Mixed Signals

Ed and I always

use hand signals when riding our trikes

on the streets.

Some people seem to think we are waving to them,

totally ignoring our signals.

One morning in the front of the church,

a guy on a motorcycle just about took me

out as I turned left, per my signal.

He passed me on my left

and I saw him turn and wave back

after we almost collided.

“I’M NOT WAVING, DUMBHEAD,” I thought,

“I’M SIGNALING.  GET IT?”

Ed and Brent at Navajo Lake 2011

The Big "C"

So we spent nearly two hours with the radiation doctor today.  No, not about me; about DeRay.  We’ve having a banner year.  The Big C has captured us.  DeRay has already started treatment--two simultaneous shots called Firmagon, one on each side of his stomach.  Firmagon is a unique hormonal therapy that treats advanced prostate cancer.  It reduces the body’s level of testosterone, which affects the growth of the prostate gland, including cancer cells.  He’ll have two more shots next week, then in a month or so he’ll start radiation treatment. 

Its common practice now to ignore prostate cancer in older men because it is assumed they will die of something else before the slow-growing cancer takes them.  In the 12 biopsies they took of DeRay’s prostate, four of them were cancerous.  Of the four, three of them were the slow-growing cancer and would pose no immediate danger.  Only one put him in an area that needs to be treated.

Prostate cancer spreads:  1)  By breaking through the capsule, which is so common that they always extend the treatment to cover this; 2) to the glands (lymph nodes); and 3) to the bones.  DeRay’s uncle knew he had prostate problems but delayed going to the doctor until the cancer had spread to his bones.  Very painful.  He then had radiation treatment for bone cancer – too late.  I think that’s why DeRay is being extra cautious.  Cancer is more easily treated when it is under 10 on the Gleason scale. DeRay’s is 7.

So DeRay is under the care of a Radiation Oncologist as well as the urologist in the Tanner Clinic.  They will both be there for the next treatments.  Two choices are offered for radiation treatment:  1) External Beam Radiation; or 2) Brachytherapy (or a radioactive implant).  The external beams are totally painless.  The radiation is aimed from different directions directly at the prostate but as radiation beams pass through the cancer area, normal tissues in front of and behind the cancer area are also “treated”.    

With the advice of the Radiation Oncologist, we have chosen the Brachytherapy (pronounced Breaky Therapy).  “Brachy” comes from the Greek root meaning “from within” or “close by” and refers to placing a radioactive source directly into or around the cancer area.  By treating from the inside out, brachytherapy delivers the high radiation dose needed to kill the cancer without the high risk of normal tissue injury.  During the short procedure in the operating room, approximately one-hundred seeds are placed throughout the prostate gland.  Radiation emits slowly from the seeds and travels just a few millimeters before it stops.  Seeds give a large dose of radiation to the prostate with very little radiation reaching the rectum or bladder.  DeRay will have six treatments--two each day for three days, two weeks apart.  Ohmygosh, you should see those long needles they poke in – at least 14” long.  Of course, only about the length of your finger goes in but still – intimidating.  Five hours between the two treatments of radioactive stuff in all these needles controlled by a computer.  Once it is over, you are safe.  No radioactive material escapes to contaminate anyone else.  No isolation.

There are very few diseases with as many different treatment options as prostate cancer. 

And that’s the gory story

of DeRay

and GammaWest Brachytherapy –

Did it take you two hours to read this?  What else did he talk about?  He talked a little about surgery but he’s not a surgeon and it’s never recommended for older men.  He’s a Radiation Oncologist who has brand new expensive equipment to pay off!  Go figure. 

BEAVER FOR BURRITOS

On Amy’s birthday in December,

she and her dad found a Vietnamese restaurant

in St. George that is the best ever.

We go whenever possible.

After our early morning walk,

a nice swim, the weight room,

cleaning and packing,

we decided to stop there

on our way out of St. George.

It’s 4 PM.

Ed eats on a schedule.

Breakfast at 9; lunch at 1; and dinner at 6.

At the restaurant,

he wouldn’t eat a bite.

He wouldn’t even taste it.

It’s not time.

As we travel along,

eventually 6 o’clock comes.

Why didn’t I take 5 minutes

to make him a peanut butter sandwich?

Amy won’t let him eat a banana in her car.

What to do?

“We can stop in Beaver and get a burrito,”

Amy suggests.

But it’s 6 PM right now.

 “Do you have a knife in the car, Amy?”

“No.”

“Do you have paper plates or paper towels?”

“No.”

“Do you have a spoon?”

“No.  Why would I?”

I would say she’s not very prepared

for this emergency.

DeRay sent down some gluten-free biscuits

that by now are old and dry.

I used my new bookmark to saw

the biscuit, ham, and cheese,

and to scoop out some yogurt

so it wouldn’t be so dry.

I put some unwashed lettuce from the garden on it,

took the lid off the cake pan to use for a plate.

I guess he was hungry.

He ate every bite

and we didn’t have to stop

in Beaver for a burrito!

