Cancer is such an ugly word

Mr. Nascar went to the local health department about a month after he was released. He doesn’t have any insurance and was dropped from TennCare when he was released from prison. While incarcerated, he had noticed a mole on his right shoulder blade had changed. It was an ugly little thing, so black that glistened. The health department referred him to a dermatologist to have the mole removed. He went for his office visit, they cut it out, stitched him up and he went along his merry way. He had a follow up appointment scheduled for 2 weeks later.

We both had mostly forgotten about the issue, the old “No news is good news” approach was in the back of our minds. Unfortunately that turned out not to be the case. When he arrived at his follow up appointment the doctor gave us the news that the pathology on the mole had returned, testing positive for cancer; malignant melanoma. Ugly, ugly words. I didn’t know what to do, so I did what I do best in upsetting, stressful situations. I cried. Mr. Nascar, bless his heart takes things in stride and has a very calm attitude about it. The dermatologist referred him to an Oncologist and a Surgeon. I guess they made the appointments backward, because the Oncologist was the first appointment and he couldn’t really help us seeing as he didn’t have the results from the surgery. Mr. Nascar met with the surgeon and an appointment was set for a larger area of skin to be removed around the original mole site, and for him to be injected with radioactive dye, to see if the cancer had spread.

On May 21, we arrived at the hospital at 7am. I dropped Mr. Nascar off and then whisked Bert© off to school. I was back by 8am and went to the Day Surgery area to sit with him before his surgery. I’ll never forget, he was in bed 11 and they said I could go right back. He looked so uncomfortable at 6′ 3″ trying to fit into the little hospital bed. He nodded off, but reminded me that at 8:30 I needed to go down and talk with financial services at the hospital. Without insurance, we have to pay for all of this out of pocket. The hospital has given us a 41% cash discount, but we still needed to put down a deposit before the surgery and then make payments on the $9,000-10,000 hospital bill. Ugh, even talking about it turns my stomach. I don’t know that we’ll ever be able to get out from under that, but it’s just going to have to be one step at a time.

When I finished with financial services, I went back up to sit with Mr. Nascar as his surgery wasn’t scheduled until 11. I went back to bed 11, and pulled back the curtain. To my surprise, Mr. Nascar was not there! I startled the heck out of the old man that had been assigned to that bed next. I closed the curtain, red-faced, turned on my heel and headed back to the reception area. The very nice nurse at the front desk explained that she had hoped to catch me when I came back to tell me that they had taken him on to pre-op to prep for surgery. I just smiled and told her it was too late. I suggested that she might want to check on the man in bed 11, as I’m sure I came as a little bit of a shock to him.

In the waiting lounge, I spent hours alternating between reading my book and checking the names scrolling down the TV screen that gives an update on each patient’s surgery status. I received a call from a surgical nurse when they surgery started, and again about an hour in to update me and let me know that all was well. Finally about 1:30 that afternoon the lounge nurse notified me that the surgery was over and that the doctor would be coming to talk to me.

I had never met Dr. D before, but he was very nice. He explained to me that the surgery went well. The radioactive dye had travelled to the lymph nodes under Mr. Nascar’s right arm, so he took 3-4 of those out for biopsy. He gave me some basic care instructions, and advised me that we should set a follow up appointment for two weeks. About an hour after I spoke with Dr. D I was able to go back and sit with Mr. Nascar again. He was asleep when I arrived, heavily medicated. I sat with him for awhile and quietly read my book. Around 3pm Mr. Nascar woke up and was complaining of intense pain in the incision site on his back. The nurse said she was unable to give him any more medication; we would need to wait for discharge and have his prescription filled.

We left the hospital about 4 that afternoon and went to pick up Bert©. We made our way to Wal-Mart to have his prescriptions filled. He wasn’t feeling very well and was very groggy. He went straight to sleep as soon as we arrived home. That weekend I was off on Friday & Monday for the Memorial day holiday. Friday was Bert©’s last day of school. I promised her that I would come and have lunch with her that day, and Mr. Nascar has said he would come as well. That didn’t end up happening. From Thursday afternoon after the surgery till Saturday, Mr. Nascar slept 20-21 hours a day. On Saturday we first realized he was having a fever, 102.4. Thus began the first of 3 visits to the Emergency Room to fight what we would eventually find out to be a raging Staph infection.

Life was pretty miserable for all involved for the next two weeks or so. My step-father passed away very suddenly, from what we still really don’t know. Mr. Nascar was in copious amounts of pain from the 6” incision on his back (because the skin was pulled so tight to close the wound) and from the surgery site under his arm as it was swollen from the infection.

