Blog entry submitted by my radiation wingman, and brother...Andy
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Day eight is under the old belt, after a few weather delays because of ice and snow. Certainly not enough snow by northern standards, but enough to cancel school classes and radiation treatments. I was beginning to think that the weather gods were working against us. Like school though, radiation treatment has makeup days that they add to the end.
On the trip to Med Cities today, mom and I took the family staff car. The Caddy! We made some pretty good time and got her right in. As we pulled up, I thought we had forgotten the blue handicapped rear view window hanger thing-a-ma-jig. Nope, mom had it in her purse right where she put it earlier. A mother’s purse; that bottomless pit of a combination toolbox, lunch box and medicine cabinet. Felix the Cat WISHED he had a bag of tricks like mom’s bag. We talked about that blue piece of plastic in the parking lot for a while. I looked at it like the golden nugget of seniordom! Better than a get out of jail free card. Mom on the other hand saw it as a written realization that yes in fact, you’re getting older. I read somewhere that pretty soon there will be record numbers of persons living on the planet over the age of 100. God bless, we can only hope to all be so lucky. Just as long as quality of life is there, we should all hang around as long as we want.
Mom and I talked about how important music has been and continues to be in our lives. As children, mom was always singing around the house. Pop, the “gotta have it now” audiophile that he is (now I know where I get it from), always had something playing on LP, reel to reel, 8-Track or cassette. On the way back from Dallas today, we had the radio in the staff car cranked. Almost in concert, mom and I both started with a slight head bob. Nothing too obvious at first to jar the delicate “chemo-brain” as she and Val call it. Just keeping time with the music. Then it got a little more intense, more feeling, all together front back front back, neck roll, and shoulders bending, booties shaking. Looked like something from Bill and Ted’s next adventure or a Blue Man Concert! See, music again playing a roll in the world according to Longo.
But back at the hospital before we left, as mom was walking to the treatment room, it hit me! I think the biggest frustration with Cancer or any illness is the lack of control. Now mom and I are not control freaks by any means, but there is frustration in not being able to do what you want to do. Be here at this time for this treatment. Go here at this time for this test. I guess this is why neither of us is a great airplane passenger. I don’t want to be in the back by the bathroom. I want to be up front and know that God forbid anything goes wrong, I did all I could to save me. After all, it is all about ME. (just kidding).
I think Cancer takes that control away from you for a while. We talked about how after she got sick, then pop, everything else that once was a part of who we are as a family was put on hold. All your energy, strength, power, will, prayer and support is now focused on regaining the health of the one who is sick and in turn regaining control. When we got back to her house, she got a little sad that her nice back yard now had a few weeds. Hey it’s winter! But I knew what she was trying to say, it wasn’t like it was.
Which is why sometimes, just sometimes, you gots to ( Brooklyneese) turn the tables on Cancer. Just when it thinks it has you down, feeling low, you have to screw with its schedule and fight back with levity and silliness! This happens to be my specialty. As you can see in some of Valerie’s prior photos, the nut does not fall far from the orange tree.
So right after signing in, as we walk hand in hand to the double doors, I break into a chorus of the Ballad of Jed Clampett. Jed as in Beverly Hillbilly, cement pond Jed. Thinking mom is going to give me “the look,” although I wasn’t sure if it would be one or two eyes. But the “look” never comes. Two more steps and I know it is laying in wait. No look? What the &%$*#?
Then it happens. A DUET! Both of us are singing and surprisingly enough, mom knows the damn words! We look like Dorothy and the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz on the yellow brick road skipping to the words of a 1960’s sitcom! Mom even admits she liked the show.
So as you read this entry today, I am going to change the format and offer an opportunity for audience participation!
Scroll down to the lyrics, warm up those tonsils and be you solo or in the company of your best duet partner, belt out the lines to that great American T.V sitcom and screw with Cancer! Hit me one time as Brother James Brown would say, and sing like you’re trying out for American Idol!
Come and listen to a story 'bout a man named JedPoor mountaineer barely kept his family fedThen one day he was shooting for some food,And up through the ground come a bubbling crude(Oil that is, black gold, Texas tea)Well the first thing you know old Jed's a millionaireKin folk said Jed move away from thereSaid California is the place you oughta beSo they loaded up the truck and they moved to Beverly(Hills that is, swimming pools, movie stars)
I close in the words of that great comedian Red Skeleton: “And may God Bless” For we should never take any of His blessings for granted.
Andy
Monday, January 22, 2007
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Funiculi, Funicula!
As you might have noticed, my blog is a little behind. I have been a bit under the weather for a few days, but all is well and I am determined to get everyone up to speed.
As you might have seen on the news, Texas has been a hit and miss for ice storms this past week. And while we were spared a significant wrath from Mother Nature, we did get a few days of slipping and sliding that caused us to have to cancel two days of treatments. But they will just be tacked onto the backend of the treatment schedule.
I arrived at Casa de Longo on Thursday for my designated day of “Driving Miss Ida” ;)
And one would have thought I was the prodigal son. I was greeted rather enthusiastically by mom, who exclaimed “I missed you.” I thought perhaps the “chemo brain” had caused her to forget that she just saw me two days ago and I called her yesterday. So when I kindly reminded her of that fact she looked at me from behind those wide-rimmed glasses, smiled and said, “I know that, I just missed you.” As my husband would say…that made me all squishy.”
