Christmas Music and Radioactive Xenon Gas

We had a fine scare when Laura reported light-headedness at school.

It was the week after chemo. She got through the day alright, but got home and described symptoms that were more than a little scary. It sounded like her blood oxygen levels weren't what they should be. At rest she was fine, but with any exertion, she was winded and felt faint.

Laura called the doctor's office.

In the car on the way to the hospital for a workup, I thought about the possibility that the chemo was wreaking havoc on her red cells. Would she need a transfusion? What kind of diagnostics would they need to run? Would she need to be admitted?

The diagnosis would require ruling out a blood clot in her lung. I did my best not to panic as we walked the hospital corridors to go from test to test, but took comfort in the fact that we were, in fact, walking. If they thought it was truly dire, I knew they wouldn't let us walk the halls.

A blood workup eliminated cellular imbalances and we headed to radiology for imaging. Two tests were on the agenda there. The first was a contrast imaging X-ray with an IV dye, and the second involved inhaling radioactive xenon gas.

After spending the major part of our day for the tests, the word was that there was no indication of a blod clot and we could go home. Relieved and worn out, we made our way to the car.

Our oncologist obviously felt we'd eliminated the major threats through the diagnostics, but it left me scratching my head as to why Laura had experienced the symptoms. Between us, we decided there was a very real possibility that her weight loss because of the chemo had resulted in low blood pressure as she continued to take the same dosage of BP medicine. In fact, the pressure they read when drawing blood was indeed somewhat low, and that seemed the most likely explanation.

Just a little more excitement to add to the saga.

With that behind us, Thursday's chemo treatment was uneventful, as was yesterday's visit for Neulasta treatment.

Next challenge: weathering the side effects of chemo for the next few days.

Our Friend Becomes A Daughter

Where would we be without turkey and dressing?

As we chatted around the Thanksgiving table, I reflected on the blessings of family. Having one of my sisters, Beth, and her children as well as Andrew and his friend Saundra filled our dining room with wonderful heartwarming cheer.

Saundra had been Andy's friend since high school, and a decade later having her at the table was completely natural. I wouldn't know until they had traveled to Ft. Campbell together how significant her presence was.

It was a bewildered call from our second son, also stationed at Ft. Campbell in the same battalion, that tipped us off.

"Do you guys have any special plans for this weekend?"

"No Will, I think we'll be hanging around the house. Why?"

"Andy's platoon leader asked me if I knew he was getting married Friday. I though maybe you guys might be headed this way."

"Ummm ... ?"

Well, it turned out that after several conversations we were able to convince Andy and Saundra to wait awhile. Until the following Monday, anyway.

And so it is that now as we prepare for Christmas in Florida, we also celebrate Saundra, our wonderful new daughter-in-law!

A Hide-a-Port, a Thief, and a Son Comes Home

It didn't seem like Thursday when we dismounted at 1:15 am, at least not that I noticed.

I was very thankful at that moment for our friend Dakota's offer to keep Laura company for her chemo treatment later that day. Of course I had no intention of missing it altogether, but being able to sleep in a bit seemed like a good plan.

The chemo, as before, was uneventful except for the nurse being unable to access Laura's subcutaneous port -- they had to set up an IV instead.

When I brought in the Arby's, Dakota and Laura's conversation about wigs turned to curiosity about the Oklahoma trip. I was happy to oblige as we ate.

The treatment was right on track and it seemed downright pleasant. The effects of chemo had taken a little more than a day to manifest before, and Dakota is a delight, so I left them to their girl talk and went to the cafeteria with my laptop to begin catching up on my inbox at work.

The day passed rapidly after that; I popped in for few visits to assure there were no changes, and before we knew it we were packing up and heading out. It's good to feel that those who are providing the services are not only competent but pleasant and helpful.

