The port

George’s journey to cancer treatments began today with the implant of a port. This device, put in George’s right upper chest, will allow for the recommended immunotherapy to be administered without the constant needle pokes and IV starts each time.

We began the day with the 58 mile drive to MHealth Fairview Southdale hospital in Edina. After the usual registration paperwork, we were escorted to his suite-for-the-day and greeted by a lovely nursing assistant who recorded his vital signs and covered him with that wonderful blanket fresh out of the the warmer, the one—possibly the only one—benefit of day surgery.

He was able to rest for awhile under that nice warm blanket until the fun began with a nurse coming in to start an IV. 

This is never an easy job for even the most talented and skilled of nurses. George has been told he has “rolling veins” which seem to disappear entirely when a needle is anywhere near. It not only takes several tries but usually several nurses and several hot packs to achieve success.

Today was no exception. 

The third nurse to try finally got it as we all held our collective breaths. The IV in place with the patient now greatly relieved, it was discovered he had an order for some lab work. Normally this is not a big deal as blood is just withdrawn through the IV. But, as luck would have it, that wasn’t a go. A lab tech was called and more hot packs and needle sticks ensued.

When all preliminaries were complete, a nurse practitioner came to explain the procedure in detail. Using a model, she showed us what the port looks like and told us the advantages of having a port implanted. She also reviewed the care for afterwards. George will wear a bracelet after the procedure as an alert that he has a port.

Finally, his assigned nurse scrubbed the area on the upper chest and administered an antibiotic through his IV.

So now we’re ready and it’s time for set-go. Away he went down the hall for the hour-long procedure as I turned in another direction to the cafeteria for some lunch. I said a little prayer and knew he was in the Lord’s care.

When I returned to his room, he was already back, sound asleep and snoring up a storm. They said all went well and he could go home in another hour.

I have to put a plug in for the hospital staff. They were extremely busy, yet every staff member was kind, pleasant, professional, took more than ample time with us and made us feel important. God bless them for their tireless work. 

And now…bring on the treatments to arrest that cancer. 🥊

Thank you for listening to my random thoughts 

If you would like to join as a follower, I’d be beyond thrilled.

The C-word revisits

Back in 2014, I posted that my husband, George, was diagnosed with bladder cancer. It was alarming because he had no symptoms; it was found during a routine physical when something was flagged in his bloodwork. It led to a cystoscopy, several types of scans and tests, and ultimately the removal of his bladder and a urostomy bag for urine output. It was a rough surgery and a lengthy recovery. 

But after some trial and error and a few complications, he made it through and adjusted to the urine bag. He continued to have checkups at regular intervals, first very often, then every three months, then six, then yearly. When he reached the five-year mark, the scans continued to be clear and the doctor pronounced him cancer-free.

Fast forward to 2022.

What we thought was completely gone was a little too good to be true. In February, while we were in Arizona, George became very ill with nausea, constant diarrhea, chills, and loss of appetite resulting in a drastic loss of weight. Emergency room visits, hospitalizations, numerous doctor visits and scans became routine. He was diagnosed and treated for diverticulitis but nothing that was prescribed seemed to help. I couldn't imagine trying to get him back home to Minnesota where our regular medical care was. I really thought we were stuck in Arizona and my husband wasn't getting any better.

When we told our kids we just couldn't risk coming home, my son took charge, flew to Arizona to help close up the park model and get us packed, booked our airline travel, arranged for wheelchairs, and single-handedly managed George so I was quite literally just along for the ride. God bless him. 

Once home in Minnesota, we headed to the local hospital emergency room and George was admitted to the hospital. Another CT scan revealed a rather good-sized and suspicious-looking mass adjacent to the colon. A colonoscopy was ordered but was unsuccessful because the scope couldn't get past a certain point to get near the mass. George continued to get weaker and the decision was made to move him to a nearby transitional care unit. Another colonoscopy was ordered, this time at the University of Minnesota, and again, after an hour of trying, it was unsuccessful in reaching the mass to get a biopsy.

