Recently in LIVESTRONG® Category

I did not want to admit defeat; I refused to give up until the last minute. But the truth of the matter is I have no LIVESTRONG™ Day venue. My last back-up turned me down today. I'm very disappointed, but several very wise women have pointed out that LIVESTRONG™ Day is not just one day. And I intend to try and manifest that idea.

Moreover, I encourage you to observe LIVESTRONG™ Day on your own. Wear yellow. Visit someone having cancer treatments to give them comfort and encouragement. Honour the memory of someone who succumbed to this wretched disease. Celebrate the life of someone who has made it through treatment.

AND, last but not least:

PLEASE go get some sweeties at Vicky Fletcher's Cookies for a Cure Bake Sale.

• WHERE: In Front of The Orem Wal-Mart SuperCenter, 1355 S SANDHILL RD, Orem, Utah.


• WHEN: Tuesday, May 13, 2008 from 11:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m.

I'm so grateful that your surgery went well, today, Uncle Ralph. And though I know it's frightening for her, I'm glad that Grandma finally gets to go home on Friday.

After a lifetime of contusions, bruises, rashes, scratches, cuts, abrasions, sprains, bumps and boo-boo's, I've actually BROKEN SOMETHING. Yup, I have an oblique fracture of the fifth meta-tarsal. If the X-rays would scan, I'd show you (yes, I had copies made - 'CAUSE HOW COOL). And what's more, the physician, who was an expert in sports medicine, who just happened to be doing his one night of the week at the InstaCare, called me a "Stud."

I think perhaps that should be a synonym for "Really Stupid." In the first place, this injury occurred last Tuesday evening, right before I went in to teach my Tuesday night musical theatre class at the Barlow Arts Conservatory. I will talk about the Conservatory soon at which time I will praise and commend it at length. And I may even mention my upcoming guest appearance in the Annual Super-Duper Barlow Arts Conservatory recital in which I will be playing Miss Hannigan.

Anyhoo, I had donned my ballet slippers, as one wears dance shoes on the expensive dance floor; it's the respectful thing to do. Besides, it places me in ridiculous Amazonian contrast to the wee tiny ballerinas in their pink slippers and matching ensembles. From the tiled lobby to the dance floor there is a difference of an inch or two between which there is a lovely sloped threshold. It was upon this threshold that, during a moment of "warm-up" - OKAY - horseplay, I fancied that I'd toss a lil' jeté into my day. At this point I - and beware of this fancy medical vernacular - royally smushed my foot to bits (pronated it to pieces?). It wasn't one of my weak ankles, as usual (which is why I own more than one ankle brace). It was my left foot itself.

The best part is that I just started that class and walked on my foot for at least half the time. I somehow managed to avoid the most strikingly painful moves. But when I removed my slipper (which ended up acting like a compressive device of sorts) I knew I'd done a doozy. I worked in health care long enough to learn my "R.I.C.E." - Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation - so I iced, rested and elevated for a couple of days, limped on the thing to tour some potential short course venues, and then rested it some more... And OHHH the cool and migrating bruises.

Today, I taught my Monday musical theatre class in a grandly gimpy fashion. Then the ballet Moms scared me. They regaled me with tales of injuries of dancers who thought their breaks were just sprains, and then weeks later... Long story short (yes, too late as usual), I decided that I'd best get my foot checked out, especially since I am only insured until June 1st. Therefore, after x-rays and examination, I was deemed a stud for walking on a substantial break for almost a week. And were I an actual DANCER who had any excuse to be doing fancy-schmancy moves, I could take great comfort in the fact that this is one of the most common "dance" injuries. But I'm there as the VOCAL expert. So just call me Stupid Super Stud in my "Walking Boot." Oh - and Clinton and Stacy would NOT approve of this footwear (particularly the fact that I own clunky enough shoes to match the height and chunkiness of the medical boot. Oh well.

*In Junior High it is extremely likely that I cracked my tail-bone (dancing in the garage with a bucket - SHUT UP), but one cannot do anything about that, so I never had it verified. I did sit funny for a few years...