As the days following the treatment progressed, my fears of worsening effects meant that I was prepared to step up our game. From the beginning, I've been worried about a commonly repeated caution: that as the chemo course continues, the duration and severity of effects would increase. Thankfully, this round seemed a little easier, if anything. I know a part of it was the fact that it was all new and unknown the first time, but the typical side effects we all know about didn't seem any worse, either.

Unfortunately, Laura picked up a bit of a cold, so having to deal with a nagging cough has meant some lost sleep and a bit of weariness. Although she was planning to work on Friday, it was clear Thursday night it wasn't going to happen.

This was unfortunate, because it seemed it was going to be a nice, easy day. Laura was going to ride on a charter bus of kids to St. Augustine, take some leisurely strolls, and ride home. No lecturing, not much walking.

As it turned out, we were glad she didn't go, because the teachers who did go had to deal with a student who stole. Not exactly a low stress day for those involved.

Now we look forward to treatment three the day before Thanksgiving.

Based on the first two treatments, Thanksgiving should be fine, with Andrew home from Ft. Campbell to help provide some cooking assistance. We'll sit on Laura, if we have to, to have her conserve her energy, and Andy and I will get our celebratory meal ready around noon rather than in the afternoon, when we classically have had it. It won't involve stuffing a turkey or stressful complexities if we can help it.

We've been counting blessings approaching Thanksgiving -- that we found the cancer early, that we have such overwhelming support from family, church, and friends, and that the treatment regimen has been as well tolerated as it has.

Add to that my daily prayers of thanks for Laura, who has been riding this whole thing out like the champ she is. It is truly marvelous to see God working through her!

I'd also urge everyone this Thanksgiving to remember those who have given so much for our freedoms!

Hogs and A Mustang

Not an average vacation.

For one thing, I usually spend my time off with Laura, so hitting the road with a cement truck driver in the passenger seat was a bit different. We were in the cab of a sixteen foot rental truck with car trailer behind.

Put this together with the fact I was leaving Laura at home after her initial chemo treatment, and I think a bit of explanation is in order.

Okay, let's start with the truck and trailer. We had been talking about getting their things to Luke and Simon in Oklahoma this fall. Because of the circumstances of their moves to Oklahoma, they didn't have a chance take their stuff with them. The plan this year was that Simon would load up a truck and he and Laura would drive out when he left after his summer vacation.

Then came Laura's positive mammogram.

Simon was due back for classes, so he flew back, and together with our friends, we began to deal with ... well, you know the rest of that story.

So that was the truck.

As for the trailer, it was just after I had rented the truck that our son William won the bidding for a '66 Mustang on Ebay. The car was in Chiefland (west of Gainesville), and his plan was to have it shipped to him in Clarksville, Tennessee at no small expense. -- You see where this is going.

Which brings us to leaving Laura after her first chemo. This isn't as bad as it might seem. We knew from talking to people who had experience with the treatment that the first week after chemo was rough, but that by the time the next treatment rolled around, she could expect to feel like her old self again.

So we made plans for me to get the trip done in that final week before her next treatment, which pretty much brings us up to date.

Oh, except for the cement truck driver in the passenger seat. My cousin's husband. He volunteered to go with me as a riding partner, partly because the return trip once we dropped the truck off was via motorcycle. We just loaded our bikes right into the truck along with the stuff going to Oklahoma. When we got the truck unloaded out there, we rolled them out and hopped on for the ride back.

Almost 1400 miles back, in two and a half days. And for you riders out there, you know the routine on long rides. You ride about a hundred miles, then you just have to climb off and walk around for circulation.

They were long but satisfying days.

Laura's next chemo was the same day we arrived back home, and our 1:15 am arrival didn't interfere much.

So, our Oklahoma boys got their stuff, one of our Ft. Campbell boys got his Mustang, and I got a great break from work and a cross-country ride with my new best friend as the leaves were changing.

Next time: Chemo round two.

Toxic Cocktails - Act Two.

You read, you talk to survivors, you ask questions.

Chemotherapy has that effect on people. It definitely did us. You hear of horrific consequences, of hair loss, weight loss ... you know the drill. You've heard it, too, right?