Finally, it was decided to try a needle biopsy by going to the site through the skin. Enough tissue was obtained to analyze and the results were not what we'd hoped, although admittedly we both had a gut feeling. The diagnosis was urothelial cancer. It was thought that when we assumed he was cancer-free, some nasty cells had crept their way up to the area just beside the descending colon. 

And now we have an oncologist to add to our medical team.

The next step was a PET scan and that, too, resulted in more unwelcome news. The cancer was seen in multiple lymph nodes. The oncologist, however, was glad to see it hadn't invaded the liver or other organs and we decided we'd take any shred of positive news we could get.

Why did I give you all this detailed background information? 

So many wonderful people including family, friends, relatives, neighbors and acquaintances have been asking about George's progress. So I thought about starting a CaringBridge site to keep everyone informed and updated. Then I remembered I have a blog!  So I'll use this way to update and let you know when there's a new post.

Next steps?

Next week a port will be implanted and a series of immunotherapy infusions will begin once every three weeks taking us to the end of September.  We're told there will be another CT scan in between to check his progress and, of course, more visits to the oncologist. 

But there are more fish 🐠 to be caught, more outdoor exploring to do, more cribbage games 🎴 to play, and much more doting on grandchildren and great-grandchildren. 

We are more than ready to hit the START button. 

Your prayers and positive thoughts are more than welcome.   🙏🙏

Thank you for reading my random thoughts.  
If you choose to join as a follower, I would be thrilled.

Press on…

I present what has now become my annual posting. Time was, I wrote many times a year, then down to several, then a few, now it seems New Years is all I seem to manage. But I still look forward to visiting with you on the start of a new year. It’s always such a fresh and new and hopeful time for me. 

Last year’s post lamented the fact that we had an unwelcome pandemic in our midst that halted everything and changed our lives in ways we’d never even imagined. Like I’ve often said, it was something straight out of a science fiction movie.

So the new year of 2021 arrived introducing some hope. We now had vaccines. Restaurants, movie theaters, hair salons—well, those that remained—were able to reopen and a bit of normal-ness slowly crept back in to our everyday routines. For us, that meant seeing friends we’d missed, enjoying outdoor concerts in the local park and a few picnics. We even became a little lax in grabbing our masks to leave the house. 

Then we learned about Delta. Then Omicron. Well, shoot, all of a sudden, we’re back to Square 1. Even worse. We put away all our cloth masks we’d accumulated and ordered the N95s, making sure a stash of them was available in the car, lest we forget ourselves when we walk out the door. 

Big *sigh.*

Now that I’ve recapped what you already knew, wherever you are in the world, allow me to share my mantra for 2022.

PRESS ON.

Press on… never losing hope for the days of the future but with our minds set on today. Today is what we have, what we’ve been given. Whatever our circumstances. 

Even limited, we can still make the world a better place. We can still pray. We can bring our neighbor a loaf of banana bread from our oven, offer to pick something up from the store so we both don’t have to risk going, make a telephone call to keep in touch, be encouraging when someone needs a pick-me-up.

Why do I write these flowery words of wise advice?

Because I need them. I need to write them, I need to read them. Over and over, every day. When I heed these words, I find I’m the winner. The one that comes out ahead. And many days, I’m behind.

So, press on. 

I need you, the world needs you. Take good care of yourself. 

All the best of God’s goodness is wished for you for this new year.

Thanks for allowing me to share my random thoughts.  💭

In with the new

Every year on New Year’s Eve, I write in my journal. I highlight events of the year with any travels we’d done, muse about a few resolutions, list the books read during the year and asterisk my favorites, and optimistically declare that the new year will be the best ever.

How does one sum up 2020? 

Yep. That about says it all, right? 

We all know the downsides to this past year. We’ve grumbled and complained, wore our masks, washed our hands, social distanced, stayed home, binge watched Netflix, worked on jigsaw puzzles, tried a few new recipes, and on and on. Our hair grew longer and grayer.  We lamented all the events and  gatherings we missed. We were introduced to Zoom. We ordered groceries online and Amazon thrived. My orders alone could send several kids to college.

I think the upside was.....well, never mind, I actually can’t think of any.