So we gathered her radiation survival kit, which has a whopping two items in it, a box of juice and that very handy, blue plastic parking pass and away we went. As we are cruising down the road, we start talking about everything that has occurred in the past 48 hours since we have actually seen each other. And by the time we pulled into the parking lot at Med City we had discussed, religion, Rachel Ray’s recipes of the week, school, babies and American Idol.
After I walked mom through the double doors for her treatment, I went to work in the waiting area trying to coordinate her other appointments for the day. We still have to monitor her blood counts on a weekly basis, and rather than drive from one hospital to another, I vowed to adopt the Sam Walton theory of medical needs – one stop shopping!
It just so happens that her pulmonary doctor is located in another building at Medical City, so I called them to see if we could some how coordinate all her medical appointments into one central location. Thankfully, they were very understanding and told us that we could use the open lab at Medical City and they would fax the orders for the blood work to them right away.
When mom re-emerged from behind the doors leading to the treatment area, she was grinning like a Cheshire cat and holding a piece of paper. She had met with Dr, Macko (her radiologist) who told her everything was going well and she was progressing nicely. That’s the kind of news you like to hear!
We sat in the waiting room for a few moments discussing what the doctor had said and I told mom that I got her blood work orders moved to this hospital for convenience. I then asked her if she thought she could walk from Building D to Building A to get the blood work done. If not I would bring the car around or push her down the hall in a wheel chair.
To which mom replied, “Like hell …I can walk”
So down the hall we went, hand in hand, stopping to admire the paintings on the wall. Now, I don’t know how the animals did it when they were getting on the Arc, but walking two-by-two down a hospital corridor is not an easy thing to do, especially with on coming traffic. So as we moved to the side to make way for a delivery cart, mom looked at me and said she had forgotten to tell me that the doctor had given her a direct line to call incase she could not make her appointment due to inclement weather. I asked her if she had put the phone number in her purse. She looked at me and said “Nope.” And then she proceeded to raise her hand to her hat. She took her hat off her head and pulled a yellow post-it out of the inside brim and handed it to me. I just about fell over because I was laughing so hard. Mom asked me why I was laughing and I told her I thought she was going to do some magic trick and pull a rabbit out of her hat. And without skipping a beat she looked at me and said, “Now, wouldn’t that be something, a bald lady pulling some hair out of her hat!” (hare..hair…get it!) Cancer or not…she’s still kept her sense of humor! :)
We were able to contain our laughter just as we got to the doors of the lab. Mom got all comfy, cozy in the waiting room as I checked her in. And soon after I joined her, a lone, masked man entered the waiting room. Under normal circumstances, this would have been a welcomed site for Chemosabe. But this is a hospital, sick people gather here and I kid you not…my eyes become as big as saucers. Each and every time that door opened to receive another person for blood work, I prayed that I would hear, “Longo” or some variation to the name (Logo, Long, Bongo, Bingo..whatever…just call the name!)
Finally, mom’s name was called and we were in and out pretty quickly. Now, I know mom thinks I am a hypochondriac germaphobe, but there is a reason people come to hospitals – they are sick. If I were around healthy people, I would not be so concerned. So as we proceeded back to our area of origination, I was sure I was leaving a trail of Germ-X behind me – sort of like a modern day Gretel!
We finished our appointed rounds at the hospital and headed back home. I had to make a detour to return something for the hubby and while I was standing at the checkout, I remember my mom saying something about how she wanted a new coffee cup. It had to have a pedestal on the bottom. She says the pedestal keeps the bottom of the cup from getting too hot when she holds it. Then low and behold, out of the corner of my eye..what did I spy? You guessed it – a pedestal coffee cup and it was in mom’s colors. She is very particular about colors – nothing too bold or gaudy patterns. So I asked the lady to please ring the cup up and there was no need to wrap it as the recipient was patiently waiting in the car.
As I jumped back into the driver’s seat, I looked over at mom and said, “Here, don’t say I never give you anything.” The squeal that came out of that woman’s mouth along with a tearful, “you remembered,” reminded me of that little boy who got the golden ticket in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. The woman finds such joy in the smallest of gestures – now I know where I get it from! :o)
On the way back to the house, mom wanted to take a little detour to grab a sammy. We went to Il Grano. It’s a small Italian café run by bona fide Italians. We grabbed a small bite and recapped the day and as we walked back to the car, arm in arm, we broke into impromtu song and belted out our rendition of Funiculi, Funicula! (I think some suspected we might have had one too many Chiantis.)
For the record, there should be a warning label on that song as to its “catchiness.” It’s been in my head for three days and I am convinced that I whistle it in my sleep!
Ah well…until tomorrow – be kind and be loving, embrace the goofiness and Funiculi, Funicula! :o)
As you might have seen on the news, Texas has been a hit and miss for ice storms this past week. And while we were spared a significant wrath from Mother Nature, we did get a few days of slipping and sliding that caused us to have to cancel two days of treatments. But they will just be tacked onto the backend of the treatment schedule.