LIVESTRONG™ Day 2008 is fast approaching: Tuesday, May 13, 2008. And I must say, I'm a little discouraged and sad. I'm sad because we have a new cancer diagnosis in the family. Granted, that is why I'm involved in this "cause"; we need not only to find cures and help those who cannot survive cancer to die with dignity, but we need to STOP the many diagnoses that would be so easy to prevent. But still, in the back of my mind I guess I still have a small belief that every family has a "cancer quota" and we are FAR BEYOND IT.

I am discouraged, because I had a plan for a LIVESTRONG™ Day 2008 activity that was all about disseminating information and awareness - Cancer Awareness: "Knowledge is Power" - at a hospital in Salt Lake (as well as giving away Wristbands, etc.). I had a positive impression after speaking with the PR director; she just needed to speak with the hematology/oncology big-wigs. They kept me hanging on for almost a month, but I honestly didn't think they'd turn me down so I hadn't checked with my possible contingency locations. WRONG. No go.

I called another venue. Again, the public relations person seemed very positive. However, the next day, after consulting with whoever it was who had to be consulted, she sent me an email saying they'd decided it wasn't "a good fit." This institution has "cancer" IN THEIR NAME, so I'm a tad baffled.

I'm certainly not "dissing" these places in terms of the quality of their care. I just don't understand why they aren't on board with this opportunity. I'm NOT fundraising, as I assumed that would be a problem with not-for-profit entities; I just want to educate and inform people. Also, I want to give people a chance to memorialize someone they've lost to cancer, someone who's fighting cancer, or someone who has had great success with treatment.

Last year in D.C. was so amazing. Granted, I lost a friend and an uncle while I was there. And much, MUCH less importantly I spent that important day with a dead animal appended to the back of my head.

This year, the Lance Armstrong Foundation is closing its doors on LIVESTRONG™ Day. Everyone who works there will be attending one of the more than 500 LOCAL events taking place around the country. I haven't COMPLETELY lost hope that I'll find a venue (if you wouldn't mind a crazy lady sitting in your lobby ANYWHERE - oh WITH her amazing, beautifulest survivor Niephew, Sarah - handing out awareness information and FREE wristbands, please let me know). No matter what, I want to make you aware of at least ONE Utah opportunity (you can go to the LANCE ARMSTRONG FOUNDATION website to look up activities near you):

PLEASE go get some sweeties at Vicky Fletcher's Cookies for a Cure Bake Sale (she is the LIVESTRONG™ Local Army Leader Utah Valley - she was already doing ALL the hard work but I had to convince her that she might be able to use the title at some point as she's she's very, very humble).

I'll keep you posted as to my progress in terms to finding a venue (which is NOT to say that you should miss out on buying pastries from Vicky Fletcher!).

Just a quick update on Grandma Lee. She had her colon resection yesterday. Following is a brief description (and YES, I say "rectum" at least twice, possibly three or four times - so you can either ignore the paragraph altogether or just suck it up):

The surgery went pretty well. They removed the tumor, which sounded like it was even longer than any of the scan images I've seen. They took out the rectal stent (hallelujah). The surgeon was able to connect her intestines/colon to her rectum, but the tissue is fragile, swollen and whatnot (partially because of the radiation) and at one point they found a little fistula in part of her small intestines (which they fixed). Consequently, he did an illiostomy (looping part of the small intestine to keep some of the waste from going through rectum, giving it time to heal better in order to avoid a failure of the connection and a permanent colostomy).

She's in intermediate care now - a step below the Intensive Care Unit - (largely due to her age - she's 81) so that they can take closer care of her. She's stable. I think her biggest complaint right now would be dry mouth (she's going through those little spongy mouth moisteners like there was no tomorrow) because she can't have anything - not even ice chips - until her bowels make some sort of appropriate "noise." I don't know what it's supposed to be, but I hope it's musical and happens very soon.

Thanks to everyone for their love and support.