But aside from our indignant grumbles about the limitations Covid-19 placed on us during the past year, we have to admit they were petty if we were home safely, employed or had a steady income, had food and were well. The countless number of our world’s neighbors who lost both jobs and homes, lost loved ones, were hospitalized on ventilators and wondered if they would see another day, leave alone a new year, make others of us realize our inconveniences were small. 

But still, no matter our circumstances, the year wasn’t kind. So we say, goodbye, 2020 and good riddance.

So what will the new year bring? The start of another year is actually just another day, but turning the page on one year to the next always brings the fresh renewal of hope. 

At the risk of dating myself, do you remember the Magic Slate? You could scribble on it and make a mess but then lift the plastic and voila! the page was clean again. I remember taking out my frustration or maybe my anger and scribbling and pounding really hard on it, taking a deep breath, lifting the plastic, and it would all magically disappear. I could get on with the next thing. Ah, the drama of childhood.

I hope 2021 is like a Magic Slate for you. Lift the plastic and start a new slate. One that brings you renewed hope, gives you reason to feel optimistic, dream big, smile more, and care for your neighbor. Please, whatever you do, follow guidelines to stay safe and healthy.

2020–the year of the mask!


Thank you for reading my random thoughts. If you choose to be a follower, I’d be thrilled.

Peace, my friend

Caretaker of my soul

Be gentle with me

For I am tender and tired

Battered with the bruises

Of life and loss and love.

My pastor, Sarah L. Kerkes, wrote these words in a collection of published poems, Terra Incognita. They resonated with me today especially as I caught myself sighing over and over throughout the day. Long, deep sighs. 

At first I attributed this to just plain being busy. It happens whenever we relocate from Minnesota to Arizona for the winter months. Leaving our condo is a matter of turning the key and walking out the door. But arriving in Arizona means much to do. The summer desert dust has settled into all the nooks and crannies of our park model, coating all surfaces, windows and sills. Unpacking, restocking cupboards, cleaning and getting reestablished consumes many hours.

But that wasn't the reason for my sighs. 

We heard about coronavirus fatigue. Dr. Anthony Fauci coined the phrase in his CBS 60 Minute interview last Sunday, saying people are noticeably fatigued by the lockdowns, layoffs, shortages, descension into poverty. isolation, lack of socialization, and on and on.

Well, okay, I fall into that category just a very wee bit, knowing full well I am blessed abundantly by only suffering a little bit from lack of socialization. An introvert, this is very little, I might add. 

But it's not solely coronavirus fatigue. It's political campaign fatigue, unrelenting news of racism and white supremacy fatigue, arguments over a Supreme Court nominee fatigue, approaching a 75th birthday fatigue, once again being too far away from my grandchildren fatigue, the recent loss of my brother-in-law fatigue, and my hair graying fatigue.

And I know we all feel a bit of fatigue these days, for some of the reasons listed above and some not listed that are personal to you. I suspect there are many deep sighs out there. 

The poem implores God, caretaker of our souls, to grant us gentleness of spirit. It is gentleness we need right now, a quieting of voices, a hushing of shouts. Gentleness along with understanding to end hatred and violence, and the turning against each other. 

My friend recently gifted me with this lovely stitching made by her hands. I note that she is on the most opposite end of the political spectrum from me. We have had a few spirited discussions, but all with respect. I cherish her and as I look at her gift to me, my heart quiets.

 

When we dwell on love, don't you think our sighs contain less angst? Don't they seem to be made sweeter somehow?

So peace be with you, my friend. Go gently and sigh sweetly.

Thank you for listening to my random thoughts. And if you would like to join as a "follower" I would be thrilled.

Heaven and Earth

When I was in high school music class, we learned about singing in rounds. You know, like Row, row, row your boat and Make new friends but keep the old. 

We were introduced to a variety of multicultural rounds, one being a Jewish round, typically sung by children: David melech Yisrael, chai chai vekayam. It is a simple song consisting of only five words. 