What we weren't prepared for in the first chemo session was ... boredom. That's right. We sat through the chemo all day long, waiting. Intermittently checking the relentless dripping in the little round vial, we did our best to distract ourselves. Then suddenly, it was over.

The nurse unplugged the IV and wished us well.

We gathered our stuff and shuffled out in a sort of daze. Was it really that simple? We went home in the almost certain knowledge that the pleasant doldrum wasn't going to last.

Reminds me of the time I thought our son Will had swallowed a partial bottle of Tylenol when he was about four. Following poison control instructions, I gave him the Syrup of Ipecac chaser. He downed it with an appreciative smile and turned to leave the bathroom without a second thought, blissfully unaware the curtain was about to open on act two.

The curtain parted for us Saturday afternoon.

Laura went fishing in the morning, meeting my sister Beth on Merritt Island, while I went to enjoy a ride on my motorcycle. She came home in the early afternoon, low on energy, and was soon napping.

Now it's Tuesday. Laura was able to work a half day after missing the whole day yesterday.

Bouncing back? We can only hope.

A bold adventure. Allies required.

I didn't know how long the "Lose the Locks" party at the salon would last, but I knew I wouldn't have much time. My sister Beth was on her way into town with her son and I needed to be back to take Bobby into Gators while she joined Laura's support group at the salon.

I dropped Laura at the salon and drove casually toward Gators until I was out of sight. A few quick turns later and I parked in front of the barber.

As soon as she'd laid out her plans for the salon party, I'd formulated my secret plan to shave my head at the same time. She would come to Gators with her friends from the salon, feeling a bit conspicuous with her short hair, and I'd surprise her with my own. It was calculated to relieve some of her stress at looking so different.

Her hair had been long -- shoulder length at least -- since we were married more than three decades ago.

I was a little early for my appointment, but happily, Gina took me to a chair right away. It didn't take long, and as I looked in the mirror, I surprised myself. I could live with that, at least for awhile.

A quick swipe of my card, and I was on my way back.

Beth's double-take at the Gators parking lot made me smile, though the patrons inside didn't know me and didn't give me a second glance. I guessed I didn't look so freaky after all.

The conversation with Bobby about his week at middle school occupied us. Time dragged. We ordered appetizers and found other topics.

I was a little distracted. Every time the door opened, I was ready to see Laura and her entourage coming in from the salon. Time after time, I was disappointed. How long does it take to get a haircut?

Finally she appeared in the doorway, scanning. It was dark compared to outside and at least thirty feet from the door to where we sat, but soon she saw us and headed over. I was able to conceal my surprise under my baseball cap most of the way.

Her new cut was really good. The original idea was to shave her head, but she decided on short hair for the interim. It took a little adjustment since I'd never seen it on her before, but definitely made her look younger.

You can guess the rest. About ten feet away, her eyes widened. I took off the cap. Her jaw dropped.

Mission accomplished. A momentary diversion, at least.

Now we can share the future with something akin to a united perspective, though I don't kid myself about the difference between her hair loss and my shaved head. A guy can pretty easily convince himself he's rockin' that look, and now I notice guys with shaved heads everywhere. But of course it's different for women.

We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Her heart's not on her sleeve, but just under it.

Laura and I had no trouble at all finding the right room in the long quiet corridor of plain doors, thanks to tastefully understated signs.

Ambulatory Surgery.

I looked at Laura as we approached the door. She knew what was coming.

"You'd think they'd want people to hold still while they operate on them, not to have them walking around."

"Oh, I don't know. Doctors are often Type A personalities. They like challenges."

I opened the door and followed her in.

It was a pleasant enough waiting room with the requisite elements. There were the usual semi-comfortable chairs along the walls, the carefully spaced relatives and friends using their cell phones, novels, and knitting to do their best to distract themselves. This one was well designed, with some of the creature comforts of a living room. A large flatscreen flashed images and deep muted voices, and subliminal overtones of coffee mixed with quiet conversations.