Okay, he didn't directly cause me to turn on the waterworks, but it is, without question, his fault. It was, after all, an item I found through his "Check It" that precipitated my tears.

As usual, I have some 'splainin' to do. Periodically, I visit The Art of Blogging Without Blogging to see Western Dave's photos - sometimes lovely, sometimes whimsical, sometimes bizarre... Then I take a look at his "Check It" list. The title inspires me, despite my status as "Whitest Woman in the World," to sing (just in my mind - never fear - only a half-crazy impulse) "Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch CHECK IT OUT! Wha-wha-wha-wha What's it all about?" Inexcusable, I realize.

Last week or so a tidbit about Mister Rogers caught my eye. Thursday, March 20th would have been Mister Rogers' eightieth birthday. Western Dave linked to the following announcement about wearing one's favourite sweater that day. Please watch it; it's Mr. McFeely after all (and just so you know, HE'S NOT REALLY OLD. I'd rather not admit MY age when I learned about that). Here's some additional information concerning the event:

In honor of what would have been Mister Rogers' 80th birthday on March 20, Mr. McFeely -- aka David Newell, the public relations director for Family Communications, Inc. (the nonprofit company founded in 1971 by Fred Rogers) -- has a special request.

"We're asking everyone (including members of the media) everywhere (from Pittsburgh to Paris) to wear their favorite sweater on that day," he asks. "It doesn't have to have a zipper down the front like the one Mister Rogers wore on the program, it just has to be special to you."

Sweater Day is part of Pittsburgh's 250th anniversary celebration and the first-ever "Won't You Be My Neighbor?" Days March 15 -- 20.

"We wanted to recognize Fred in a way that would reflect his deep appreciation of what it means to be a caring neighbor," explains FCI's Margy Whitmer.

As a result, "'Won't You Be My Neighbor?" Days was born as a means of promoting neighborliness throughout Fred Rogers' own backyard -- Southwestern Pennsylvania region.

Throughout WYBMND more than 30 organizations have signed up to participate.

For more information about Sweater Day and "Won't You Be My Neighbor?" Days visit www.misterrogers.org.

This project supported in part by Pittsburgh 250 Community Connections and The Sprout Fund."

After watching Mr. McFeely, I watched Mister Rogers in couple of videos. The footage of him testifying in front of Congress in 1969 is just amazing. With a gentle spirit but perfect candor - and in less than ten minutes - he prevented a grant for the Corporation of Public Broadcasting from being cut in half. Quintessential Fred Rogers. Kind, honest and compassionate to everyone he encountered.

Some people don't get it. His genuine and unparalleled sincerity was and is so rare; perhaps that's why some people just can't buy it. They should watch this:

Sitting alone in the middle of the night, only part-way through a minute and twenty-five seconds of film, I found tears streaming down my face. This is the section that hit me the hardest:

I'm just so proud of all of you who have grown up with us. And I know how tough it is some days to look with hope and confidence on the months and years ahead. But I would like to tell you what I often told you when you were much younger: I like you just the way you are.

I like you just the way you are.

Tomorrow is very festive SUPER n' FAT TUESDAY!!!

If you're voting in the Primary Election tomorrow, please consider a essential and largely forgotten issue in this race for a new President: THE WAR ON CANCER, THE NUMBER ONE CAUSE OF DEATH FOR AMERICANS UNDER AGE EIGHTY-FIVE that has received an obscene lack of coverage.

This year, the Lance Armstrong Foundation sponsored the LIVESTRONG™ Presidential Cancer Forum on August 27 and 28, 2007, inviting all Democratic and Republican Candidates to share their views on cancer and related healthcare issues. Six candidates responded (and not to show any personal bias, but four Democrats accepted the invitation and only two Republicans did. Hmm). If you'd like to see video or read transcripts of what the candidates said (even though only a few of these candidates are left in the race) as well as commentary on the forum, visit the LAF's Presidential Cancer Forum Page. At the very least, I do think it gives a sense of prevalent attitudes for each of the major parties concerning this topic.

