Getting ready for work this AM. Pulling a double shift. She's feeling better, able to eat and going most of the day without pain meds. So I feel safe to go out. It's going to be hot, into the 90's. The political forums are getting boring so I was wandering the internet for entertainment. What I found had a significance now that had not been there before.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Point of Origin Pt. 6
I cannot remember where we were at the time, other than to say I know it was outside of a house. We were in the yard, but near the door. We were arguing. Not a big one, not the straw breaker. Just some disagreement. It was summer.
I moved closer to her, an attempt to sooth the rising emotions. She moved away, away from the door and away from me. There was distrust in her eyes, searching too. It seemed an over reaction for the subject matter and the circumstance. She stood there, studying my face. I was staring back, trying to understand what she was doing, what she was asking.
“I don’t like this, ya know?”, she asked.
I didn’t know, I was totally lost. I was trying to come up with words.
“You could ask me anything and I’d do it. Do you know what that means? Do you know how dangerous that is?” She was almost in tears. A hint of fear flashed in her eyes.
The responsibility fell heavy on me, demanding all my attention. I struggled for words to fight it off. I understood, I was getting lost too, swept up in the current. I couldn’t think of anything to say, I could not imagine how we would stop it, how we would build back the safety mechanisms that kept our individual selves safe. We were part of something greater, far more powerful and important and the gravity of it,..I was not strong enough to pull back.
I let my eyes fall from her to the ground. I wanted to cry and I didn’t want to have her heart in my hands. I didn’t trust myself to do it right. She walked to me, now crying, and fell into my chest. She frightened me in a way I’d never thought possible. I put my arms around her. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Current Phase Pt. III
It's been a rough week.
She's been in pain a lot. There have been those scenes where she's crying in her sleep and I'm cooling her brow with a damp cloth. When she hasn't been in pain, I've been terrified of leaving for work, sure that she'll be gone when I get home. I stayed with her. Work just seems an absurd, abstract and irrelevant distraction.
Yesterday we had the meet with the chemo doc. The biopsy confirmed the nodes in her lungs were cancer. The growth rate was characterized as aggressive. He noted the cancer is highly resistant to chemo, having doubled in growth during treatment earlier this year. He'd recommend us to a trial study if we wish, but we'd have to move to where ever the study was being performed. Nothing like that happens in little rural America.
He can make her comfortable and somewhere in the future, he can try to slow the growth with more chemo. But we know the chemo makes her sick. It diminishes quality of life. We should chose that time wisely. We should travel and do, while we can.
This morning she finally had the talk with our son. He's 21. She laid it all out. I stayed back a bit. It was their time, he's very close to his mother. He and I will have what she has not, time.
I've been pre-writing more, planning what I want to write about us. I cannot tell you what it has meant to me to be able to do this, how much my head has cleared as I've gone along, what it means to hear the feedback from you people I've never met. I'll continue, it just takes time and that really is an incredible commodity right now.
She's been in pain a lot. There have been those scenes where she's crying in her sleep and I'm cooling her brow with a damp cloth. When she hasn't been in pain, I've been terrified of leaving for work, sure that she'll be gone when I get home. I stayed with her. Work just seems an absurd, abstract and irrelevant distraction.
Yesterday we had the meet with the chemo doc. The biopsy confirmed the nodes in her lungs were cancer. The growth rate was characterized as aggressive. He noted the cancer is highly resistant to chemo, having doubled in growth during treatment earlier this year. He'd recommend us to a trial study if we wish, but we'd have to move to where ever the study was being performed. Nothing like that happens in little rural America.
He can make her comfortable and somewhere in the future, he can try to slow the growth with more chemo. But we know the chemo makes her sick. It diminishes quality of life. We should chose that time wisely. We should travel and do, while we can.
This morning she finally had the talk with our son. He's 21. She laid it all out. I stayed back a bit. It was their time, he's very close to his mother. He and I will have what she has not, time.