I arrived at Casa de Longo on Thursday for my designated day of “Driving Miss Ida” ;)
And one would have thought I was the prodigal son. I was greeted rather enthusiastically by mom, who exclaimed “I missed you.” I thought perhaps the “chemo brain” had caused her to forget that she just saw me two days ago and I called her yesterday. So when I kindly reminded her of that fact she looked at me from behind those wide-rimmed glasses, smiled and said, “I know that, I just missed you.” As my husband would say…that made me all squishy.”
So we gathered her radiation survival kit, which has a whopping two items in it, a box of juice and that very handy, blue plastic parking pass and away we went. As we are cruising down the road, we start talking about everything that has occurred in the past 48 hours since we have actually seen each other. And by the time we pulled into the parking lot at Med City we had discussed, religion, Rachel Ray’s recipes of the week, school, babies and American Idol.
After I walked mom through the double doors for her treatment, I went to work in the waiting area trying to coordinate her other appointments for the day. We still have to monitor her blood counts on a weekly basis, and rather than drive from one hospital to another, I vowed to adopt the Sam Walton theory of medical needs – one stop shopping!
It just so happens that her pulmonary doctor is located in another building at Medical City, so I called them to see if we could some how coordinate all her medical appointments into one central location. Thankfully, they were very understanding and told us that we could use the open lab at Medical City and they would fax the orders for the blood work to them right away.
When mom re-emerged from behind the doors leading to the treatment area, she was grinning like a Cheshire cat and holding a piece of paper. She had met with Dr, Macko (her radiologist) who told her everything was going well and she was progressing nicely. That’s the kind of news you like to hear!
We sat in the waiting room for a few moments discussing what the doctor had said and I told mom that I got her blood work orders moved to this hospital for convenience. I then asked her if she thought she could walk from Building D to Building A to get the blood work done. If not I would bring the car around or push her down the hall in a wheel chair.
To which mom replied, “Like hell …I can walk”
So down the hall we went, hand in hand, stopping to admire the paintings on the wall. Now, I don’t know how the animals did it when they were getting on the Arc, but walking two-by-two down a hospital corridor is not an easy thing to do, especially with on coming traffic. So as we moved to the side to make way for a delivery cart, mom looked at me and said she had forgotten to tell me that the doctor had given her a direct line to call incase she could not make her appointment due to inclement weather. I asked her if she had put the phone number in her purse. She looked at me and said “Nope.” And then she proceeded to raise her hand to her hat. She took her hat off her head and pulled a yellow post-it out of the inside brim and handed it to me. I just about fell over because I was laughing so hard. Mom asked me why I was laughing and I told her I thought she was going to do some magic trick and pull a rabbit out of her hat. And without skipping a beat she looked at me and said, “Now, wouldn’t that be something, a bald lady pulling some hair out of her hat!” (hare..hair…get it!) Cancer or not…she’s still kept her sense of humor! :)
We were able to contain our laughter just as we got to the doors of the lab. Mom got all comfy, cozy in the waiting room as I checked her in. And soon after I joined her, a lone, masked man entered the waiting room. Under normal circumstances, this would have been a welcomed site for Chemosabe. But this is a hospital, sick people gather here and I kid you not…my eyes become as big as saucers. Each and every time that door opened to receive another person for blood work, I prayed that I would hear, “Longo” or some variation to the name (Logo, Long, Bongo, Bingo..whatever…just call the name!)
Finally, mom’s name was called and we were in and out pretty quickly. Now, I know mom thinks I am a hypochondriac germaphobe, but there is a reason people come to hospitals – they are sick. If I were around healthy people, I would not be so concerned. So as we proceeded back to our area of origination, I was sure I was leaving a trail of Germ-X behind me – sort of like a modern day Gretel!
We finished our appointed rounds at the hospital and headed back home. I had to make a detour to return something for the hubby and while I was standing at the checkout, I remember my mom saying something about how she wanted a new coffee cup. It had to have a pedestal on the bottom. She says the pedestal keeps the bottom of the cup from getting too hot when she holds it. Then low and behold, out of the corner of my eye..what did I spy? You guessed it – a pedestal coffee cup and it was in mom’s colors. She is very particular about colors – nothing too bold or gaudy patterns. So I asked the lady to please ring the cup up and there was no need to wrap it as the recipient was patiently waiting in the car.
As I jumped back into the driver’s seat, I looked over at mom and said, “Here, don’t say I never give you anything.” The squeal that came out of that woman’s mouth along with a tearful, “you remembered,” reminded me of that little boy who got the golden ticket in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. The woman finds such joy in the smallest of gestures – now I know where I get it from! :o)
On the way back to the house, mom wanted to take a little detour to grab a sammy. We went to Il Grano. It’s a small Italian café run by bona fide Italians. We grabbed a small bite and recapped the day and as we walked back to the car, arm in arm, we broke into impromtu song and belted out our rendition of Funiculi, Funicula! (I think some suspected we might have had one too many Chiantis.)
For the record, there should be a warning label on that song as to its “catchiness.” It’s been in my head for three days and I am convinced that I whistle it in my sleep!
Ah well…until tomorrow – be kind and be loving, embrace the goofiness and Funiculi, Funicula! :o)
Thursday, January 18, 2007
I see Jesus
Hello All….