So celebrate SUPER FAT TUESDAY! Sin, beads, politics - it's all good.

You know - tibbles - a summary of bits and pieces - catching up with the highlights from a time period in which I've been either too lazy, busy, crazed or tied up by kidnappers to update my blog for my faithful reader(s). They are like stringettes. Individual stringettes... Simpson's Individual Stringettes - for attaching notes to pigeon's legs, DESTROYING HOUSEHOLD PESTS.... NO, no, no - I shan't go down that road, I shall not. Tying up very small parcels...

Mock all you want; this phrase will be sweeping the nation before you can say...uhm..before you can say - "SIMPSON'S INDIVIDUAL STRINGETTES!" Ah, but where to start.

Well, on December 22, 2007, my darling niephew (that all-encompassing phrase "niephew" will sweep the Nation, too - I have no doubt) Anders turned three AND truly beautiful baby Moses Giles Samuelson-Lynn was born (who doesn't look ANYTHING like Winston Churchill or Chairman Mao, as babies often do at first).

In January, hearty congratulations to lovely Niephew Sarah who officially graduated (with excellent test scores, indeed). There was even a ceremony with two dozen or so other "non-traditional" students. My faux Niephew, Tyler, was even one of the speakers (it was awesome - he gave a completely extemporaneous graduation speech - I think the sweeping hand gestures made it). They gave them diplomas and tassels, but had I known their would NOT be caps and gowns (even LEIF got a cap and gown to graduate from St. Marguerite's kindergarten) I'd have loaned her mine (from my University graduation - yes, I had to BUY it - I could rant about how stupid that is - but she could have been the first high school graduate with a Phi Kappa Phi ribbon on their ensemble).

This past Tuesday I took Grandma Lee (SHHHHHHHH - DON'T TELL HER - REMEMBER: EVERYTHING I SAY ABOUT GRANDMA IS A SECRET FROM HER) to get her chemo pump attached and for her first radiation treatment. She had an Implantable Venous Access Port (a "Super" or "Power Port) put in last week and tattoos and other preparations for her radiation. I think it's a great delivery system for her. They've been able to give her iron infusions through it and blood samples. And when she's not hooked to her chemo pump she can even shower because the port is under the skin.

The chemo pump is amazing. Over the course of a week it dispenses a gradual dose of chemotherapy (in her case FU5) in a small machine that you carry around in a fanny pack (alright you Brits - STOP LAUGHING - "Bum Bag"). This lessens possible side effects and makes her simultaneous treatments (chemo and radiation) so much easier. They just refill it every week and flush out her port.

I wish she felt better, but the size of the tumor is substantial (it's a "bulky" mass that's probably been growing and bleeding for a long time) and it compromises the walls of the colon. Since her lymph nodes are involved as well, one of the specialists said it was important to shrink the tumor before they did any surgery. He was also so concerned about a possible bowel blockage that he inserted a stent to keep her colon open. I'd no idea that you could do that. I'd make a joke in poor taste that she was jealous of my Dad's two stents and had to get a bigger one and put it in an - uhm - unexpected location, but it's not really funny; she's incredibly uncomfortable. We believe she's probably in pain as well, but she won't cop to anything but "discomfort." Hopefully when the tumor shrinks she'll get some relief. Three radiation treatments down, twenty-two to go: You hang in there, Grandma! (shhhhhh)

Which brings up an important reminder: NEVER, EVER FORGET THAT ANYTHING I WRITE OR SAY ABOUT GRANDMA LEE MUST NEVER GET BACK TO HER EVER. EVER EVER.

Today - mmm - yesterday, technically, as we are the medical havoc and ruination family, Shirleen had eye surgery. Well, tear duct surgery, to be more specific (up through her nose). She has an unusual condition (WHAT - Shirleen has an unusual condition?) that causes her left tear duct to run constantly and squirt arbitrarily. They were not able to find a non-surgical solution (flushing it out and whatnot), so after they scanned to make sure there was nothing in her eye orbit that might even be connected to her brain (or something like that) she helped schedule her own surgery (since she works in the hospital in that department). She even threatened to get off the table in a surgical gown and go to work if they made her wait or something.