Laura's procedure was to put in a funnel to her heart.

The toxins they will be feeding into her body by IV will need to go directly into the superior vena cava. Like the mouth of a funnel, the injection port itself is a 1.5 cm target that will reside directly under the skin on the inside of her right arm. From there, the tube from the port enters a major arm vein and travels all the way to where it empties outside her heart.

Other than starting late, the surgery went as expected, and besides a nice bruise and a little leakage and pain at the incision, we moved on to a spectacular "Lose the Locks" party.

Next: About Losing the Locks...

Behind the rainbow? It's very still.

I unlocked and opened Laura's door, and she climbed into the van without a word. Our parking lot conversation about the cost of head scarves had reached its natural conclusion. As I circled around the front in this private moment, I was ready for her emotional release. She'd been able to roll with it so far, but I didn't expect her to internalize everything we had just taken in, while still healing from the surgery.

I glanced up at her as I unlocked my side. She was lost in thought.

"I think I'm just going to go ahead and get my hair cut off before the first chemo treatment. Janet did that to avoid having it come out in hunks in the shower."

Ah, the unbelievable Janet. Janet, who had dealt not only with breast cancer, but bone cancer before that.

I shrugged. "Makes all kinds of sense to me. Sure more proactive and puts you in control. Yeah! I like it!"

"We can call it a 'Lose the Locks' party and invite friends. We'll drop the husbands at Gators and the wives can troupe over next door to the spa for the big event. Then we'll all toast to facing it head on."

I put the key in the ignition and fired it up. That's my Laura.

Don't like my worn out shoes, but at least I have some.

Perspective. It's a kind of magic, really.

I was sitting in my adirondack chair in the back yard trying to understand how it had gone so wrong. The week, now behind me, ended far from how I'd hoped.

Having worked hard for days to get the right results, I found out suddenly and unpleasantly I had gone in the wrong direction. My expectations for a happy conclusion turned into a crushing disappointment. It had been a long time since I had been so deflated in my work.

This is where perspective comes into play.

Laura and I had just gone through the same thing, but with much more significant consequences. Going into her surgery, our expectation was that negative results on the sentinel lymph nodes would mean that the ordeal was all but over.

When the doctor appeared in the waiting room after the surgery to let my sister and me know the nodes were negative, I felt like dancing, and I know Laura felt the same way when she found out.

Then we got the initial results from the pathology.

Finding invasive cancer, I'm sure, is never good news, even in small quantities. But imagine when you think you're at the finish line only to find the race may have just begun.

I looked out across the yard, and my work week settled into its proper place.

Shirts with fins and friends with tales

Once again, we've come a long way in a short time.

The surgery done, the healing has been exemplary. Now we wait, hopeful today's the day the doctor will remove the plastic tube drain coming out of Laura's side.

At the nurse's instruction Laura has replaced her stylish shirt with the stiff white paper vest we've come to associate with the office exams. It has large seams that stand straight up about two inches like fins along her shoulders, but we've long since exhausted our comments about the outfit. This is about the fourth time she's put one on.

She adjusts the open front, and frowns. "I talked with Janet, who said her chemo was usually once a week. Each week it's effects lasted longer and by the time the last one rolled around, her doctor decided they'd just better not do it."

One of her friends at the school has had to go through it, and Laura's not relishing the impact to her teaching schedule.

My thoughts turn to the time when chemo will take its rightful place alongside the likes of blood letting as a regretable sidetrack in medical annals.

As the doctor examines the surgical site, Laura recounts how she nearly fainted when she had a similar drain pulled out before. "It hasn't really been all that uncomfortable, you know, it's just more of a worry than anything -- having to be careful with it."

The doctor has her lay back on the table, and a few seconds later, the drain's out, much to Laura's relief.

A flood of dialogue ensues. Cellular marker results, dependencies, more uncertainties that will have to wait for pathologists' reports.