As noted last week, since my mom’s radiation schedule is Monday-Friday, we have split the driving duties between my brother (Andy) and me.
And as I explained to my brother, part of the “radiation rotation” schedule is the submission of blog entries. So the following is the first blog submission from Andy and mom’s Big Adventure.
Love to you all,
Val
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They say that people, whom loose one of their five senses, have their remaining senses enhanced. I think the same can be said for those who suffer illness.
Today was my turn to be “wheel man” for mom’s trip to Med Cities Dallas. Part of the job according to Val, is writing an entry for the blogeroo! Valerie has been making the trek for the first week. And doing one hell of a job! I had to wait until I got clearance Clarence from “the job” to use some FMLA time. I leave for a few hours taking sick time, getting her to her treatment and then once she is doing OK back at the casa Longo, head back to work.
So we loaded the green bus and off to Dallas. Mom was commenting that it must have looked funny a cop driving an old lady to Dallas. Sorry, but the story of Ma Barker has already been made into a screenplay mom. It made me feel like Secret Service driving the big dark colored Suburban down the Dallas North Tollway. I also got the opportunity to use our new electronic toll tag. No more searching for quarters, although mom had a stack of them when I got to her house to pick her up. At least it wasn’t an offer for a “nice Swiss cheese or provolone sandwich”. Did I mention that she always has the “good bread” as if there was any other kind?
Everything went fairly quickly, although arriving a little early. We had hoped to slide in and slide right out. She made an impression when she arrived and signed in a-la What’s my Line with a cop standing next to her. I just told the staff that I found her walking on LBJ Frwy and she looked like she needed a place to be. Sorry, Medical Cities was the first place that came to mind. NOT!
Anyway, while mom was in the back getting her radiation treatment for the day, I found myself sitting in the waiting room, eyes closed and listening. Listening to the sound of people coming in and out, various doors closing and the distinct sound a metal one made over a glass sliding door. Men and ladies coming in for their treatments and the sound their individual footwear made on the floor as they walked by.
I heard the Fed-Ex (shameless plug) man and his electronic reader “beep” as he scanned a package. Then the other noises as he confirmed the signature and verified another delivered package was safely delivered.
I listened to the soft voices of the staff, as they instructed a first time patient in a calming and soothing voice how to drink that nasty barium yuck. And how “the pictures” would be much better if it was drunken s.l.o.w.l.y.
I heard a grandmother review in the distance, multiplication tables with a young boy named Peter, who twice now I’ve seen come in for radiation treatments. And an ever so distant sigh of relief, when a husband came out to be reunited with his wife.
All the time holding mom’s coat and it smelled like mom. Not to say mom needs a bath! Noticing that the clothing, like the house she has lived in all these years was part of her. That warm mom, pot of sauce, Italian, love smell. You’ve all had them, maybe just not taking time to notice.
On the way back, a stop at Starbucks and a slice of marble pound cake split in two in the truck. And a street sign named Suffolk! Yep, Suffolk. Imagine that.
And in the course of our talk coming home, we shared a story about an incident two Christmas’ ago. Coming back from church on Christmas Eve, THE CHUMB (Kristen to the rest of the world) calls out. “Dad,” “Yes,” I said thinking she wanted a slurpee or something. “I see Jesus,” She said. I’m thinking OK it’s Christmas, we just left church that is understandable. Then she said a second time, “Dad, I really see Jesus!”
Now I’m beginning to worry or at the very least think we need to talk. Mom, who was in the front seat of the truck at the time, recalls thinking maybe this is a divine presence coming to her four-year-old granddaughter. After all, Jesus DOES love children!
Then a third time, Kristen says; “Dad, I see Jesus and he’s right there see?”
Now everyone in the truck is looking and we don’t see Jesus. Anywhere in the truck, side of the road, in the sky, no Jesus. Our response to The Chumb is that yes; Jesus is with us each and every day of our lives.
Frustrated, Kristen once more says: “DAD, I SEE JESUS AND THERE HE IS!”
And just as we pass a streetlight, on the front windshield, we catch the reflected image of the baby Jesus in his manger from a church bulletin mom had placed on the dashboard of the truck after mass. All along the ride home, Kristen was seeing Jesus!
And that night, we all saw Jesus. But it took an intensive effort of a few adults, to see what a simple child saw all along.
I suppose we should all take the time to hear what we normally don’t hear and see what we normally don’t see. Sometimes things we take as a disability help us to only be a better person.
Here’s hoping you too See Jesus!
As noted last week, since my mom’s radiation schedule is Monday-Friday, we have split the driving duties between my brother (Andy) and me.
And as I explained to my brother, part of the “radiation rotation” schedule is the submission of blog entries. So the following is the first blog submission from Andy and mom’s Big Adventure.
Love to you all,
Val
-----------------------------------------------
They say that people, whom loose one of their five senses, have their remaining senses enhanced. I think the same can be said for those who suffer illness.
Today was my turn to be “wheel man” for mom’s trip to Med Cities Dallas. Part of the job according to Val, is writing an entry for the blogeroo! Valerie has been making the trek for the first week. And doing one hell of a job! I had to wait until I got clearance Clarence from “the job” to use some FMLA time. I leave for a few hours taking sick time, getting her to her treatment and then once she is doing OK back at the casa Longo, head back to work.