Then, more bad news came along. The pathology on the lymph nodes had come back. They had tested positive for cancer. Dr. D thought it would be best for him to go operate again on Mr. Nascar to remove the rest of the lymph nodes under his right arm. First though, we needed to clear up his current infection and give him some additional time to heal. We used that time to take off for a family vacation in Florida. We needed that, all of us. It was time to relax, and enjoy each others company without the pressure and stress of everyday life.

On Tuesday July 14, Dr. D again operated on Mr. Nascar. The difference between this surgery and the previous one is very noticeable. Mr. Nascar was awake as soon as I came back to the recovery room. He has had a full and voracious appetite. He hasn’t been sleeping most of his days away. He has been up and around, and joking with me. So far (fingers crossed, please) there has been no sign of an infection. Mr. Nascar started taking antibiotics a week prior to surgery and will continue them for 20 days afterward to hopefully thwart another infection. He says that his arm is sore, and he cannot raise it very high, and the drain that he has for the next two weeks is annoying, and things don’t taste right because of the antibiotics, and, and, and. He is back to his *relatively* normal self again. I am happy to see it. He’s itching to go back to work, but I’d like him to be out for at least a week, especially with the drain in.

He has a follow up appointment in two weeks with Dr. D. Hopefully we will have the pathology back on the remaining lymph nodes that were removed. Dr. D said that he didn’t see anything obvious that looked bad, however it’s harder to tell in men than it is in women. I don’t see that it matters much regardless because Mr. Nascar has decided not to follow up with the Oncologist. He is adamant that he doesn’t want any Chemotherapy or Radiation treatment. He tells me that he’s 42 years old and that his only regret if he dies would be leaving me and Bert© behind. He says he is not scared of dying, that he is looking forward to what happens when he passes from this life.

I am not happy about this decision, but it is not my place to force him to choose otherwise. He is a grown man and is perfectly capable of making choices in his life, he got along fine for 40 some odd years without me and he doesn’t need my opinions now. He spent 11 years caring for his mother and watching her die. He knows some of what it’s like to go through those treatments, and understands the disappointment when they don’t work. His theory is, why not enjoy the time that I do have left with the people I love, instead of making myself feel sick and miserable with the medication that’s supposed to help me and dying anyway. I really can’t fault him on his logic. Regardless, it’s plausible that I could be killed in a tragic accident and die before he does anyway. Who knows? From the moment we’re born we begin dying. Might as well make the most of it.

That being said, I’m going to go wake his butt up right now, give him and big hug and tell him how much I love him. Thank you all for letting me share this with you. It was finally time and it needed to come off my chest.

Happy Saturday everyone!

The gift of a grandparent

Sleepyjane posted a recipe today that her grandmother used to make. In her lead up to the actual posting of the recipe she described her grandmother a little and mentioned that whenever she tries to replicate the recipe “it just never tastes the same you know?”. Oh, I know that feeling well, Sleepyjane.

When my brother and I were little, my mother, being a single mother (funny how history repeats itself) relied a lot of her parents to help raise Steve and me. Every morning we would walk down the block to Grandma & Grandpa’s house for breakfast. Mom would take off for work, and Steve and I would get ready for school. Before her arthritis crippled her, my grandmother would walk us to school. In the winter months she would drop us off and pick us up. I remember running out the door from school and glancing toward the street. My grandma would be sitting in her big brown Chrysler, reading a book and waiting for us. We would go back to her house, she would make us a snack and help us with homework. My mom would come back to their house, we’d all eat dinner together and then walk back home.

When a birthday rolled around, Grandma would make the cake and would ask the birthday child to decide on the menu for that evening. Inevitably, Steve and I would ask for grandma to make hamburgers for our birthday dinner. I don’t know what she did to make them taste so wonderful, but I cannot repeat it to this day, no matter how hard I try. When we stayed home sick from school, she would make us chicken soup and melted cheese. Melted cheese consisted of slices of bread laid on a cookie sheet, block cheese sliced and placed on top, then popped in the oven till the bread was toasted a beautiful golden color and oozed cheese off the edges. Oh my mouth is watering just thinking about it.

My grandmother was a large woman (it runs in the family) and I recall curling up next to her on the couch and reading quietly side by side. Grandma is the reason I have a love affair with romance novels. I believe she kept Harlequin Romance in business back in the late 90’s. She would have a bag stuffed with books she had finished reading in the pantry closet off the kitchen. I would go in there, especially during summer and borrow one of her cast off books and loose myself in whatever plot line the book served up. Raunchy Renaissance Pirate anyone?

In 1997 my grandmother got very sick and began loosing weight very rapidly. I have vague memories of her hardly eating, but when she did nibble on something she was unable to keep it down. At the end of October that year, she was hospitalized and we were told she had cancer. The prognosis wasn’t very good as the cancer had spread rapidly from her liver to her pancreas. The doctors estimated 6 months at the most. Mom, Steve, and I visited every day while Grandma was in the hospital. She tried her very best to be alert and cheerful when we arrived, and she would let us tend to her. I would brush her dentures and comb her hair. Steve would change her socks and rub her feet.

