Bittersweet treasures

My beloved husband George lost his bladder cancer battle in the early morning hours of August 19. He was right here at home, in a hospital bed in our living room, overlooking the lake that he loved. He was ready for his journey. We had called Hospice who guided us through those last days; he received the sacrament and last rites of his Catholic faith; kids and grandkids were here in person or via FaceTime; he hugged every one of them, his dear treasures.

One last cribbage game with his favorite partner, Steve; several hand squeezes for me and then he grew tired and silent. My youngest sister was here with me and one of us held his hand through the night. My hand was firmly in his as he left for his new home with Jesus, our Lord and Savior who we worshipped together.

It was both bittersweet and a treasure. Calm, peaceful, beautiful. At 93, he earned his heavenly reward; he served the world well; he caught all the fish he needed; his WordFind books were full, his work was done. 

Relaxing with his WordFind
book of puzzles in Arizona  

We had a lovely funeral service for him at our church. It was perfect in every way, complete with an honor guard, a gun salute and a flag presentation to honor George, an Air Force veteran. A luncheon was enjoyed afterwards, a time to visit and relive memories.

And now here am I, alone and missing him more than words can say. But I have treasures now, too. Friends and family who never left me, neighbors whose offers of help mean so much, expressions of sympathy, memorial gifts, cards and phone calls, all reminding me I'm not alone. I have beautiful memories to savor. I’m very fortunate and very blessed.

I treasure above all the greatest gift my husband gave me: absolute and endless unconditional love. I will return his love beyond measure in my heart to the end of time. 

Rest well, my sweetheart.

Two down

Two.  #2  twodown

George had his second immunotherapy infusion this week. So far, so good. No big side effects, only perhaps increased fatigue and some lower abdominal pain that didn't last very long. 

Immunotherapy is relatively new as a cancer treatment but is more palliative than curative. It gives your own immune system a boost to help fight the cancer.  

And this is where the port comes in. The infusion can be given through the port, eliminating the need for those tricky IV pokes each time, assuming a viable vein can even be found. In George's case, that becomes a major challenge.

Before each infusion, he has blood draws that determine his overall status and ability to tolerate the infusion. Once the lab has released these results, we see a nurse practitioner who makes that determination. George's hemoglobin is still low but staying steady. His iron is still low as well contributing to his weakness, and so a series of iron infusions were ordered, separate from the immunotherapy appointments.  

So now we simply put the key in the ignition and our Suburu automatically goes to the hospital cancer center. Who needs an electric car?

MHealth Fairview Hospital, Wyoming, Minnesota

The staff at the cancer center are very kind and it's not an altogether unpleasant experience. To prepare for our winter in Arizona, we will need to find an oncologist there, arrange to have the immunotherapies ordered and of course, find a cancer center where we can continue the course. 

Hopefully, we'll be able to continue the "so far, so good" reports. We thank you for all your support and encouragement. 

Thanks for listening to my random thoughts. If you would like to be added as a "Follower," I'd be 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.

November musings

Here it is, the last day of November. And I've posted nothing since mid-October. Topics for new posts come and go in my head and yet I never quite make it to the computer to jot them down.

I only hope you won't give up on me. I promise to do better. I love to write and I love even more that you think it worthy of reading my rambles.

So today, I will simply ramble about this and that.

Update on The C Word: My husband has his surgery to remove the cancerous bladder in early September. I could fill a page with the six weeks that ensued but you might never read another post of mine if I did that. Suffice it to say, the following six weeks involved four hospitalizations, two transitional care stays and some major bumps in the road. We often wondered if we would ever get past another bump as one issue after another seemed to crop up.

Fast forward to today: We have arrived at our winter home in Arizona and hubby is doing well. Today he is putting up our outdoor Christmas lights, greens and decorations.

Without the help of dear and longtime friends, I'm not sure we would be in such great shape. Since they arrived earlier, they got our car ready by reconnecting the battery, removing the wheel covers, blowing up tires, washing it, and having it all ready to drive. They washed our carport, removed the deck covering, anchored in place by heavy blocks, cleaned the deck, washed the deck rails, made sure we had some groceries, then picked us up from the airport which involved transporting Catrina, the cat, along with us and our four heavy bags of luggage.

To top it off, they had dinner ready for us a couple of hours later. A warm, nourishing meal complete with Cherry Crisp for dessert. Are they friends to cherish or what? We're so glad they are ours!

My sister, Joan, gave up two days to care for us before we left while I was ill, tending to me, driving George to two doctor appointments (one in a blizzard), and making sure we were in good shape to leave. Then she drove us to the airport.

So our November was filled with gratitude and thanksgiving, the likes of which we felt deep in our soul. Grateful for family, grateful for friends; above all, grateful to God who made His presence known and felt working through these dear ones.

Thanksgiving brought the coldest day in thirty years in Minnesota. Yet here in Arizona, we set a record high of 87 degrees. Such a contrast.

So as I muse, our November was a month of contrasts: sick versus well, independent versus dependent, giving versus receiving, cold versus hot. But always and constantly blessed.

I hope you will be patient with me as I regain momentum and and that you'll continue reading as I post into December and beyond.

Thank you to each of you for your loyal readership. I don't take you for granted.

The C word

The dreaded C-word, cancer, has come to our house.

And it came with no warning. No symptoms, no complaints, no suspicions. And completely uninvited, not to mention unwelcome.

My husband went to our local pharmacy to renew some scripts and was told he needed to see the doctor before one of them could be refilled. This was fairly routine and a good medical practice. He dutifully made his appointment and went in to the clinic for the required checkup.

While there, the doctor did some blood work, another good medical practice. Prescription refilled, all was well. So we thought.

Except the blood work revealed a very high creatinine, whatever that is, level and some other abnormalities. Our doctor said my husband was in kidney failure and needed to see a nephrologist, which we never knew existed nor did we know what it was, and an appointment was already scheduled for us that same week.

The nephrologist, which we now know is a kidney specialist, sent us to a urologist. Okay, we knew what that was. After an exam and a cystoscopy, which I insisted on watching, a mass was seen on top of the bladder. I saw it with my own non-medical eyes.

From there, we went to the University of Minnesota to yet another doctor, this time a specialist in urology surgery. It was the first time the C-word was mentioned as he said matter-of-factly that most of the time, these masses are cancerous. Surgery was scheduled to remove the mass but first a nephrostomy tube (another new concept) was inserted through his back into the kidney for drainage and to minimize further kidney damage which was already compromised.

Following surgery, tissue from the mass was sent for a pathology review, which we knew was normal and expected procedure. What wasn't expected was the results, showing it was a stage T-2, invasive cancer of the bladder, in medical-speak.

Thus the C-word came into our house, invading not only my husband's bladder but our sense of security and overall well-being; also disrupting our normal, hum-drum, bordering on boring, daily routine.

Many, if not most, of you have been touched by this dreaded word and dreadful disease. Up to now, we have been fortunate so for us this awakens new feelings and issues, and causes a slightly sinking feeling in our hearts.

However, since this diagnosis and the recommendation that my husband have his bladder removed and a stoma or pouch surgically placed for urine collection, we have heard countless stories of successful outcomes about people who have gone through this themselves, or their brother-in-law, niece,  other relative or friend had experienced the same thing. All resuming normal lives and activities.

We are grateful for the sharing of these stories and hope to add to them my husband's success as well.

We have a lot of hope; yet we know there are some for whom hope is not offered. We will now know the gripping feeling of just hearing the C-word spoken and will pray for all those on their own journey with cancer, or sharing the journey with a loved one. God bless and give you all strength.