I've been pre-writing more, planning what I want to write about us. I cannot tell you what it has meant to me to be able to do this, how much my head has cleared as I've gone along, what it means to hear the feedback from you people I've never met. I'll continue, it just takes time and that really is an incredible commodity right now.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Point of Origin Pt. 5
It was before she was pregnant. Before we were we. The time when couples tacitly agree to experiment with the alchemical components to see what can be created, revise the recipes and review the outcomes. We were in the old Nissan traveling across the one lane, sometimes paved Bear Camp Road from Grants Pass to the coast. We had the top and doors off and I stopped several times along the way to maintain the aged beast with brake fluid and motor oil. We climbed higher and higher into the sunshine pouring over the coastal range of mountains, showing her all my favorite spots along the way.
"Here at Taylor Creek, we go skinny dipping, but only in late summer, the water is too cold otherwise."..."We go rafting from here down to Graves Creek because the upstream is just too slow and boring." and "I lost a tire here once." or Mike and I got a 3-point here two years ago."
When we reached the summit I had stopped to deal with the rig. The warmth of the sun sent the smell of bark, needles and cones up into the gusting breeze, blending with hints of cool sea air, sweet grass and red clay. We were overlooking a massive interior valley that showed no sign of human intrusion, listening the the Douglas Fir trees sing tributes to the wind, and saying little. I was holding her hand, seeing her hair dance across her face in my peripheral vision. A thought struck me and I pointed out to a spot near the bottom of the valley.
"Right about there, I think.", I said.
"What?" she replied. Her voice was quiet and soft.
"Our house" I said, as the idea grew on me. "I bet there's a creek right about there."
Her brow furrowed a bit and she turned to me. "There's no road. How will people get to the house?"
"They can hike in!" I said, growing amused. I'd never had a problem being alone. She was not cut from that cloth and it showed. "We could put a helicopter landing pad there, your folks could fly in." I added, just to prod her. I wasn't entirely serious of course, but it was not entirely jest, also. I had already grown weary of the family drama.
Those moments and comments lead to a longer conversation, one that took years. Eventually Tati and I, to at least a small practical degree, ended up changing positions on. She wanted less and less to do with people while I became far, far more social and political. Let's amend that. To a large practical degree I became quite public. I even dragged Tati and our son, Suzie and our foster daughter into the public eye, while Tati worked diligently to protect our privacy and divorced herself from her entire family.
We continued along that road, losing elevation as we dropped down into Agness and then Gold Beach and the cool temperatures and fog. We were ill prepared for the change and Tati wore my jacket, making it smell of her perfume. She teased me about the Nissan but I think she might have been terribly impressed with my knowledge of the area and the backroads. She never fed my narcissism though, I was doing well enough on my own.
I was entralled with the wet and green of the fern and Snap Dragon, Sal-Lal, Sitka Spruce and Huckleberry and Azalea and moss and the rugged, rocky cliffs and wind swept beaches where southern Oregon and the Pacific Ocean do battle. The smells and imagery seduced me, as they always do. But Tati grew cold, the fog and damp settled into her until she could no longer go without suggesting we return. We got to her home near dark, where the air was still warm.
"Here at Taylor Creek, we go skinny dipping, but only in late summer, the water is too cold otherwise."..."We go rafting from here down to Graves Creek because the upstream is just too slow and boring." and "I lost a tire here once." or Mike and I got a 3-point here two years ago."
When we reached the summit I had stopped to deal with the rig. The warmth of the sun sent the smell of bark, needles and cones up into the gusting breeze, blending with hints of cool sea air, sweet grass and red clay. We were overlooking a massive interior valley that showed no sign of human intrusion, listening the the Douglas Fir trees sing tributes to the wind, and saying little. I was holding her hand, seeing her hair dance across her face in my peripheral vision. A thought struck me and I pointed out to a spot near the bottom of the valley.
"Right about there, I think.", I said.
"What?" she replied. Her voice was quiet and soft.
"Our house" I said, as the idea grew on me. "I bet there's a creek right about there."
Her brow furrowed a bit and she turned to me. "There's no road. How will people get to the house?"
