It's a Beautiful Day

I went swimming today

for the first time in months

It felt good.

They had me scheduled for

a hysterectomy

when the MRI shows I have cancer in

my bones.

The cancer in my femur bone

had almost eaten the bone away

so Dr. Harris refused to operate.

Dr. Groundland, the orthopedic surgeon,

assured her that since I have no pain,

it would safe to operate.

A week later,

she performed the long-awaited for

hysterectomy.

She also cleaned up scar tissue

and gooey sticky gunk from endometric surgery

nearly 50 years ago

but she couldn’t get all the cancer

that, unfortunately, was both inside and outside

the uterus.

As implausible as it sounds,

it was also breast cancer.

Breast cancer is back in the breast also.

“Breast cancer never comes back this soon.”

“Breast cancer rarely goes to the uterus.”
While I was wiping between my toes,
standing in a figure 4 position,
a sharp pain shot through my hip.
A hairline fracture.
That changed everything.

Two days later,the orthopedic surgeon

put a rod in my femur bone

from hip to knee.

The biopsy showed it to be

breast cancer also.

It has spread throughout my body.

Stage 4 - metastasis.

“We can treat you

but we cannot cure you.”

--When your oncologist gives you a hug,

when the GYN surgeon frowns and says

“It seems all I give you is bad news.”

And your orthopod pats you on the knee

and says, “I’m sorry.”

And when you get the same nurse preparing you

for both surgeries,

And on the second one, she sits by your bedside and asks:

“What happened to you?

You’ve lost your spunk.

You were quite feisty with the first surgery.

I like feisty.”

(For one thing,

with the first surgery,

I had been bleeding for seven weeks

and they had me get all undressed

and then went into a panic mode

when I bled all over the bed and floor.)--
You know you are in BIG trouble.

Thank heavens Brent was here for both surgeries.

His family came to help the week I had the second surgery.

They did wonders with Eddy.

Brent even had him doing yoga – downdog and all.

He taught him to put on his own fins.

To cook his own breakfast and lunch,

make his bed, clean his bathroom.

Our favorite was he taught him to pee in a cup.

“I love my pee-cup,” Ed brags.

No more mopping up around the toilet daily.

(Remember Uncle Ed used a can when he was out on the boat

fishing on Panguitch Lake all day.

He called it a Pecan (pee-can).)

Jan taught Ed to do the laundry and run the microwave.
Amy has become our chief cook.
She is so much better than I ever thought of being.
She tried to keep the counters clean
but soon gave up on that with no help.
DeRay makes corned beef and cabbage
and vacuums.

Amy, DeRay, Brooke and Elizabeth

have all risen to the challenge.

Someone was with me day and night

all the time I was in the hospital

for both surgeries.

Just this past Monday,

Elizabeth drove me down to the Huntsman Cancer Center

We left at 10:20

and didn’t get home until after 5.

I couldn’t do it alone.

Faslodex shots,

x-rays,

IV for infusion and blood tests,

as well as meeting with several doctors.

(The Pharmacy makes up the infusion serum special

for each individual - $10,000 each.

Once a month.)

I had radiation on my femur bone

because the surgeon couldn’t get all the cancer out.

I’ll have radiation on other bones as they

become painful.
I've lost track of the number of big steel cylinder machines
that have scanned up and down my body
and around and around
with my feet strapped together
and my hands hanging onto something
to keep them stable.
If you dare to open your eyes,
it seems the room is going around.
Close them quickly.

When Verla brings food,

she doesn’t just bring it for one meal

It lasts at least a week.
Brooke & Elizabeth make special occasions
more special
by inviting us over for delicious meals.

I am so thankful to everyone,

for the prayers, plants, flowers, and food.

So far the $640 a pill pills haven’t killed me.

I’m learning to walk with canes,

hoping to abandon the walker soon.

(I know we have others in our family

who use a walker

or can’t even do that now.)
The guy who moves a cone so we can park
at the theater
walks on steel tubes for legs,
whatever the weather.
Lord, forgive me when I whine.
I have two legs, the world is mine.

A physical therapist, who happens to be my neighbor,

comes twice a week.

When I leave this frail existence

When I lay this mortal by

Father, Mother may I meet you

In the royal courts on high.

Until then,

may each day count.

“It's a beautiful day.

I’ve never seen this day before.”