitive and caring manner, asked about spiritual preferences, and family support network. She handed me a treatment notebook, and additional resource material about support groups, meditation class, the availability of massages, athletic club access, list of internet cancer websites, and information that a beauty workshop for cancer patients, “Look Good… Feel Better,” was scheduled for July 14th. Yes, I am far from my life off the beaten path. I have been hurtled onto the super highway called CANCER.

The doctor we met with had long blond hair and a big smile. All the appropriate framed credentials hung on his wall. He took my blood pressure (a little high), listened to me breathe with his stethoscope, and then showed and explained to us my PET scan images. We had been told several days ago that the cancer was contained within the chest wall, that there were no signs of cancer visible anywhere else in my body. Now we heard that there is one anomaly that had shown up… in the pelvic bone. I would have to have another biopsy (scheduled for next Wednesday). If it is malignant, the treatment goal would change from “cure” to “extended time.” I felt like a boxer who has shown up in the ring ready to fight, but the fight has been canceled. It is much too early to feel that way. There are questions to be answered, options to be weighed. Today is another day. We must find a place to live other than in motel rooms or with friends.

... PLM

Love is all that matters

The spring (almost summer) weather continues to be cool and wet in the Pacific Northwest. Last night on Whidbey Island we had a thunderstorm, wind, rain, and hail. Richard in Kitwanga, B.C. tells us their low temp this morning was +1 C (33.8 F). So much for my tomatoes!! But despite the less than perfect weather, Bob and I enjoyed a walk through the Meerkerk Rhododendron Gardens with our friend Melanie… she volunteers there on Tuesdays. For someone starved for the peacefulness of nature, it was a perfect banquet of woodlands, trails, wild rabbits, moss, ferns, secret gardens, and of course rhododendrons. I had to slow my normally brisk walk, and rest on a garden bench once in a while, but I could still enjoy the companionable stroll and the fun of taking photos with another photographer.

Soon after returning, we received a phone call from my pulmonologist with the PET Scan results. Once I accept the fact that I have lung cancer, the results of the scan are really considered good. The cancer is contained within the right lung and has not spread anywhere else in the body. Only one lymph node is involved. The tumor is very large so the plan is to go after it aggressively to shrink it to a size that can be removed. Appointments are being made to start treatments right away. Bob is beginning the search for permanent/temporary housing for us in the Bellingham area. A diagnosis of cancer changes your life, but we can decide what those changes will be. And if we were looking for a simpler life, we have found it amidst all the unknowingness and complications. The only thing that really matters is love. Everything else is expendable.

Bob and Morningstar (Photo by Melanie Hester)

… PLM

Just A New Challenge

This blog has been about creating a new life, and as one of our visitors put it, “living outside the box.” It is true that we have never put limits on our endeavors, believing that life is a gift to be lived fully. We’ve had lots of adventures in the twelve years that we have been together… first trekking in war torn Guatemala, then living aboard a sailboat for three years and homesteading on a small B.C. island, and finally our move to an off the grid log cabin in northern British Columbia. Along the way we have also dealt with unexpected health issues… Bob’s diabetes, bladder cancer and five-bypass heart surgery, plus my own back surgery. My diagnosis of lung cancer is just another chapter in that life, another challenge to undertake, and no different than any of the others. As soon as I heard the diagnosis, I began gathering information and reading accounts of cancer survivors. Over and over I read that it is important to “think like a survivor” no matter how dire the survival rates may be. Rather than dying of cancer, I am LIVING with cancer.

In a little book called “There’s No Place Like HOPE” by Vickie Girard, I read this description of what it is like to receive a cancer diagnosis: “Diagnosis is like going to sleep in your own bed and waking up in a foreign country where you don’t know the language or the customs and you have no road maps telling you how to get home.” It is like that for us right now, with more questions than answers. We don’t even know where “home” will be for the foreseeable future. But it will be a world apart from what we have experienced in the past two years.

Our lives in northern British Columbia were filled with forests, mountains, rivers, small communities, wildlife… and silence. It was fun to write about the natural world we shared with wild wolves, lynx, bears, cougar, beaver, and others. It was a simple life with few needs. It may be awhile before I can return to that part of my life. So here… amid congested highways and roads, shopping malls, doctor’s offices and hospital corridors, I must find that place of silence within myself. A bird song outside my window will be all the more precious, as is the patch of wild purple lupine I saw blooming at the side of the freeway this morning. I will need the spiritual lift that nature gives me… it is a breath of fresh air.

... PLM

Mission Accomplished

On a grey, wet Saturday morning we arrived at the Imaging Center parking lot… early. Bob didn’t want to take any chances that I would miss this second try with the PET Scan. At the reception desk I was given a handwritten note of apology and a gift certificate for dinner for two at Anthony’s Restaurant. In an often cold and impersonal world, I was pleasantly surprised to be treated with such sincere concern about the PET scan failure on Wednesday. The technician came for me and we walked to the truck in the parking lot. Far from home and on what should have been her Saturday off, she completed my scan with smiles and her own apologies about the previous computer failure. It seems that with all the thumping and bumping that comes with traveling up and down I-5, a part had suddenly fallen off the computer. Today there was no Country Western music but the machine worked just fine. Now we wait for the results, which may take several days.