So we loaded the green bus and off to Dallas. Mom was commenting that it must have looked funny a cop driving an old lady to Dallas. Sorry, but the story of Ma Barker has already been made into a screenplay mom. It made me feel like Secret Service driving the big dark colored Suburban down the Dallas North Tollway. I also got the opportunity to use our new electronic toll tag. No more searching for quarters, although mom had a stack of them when I got to her house to pick her up. At least it wasn’t an offer for a “nice Swiss cheese or provolone sandwich”. Did I mention that she always has the “good bread” as if there was any other kind?
Everything went fairly quickly, although arriving a little early. We had hoped to slide in and slide right out. She made an impression when she arrived and signed in a-la What’s my Line with a cop standing next to her. I just told the staff that I found her walking on LBJ Frwy and she looked like she needed a place to be. Sorry, Medical Cities was the first place that came to mind. NOT!
Anyway, while mom was in the back getting her radiation treatment for the day, I found myself sitting in the waiting room, eyes closed and listening. Listening to the sound of people coming in and out, various doors closing and the distinct sound a metal one made over a glass sliding door. Men and ladies coming in for their treatments and the sound their individual footwear made on the floor as they walked by.
I heard the Fed-Ex (shameless plug) man and his electronic reader “beep” as he scanned a package. Then the other noises as he confirmed the signature and verified another delivered package was safely delivered.
I listened to the soft voices of the staff, as they instructed a first time patient in a calming and soothing voice how to drink that nasty barium yuck. And how “the pictures” would be much better if it was drunken s.l.o.w.l.y.
I heard a grandmother review in the distance, multiplication tables with a young boy named Peter, who twice now I’ve seen come in for radiation treatments. And an ever so distant sigh of relief, when a husband came out to be reunited with his wife.
All the time holding mom’s coat and it smelled like mom. Not to say mom needs a bath! Noticing that the clothing, like the house she has lived in all these years was part of her. That warm mom, pot of sauce, Italian, love smell. You’ve all had them, maybe just not taking time to notice.
On the way back, a stop at Starbucks and a slice of marble pound cake split in two in the truck. And a street sign named Suffolk! Yep, Suffolk. Imagine that.
And in the course of our talk coming home, we shared a story about an incident two Christmas’ ago. Coming back from church on Christmas Eve, THE CHUMB (Kristen to the rest of the world) calls out. “Dad,” “Yes,” I said thinking she wanted a slurpee or something. “I see Jesus,” She said. I’m thinking OK it’s Christmas, we just left church that is understandable. Then she said a second time, “Dad, I really see Jesus!”
Now I’m beginning to worry or at the very least think we need to talk. Mom, who was in the front seat of the truck at the time, recalls thinking maybe this is a divine presence coming to her four-year-old granddaughter. After all, Jesus DOES love children!
Then a third time, Kristen says; “Dad, I see Jesus and he’s right there see?”
Now everyone in the truck is looking and we don’t see Jesus. Anywhere in the truck, side of the road, in the sky, no Jesus. Our response to The Chumb is that yes; Jesus is with us each and every day of our lives.
Frustrated, Kristen once more says: “DAD, I SEE JESUS AND THERE HE IS!”
And just as we pass a streetlight, on the front windshield, we catch the reflected image of the baby Jesus in his manger from a church bulletin mom had placed on the dashboard of the truck after mass. All along the ride home, Kristen was seeing Jesus!
And that night, we all saw Jesus. But it took an intensive effort of a few adults, to see what a simple child saw all along.
I suppose we should all take the time to hear what we normally don’t hear and see what we normally don’t see. Sometimes things we take as a disability help us to only be a better person.
Here’s hoping you too See Jesus!
Monday, January 15, 2007
Radiation Ice Day
Can I just say ….brrrrrrrrrrr – it’s mighty cold here in Texas!
Well, all the hoopla about a huge ice storm coming turned out to be incorrect. While we did have some icing on the bridges and overpasses (along with some patchy spots) here and there …all and all it was uneventful.
The nice thing was mom’s radiology team called before we left the house this morning and told us to stay home, be safe and stay nice and warm and toasty. I thought that was a very nice thing to do. Most of the time they tell you that you could have skipped coming after you’ve already made the white-knuckle journey!
Mom is having a great day today, I spoke with her this morning and she was just relaxing and enjoying a quiet afternoon – it’s good to have those kinds of days.
Tomorrow we start week two of radiation. I’ve calculated the days set aside for treatment and we should have the last radiation on February 12th – just in time for Valerie’s Day …I mean Valentine’s Day. ;)
We have gotten a lot of wonderful messages and they have all been passed on to mom. We thank you all for you kindness, words of encouragement and for keeping us all in your thoughts and prayers.
Take care of one another…and for those of you who need to…stay dry and toasty.
Well, all the hoopla about a huge ice storm coming turned out to be incorrect. While we did have some icing on the bridges and overpasses (along with some patchy spots) here and there …all and all it was uneventful.
The nice thing was mom’s radiology team called before we left the house this morning and told us to stay home, be safe and stay nice and warm and toasty. I thought that was a very nice thing to do. Most of the time they tell you that you could have skipped coming after you’ve already made the white-knuckle journey!