Next step: the oncologist appointment in about a week.

Vote with your feet, people.

Tightening my legs on the gas tank, I grip the throttle and accelerate smoothly onto I-4 from the Lake Mary on-ramp. I can't believe I'm going to get an actual paper paycheck today.

Of course I wouldn't be resorting to such lows without a good reason. Considering our already large bank just got gobbled up by a yet larger bank and promptly informed us that they were going to withdraw our money up to five days before scheduled bill payments was enough to rub my fur the wrong way.

We're voting with our feet.

Is it just me, or does it seem to anyone else that the larger a corporation gets, the worse their management decisions are for their customers?

Actually, I think it's a corollary effect to one of the Great Evils of our day -- concentration of power. The potential for manifestation of patent psychopathic disregard for the general good increases in direct proportion to the availability of power in any one person's hands. 9/11 would have been quite different a few decades ago when passenger jets (that could be piloted by one person) didn't exist.

I digress. Changing banks means a new bank account direct deposit, and a fresh trial period for the direct deposit.

Sizing up traffic pace and concentration of harried drivers on each others' bumpers, I decide there are already going to be plenty of cars in the twisted smoking heap when someone in the pack texts their girlfriend about how slow traffic is on I-4 today and doesn't see the car slow down in front of him.

I ease in behind one of the more reasonable cars in the slower lane. It's only a couple of miles anyway.

Two huge footprints, two very small tumors.

Ten years ago. Unbelievable.

Vivid memories crowd back in as we talk with friends at church about where we were when the news broke. Watching the children's moment, Laura points out that virtually none of the children were alive when the towers came down. "To them, it will be history, not a horrific day they lived through. How quickly our collective psyche moves on!"

Of course 9/11 was on everyone's mind.

But even thinking about and reliving this most defining event of recent history, it's been difficult to forget the other news so significant to us personally -- pathology from Laura's surgery uncovered two small foci of a more invasive type of cancer.

The good news that her sentinel nodes were clear was a great but short-lived relief. Now we wait for new data from the pathologists who are evaluating tumor markers, and we will take this information to an oncologist's conversation in about two weeks. In that discussion we expect to discern whether chemo would be a desireable strategy.

In the meantime, we are blessed with extraordinary healing, and Laura is thinking about cutting her planned absence from the classroom short by a week if the progress continues.

Decisions, decisions ...

Pain is relative.

"Doesn't hurt as bad as the wasp sting."

Laura is repositioning the wires laying across her bed and adjusting to her new environment out of the recovery center. Systems are obviously back online.

I smile. My teasing just before the surgery isn't forgotten. She had mentioned the wasp sting resulting from yard work yesterday as we were doing pre-op with the surgeon. I turned to my sister sitting next to me to have some fun. "Oh, she was quite whiny about the wasp sting. 'Oh, it hurts. Look! It's swelling!'"

We had to look really close to see the swelling.

Laura was speechless. I hadn't belittled her sting at all yesterday when it happened, and now here I was impuning her character in front of my sister and the surgeon.

It was great.

So the surgery was uneventful, and sentinel nodes were clear! Praise God! We're doing the happy dance here -- the virtual happy dance, anyway.

Thanks so much for all your shows of support and prayer, and stay tuned!

We've reached the rally point.

The phone rings, and I wonder whether it's one of the boys. Don't have to wait long to find out.

"Hi Andy! How are things at Ft. Campbell?"

The boys are checking in, one by one, seeing how their mom is faring as we get ready for the procedure.

There isn't a lot of concern expressed, and conversation stays light. How are things at the base? When's your graduation from Air Assault? How are plans shaping up for Thanksgiving and Christmas visits to Florida?

Everyone is pretty confident things are going to be fine. Statistically there isn't much to be concerned about. Amazingly, the surgery will be outpatient.