... PLM

How Entertaining Can a PET Scan Be?

I was supposed to have a PET (Positron emission tomography) scan on Wednesday. After fasting for eight hours, and being injected with glucose and a radiotracer, I waited, waited and waited some more. Finally it was a NO GO. The computer that ran the PET scan broke down and was unable to scan the last three patients, including me. A repairman was being flown in to repair it, but the machine was scheduled to be in Portland, Oregon the next day and wouldn’t be back in Bellingham for another week. Bob phoned the pulmonologist’s office on Thursday morning to see where we could get the PET scan done earlier. (The results of a PET scan takes several days and a plan of cancer treatment can't be made until those results are known. So, every day counts.) The good news is that arrangements were made for the PET scanner to return to Bellingham on Saturday and I am now scheduled for a scan at 8:30 tomorrow morning.

When things don’t turn out right, I guess it helps to look at it with a sense of humor, and the whole thing reminded me of a traveling carnival. The PET scan is located in a big eighteen-wheeler, the bright yellow cab painted with a Penske logo. The man who came into the imaging center to escort me to the truck (in the parking lot) was the truck driver - with tattoos, cowboy boots, black armband, and a t-shirt that read "Radiology." While I waited for my turn, there was Country Western music playing in the background with Rawhide, Ruby, Don't Take Your Love to Town, and Stand By Your Man. It played through the tape three times while I was there... I just about had the words memorized! One of the technicians was a black woman with a profound limp. Maybe it was the music, but I was reminded of Chester in the old TV series Gunsmoke. The other technician was a woman of indeterminate age who cheerfully ran the show… operating the computer that runs the machine, trouble shooting when the computer broke down, and injecting the radiotracer into my vein. When she did the bloodwork on me, she asked me to lean back into the chair. “If you lean forward and faint, you’ll land on me! But it’s usually the big, macho guys who do that.” Meanwhile the Country Western stars continued to belt out their sad tales. To the beat of tom toms, I heard about Kaw-liga, That Poor Old Wooden Head! “Kaw-Liga was a wooden Indian standin' over by the door, fell in love with a Chocktaw maid over in the Georgia store.” The chorus still goes round and round in my head:

Poor ol' Kaw-Liga, ain't never got a kiss
Poor ol' Kaw-Liga, you don't know what you miss
Is it any wonder, that his face is red?
Kaw-Liga, you poor old wooden head

I finally got onto the table and into the machine’s dark interior, and could hear the machine rev up… then the sound of music again. This time it was calm, soothing classical music. I could have listened to that forever, but then came the ominous sound of the machine shutting down… after waiting for three and a half hours the scan was aborted. Damn! Later Bob took me to Shari's for some comfort food... chicken pot pie. Hopefully Saturday’s appointment will be less entertaining and with better results.

...PLM

Good Medicine

It has only been a couple of days since I was diagnosed with lung cancer… Non-small cell lung cancer… adenocarcinoma. New words and phrases that will become all too familiar to me. As well the treatments: lobectomy, chemotherapy, radiation. But reading “For most patients with non-small cell lung cancer, current treatments do not cure the cancer,” on the National Cancer Institute website, I am only too aware that more will be required than can be delivered by the medical community. I have never been a quitter and I intend to give this cancer a good fight. The extra “Good Medicine” ingredient comes first of all from my partner Bob, then from family, friends, and perfect strangers who have showered me with good thoughts and prayers. I spent this past weekend with long time friends Lee and Melanie (pictured above) on Whidbey Island. My son Jeff joined us. We sat around the dinner table enjoying good food, laughter, and conversation. On Monday afternoon I left Whidbey Island, filled with warmth and peacefulness, allowing me to later hear the doctor’s cancer diagnosis with some degree of calmness. It is at times like this that I am reminded about how important it is to have others in my life. I will need this kind of good medicine in the weeks and months ahead. And I must not forget to mention the newest team member… a one and a half year old cat named Sir. Lancelot. He is a BIG long-haired, silver and white “rescue cat” that we have just adopted. Lance likes to roll over and have his tummy rubbed, to have his plumed tail pulled (gently please), and he is a four-legged bundle of quiet affection… Good Medicine.

Son Jeff, Bob, Melanie, and Lee

...PLM

Biopsy Results

The results of the biopsy confirmed that Morningstar has cancer. In discussing the results the doctor was very straight forward and very supportive at the same time. The next step is a PET scan to see if there are any other malignancies. He planned to present these findings to a "tumor board" yesterday and seek other opinions on how to proceed. The PET scan is scheduled for this afternoon. After we get the results from that we will be hearing more about options for treatment. He has started her on an antibiotic because he believes that she also has a bacterial infection in the affected lung.

Morningstar's son Jeff was with us during the conference with the doctor. I believe that it was important for him to be there. He returned to Corvallis, Oregon yesterday. Morningstar and I will be staying near the clinic and hospital here in Bellingham, Washington for now.

We are just at the beginning of this journey, with more questions than answers. So we can't even begin to plan. We will keep everyone informed as we find out more ourselves. Yesterday we picked up our newly adopted "rescue cat." Morningstar will write later and tell you all about Sir Lancelot (better known as Lance). He was named by his previous owner and responds to "Lance." Good name as I consider the situation.

Bob