Mom is having a great day today, I spoke with her this morning and she was just relaxing and enjoying a quiet afternoon – it’s good to have those kinds of days.
Tomorrow we start week two of radiation. I’ve calculated the days set aside for treatment and we should have the last radiation on February 12th – just in time for Valerie’s Day …I mean Valentine’s Day. ;)
We have gotten a lot of wonderful messages and they have all been passed on to mom. We thank you all for you kindness, words of encouragement and for keeping us all in your thoughts and prayers.
Take care of one another…and for those of you who need to…stay dry and toasty.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Week One is Done
Okie Dokie!
We have week one of radiation under our belts! Friday was the last day and it's a good thing since we are expected to have a really big winter storm here. And for those of you that are not familiar with Texas, winter storm here usually means ice more so than snow. And while I would take mom anywhere she needs to go, we are not slipping and sliding our way to Medical City! I have this fear of sliding off one of those overpasses and plummeting roughly a hundred feet to my doom – hey…it could happen, so better safe than sorry. ;)
Friday was the completion of our first week of radiation. Everything went well and mom was having a great day. It’s amazing were and when you sometimes cross paths with people from your past.
Once mom was through with her treatment, she came out to the family waiting area and told me that she had run into her oncologist who treated her for breast cancer back in 1998. Talk about being a small world!
Mom said that she and Dr. Gilbert chatted for awhile and he asked how she was doing. She gave him the condensed version of the past five months and he asked her if he could sneak a peak at her chart. Mom said he scanned though it reassured her that she should see some good results at the end of her treatment.
When dealing with cancer, doctors never really say “everything is going to be fine” or “you will be okay”, which I understand because you never really know what will happen, especially when you are dealing with anything higher than a Stage 1 cancer. But as far as Dr. Gilbert’s comment, I think for my mom that was just about as close as you can get to saying to saying “everything’s going to be fine.”
We left Medical City anticipating that we would probably skip Monday’s treatment and take a radiation snow/ice day. I had to swing by the store and get the basics before the bad weather set in and asked mom if she wanted to come along.
I swear to goodness sake, that woman is at the top of the “Who’s Who” list for The Colony. We could not make it from one end of the store to the other without people stopping and asking how she was doing. Those that know about the cancer just lit up when they saw her and those they didn’t know gave her a hand squeeze or hug when she told them. I think it does a lot for her psyche to get out and about again and visit. The woman is a true social butterfly!
She gets stronger by the day, even though radiation makes her tired. I suggested she set aside a specific time every day, just an hour or so, to take a power nap or just lie down and recharge. Now, for those of you that know my mom, she will tell you that she doesn’t “do naps” because she thinks they are for old people. News flash! Val takes a power nap every now and then and I told her if it made her feel better, I would be more than happy to nap along with her at my house! Now that’s sacrificing for the one you love, people! ;)
Things are moving along in a positive direction. This month she is going to take me up on an offer I made before Christmas – to take her to a Woman’s Cancer Support Group meeting. They meet once a month for coffee and fellowship and I think it would be really good for her, and now that she’s not doing the chemo, she said she is feeling better and would like to go.
While I would like to think that I could be all things to all people – it’s just not so. There are certain things that I can not identify with and that is having cancer and moving through the treatment plan. I have done all that I can do, but I think mom still has some healing to do on the inside. I know during some of our conversations, she sometimes still asks why she had to get cancer twice. One may never really know the answer to that question, but I think it would be extremely helpful to be able to sit with other survivors and at least ponder the question.
That’s our update for the week and now we are going to hunker down and brace for the lovely ice storm that is headed our way!
As my mom always says, “be kind and loving to each other” and know that your prayers are being heard and your kind thoughts are being felt.
Love to you all and thank you for your continued support!
(And don’t make fun of my early morning artwork…I hadn’t had my first cup of coffee and without Photoshop, I was working with limited resources – dried up makers! ;)
We have week one of radiation under our belts! Friday was the last day and it's a good thing since we are expected to have a really big winter storm here. And for those of you that are not familiar with Texas, winter storm here usually means ice more so than snow. And while I would take mom anywhere she needs to go, we are not slipping and sliding our way to Medical City! I have this fear of sliding off one of those overpasses and plummeting roughly a hundred feet to my doom – hey…it could happen, so better safe than sorry. ;)
Friday was the completion of our first week of radiation. Everything went well and mom was having a great day. It’s amazing were and when you sometimes cross paths with people from your past.
Once mom was through with her treatment, she came out to the family waiting area and told me that she had run into her oncologist who treated her for breast cancer back in 1998. Talk about being a small world!
Mom said that she and Dr. Gilbert chatted for awhile and he asked how she was doing. She gave him the condensed version of the past five months and he asked her if he could sneak a peak at her chart. Mom said he scanned though it reassured her that she should see some good results at the end of her treatment.
When dealing with cancer, doctors never really say “everything is going to be fine” or “you will be okay”, which I understand because you never really know what will happen, especially when you are dealing with anything higher than a Stage 1 cancer. But as far as Dr. Gilbert’s comment, I think for my mom that was just about as close as you can get to saying to saying “everything’s going to be fine.”