Besides what chair will provide the legs-up support for Laura prescribed by the post-operative literature and packing a novel for me for during the procedure, our main concerns are when to go to miss the rush hour traffic and what I'll have to eat while I'm waiting during the surgery at lunchtime.

Laura tells me that in her pre-operative discussions with the nurse she was told that she'll be on a self-medication regimen for pain, and that she should "stay ahead of it" rather than wait to feel the pain before dosing.

I lift an eyebrow. I have a mental image of her dosing herself into a coma.

"Well, she talked about if I have to get up for any reason or move around, I should dose first," she explained.

So, the yard is mowed, the laundry's done, groceries are stocked, there's gas in the tank, and our friends and church family are praying.

We should be good to go.

Starshine and whippoorwills

Our den is a window to a transcendent display of a thousand stars.

I often forget about them in the daily sprint, emerging in the night frazzled and worn, shuffling bleary-eyed to the door to flip the switch, thinking only of my bed. But just when I'm getting ready to close the door on the darkness, the swirling ceiling fan catches my eye, and I smile.

Gazing upon the universe of glow-in-the dark stars Luke so carefully and secretly arranged on the ceiling when the den was his room, I am transported by the treasure he buried high, in plain sight.

I remember my youthful camping nights in the Florida forest -- the smell of pines and damp night air fills my senses. And stars! Bajillions of stars so thick they're like sugar spilled across the sky.

Tensions melt away.

In the stillness of those nights, when the camp had bedded down, the whispering serenade of the crickets and whippoorwills would mingle with the fading smoke of the campfire like a sweet rugged cologne.

I would open the outer door of the tent, so I could gaze up through the screen at that vast array and lay down the cares of the day in the palpable presence of an incomprehensibly almighty and simultaneously tender God.

The latch of the den clicks quietly. Another good day.

Stay loose, champ.

Simon lined up carefully and took a practice swing. Poetry in motion. Stepped forward to the tee, focused on the ball, where the club would meet it, and the spot on the fairway where he wanted to land.

A bead of sweat rolled down my face.

Like a coiled spring, as if in slow motion, he wound up and then unleashed a powerful swing.

Anticipation.

For a golfer, there aren't many sounds as satisfying as a titanium clubface arriving squarely on target. Is it the intense joy of a ball well-hit? Maybe the admiration of the other enthusiasts?

When surgery is a week away, a similar focus takes shape.

As my college roommate the LaCrosse player told me, the trick is staying loose despite your intense anticipation.

Can we focus on the swing, rather than how badly we want the ball in the fairway?

I know you can do it, champ!

Is there an eye to this storm?

As Brandy leans over me and puts a drop in my right eye, I wonder aloud if we will see a lot of rain from the coming hurricane. Even as I ask, I'm somewhat preoccupied with her tattoo and the hurricane and the excitement about the new water additive I have found.

She doesn't think so.

"A non-event. Guarantee it."

I hear Dr. Benjamin drop the file folder on the counter as Brandy takes aim at my left eye.

Of course, there's no real reason to believe her. She's an ophthalmologist's assistant and I'm sure hasn't seen the updated forecast.

Besides, she looks about fourteen.

After shaking Dr. Benjamin's hand and exchanging the usual pleasantries, he begins to familiarize himself with my file as I blink to adjust to the drops.

Funny how easy it is to dismiss opinions from young professionals. I smile to think how experienced Laura's surgeon must be, wondering how many times she's performed the procedure that's now two short weeks away. I doubt it's less than several hundred.

Laura and I have increased our own knowledge of breast cancer and the associated procedures and contingencies exponentially in the past few weeks. And miraculously, what I used to think must surely be one of the most awful impacts a woman might have to endure in a lifetime -- the loss of a breast -- is now our accepted vision of the future state and can be seen as an adjustment rather than a disaster.

Life is change. Anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something.

Mosquitoes see in the daytime, too.

Have you ever had a weekend when you looked forward to work just so you could get a little rest?