In early November, things started to go down hill. I had gone down to the hospital cafeteria to get something for dinner when I heard my name being paged. I ran back to grandma’s room to find that she’d had a heart attack and was in a coma. Steve and I were pulled out of school and we stayed at her bedside as long as visiting hours allowed. One morning, I was tired of being surrounded by a halo of grief and sorrow so I called a friend and asked if she would pick me up from the hospital. I went back to her house and tried to keep my mind occupied. My mother called a few hours later to tell me that grandma had passed away. She’d never once awoke from her coma. I was devastated, and carried a lot of guilt about not being there for her last moments. It took me a very long time to get over the hole was was left in my heart. Mom & I ended up going to counselling for a few months to deal with our grief. I sometimes wonder what my grandmother would have to say about how my life has turned out. Would she be proud of me? Would she have approved of my marriage to Mike? Would she be proud of my daughter and how I was raising her? Often at night when I have finished praying, I talk to my grandma. I feel as though that helps me keep her memory alive and keeps her close to my heart. She was an amazing lady and it’s hard to believe she’s been gone 10 years now.

Occasionally I wonder if grandma would have survived her cancer, had it held off for a few years. Cancer research has pioneered many new and innovative treatment methods, perhaps one of those options could have saved her. My grandmother’s battle with cancer is the reason that Hailey and I are doing the “Buddy’s Race Against Cancer” on November 11th. This will be the 2nd year we have participated, and both of us are looking forward to it. We have been prowling the neighborhood soliciting donations. 100% of the money we raise goes to the Thompson Cancer Survival Center. They provide free or low cost, life saving cancer treatments to thousands of people. So far, the generous people in my apartment complex have donated over $100 and counting.

I love you Grandma, and I miss you every day.

The backstory…

I haven’t blogged about some of the things that happened in my life recently, because I wasn’t ready. I think once I finish this entry, some of my previous entries will make a little more sense.

When I first started working at my job I caught on quickly, very quickly. I easily comprehended the concepts behind why we do what we do, policies and procedures, and the ins and outs of the software we use. Pretty impressive for a divorced single mother with only a High School education! *I’m trying very hard not to get on my soap box right now about how I’m still a wonderful employee despite my lack of a college education*

I was promoted laterally within my department two months after my initial start date. Unfortunately that was the beginning of a tumultuous relationship with Mitch. Mitch and I just did not get along. He did not like me and wasn’t afraid to show it, and I’ll admit to reacting to that in a very negative and juvenile way. There was one incidence where I was chatting with another co-worker about our children. She kept asking me question after question and I think I ended up talking to her for 15 minutes or more. I guess Mitch got a little hot under the collar about our chit-chat so he stood up in front of our whole department and loudly told me off. Oh man was I pissed about that. Everyone in the office just froze and all eyes were on the two of us. I was flushed with anger, but managed to hold back on all the horrible things I wanted to retort. I looked Mitch right in the eye and said “Thank you very much for that Mitch.” turned on my heel and stalked back to my desk. I was furious. Mitch apologized face to face to my chatty partner, and sent an email to the whole department apologizing for his outburst, but I felt that he should also have apologized directly to me as well. Because of my hardheadedness (is that a real word?) I held a grudge against Mitch, and would have nothing to do with him unless it was absolutely necessary.

Over the next few months, I noticed Mitch trying in his way to extend an olive branch to me. I even recall mentioning to Beth that Mitch was being overtly nice to me, and I wasn’t sure why. The turning point came when we applied for the same job elsewhere within the company.

On Tuesday, the day of my interview, Mitch complimented me on how I looked and that he thought I would be great for that job and they would be fools not to hire me.

On Wednesday, he was stressed about his impending interview the next day. I gave him some pointers on what types of questions they asked in my interview. Mitch shushed me because he didn’t want to have an unfair advantage.

On Thursday, he was practically on pins and needles waiting for 1pm to roll around. He put on his tie at 12:55p and strolled up to his interview. At 1:03p he walked back by my desk and announced to the department that he’d gotten the job. We all looked at him with surprise, then he laughed and said no he’d gotten the times mixed up and his interview wasn’t till 1:30. *I’m chuckling to myself as I write this because I can see it so clearly in my head* He finally went up at the right time and according to him had an awesome interview that lasted more than the allotted 90 minutes.

On Friday, Mitch was dead.

