Dana Farber, Here We come!

Cancer is a stealthy opponent, wreaking damage before you suspect its presence.

The first inkling that Bruce might be facing “something” was last summer. I was headed to the beach with a friend, while he was headed to the doctors for his annual CT scan by his cardiologist, who regularly checks the size of his aortic aneurism.

We’d thought the aneurysm was a big deal when it was first discovered several years ago! It was! But in effect, it was, if not life saving, the issue that got B into cancer treatment sooner than otherwise. For that, we thank the dreaded aneurysm.

When I got to the beach I decided to call B and see how his appointment went.

“The good news,” he tells me, “is that the aneurysm is stable; it hasn’t grown in size. But,” he tells me in what sounds like a nonchalant voice, “the scan shows a spot on my tenth rib.

So I matched his nonchalant tone, “Lots of times the spots turn out to be nothing—just shadows," I tell him.

I stayed at the beach, went swimming, jumped waves, and boogie boarded. I told myself that they ALWAYS find spots that turn out to be nothing but shadows.

B set up an appointment with his primary care doctor and we were left to wait and wonder…and worry. But not worry too much.

But then B notices that the cardiologist’s words on the paper documenting his aneurysm visit say “lesion.” Not “spot.” Lesion. Lesion is scary sounding in a way that spot is not. Lesion is an ugly word.

So the Google search begins: bone lesions, lesions on the rib, spot on the rib, lesion on tenth rib… B is searching, I know. But he says nothing. And I do the same.

None of the possibilities for bone lesions looks good. I wouldn’t know which one of the possible diagnoses might be the lesser of the gruesome evils outlined and explained. It’s pretty clear at this point that all roads lead to cancer. And none of them look good.

And sure enough, tests confirmed multiple myeloma, a blood cancer. Tom Brokaw's cancer ... incurable, but treatable.

Thus, the journey begins. The big C. There's no getting off this train.

For Alice~ She's home!!!!!!!

What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson Sometimes it's all about knowing that loved ones and friends stand behind you, knowing that support is there on the down days, the worry days, the days when you feel off-center, out of sync, bedraggled emotionally, and in pain, but knowing all the while that you're not alone. You're not alone... Alice is an online friend--she lives in Hawaii-- who belongs to the writer's workshop that I do. We've only "met" online, but those who have online friendships know that they can be just as strong as those in-person relationships. Alice was hit by a car while walking, and is in the rehab phase of things. She's working to regain mobility after a broken pelvis, a broken arm, and a broken nose. It's scary to realize how, in the blink of an eye, life can lurch and our plans for a time are displaced by survival and healing. We...

Killing time~

I'd woken feeling stuffy headed, slightly allergy-ish, puffy-eyed, and a tad grumpy. Lots to do, little time in which to do it, school issues keeping me in a state of angst, I considered not going to David's game. But it was Saturday, the game fairly close to home-- Salem State College-- an hour or so north through Boston to the town of Salem, famous for the 1692 witch trials that saw 19 suspected witches, many of them social outcasts, hang on Gallows Hill. A change of pace was what I needed whether I wanted it or not, so I went. I squeezed in a walk around the block that enclosed Salem State's O'Keefe Center while waiting for the game to begin. Just to kill time. I get so few chances to do that. Others walking, too, passed with no eye contact, no greetings, just sharing the same planet. Two were coming toward me. Still unfocused in the distance . . . one was tall, the other short . . . two men . . . loose clothing . . . like army clothes, camouflage . . . beard and lon...

Missing Becky~

Becky~ August 19, 1991 to April 26, 2010 She was so loved, this gentle pet of mine. And how she loved us back. I've been alone in my house before, of course. Those days when my husband took the kids out for the day, being able to vacuum without a baby in one arm and a toddler, riding the vacuum cleaner like it was a bronco, was solitary pleasure. Later there were quiet days as the kids were at camp and my husband at work. And then came the bittersweet aloneness when kids left home for college and a life apart. Still, I'd always liked being alone, knowing it was short lived. This morning, after my husband pulled out of the driveway with a day full of plans, I stood in the living room feeling alone in a way I never had before. An unfamiliar emptiness and silence surrounded me. Yesterday we put our 18-year-old cat, Becky, to sleep. The decision to do so was surprisingly easy. The vet had told us Becky would let us know when it was time, and somehow she did. But ...

~Upstream and Down~

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