"They can hike in!" I said, growing amused. I'd never had a problem being alone. She was not cut from that cloth and it showed. "We could put a helicopter landing pad there, your folks could fly in." I added, just to prod her. I wasn't entirely serious of course, but it was not entirely jest, also. I had already grown weary of the family drama.
Those moments and comments lead to a longer conversation, one that took years. Eventually Tati and I, to at least a small practical degree, ended up changing positions on. She wanted less and less to do with people while I became far, far more social and political. Let's amend that. To a large practical degree I became quite public. I even dragged Tati and our son, Suzie and our foster daughter into the public eye, while Tati worked diligently to protect our privacy and divorced herself from her entire family.
We continued along that road, losing elevation as we dropped down into Agness and then Gold Beach and the cool temperatures and fog. We were ill prepared for the change and Tati wore my jacket, making it smell of her perfume. She teased me about the Nissan but I think she might have been terribly impressed with my knowledge of the area and the backroads. She never fed my narcissism though, I was doing well enough on my own.
I was entralled with the wet and green of the fern and Snap Dragon, Sal-Lal, Sitka Spruce and Huckleberry and Azalea and moss and the rugged, rocky cliffs and wind swept beaches where southern Oregon and the Pacific Ocean do battle. The smells and imagery seduced me, as they always do. But Tati grew cold, the fog and damp settled into her until she could no longer go without suggesting we return. We got to her home near dark, where the air was still warm.
Friday, August 5, 2011
In the Daylight, I Turned On the Lights.
We were in surgery prep room 3 this morning. It's familiar, we've been in that room at least 3 times in the last 6 months. The plan was to stick a needle through her back and into the left lung and into one of the nodes, to take tissue from it for biopsy. Since starting this blog some of the poison has cleared, some of the pain subsides, and I am able to be with her the way I think I should be. I can love her and want her, and I can be her friend. We read magazines while waiting. I picked up a New Yorker, May 23, 2011. On page 36 words jumped off the page and stuck in my throat.
"In the daylight, I turned on the lights,
in the darkness, I pulled closed the curtains.
And the god of More,
whom nothing surprises, softly agreed ---
each day, year after year,
the dead were dead one day more completely.
In the places morels were found,
I looked for morels.
In the houses where love was found,
I looked for love.
If she is vanished, what then was different?
If he is alive, what now has changed?
The pot offers the metal closest to fire for burning.
The water leaves." ~Jane Hirshfield
"In the daylight, I turned on the lights,
in the darkness, I pulled closed the curtains.
And the god of More,
whom nothing surprises, softly agreed ---
each day, year after year,
the dead were dead one day more completely.
In the places morels were found,
I looked for morels.
In the houses where love was found,
I looked for love.
If she is vanished, what then was different?
If he is alive, what now has changed?
The pot offers the metal closest to fire for burning.
The water leaves." ~Jane Hirshfield
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Point of Origin Pt. 4
During the courtship rituals of coffee and tiny sandwiches, Tati revealed numerous concerns with regard to her family. In particular, her mother and the strange relationship between her mother and Tati's younger brother. The man that I had met and was signing my checks was not her paternal father. That man resided in Connecticut and had worked for Harley Davidson. Tati's step father produced major racing engine components for nationally well known racing stables. (Generic enough? I think so). The income from such enterprise was reflected in the home and lifestyle. It was something Tati had grown up with, and reviled. I'll come back to that a little later.
But because of the radio interference Tati felt our relationship was in danger of being crushed out before it began. She told me I didn't understand how powerful they were, and that her mother had ruined relationships in the past. She deemed it necessary, therefore, to keep our trysts secret. She had a plan to meet me one night, in the new stable. I think I arrived near the property at about 11PM, making my way across the field to the stable. Once inside I could see warm light from under the door of the tack room, I could smell incense. She had the place decked out in candles. A bed was made in the middle of the floor. Again, this is where I have to stop, never mind this is among my favorite parts of any story. Sweet, wonderful, and I think epic would not be completely out of place here. And it went on like that from there.
A couple of months passed and she frequented my house more and more. I cannot remember exactly what day it was, we were in the tiny kitchen and I was holding her. Something had changed. I quite literally smelled it. A couple of weeks after, she sat me down for the serious talk. She had missed her period. We had some decisions to make.