The Sisters Communion

“Carol doesn’t go to bed until 4 AM.  Shirley gets up at 4 AM.  Lucy prowls around half the night.  Verla and I are the only ones who are normal,” I blab to my sister-in-law.

She looks me straight in the face and says, “You’re not normal.”

I was referring to “sleep patterns”; nothing more, nothing less.  Let's not get technical here.

It’s quite a thing for five sisters to fuse for five days.  Sisters who have reared families and have grandchildren, some with great grandchildren; no two of which has ever lived in the same town since marriage.  Seventeen-year age span.  

Jeanette, Verla, Carol, (front) Shirley, Jerry, Lucy

We gathered at the home DeRay and I own in SunRiver St. George, where our brother, Jerry, and his wife, Lana Gale, also own a home.

From the onset Lucy complained: about the car lights in her room keeping her awake at night; about the rug that I must keep straightened out or she would trip over it; about what she could and couldn’t eat; about the heat and the cold.  When it was my turn to fix dinner, I was putting the finishing touches on Rachael Ray’s Shepherd’s Pie, upset because I had left the chives from our garden at home.  I was sprinkling paprika when she burst out:  “Is that salt?”  “NO!, “ I shout, “QUIT PICKING ON ME.” 

At my age?  In front of ALL my sisters and my niece.  The only one to lose control.  What is wrong with me?

I’m the middle sister.  There’s a five-to-ten-year span between me and my closest sister.  Our mean age is 75—exactly my age—TOLD YA.  As a child, my sisters weren’t close enough in age for me to fight with; to be jealous of; to resent; to envy.  I had a little brother just 18-months-younger for that.  Because of my strategic position, I’ve shared experiences with each one; probably more than any of the others.  The same with my brothers who surround me age-wise.

Forgiveness is divine.

Shirley brought memory questions that engrossed us.  Jerry dropped by each evening to share memories with us.  Everyone was enthralled with his storytelling.  Jerry, the brother just 18-months younger who from age one was bigger and taller than me, never having the courtesy to stay smaller and dumber, in our later years has been my favorite hiking buddy--patient, true, and kind. 

Jeanette and Jerry

Did I mention that forgiveness is divine?

One early morning to beat the heat, Jerry took us to Black Mountain to see the Petroglyphs. 

Lucy, Verla, Shirley, Carol, Jerry, Amy Jayne.  Mt. Trumbull in background.

 

 

Amy Jayne

 

Verla basking in the life-giving light.

Our mascot, our friend, during all of our "herd" years.  We had to see a horny toad today.

 Lucy walks with two canes.  Jerry didn’t think she’d be able to go on all the trails but she would not be left behind.  At the shady picnic table, we enjoyed a brunch of boiled eggs, Amy Jayne’s famous bread sticks, cheese, crackers, grapes, oranges, grapefruit  with a glorious view of Mt. Trumbull where Daddy spent several winters herding his sheep on the Arizona Strip.

Brunch looking out over Mt. Trumbull, Arizona

 We made molasses and honey popcorn balls just like Mama used to make.

Verla, even though the youngest ever sagacious, was our driver and mediator, our slave, and our voice of reason.  I don’t know if she does or does not; but she behaves as though she has energy.

Jerry’s wife, Lana, came over with him one evening, and gave each of us a pendant she had made.  She loves lapidary and has so many beautiful polished rocks.  She says Jerry first got her interested in rocks.  He has gathered rocks since he was knee-high to a grasshopper.

Amy J., Shirley, Verla, Lucy, Carol in front of St. George Tabernacle after patriotic program on Sunday evening.

  Carol and Amy Jayne, with a little help from everyone except me, put a 1000 piece puzzle together of the Fifties. 

The beginning.

The end.

 That stirred memories for everyone.  I’m not telling who won the Trivia Game.  Obviously, not my team.  Verla wanted the three younger ones to stand the three older ones.  That definitely wasn’t fair so I protested.  We drew for teams.  Poor Verla got stuck with two of us older ones and lost the game.

Our sleeping arrangements were rather unique.  Out of respect, we gave Shirley one room; Lucy another.  Other years, Carol and Verla have chosen to sleep on the hide-a-bed in the living room because they like to watch TV late.  We have no TV reception this year so I don’t know what their excuse is.  Habit, I guess.  Amy Jayne could have slept with her mother but then probably neither of them would have slept well so I took our double-high queen size air mattress down and put it in my room.  That way, she could go to bed as early as she wanted and it would be quiet and dark.  We were all in queen-sized beds.  She could have slept with me or Carol or Verla could have.

Traditionally, even with my sisters there, I do yoga when I first get up.   So the first morning, Verla comes in my room and we’re chatting about routine and I say very quietly to her that I can’t even do yoga with Amy Jayne sleeping in my room.  “Although, you know what,” I continue, “I think we need to take a vacation even from our exercises once in a while.”  Amy Jayne is clear in the kitchen.  When I go in there, she says, “I’m sorry I’m in your room so you can’t do yoga.”  Holy Cow.  I’m used to everyone being differing degrees of deaf.  “Oh, Amy, what big ears you have.  It’s OK.  I’m glad I can’t do it.  I need a rest from Yoga.”  We laughed.  That became my favorite story to retell. 