We left Medical City anticipating that we would probably skip Monday’s treatment and take a radiation snow/ice day. I had to swing by the store and get the basics before the bad weather set in and asked mom if she wanted to come along.
I swear to goodness sake, that woman is at the top of the “Who’s Who” list for The Colony. We could not make it from one end of the store to the other without people stopping and asking how she was doing. Those that know about the cancer just lit up when they saw her and those they didn’t know gave her a hand squeeze or hug when she told them. I think it does a lot for her psyche to get out and about again and visit. The woman is a true social butterfly!
She gets stronger by the day, even though radiation makes her tired. I suggested she set aside a specific time every day, just an hour or so, to take a power nap or just lie down and recharge. Now, for those of you that know my mom, she will tell you that she doesn’t “do naps” because she thinks they are for old people. News flash! Val takes a power nap every now and then and I told her if it made her feel better, I would be more than happy to nap along with her at my house! Now that’s sacrificing for the one you love, people! ;)
Things are moving along in a positive direction. This month she is going to take me up on an offer I made before Christmas – to take her to a Woman’s Cancer Support Group meeting. They meet once a month for coffee and fellowship and I think it would be really good for her, and now that she’s not doing the chemo, she said she is feeling better and would like to go.
While I would like to think that I could be all things to all people – it’s just not so. There are certain things that I can not identify with and that is having cancer and moving through the treatment plan. I have done all that I can do, but I think mom still has some healing to do on the inside. I know during some of our conversations, she sometimes still asks why she had to get cancer twice. One may never really know the answer to that question, but I think it would be extremely helpful to be able to sit with other survivors and at least ponder the question.
That’s our update for the week and now we are going to hunker down and brace for the lovely ice storm that is headed our way!
As my mom always says, “be kind and loving to each other” and know that your prayers are being heard and your kind thoughts are being felt.
Love to you all and thank you for your continued support!
(And don’t make fun of my early morning artwork…I hadn’t had my first cup of coffee and without Photoshop, I was working with limited resources – dried up makers! ;)
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
3 Down 22 To Go
We’ve had three radiation treatments as of today. Things are going well and mom is doing fine…a little tired, but fine.
We met with her radiologist, Dr, Macko today and she said so far, so good. Mom had x-rays the first two days and Dr. Mack explained today that the reason they do that is so she can verify that the radiation’s trajectory is being aimed at the places she mapped out in our “meet and greet” visit.
That’s kind of cool that even though the doctor’s not there, she knows exactly what is going on.
Tomorrow, I will be passing the baton to my brother, Andy. Because radiation is five days straight for almost a month, he is going to take mom a few days out of the week. It’s been a long five months and with school starting on Monday, it’s helpful to have a back-up – even the best of us needs a break every now and then. I know mom is ready for a few days without doctors and/or appointments. But once this is all over and done with – Vegas, baby…Vegas!
All in all it was a good day today. We stopped at a little European coffee shop today for a panini and a cup of joe and then did a little shopping.
Be kind to one another and blessings to you all!
We met with her radiologist, Dr, Macko today and she said so far, so good. Mom had x-rays the first two days and Dr. Mack explained today that the reason they do that is so she can verify that the radiation’s trajectory is being aimed at the places she mapped out in our “meet and greet” visit.
That’s kind of cool that even though the doctor’s not there, she knows exactly what is going on.
Tomorrow, I will be passing the baton to my brother, Andy. Because radiation is five days straight for almost a month, he is going to take mom a few days out of the week. It’s been a long five months and with school starting on Monday, it’s helpful to have a back-up – even the best of us needs a break every now and then. I know mom is ready for a few days without doctors and/or appointments. But once this is all over and done with – Vegas, baby…Vegas!
All in all it was a good day today. We stopped at a little European coffee shop today for a panini and a cup of joe and then did a little shopping.
Be kind to one another and blessings to you all!
Monday, January 8, 2007
First Day of School vs First Day of Radiation
Today was our first day of radiation! I found a certain irony in the fact that in a couple of days, I will be starting my spring college semester. I was hoping to have finished last semester, but with mom’s surgery and the chemo, I just was not in the mood to worry about school or to really focus for that matter.
So I picked up my little lima bean at 9am. Our scheduled radiation time is 10am, Monday-Friday and the hospital is about 25 minutes away – if I have a clear path down the Tollway. ;)
As a loaded her into the car, I started to think about all the similarities that the first day of radiation and the first day of school have. Mom was all dressed up with a nice little sweater, her beanie cap and make-up. Much like school, you want to make a good impression on the first day!
So we are driving along and she gets a little misty. I am sure it was nerves, not knowing what to expect and the anticipation of meeting the technician, again …very similar to the first day of school (I think I cried every first day of the new school year until I was at least 7!) Now, every now and again, I have to remind my mom about how far she has come. I don’t think she fully appreciates the magnitude of the situation. She was diagnosed with Stage IVa endometrial sarcoma, people. Basically, since the cancer had spread to the bowel, it was considered an “advanced cancer.” Only 3% of this stage of cancer is caught early enough to really be impacted by treatment. The only other stop on this crazy train was a Stage IVb, which means that the cancer has spread to other organs throughout the body. So sometimes I have to break out the tough love speech and remind her of that fact, combined with major surgery and chemo and the fact that you did all that in your 80th year – heck yeah you are a walking miracle …and as my people would say (as unlady like as it is) hey …cancer …. vaffanculo!