Anyhoo, the surgery was quick and successful (even though the doctor had to repair a deformed nasal turbinator - ?). Unfortunately, in recovery her nose started to hemorrhage. And why? Because if some sort of freakish thing can happen to Shirleen during a medical and/or dental procedure it likely will. They successfully stopped the bleeding; this process evidently involved something called a "nose torpedo." She's still wearing it, from what I understand. OH, ALAS, FOR YOUR SCHNOZ TO BE BETTER VERY SOON, SHIRLEEN! Oh - and anyone who wants is welcome to pass that along - go crazy.

And my dear Monkey Cats, your Crazy Heathen Aunt Cake Kate hasn't forgotten you. How could she? YOU HAUNT HER DREAMS! Ha ha. In a GOOD way? It was Solo and Ensemble Competition time again on Wednesday. No prevaricating blossoms of any kind this year; we had placid Ernest Charles trio, Clouds, this time. They did a very lovely job, and I don't think I made the "bell-like" chords sprinkled throughout the piece entirely TOO cacophonous (in performance). My principal goal for me was to NOT repeat the rubber-chicken-moment debacle of last year's competition.

I also played for M.C. Nessa's solo. She sang a lovely Fauré piece that I massacred when I played it for M.C. Amy's audition for Chamber Choir last year (they took her in spite of my über-dissonant additions). I was very proud of her because she introduced herself DECLARATIVELY and CONFIDENTLY (AMEN), sang lovely French and, most importantly, kept going and was poised when she forgot some lyrics. A lesson for ALL PERFORMERS. Oh - and with MY Monkey Cats there's never an "Adam and Eve" pose in sight.

I even got to do an almost completely unrehearsed performance of Bist Du Bei Mir with a euphonium player. "Little King," a wee freshman, was abandoned by his accompanist a couple of hours before the competition, so I agreed that I'd probably be better than nothing (M.C. Amy would have certainly played it better, but she was already accompanying seven thousand people and singing with another five hundred or something very, very close to that). It was a very creative performance that sounded nothing like Lady of Spain. And I've no doubt that he will learn some semblance of tempo with a little more experience. The tone was nice... Oh - and Adam Keith owes me $15. I'll take that in small cash bills. (?)

We found my entirely too grown-up Niephew Will ACTUALLY FILLING OUT PERFORMANCE REVIEWS. He became an honorary Monkey Cat for the evening, did the "Money Dance" at arbitrary moments throughout the afternoon/evening (he's on the Junior Varsity Ballroom Dance Team - that's really all the explanation I can dream up). We deviated from tradition with a Jamba Juice break, but we did end up with the requisite Taco Bell feast. We waxed nostalgic about past Taco Bell feasts, talked about their plans after high school (They are graduating! My baby Monkey Cats are Graduating. Monkey Kittens?) and they confirmed that I am, indeed, very, very old. You've just gotta love them. Hugs and Kisses, Monkey Cats!

Last week my Grandma Lee was diagnosed with colon cancer.

As is often the case, the symptoms that became the most acute and were the blatantly obvious did not point right away to the ultimate diagnosis. Initially, it looked like congestive heart failure, especially since she has respiratory problems that are, for the most part, untreated (they can either cause congestive heart failure over time or be a result thereof). When some of the blood tests came back from her initial visit, it was determined that her hematocrit was obscenely low (about half of what is normal - worse than Sarah's before they diagnosed her Hodgkin's - and you don't want to tell your Grandma that she looks positively corpse-like). She was given an infusion, but that didn't bring her hematocrit up enough. It was then thought that perhaps she had bleeding ulcers. She was given upper and lower g.i. tests including a long-overdue colonoscopy (she'd had polyps the last time she'd had one - fifteen years ago).