Carol & Verla walking the labyrinth in Kayenta

Cheers for the ones who made it.

Somebody had to do it

Sure, sitting in the shade.

 My daughter, Amy, finally through teaching school her first year, called to say she and Ed were coming down so I didn’t go home with my sisters.

The day they left, no one did the dishes in all day.  No one cooked me delicious chicken or barbequed hamburgers or made chiliburgers or Oriental salads.  No one picked up my dishes and washed them before I even got up from the table.  I didn’t realize how marvelous community was until my community left.  I only had to cook one meal in five days.  The rest of the time, scrumptious food was served to me.  All my sisters and niece are exceptional cooks.

   Amy Jayne made two apple pies, prune cakes, chocolate chip cookies, besides the French Bread and bread sticks.  Verla brought her famous treat mix; Carol brought lemon cookies and professional cheese crackers (her daughter Melissa’s contribution).  Can you imagine?  It was heaven.

We did.  Amy, Eddy, and I pretty much survived on the leftovers for the next five days and we even brought some desserts home.

I loved my time with my kids too.

Amy and I hiked along the Virgin River into the inspiring infinite desert each morning at 6.  We did yoga together.  During the extreme heat of the afternoon, we watched a movie.  In the evening, we swam in the outdoor pool, soaked in the Jacuzzi, and read on the deck while Eddy did the machines in the weight room.  It felt good to exercise, eat less, relax. We hemmed four pairs of pants for Amy with iron on tape.  In her spare time, Amy worked on history power points for school next year. Even though I don’t like to shop, Amy makes shopping fun and I bought shoes I don’t need that I love and wonder how I got along without; and we picked up things for the grandkids’ upcoming birthdays.  We bought triking pants for Ed and Dad something for Father’s Day. 

Amy wanted to stay until Monday or Tuesday but I was afraid Ed would have a meltdown if we didn’t get home for church.  I thought we should get home to honor DeRay on Father’s Day; we’ve got an appointment with the radiation doctor tomorrow for him. 

It’s been 65 long years since I’ve seen my own father--The Father of the Five Sisters who Communed for Five Incredible Days.

Conversations in the Women's Locker Room

The women who was combing her hair

next to me chatted,

 “I guess everyone was a little nervous in the pool today.”

I was through with my laps,

doing bobs and stretches,

when she stopped swimming to ask me if I'm OK.

That has never happened before

but I’m glad she was vigilant.

Anything can occur in deep water.

“Thanks for checking.”

Within five minutes,

the life-guard climbs down from his perch,

walks clear across and down one side of the pool

to ask Ed if he is OK.

Ed keeps right on bobbing.

“He’s OK,” I call,

“but thanks for checking.”

I really like to swim where there are lifeguards,

especially as I get older.

Even though I was life-guard trained,

I don’t know if I could save Ed

and I know he wouldn’t save me.

Very sincerely,

Thanks for checking.

A few days earlier,

hearing a voice

as I'm packing my gym bag,

I look up.

“Oh, never mind!”

she hastily says when she sees my face,

“I was going to ask you if you have a tampon--

but I guess not.”

   Miscellany:

“My watch is worthless,”

I whine to Ed when it is nearly one-half hour slow again.

“Don’t tell me.  Tell Wal-Mart,”

he directs.

“Should we leave the light on for Amy?” I asked DeRay.

“What are we, Motel 6?” Ed chided.

A MESSAGE TO MYSELF

Regardless of the blood tests,

    The vitals;

        The ultrasound

            The pathology report;
               Even the MRI;

All that really matters is

IF I CAN

Get out of bed in the morning

Walk

Stretch and wiggle

Do yoga

Swim

Ride a bike

Do house and yard chores

Visit with friends and family

Travel

SURE  I HAVE

incessant pounding in my ear;

pain in my knees;

bleeding hemorrhoids;

so on and so forth.

TOUGH.

CAN I

get out of bed in the morning?

Walk?

Swim?

Ride a bike?

Do Yoga?

Stretch and wiggle?

Do house and yard chores?

Visit with friends and family?

Travel?

CELEBRATE

DOWNWINDER COMPENSATION

Bottom of Form

     How would you like

To go to your mailbox

      And pick up a $50,000 tax-free check?

Only in your dreams.

      Right?

Not necessarily.

      That’s what the United States Government

Would pay you

      If you get cancer.

Deal?

     UNEQUIVOCALLY NO!  Insult me not.

My health can’t be measured in dollars.

      Why did the Government

Only test the atomic bomb above ground

     When the wind was blowing north

Towards a sparsely populated area

     If they didn’t know the inherent dangers?

Betrayal.  Heartache.  Anguish.

     Leukemia.  Miscarriages.  Birth defects.

Eventually a whole array of cancers over

     A 50-year-plus span.

Loved ones.  Young and old.

     Infinite suffering.

How do you compensate for that

     My Country Tis of Thee?