I think it important to understand the circumstances she was facing at the time. Her mother literally hated me. I just didn’t give a fuck about their money and I was obstinately uncontrollable as a result. Her brother, in my opinion, was an emotionally retarded funster, if not an outright sociopath with a penchant for abusing nearly every female he had contact with. He also had a significant problem not stealing money from the family business, and a long history of celebrity attorneys hired to defend him whenever he stepped over the line with people outside the family.
Tati was the hall monitor. Her defense for growing up in insanity was to read. It was a gift from a neighbor when the family was still in California. They saw what was going on. She received her first book. She set about learning how to combat the sweeping psychological and sometimes physical violence, as best a 12 year old girl could.
My lifestyle as an often unemployed redneck kid with a high school diploma contrasted sharply with the Anaheim Hills home, Jaguars and Izod clothing. The hot water heater in my house didn’t work with the old plumbing. The toilet needed assistance to flush. My car was an absolute pile of crap. One of the more important cultural clashes resulted over the issue of hunting. I did hunt. I had since I was a child. All my family had. It was, for lack of a better justification, my heritage. It terrified Tati. It scared her that a human could do that. Later, the issue would become pivotal in our relationship.
For now though, we sat on the sofa and talked. A long one. We talked about and eliminated the option of abortion. That meant we had to talk about what it would mean to agree to raise a child. She lined out the commitment, what it would mean in terms of years and the effort we would be putting forth to raise a kid that wasn’t the product of the home she grew up in. She wanted our kid to be mentally healthy, happy, and nothing like the people she knew. We had to be there, and that meant we’d have to make that final commitment to each other.
More to follow!
But because of the radio interference Tati felt our relationship was in danger of being crushed out before it began. She told me I didn't understand how powerful they were, and that her mother had ruined relationships in the past. She deemed it necessary, therefore, to keep our trysts secret. She had a plan to meet me one night, in the new stable. I think I arrived near the property at about 11PM, making my way across the field to the stable. Once inside I could see warm light from under the door of the tack room, I could smell incense. She had the place decked out in candles. A bed was made in the middle of the floor. Again, this is where I have to stop, never mind this is among my favorite parts of any story. Sweet, wonderful, and I think epic would not be completely out of place here. And it went on like that from there.
A couple of months passed and she frequented my house more and more. I cannot remember exactly what day it was, we were in the tiny kitchen and I was holding her. Something had changed. I quite literally smelled it. A couple of weeks after, she sat me down for the serious talk. She had missed her period. We had some decisions to make.
I think it important to understand the circumstances she was facing at the time. Her mother literally hated me. I just didn’t give a fuck about their money and I was obstinately uncontrollable as a result. Her brother, in my opinion, was an emotionally retarded funster, if not an outright sociopath with a penchant for abusing nearly every female he had contact with. He also had a significant problem not stealing money from the family business, and a long history of celebrity attorneys hired to defend him whenever he stepped over the line with people outside the family.
Tati was the hall monitor. Her defense for growing up in insanity was to read. It was a gift from a neighbor when the family was still in California. They saw what was going on. She received her first book. She set about learning how to combat the sweeping psychological and sometimes physical violence, as best a 12 year old girl could.
My lifestyle as an often unemployed redneck kid with a high school diploma contrasted sharply with the Anaheim Hills home, Jaguars and Izod clothing. The hot water heater in my house didn’t work with the old plumbing. The toilet needed assistance to flush. My car was an absolute pile of crap. One of the more important cultural clashes resulted over the issue of hunting. I did hunt. I had since I was a child. All my family had. It was, for lack of a better justification, my heritage. It terrified Tati. It scared her that a human could do that. Later, the issue would become pivotal in our relationship.
For now though, we sat on the sofa and talked. A long one. We talked about and eliminated the option of abortion. That meant we had to talk about what it would mean to agree to raise a child. She lined out the commitment, what it would mean in terms of years and the effort we would be putting forth to raise a kid that wasn’t the product of the home she grew up in. She wanted our kid to be mentally healthy, happy, and nothing like the people she knew. We had to be there, and that meant we’d have to make that final commitment to each other.