Her stomach was fine. Unfortunately, the doctor could immediately tell that she had a cancerous mass in her colon. He did think that the area (about four inches of her colon, I think) could be excised and her intestines reconnected. However, now the tumor (I'm crossing my fingers for just one) needs to be tested and staged, and she is having a number of other diagnostics to pinpoint and hopefully rule out spread of the disease. Today she also started on a series of iron infusions that the oncologist hopes will bring up her hematocrit.

Now you may ask why I said, "Secretly." Well, the truth of the matter is that she would be completely horrified if she knew I was doing this. And it's not just because of her personality and propensity for anxiety (in MY FAMILY - how could that BE?). She is "of a generation" where you don't say "cancer" except, perhaps, in a whisper. Her sister, for instance, whose husband, my Uncle Ron, died this summer, did not want to talk about the "cancer" aspect of his illness. To someone like me (and my cousins) this doesn't make sense. His illness WAS cancer. And I believe in speaking about it.

I believe this so strongly, in fact, that I volunteered a number of months ago to be the "leader" of the LIVESTRONG™ Local Army in Utah. I haven't done anything to advertise, "get going" with a word-of-mouth campaign or organized any events - these are my responsibilities. Well, there's nothing like a wake-up call like this.

And now I will present two wholly antithetical requests for today:

• DO NOT TELL GRANDMA LEE THAT I POSTED ANYTHING ON THE INTERNET ABOUT HER CONDITION. BBo, Tracy, Family, PLEASE don't say anything. I don't want her to be so angry at me that she will not accept my help. You may wonder why I'm wantonly disregarding her obsessive need for privacy. Call me a big fat hypocrite (I TRIPLE-dog-dare you), but I believe that what she does not know (in THIS case) will not hurt her. That's the antithetical part.
• And why? BECAUSE WHAT YOU DON'T KNOW CAN HURT YOU. A colonoscopy of one of the best cancer defenses we have currently. Part of my responsibility of a LIVESTRONG™ Day Delegate last year was to help convey important messages to our Legislators. One of the requests we made was for parity in diagnostic testing (like legislation that is already in place to help with mammograms and PAP testing - I'll discuss some serious complications with these laws another time), such as colonoscopies and PSA testing.
  
  
  

  My Father, for instance, could have colon cancer in addition to his (prostate) bone cancer. They excised two (or was it three?) pre-cancerous polyps during his colonoscopy a few years back. I even saw the pictures.

  So indeed, that's the important message here (and I do not care if it's redundant - and I assure you that you'll hear it AGAIN even if I have to resort to graffiti): Do the preventive testing that is prescribed at the appropriate age. Well - start with getting check-ups IN GENERAL. And do consider your family history. Some cancers have a larger genetically inheritable component than others. For instance, my brothers should have PSA tests YOUNG, and my Dad's brothers should NOT ever miss them, because my Father has his initial Stage II prostate cancer in his mid-forties. Moreover, my Father's Father had prostate cancer (though it was not the cause of his death).

  Now, since my Grandmother has colon cancer and my Father had pre-cancerous polyps, some schools of thought would say that my siblings and I should start having colonscopies at age forty instead of fifty. As it is, since my Grandmother had a polyp at her last colonoscopy, they told my Mother that she needs her next colonoscopy in five years instead of ten (the same goes for my Father, because of his polyps).

So that's it for now. I shall be enlisting your help (almost literally "enlisting," come of think of it). And you shan't turn me down, because I AM YOUR LEADER! Okay, I'm your leader if you're in Utah, but if you think I won't sic the leaders from States on you (and most of them have regional leaders in their States, so it will be easier to get you), you are sadly mistaken.

I love you, Grandma! And we are all there for you (even though we might not mention why or how).

My Dad spent the last few days especially grateful to be alive. The angiogram and resultant angioplasties in and of themselves are not serious procedures, relatively speaking. Two stents are certainly better than a quadruple bypass or - well - a fatal heart attack.