Once I smacked her around a bit (just kidding) and we got to the hospital, we were good to go. My mom’s technician came out, took her by the hand and off they went. While I was waiting in the “holding tank” for my mom to come back, I started to talk to some of the other folks around me – it’s amazing the kind of kinship you can build with others in a brief amount of time.
Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom walk through the double doors, with her little beanie cap on, giving me the thumbs up and grinning ear-to-ear …and for the first-time in a few months, I lost it in public.
The first day of radiation is much like my first days of school when I was a youngster. My mom always dressed me to the nines, drove me to school, held my hand, walked me to the door and made sure I was comfortable with the teacher before she left me. And at the end of the day, when the school bell rang and I ran outside to go home, she was always the first face I saw – waiting their with open arms and smiling from ear-to-ear …asking how everything went and admiring that macaroni necklace or scribbled self-portrait, as if it was done by Picasso himself. (As a matter of fact, she still has all that stuff.)
Oddly, the exact things my mom did for me thirty years ago are the same things I am doing for her as she works her way through each treatment.
Today, when my mom finished radiation and came down that hallway smiling ear-to-ear…I had a revelation. With tears running down my face, I got it! - This was her macaroni necklace – getting through her first radiation treatment. This was her moment to shine with confidence because she did it.
You have a lot more “macaroni necklace” moments in your future mom and I will look at each and every one of them as if they came in a blue Tiffany’s box – precious and beautiful!
Because the Longo/Conley girls never end the day on a serious note, we stopped off at Starbucks for a Dolce Cinnamon Latte and a cranberry scone …and fought off the paparazzi.
Enjoy the photos of the day and know that we love each and every one of you and thank you all for your continued prayers and support.
See you tomorrow…same bat time….same bat channel!
P.S. - Note in the last picture...I spy something white and fuzzy - We have follicle sightings a month after her last chemo! ;)
So I picked up my little lima bean at 9am. Our scheduled radiation time is 10am, Monday-Friday and the hospital is about 25 minutes away – if I have a clear path down the Tollway. ;)
As a loaded her into the car, I started to think about all the similarities that the first day of radiation and the first day of school have. Mom was all dressed up with a nice little sweater, her beanie cap and make-up. Much like school, you want to make a good impression on the first day!
So we are driving along and she gets a little misty. I am sure it was nerves, not knowing what to expect and the anticipation of meeting the technician, again …very similar to the first day of school (I think I cried every first day of the new school year until I was at least 7!) Now, every now and again, I have to remind my mom about how far she has come. I don’t think she fully appreciates the magnitude of the situation. She was diagnosed with Stage IVa endometrial sarcoma, people. Basically, since the cancer had spread to the bowel, it was considered an “advanced cancer.” Only 3% of this stage of cancer is caught early enough to really be impacted by treatment. The only other stop on this crazy train was a Stage IVb, which means that the cancer has spread to other organs throughout the body. So sometimes I have to break out the tough love speech and remind her of that fact, combined with major surgery and chemo and the fact that you did all that in your 80th year – heck yeah you are a walking miracle …and as my people would say (as unlady like as it is) hey …cancer …. vaffanculo!
Once I smacked her around a bit (just kidding) and we got to the hospital, we were good to go. My mom’s technician came out, took her by the hand and off they went. While I was waiting in the “holding tank” for my mom to come back, I started to talk to some of the other folks around me – it’s amazing the kind of kinship you can build with others in a brief amount of time.
Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom walk through the double doors, with her little beanie cap on, giving me the thumbs up and grinning ear-to-ear …and for the first-time in a few months, I lost it in public.
The first day of radiation is much like my first days of school when I was a youngster. My mom always dressed me to the nines, drove me to school, held my hand, walked me to the door and made sure I was comfortable with the teacher before she left me. And at the end of the day, when the school bell rang and I ran outside to go home, she was always the first face I saw – waiting their with open arms and smiling from ear-to-ear …asking how everything went and admiring that macaroni necklace or scribbled self-portrait, as if it was done by Picasso himself. (As a matter of fact, she still has all that stuff.)
Oddly, the exact things my mom did for me thirty years ago are the same things I am doing for her as she works her way through each treatment.
Today, when my mom finished radiation and came down that hallway smiling ear-to-ear…I had a revelation. With tears running down my face, I got it! - This was her macaroni necklace – getting through her first radiation treatment. This was her moment to shine with confidence because she did it.
You have a lot more “macaroni necklace” moments in your future mom and I will look at each and every one of them as if they came in a blue Tiffany’s box – precious and beautiful!
Because the Longo/Conley girls never end the day on a serious note, we stopped off at Starbucks for a Dolce Cinnamon Latte and a cranberry scone …and fought off the paparazzi.
Enjoy the photos of the day and know that we love each and every one of you and thank you all for your continued prayers and support.
See you tomorrow…same bat time….same bat channel!
P.S. - Note in the last picture...I spy something white and fuzzy - We have follicle sightings a month after her last chemo! ;)
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