Blog My Mind

  When I look back at the early days of John's diagnosis, it seemed like an emotional cake walk compared to what the next 5 years would hold. Of course, it was a shock finding out my husband had stage IV cancer, but it wasn't unexpected. Everyone in his family dies of cancer, and some young, at 50, like his dad and uncle. John warned me when we met that he'd likely die from cancer at 50, so a cancer diagnosis at 55? Yep, kinda figured. I started living my life in 3-month increments. Three months of treatment, three months until the next scan, three months before the next surgery. Can't make plans for a concert six months from now because he might be sick, or worse, gone.  I started cleaning out the house, throwing things away, selling furniture I didn't need or want, all in anticipation of having to move as John got sicker. Material things held no interest for me. What's the point of a new watch or the latest gadget when your spouse is dying? It'd be just on

October, 17, 2016, my husband was diagnosed with stage IV colorectal cancer that had metastasized to surrounding lymph nodes and his liver. Prognosis: six months without treatment. With chemo, maybe 12-18. Too far advanced to make either radiation or surgery viable options. October 17, 2022, my husband had his six-year "cancerversary."  The six-year cancer roller coaster has had peaks and valleys that would put Six Flags to shame.  He was blasted with chemo, which worked better than either his doctor or we could have hoped, which made him a candidate for radiation, which also worked well, which made him a candidate for surgery to resect the tumors in his colon and liver. Side note, after surgery on the liver, the patient comes out of recovery a lovely shade of yellow. He was blasted with more chemo post surgery, while sporting an ostomy bag he'd wear for about 8 months while his insides healed. Three months after the surgery to reconnect his pipes, a routine scan showed a

  My eight-year-old eyes wondered how anything moving that fast could create something so pretty. I watched my grandma’s hands as they made knitting needles and yarn dance. Row by row she built a stocking cap from remnants of yarn leftover from afghans she made for friends, relatives, or county fair entries. When it was done, she showed me how to make a pom-pom for the top. She completed the hat while getting her daily dose of General Hospital. I was too young to care much about who was sleeping with whom on the daily soap opera, but I was intensely interested in my grandmother. Her day was dictated by routine. Washing the breakfast dishes was followed by watching The Galloping Gourmet. After Grandpa returned to work from his lunch break, when she fed him tomato soup and a toasted cheese sandwich, she washed dishes then watched General Hospital while knitting.   Then she started dinner so it would be on the table at precisely 5:30 when Grandpa got home from work. 5:35 was unacceptabl

"Hi Jill, this is awkward, but according to Ancestry DNA, you may be my 1st cousin. I was born in Minnesota and I was adopted into the Carroll family as a baby in 1962. My name is Cathy Jones." A picture of her was on her Ancestry page and it was like looking at a photo of my mother. She and I both have mom's nose. Sorry, sis! There was no mistaking she was my sister. Before I took time to think, my fingers were flying across the keys replying to her message. "Oh boy. Um. yeah. So my mom lived in Minnesota and gave up a baby for adoption, I believe in 1962. I think we might be more than cousins!" I waited impatiently for a reply. They were the longest hours of my life. Did I scare her off? Was she freaked out at finding a sibling she didn't know existed? I had about 20 years to get used to the idea I had siblings out there. She had no idea. Meanwhile I waited for my dad to get home from his day of volunteer work clearing hiking trails. I paced his house as I

Where to start? Which beginning? The very beginning in 1958? My first knowledge of it all around 2000? Oh, the skeletons just be falling out of our family closet. In the late 1990's, my mom had hinted for a few years that she had something she needed to tell me before she died, which wouldn't happen for another 20 years, but good on her for her forward thinking. Apparently the 1995 film, Bridges of Madison County got her motor going and she decided she didn't want to die with secrets. Finally, one day I walked into their dining room in their Tucson house and she said, "Sit down, I need to tell you something." "Before I married Eddie, he got me pregnant. He told me he'd taken a job in California and was leaving the midwest. I didn't know if he was coming back, so I chose to give the baby up for adoption." The only sound I heard was the sound of my world crashing down around me. Eddie was my half-brother's father. He and my mother were married

June 30, 2022, I walked out of a rheumatologist's office for the last time. On my way out of the building, I threw the referrals to neuropsychology and dermatology in the trash. For those of you unfamiliar with rheumatologists, they graduated at the bottom of their classes, use a dartboard as a diagnostic tool, and refer you to other "ologists" so they don't have to treat the mysterious disease known as autoimmune disorder. In the last 18 months, I've been to a gastroenterologist, cardiologist and pulmonologist. I've had chest x-rays, a chest CT (urgently because my sudden onset of shortness of breath could have been a pulmonary embolism), nuclear stress test, pulmonary function tests. I've been to the ER with chest pains and shortness of breath, only to be told I was not, in fact, having a heart attack, so go home. Great. Thanks. Nice to know I'm not dying, only wishing I was. Oh, and blood tests looking for everything from Lupus to systemic inflammat

Do you ever wonder how we as a species, or even a society, will continue to exist? The amount of sheer idiocy I see on a daily basis makes me lose complete faith in humanity. A simple, quick trip to Target to get laundry detergent had me shaking my head, and remembering why I hate to leave my house. DD the Wonder Dog was in the car so I wanted to make it quick. It was only 68 degrees and I had the back windows half down and the sunroof open. But in the People’s Republic of Federal Way, you never know when someone will be standing at your car, tapping their foot awaiting your arrival so they can point out how you’re abusing your animal, while feeling good about themselves in the process. I know DD plans to call the ASPCA to complain about riding on 4” memory foam and getting a treat for “guarding” the car every time I return. I’m clearly a bad dog mom.  I digress. I walked down the laundry soap aisle…Arm and Hammer, All, Gain, no Tide, which is what I wanted. So I turned the corner to