The Hebrew translation to English remains simple as well:

            David David (is) king of Israel,
            David David (is) king of Israel
            David (is) king of Israel living and existing.
            Alive, living and existing
            David (is) king of Israel
            Alive, living and existing - king of Israel. 

Another was a German folk song sung in a two-part round. Himmel und erde. Roughly translated, it means something like: Heaven and earth shall pass away, but the music will never die. 

            All things shall perish from under the sky
            Music alone shall live, music alone shall live
            Music alone shall live, never to die.

These little songs stayed in my head until they were drowned out by Wake Up, Little Susie and Love Me Tender. I am very fickle when it comes to music. Basically I love all genres. (That excludes rap which is noise, not music.)

Summertime came and with it, our annual family vacation which consisted of an 8-hour car trip to visit Grandpa and Grandma on their farm in South Dakota.  For Dad it meant solo driving, for Mom it meant previous days of packing for eight. For six squirmy children - not me, of course - it meant a very long car ride crowded in the back of our Rambler station wagon. When boredom set in and the bickering started among my little sisters - all four of them - I decided to teach them these two little songs so we could sing them together in rounds.  

To my surprise, they were not only cooperative but enjoyed the singing and learned the songs quickly. The time in the Rambler passed in a much more pleasant manner.

Fast forward to 1994 as we planned our parents' 50th wedding anniversary dinner. We decided as part of the program, we'd bring back the memory of those long summer trips by singing the two little rounds. We laughed at the recollection of it, Mom and Dad loved it, and we've talked about it since. 

I don't think we will ever get those little folk songs out of our heads. Their memories serve us well.

Belgian heirloom lace

When I was married (the first time) in 1965, my mother’s long-time friend from her banking career days in New York City sent me two pieces of Belgian lace as a wedding gift. My mother told me her friend’s family was from Belgium and that’s likely where the lace was from.

Fast forward to now. 

I’ve kept in touch with this friend through the years but especially since my mother passed in 2011. This friend is now in her mid 90s. An active woman, she spent her entire career in banking and had been a volunteer at the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts for many years until her recent “retirement.” She regularly meets friends for lunch, a cultural tour, or the latest movies. She keeps up with all the New York and world news. Her life has been a recipe for living fully.

She recently told me she was going through her belongings and had a lot of lace passed down from her mother who first arrived in America from Belgium along with her sister and sister-in-law in 1913. They never intended to stay. But in 1914 World War I broke out and her mother in Belgium died. So all three young women decided to remain in New York City and began working as domestics and cooks. My friend says they never regretted their decision.

Her mother returned to Belgium in 1958 aboard the Hubbard American ship and spent eight months visiting her family in their village near Brussels. It was her one and only trip back to her home country.

When she returned to America from her visit, she brought back a carton of lace. Her two brothers and three sisters had collections of lace and material for making these delicate pieces, usually done in the wintertime and on rainy days. The carton of lace my friend inherited must be well over 100 years old. And to think most lace is now made by machine in China.

Have you seen Judge Judy on TV with her lace collar? My friend says her family made many lace collars which women wore in days past, wearing the same dress but changing the collar each day.

 My friend, my mother’s longtime dearest friend, did go through that carton of lace recently. I am the fortunate recipient of these very lovely heirloom pieces received in the mail this past week.

These pieces are very delicate and of course the photos don’t do them justice. 

It’s interesting that these were made in Belgium. The little I know about lace is that much came from England where there were many lace factories. Most were made with silk since cotton was more expensive due to high tariffs.

These Belgian pieces feel more like cotton was used but I could be wrong about that. In any event, what you can’t see from the photo are the very tiny, intricate hand stitches and what must’ve been painstaking work in their design. Then I imagine the lacemakers working in their homes using the little lighting they must’ve had. Amazing.

They will be used here and there in our home. They are too beautiful to be relegated to a drawer. This is the fifth piece gifted to me and I plan to have it framed.

Thank you, Leonia, my mother’s dear friend and now mine. I’ll always have a part of you and your heritage in these precious pieces of lace. 

Thank you for allowing me to share my thoughts with you. And if you wish to become a “follower,” I’d be thrilled!