But my Father has spent the last two years having symptoms of heart problems (despite medication and and a lifestyle designed to manage his hereditary high blood pressure and high cholesterol). And OH what a family history. He's the oldest of eight siblings, and at least one of his brothers has already had serious heart trouble. His mother's cholesterol (and she's tiny) has been as high as 400. She's had miny strokes, her siblings have died of heart trouble and strokes. My paternal grandfather died unexpectedly of a heart attack* at age seventy; one moment he was walking around, and a moment later he fell over and was gone. Just like that.

And here's the rub: My Dad had a treadmill test a few years back; it was inconclusive. A few other indeterminate exams here and there... And then in late April he had an MRI and an extensive series of accompanying tests (despite the fact that the insurance company did not want to pay for it - imagine that). The radiologist called my father's PCP and said everything was "clear."

Then, last week, he sent the doctor the actual report. I don't think anything on that report was "normal" except the size of my Dad's heart. The report indicated horrible percentages of plaque blockage in a number of locations and recommended immediate catheterization. Immediate.

This is what, in medical ethics terms, we call a MEDICAL MISTAKE. Yes, physicians are human; mistakes happen. And I found myself grateful that the radiologist sent the report at all, though I do hope he was horrified at what could have been a fatal delay. I imagine a scenario in which he was making calls SEVEN MONTHS AGO, reading from an overwhelmingly tall stack of reports, and he simply gave the wrong results to my father's doctor. Who can say.

All I know if that my father had started more and more often to feel faint and dizzy, fatigued, etc. So much of it you can write off: He has bone cancer, his schedule is ridiculous, he has sleep apnea and doesn't wear his CPAP enough, he puts the "a" in type "a" personalities (? - well, you get the picture), he has asthma, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and he deals with a ridiculous amount of stress.

Honestly, I felt like a heart attack was inevitable at some point in his life (especially when I've given him a really hard time, stressed him out and felt really guilty about it).

But then there was the cancer recurrence. And he'd delayed his colonoscopy for - oh - a decade (and said, "Well, I already have cancer," which was supposed to be a joke). When I finally dragged him to get one he had two (or was it three?) precancerous polyps that they were able to excise right then. The irony: Colon cancer can be quick and insidious (okay, lots of cancers can be so) and so he could have died of colon cancer before he even reaches a difficult point in his bone cancer treatment (it's really prostate cancer, but I always feel odd saying that since they did the radical prostatecomy years ago the "first" time he had cancer).

Then there's the ticking time-bomb hernia. Tomorrow he'll get a report about the tests he had on that last week. If it's BAD I'm not taking him to the airport Tuesday to go to Disneyland - NO SIR.

I don't know what I'm saying (insert joke here?), except that I, too, am grateful that my Dad's alive. And I'm very glad he feels so much better; getting a little oxygen flowing efficiently through your system will do that, I suppose. But retrospectively, I'm really frightened. I don't suppose that makes tons of sense, but so be it. He's actually healthier and now I feel afraid.

If the radiologist had suppressed the report or delayed it any longer, who knows when the massive myocardial infarction would have happened. Probably while my Dad was at work in the middle of the night. He might have ignored it until it was too late; he was getting so sick of "inconclusive" or supposedly "clear" tests.

AAAH! I cannot think about this any more.

Everyone? Please just TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES. And get your flu shot, please.

*I think that was it. He and my grandmother were in Germany at the time, so there is some confusion about the diagnosis (as he was the one fluent in German) - it could have been some sort of embolism. The whole thing was confusing; the airlines lost his body as it was being transported back to the States (just temporarily...).

Once I have my data loaded back onto my spankin' new hard drive, the changes begin:

• Mammogram update (no cancer - just a festive description of the experience).


• LITTLE WALLOP!!! I've been waiting for the right time to introduce this one forever.


• A belated update on the 2007 Gloucester Cheese Rolling Competition.


• Introducing two local LIVESTRONG Armies...


• Buh-bye, pink; welcome back "Midnight."

I'm excited. YOU SHOULD BE, TOO.