A time to be born, and a time to die;

I read an obituary in the newspaper

of a woman born in 1976,

making her younger than both Ed and Amy,

who died of complications after surgery

to put a rod in her femur bone

following breast cancer.

As far as I know,

there are only two main oncology orthopedic surgeons

at the Huntsman Cancer Center.

I’ve been to both of them.

One performed that same operation on me.

When I read that, I thought:

“I bet Dr. Groundland is thinking:

‘Why did this young mother of four children die

and that 82-year-old hag survive?’”

That’s what I thought when I read the obituary.

Divine Guidance

    Last night DeRay & I watched the 1947 movie The Bishop’s Wife.

Plot

     Bishop Henry Brougham (David Niven), troubled with funding the building of a new cathedral, prays for divine guidance. His plea is seemingly answered by a suave angel named Dudley (Cary Grant), who reveals his identity only to the clergyman.

     However, Dudley's mission is not to help construct a cathedral, but to spiritually guide Henry and the people around him. Henry has become obsessed with raising funds, to the detriment of his family life. His relationships with wife Julia (Loretta Young) and their young daughter are strained by his focus on the cathedral.

     Everyone, except for Henry, is charmed by Dudley, even the non-religious Professor Wutheridge (Monty Woolley). Dudley persuades the wealthy parishioners, particularly widowed Agnes Hamilton (Gladys Cooper), to contribute needed funds, but not to build the cathedral. He coaxes Mrs. Hamilton to donate her money to feed and clothe the poor and needy — much to Henry's chagrin. Henry wants to know why his cathedral plans were derailed. Dudley reminds the bishop he prayed for guidance, not a building.
      I am thinking that maybe all churches need an angel to guide them so that they  feed and clothe the poor and needy more and build less expensive, elaborate cathedrals.

Vote of No Confidence

     Ed & I were getting ready to go to the gym. We had been a couple of times with DeRay to make sure I could get in and out of the pool and manage the walker. Today we were going to go alone for the first time in months. As he is preparing his breakfast, he says: “I don’t know if I trust you. I did then, but I don’t now.”

    To be honest, I was a little nervous myself. I haven’t driven since January and I can’t find my Driver’s License. I don't know if my leg will react quickly enough if a child runs in front of the car or a truck pulls in front of me without signaling.

     Still . . .I felt a little like Theresa May on a bit smaller scale.

     Last Friday in the pool, Ed is putting on his goggles when he suddenly throws them down. “What?” “Bad way to end the week.” “Your goggles broke?” “Bad way to end the week.” “Your swim suit ripped?” “Bad way to end the week.” “Something wrong with your fins?” “Bad way to end the week.” Then I look up at him. I’m in the pool, he’s still sitting on the side. Oh no!  His artificial eye is missing. I look down. Yip. At the bottom of the pool—hopefully. I say to Dr. Wall in the next lane, “Would you do me a favor? Ed’s eye fell out. Could you dive for it?”

   I’ll bet he had a good story to tell his family that night, “This crazy lady who swims next to me asked me to dive for her son’s eye!”

Mother's Day

Back in the old days,

the Sunday School secretary

sat on the stand during Sunday School

opening exercises.

(Like the Ward Clerk always sat on the stand

during Sacrament meeting.)

DeRay had graduated from college,

we had bought our first home,

and both were working at Geneva Steel

when Mother’s Day rolled around.

I refused to sit on the stand

and have everyone stare at me

because we had been married

over six years and had no children.

I felt so sorry for myself

that until the day was almost over,

I forgot I had a mother.

An extraordinary mother who,

after the death of her husband at age 43,

reared her eight children

ranging in age from 1 year to 18

by herself.

She only had an 8^th grade education,

but she miraculously acquired the job

as Orderville Postmaster

two years after Daddy died.

She raised two big gardens,

She bottled fruits and vegetables,

She sewed and did all her own housework.

How could I forget her?

My heroine.

My champion.

Superwoman really.

Everyone in the whole wide world has a mother.

No exceptions.
We celebrate to honor mothers;
not to be a mother.

Thank you, Mama.

The Scary Story

Amy wrote it best on Facebook:

Prom goers backed their truck into Eddy on trike. No broken bones.

     The next day, the neighbor kid came over to check on Ed, bring him some ice cream, apologize.

     Kid: "I'm sorry, We're going to fix your bike."

     Ed as a threat, passing through on his way to dinner: "You better."

     Then Ed still on the move: "I forgive you."

     Then talking to himself as he walks into the kitchen, "I forgive him, but he's a bad driver. He's a bad driver."

     He can sure tell it like it is, when he wants to...he was pretty quick on the forgiveness after coming home fighting mad at "the idiots that backed into him, knocked him over stuck in the pedals" scary and the trike is afterall his one speck of independence...(End of Amy's Post.)

     As Amy is busy in the kitchen making Sunday dinner, she jokes: “Now that Ed is laid up, we’re going to have to have the Ward bring meals in. Since Ed prepares all our meals, does all the dishes, mops and vacuums all the floor, makes the beds, does all the laundry, we’re in big trouble with him injured.”

    “Yes,” I add, “and we need to have them bring meals in to the cats too. Not just any old cat food. We’ll have to tell them where to order it from. Our cats eat special food.”

More Edisms:

     "I guess I’m going to have to break down and do the vacuuming,” I proclaim.

      “Not you,” Ed lets me know, “You’re in bad condition.”

     “I think I’m about ready to start riding my trike,” I say to Ed. “FAT CHANCE,” he proclaims.

     Coming down to breakfast on a Sunday morning and seeing that his juice was ready, he scolds: “I was going to make my juice. It’s my job; not yours.”

     I was trying to show him how to pull each layer up separately when making his bed: “First the sheet, then the blanket, then the comforter,” I explain as I demonstrate. “You do it your way and I’ll do it mine,” he tells me emphatically. Brent had already taught him how to make his bed and he needed no further instructions.

     DeRay and I were talking about whether to plant a garden this year. Ed chimes in:  “Mother Nature will provide.”

     “Of all the people I know, who is dumb enough to plant a garden?” DeRay asks.

     “We are,” Ed confirms.

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.”

Que será, será

I sing this silently at odd moments both day and night.

When I was just a little girl

I asked my mother, what will I be

Will I be pretty

Will I be rich

Here's what she said to me

Que será, será

Whatever will be, will be

The future's not ours to see

Que será, será

What will be, will be

When I grew up and fell in love

I asked my sweetheart, what lies ahead

Will we have rainbows

Day after day

Here's what my sweetheart said

Que será, será

Whatever will be, will be

The future's not ours to see

Que será, será

What will be, will be

Now I have children of my own

They ask their mother, what will I be

Will I be handsome

Will I be rich

I tell them tenderly

Que será, será

Whatever will be, will be

The future's not ours to see

Que será, será

What will be, will be

Que será, será