I came into work that morning and the people in my department were parted like the red sea. Puzzled, I called out good morning and asked what was going on. Beth came around the corner, put her hand on my shoulder and said “Mitch is dead.” I stared at her for a long moment, not comprehending and said “What?” She shook me a little bit and started to cry and said “Mitch died last night, in his sleep” You could have knocked me over with a whisper. Our whole department was in shock. Everyone was crying, myself included. It was probably a good two hours before we all calmed down enough to get back to work and even then there was a heavy tone of sorrow throughout the office. I think my company did us a grave disservice by forcing us to work that day, and not allowing us time to grieve.

One of the hardest things I have had to do was go to Mitch’s memorial service that following Monday. I stood in the receiving line and when it was my turn to greet Mitch’s life partner Charles, I crumbled. We hugged each other so hard and he whispered in my ear “I loved him so much!” and then introduced me to Mitch’s parents. When I shook his mothers hand, I said “Hi. I’m Webmiss, I worked with Mitch.” His mother looked at me and said “Webmiss? Mitch used to talk about you. He always regretted that you two didn’t get along. He blamed himself, you know. He said he was resentful of how quickly you caught on at work.” I was floored, I didn’t know what to say. I had honestly thought that he had-I wouldn’t say hated me-but very strongly disliked me. Mitch’s mom could see that I was at a loss for words so she gave me a hug and encouraged me to look at the collage of pictures they had displayed. The service was lovely and I got to see a little glimpse of what Mitch was like outside of work.

I stood amidst a group of my peers in the back of the chapel, all of us in various stages of grief, from openly weeping to quitely sniffling. Tina who was standing beside me, put her arm around me and said “I’m surprised you’re taking this so hard, Webmiss. Wasn’t there quite a bit of animosity between you and Mitch?” I looked around and realized that she had only voiced what everyone else was already thinking. “I think that’s why I’m taking this so hard.” I said. “Because there was no reason for us to have behaved that way toward one another. It was senseless. And now its too late to do anything about it.”

I was wrong though. It’s not entirely too late. Like anything else in life, even though I have made a mistake, I have learned a valuable lesson in return. While I can’t fix what happened between Mitch and I, I can stop something similar from happening in any future relationships I have, be they friendship or something else. I need to love hard, laugh hard, and cherish every moment with every person.

Mike passed away 3 weeks ago. Sharing this experience with you all will hopefully explain a little about why some of my previous entries were kind of dark and introspective.

Here’s to living life to it’s fullest. Cheers!

What do you want to achieve before you die?

I have been thinking about death a lot lately. When I was pregnant with Hailey I was obsessing over details like life insurance, wills, and especially what the game plan would be if something happened to Mike and me. When I started having complications with my pregnancy, I realized that I needed to chill out. All the worrying and planning would only take away from the joy that should have been the birth of my daughter.

After Hailey was born, a frenzy of activity ensued. For those of you who have never had kids, you might not understand how when the line between day and night is blurred because the baby can’t sleep, time has a way of slipping by. Before you know it, 2 or 3 years have passed and you can’t figure out just where all the time went. I’m at that stage now. Hailey is 4. 4!?! How did my 8lb 4oz beautiful baby girl turn into the lovely and precocious preschooler she is now? It seems as though the change was almost instantaneous, although I know it really wasn’t. Now that she’s older and does not demand constant attention, I find my inner reflection once again forcing me to face my own mortality.

From the moment we’re born, we’re are inevitably propelled toward our own demise. We grow and learn and live our crazy lives, just to die at some unknown time. What defines us while we are here? Is it the job we had? The schooling we accomplished? Our children and grandchildren? Or maybe our random acts of kindness to other people or charitable living? I don’t have the answers to those questions. I wish I did though. Somehow I don’t think our lives were intended to be spent working in a menial job making a median income and always just getting by. I do think there are people out there who are so intune with themselves that they just know how to spend their lives. Usually said people live out their lives using their talents to service other members of humankind. I’m not talking about service from a standpoint of waitress, maid, or slave. I’m talking about clergy people, nurses, humanitarians, philantrophists, missionaries, et cetera.

I feel that these people live lives of value. At this time, I don’t feel that I have lived my life in a way that has added value to anyone. Therefore, in my recent life analysis, I have decided that before I die I want to find my purpose. Why was Webmiss sent here? What good can I do here? How can my life add value to the lives of the people around me. There was a line from “Evan Almighty” that stuck with me this weekend.

God: How do we change the world?
Evan Baxter: One single act of random kindness at a time.

I believe that is where I need to start finding out who I am inside and ultimately what my purpose in life shall be. I need to remember that a random act of kindness does not net me any personal or monetary gain. I must give it freely to the other person and not expect any reward in return.

Wish me luck, friends. I’m sure this will not be an easy task but I feel a little more centered for having realized a goal in my life that needs to be accomplished. Before you go, please tell me, what do you want to achieve before you die?