Spending virtually the entire weekend under the sun was rejuvenating ... and as I crawled out of my chair Sunday night to go to bed, my body let me know it was going to be on strike for the forseeable future. Fulfilled exhaustion.

For Laura, there's no question it was exactly what she needed. Sunshine has always been her way of "charging her batteries." Add to that getting her toes into saltwater, and it was all but magical.

The fishing Saturday at Eddie Creek was good, it was just that the catching wasn't superior. I watched carefully for the signs of starving fish -- signs that never materialized. I never put a line in, choosing instead to sit in a bag chair and move as little as possible, trying to look like a shrub so the mosquitoes couldn't target my outline.

As I sat there with the sweat rolling down, I tried to imagine what their little compound eyes could really make out. Aren't they, after all, nighttime insects? Perhaps they're relatively blind in the full blazing light of August sunshine.

I guess no one ever told them that. I was saved by the slight breeze, a liberal application of Deet, and a cooler of ice by my chair. I think the cigar smoke helped a bit, too.

This was the end of Laura's first full week of teaching after summer break -- back to school facing a total of about 130 new eighth-graders.

Though she has talked about moving the surgery up, in the end her strategy hasn't changed. She'll get the students excited about their new schedule with her as their Physical Science teacher, then disappear briefly for the surgery. The lesson plans for the substitute have been prepared. It could be a relatively short recovery if all goes well and sentinel nodes are clear.

Clear sentinels, no chemo, back to teaching. That's the plan.

But, you shouldn't think the exertion of Saturday's fishing was solely responsible for my exhausted weekend. Sunday morning church started us off brilliantly, but then the rest of the day was spent getting things done around the house, like mowing the lawn.

My fellow Floridians, we are so blessed to have the summertime rainstorms to make the grass grow! Just keep telling yourself that.

Palm Trees Have Shallow Roots

I was watching Simon working in the yard this morning as I sipped my coffee, and thinking about all that's gone on in the last few weeks. How unpredictable life is!

You know, you go through the "what ifs," and in those daydreams it's natural to simplify the scenarios.

What if I'm in an awful crash that leaves me with one leg? What if one of the boys gets horribly injured during a training exercise, or comes back from combat with PTSD?

Thankfully, nearly all those imaginings never come to pass, and even when they do, I guess it's like everything else, it's never the same as you imagine it will be. I went through my folks' deaths with that same haunted feeling that I wasn't experiencing grief the way I had imagined I would -- or thought I should.

It's so much more complex, isn't it? You recognize the dread that you'd anticipated. You know you could take the dark path to worst cases, but you also know you have a choice.

How well can you balance dealing with hard realities and living in hope? Or maybe the better question is, how can you possibly survive the hard realities without living in hope?

As for me, I think when you turn inward, you whittle yourself away, bit by bit. That's when the walls start to close in.

As for now, in this interesting time, prayers buoy us from all directions. Thank you all!!

Now, as Laura and I thrive in your care and concern, I know some of you don't need to hear blow by blow.

My intent for this blog is to help you catch up when and however much you want to. (And it's also good for me to be able to express some of what's stewing inside.)

More detail, FYI:

1. Several weeks ago, Laura was diagnosed with DCIS breast cancer after initial mammogram and biopsy.
2. We discuss a relatively simple surgery with the doctor, trying to decide whether or not to accept the risk of not doing radiation treatments along with cancer excision. The surgery was scheduled for August 11. Today. "But you really should have an MRI. It can pick up things the mammography can't."
   
   We believe the doctor is being conservative.
   
   
3. MRI shows more involvement in the same breast.
4. Laura has an additional biopsy of that site. Yes, it's more of the same.
5. Conversation with the surgeon. Mastectomy now really seems the only option, and it depends on sentinel nodes examined during surgery whether chemo will also be required.

The surgery will be next month.

At this point, signs are still very good. The characteristics of this cancer mean it's less invasive. Our hopes are high that nodes won't be involved, and that with the mastectomy, it can be a matter of healing the incision and having follow-up exams every six months.