More to follow!
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Current Phase Pt. II
We're back.
Friday we do a CT guided biopsy of the nodes in the lungs. The following Friday we will know what the real plan is. Today we discussed contingencies. The doc is an incredible person, honest and deliberate, and stressed to have to deliver the kind of news he had.
In short, he believes this is indeed metastatic cervical cancer. There are far too many nodes to treat surgically or even with radiation. 1 to 5, maybe it could be done. They haven't even attempted to count them all. I remember seeing at least 12 when I looked over the last CT scan, and those were the ones that my untrained eyes could grab while the slides scrolled in front of me. The rate of growth of the nodes is also telling. 5.5mm to 11.79 during treatment, for one of the nodes.
The nodes were visible in a scan from April of this year, but no one caught it. I raised the issue today with the doc. I told him it would not have made any difference in the outcome, the cancer had metastasized before we caught it. It would have made a difference in treatment though. We might have bought some more time. The doc agreed. I told him that on behalf of future husbands and wives, that she be addressed. He agreed with that also.
The long shot for biopsy result is that the nodes could, on a far outside chance, be a fungal infection. A side effect of a immune system compromised by radiation and chemotherapy. The doc said, "Don't ask me what the percentage of cases are, just know it does happen." We're good with that.
Barring the fungal infection, we face the question of how we attempt to slow the cancer while maintaining some quality of life. He and we want to see how fast this grows, see if we can "kick the can down the road a bit", before we make her sick with chemo. Give her some more time to take a run over to the coast. The bottom line, he said, is that he has no magic for this advanced cancer.
We went to the Chinese restaurant afterward, it's become a tradition. It's across the street from the hospital. We talk and laugh and cry there, the staff must think we're some serious drama queens. I told her about the fear I've been struggling with, about seeing her skin turn gray some days, and how this blog and telling our story seems to actually be helping me cope with that. Helps me get back to the now. She doesn't want me to do any sex scenes. WTF? That's the best part, for cryin' in the sink.
Friday we do a CT guided biopsy of the nodes in the lungs. The following Friday we will know what the real plan is. Today we discussed contingencies. The doc is an incredible person, honest and deliberate, and stressed to have to deliver the kind of news he had.
In short, he believes this is indeed metastatic cervical cancer. There are far too many nodes to treat surgically or even with radiation. 1 to 5, maybe it could be done. They haven't even attempted to count them all. I remember seeing at least 12 when I looked over the last CT scan, and those were the ones that my untrained eyes could grab while the slides scrolled in front of me. The rate of growth of the nodes is also telling. 5.5mm to 11.79 during treatment, for one of the nodes.
The nodes were visible in a scan from April of this year, but no one caught it. I raised the issue today with the doc. I told him it would not have made any difference in the outcome, the cancer had metastasized before we caught it. It would have made a difference in treatment though. We might have bought some more time. The doc agreed. I told him that on behalf of future husbands and wives, that she be addressed. He agreed with that also.
The long shot for biopsy result is that the nodes could, on a far outside chance, be a fungal infection. A side effect of a immune system compromised by radiation and chemotherapy. The doc said, "Don't ask me what the percentage of cases are, just know it does happen." We're good with that.
Barring the fungal infection, we face the question of how we attempt to slow the cancer while maintaining some quality of life. He and we want to see how fast this grows, see if we can "kick the can down the road a bit", before we make her sick with chemo. Give her some more time to take a run over to the coast. The bottom line, he said, is that he has no magic for this advanced cancer.
We went to the Chinese restaurant afterward, it's become a tradition. It's across the street from the hospital. We talk and laugh and cry there, the staff must think we're some serious drama queens. I told her about the fear I've been struggling with, about seeing her skin turn gray some days, and how this blog and telling our story seems to actually be helping me cope with that. Helps me get back to the now. She doesn't want me to do any sex scenes. WTF? That's the best part, for cryin' in the sink.
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