So, I’m poking my head in the door. It doesn’t mean I’m back to my daily routine just yet, but I thought I’d let you know how things are going. I’ve shared (over-shared, I’m sure!) about my cancer journey so far, and I don’t intend to change that. The emails from online friends out there who have loved ones or who have or are going down this road have been moving.

Anyways, back to the subject.

I had surgery on April 1st. April Fool’s Day. My old wedding anniversary. My ex-hubby laughed at the date and said, “Ah then, everything is going to be fine, because we didn’t turn out so bad.” I have to agree, as odd as that sounds I’m sure to some of you since we’re divorced, but we’re still great friends, still sharing phone calls and birthday wishes. April 1st is a lucky day for me.

The doctor had thought he’d be taking out more than he did. First, he went after the omentum—it’s an apron of tissue that protects your internal organs. When he eye-balled it, he saw no living cancer on it although the omentum had lit up like a Christmas tree on my first PET scan all those months ago. Then he removed all my girlie parts, noting that he saw very little remaining cancer there. Mostly just slimy bits of dead remnants of cancer (I’m interpreting his notes, maybe embellishing a bit—can’t help myself).

He was going to take my lymph nodes down there. But other than some dead slime (more embellishment), he found them pink and healthy-looking so did not remove them. He hunted around my liver, gallbladder, intenstines, etc. He had said he’d remove anything he found infected (if he could), but found nothing else of concern. When he spoke with me later that afternoon, he told me my chemo had done an excellent job of knocking back the cancer. He was pretty sure he’d gotten everything he could.

Are you wondering why I included a picture of a zipper at the start of this post? Well, they closed with a long line of staples (27 in all) and my belly looked like they installed a zipper in it. (My attempt at humor.)

My sister, Elle James, stayed with me in the hospital for the two days and nights that followed.  She was a huge help. You need an advocate, someone to stomp down the hall to ask for pain meds. BTW, Dilaudid is fabulous. Opioids definitely have their place. It hits fast and only lingers a couple of hours, but when you need something fast… In a hospital setting… Mm-hmm. Highly recommend.

I went home on Wednesday with a soft pillow clutched against my sore belly and one last dose of Dilaudid to hold me until I got home an hour away.

Sis left soon after. Storms were brewing, and she still had a four-hour drive. Then I was left in my daughter’s gentle care.

When I’d been away, my SIL moved the reclining lift chair he’d purchased for me from my living area to the living room. Now, every time I need to get to my feet to move around (exercise is key to recovery), the chair stands me on my feet with little to no intervention from anyone and no straining of my belly. As the days have passed, that’s been very important to my independence.

Everything was moving along well. I was convinced I was going to have the easiest recovery known to womankind, but then…my temperature started climbing and my wee-wee-hole (no, that’s not the technical term, so don’t quote me) began to hurt. In fact, my entire pelvic floor area began to ache every time I attempted to relieve myself. I suspected a UTI and Dr. Google agreed, so I called my surgeon’s office and asked if I could have the urine sample taken at my local doctor’s office rather than head back to the city to pee into a bottle). He approved, and I was quickly put on antibiotics for a UTI. Not just any UTI, but one caused by an emerging super-bug with a very pretty name: Morganella Morganii. M. morganii turned my pee into the most brilliantly colored sunset orange I’ve ever seen. You know I’m going to be mixing colors to try to match it—Indian yellow, cadmium red, a touch of magenta or fuchsia…

I was headed to the surgeon’s office the next day (last Thursday) anyway, where an RN with the nickname of Buffy (it was just meant to be), removed all my staples. It wasn’t supposed to hurt, but maybe I’m just a big baby. 27 little needle-y pinches took my breath away.

I’m finally able to sit up for longer periods in my chair. I’m taking naps during the day on a bed with many pillows. My daughter has to help me up, but she was CNA-trained, so she knows how to get me up without causing any pain at all. My discomfort from my UTI is fading. My temperature is back to normal.

This coming Thursday, I’ll be back in Little Rock to see my surgeon. He’ll let me know his official findings and hopefully let me know when he recommends I continue my immunotherapy. (And more importantly to me—when I can jump into the swimming pool.) This journey isn’t over, but so far, I’m tolerating the treatments.

And that’s all I’ve got. I hope everyone out there is feeling well, loving the changing seasons. I didn’t even mention the huge flood we had right after I got home from the hospital, but yeah, the local river rose its highest since 1969. We were cut off from town for a couple of days there. Life’s just so interesting like that.

This picture was taken just down the hill from where we live and over a mile from the river.

I have a huge To Do list that I keep trimming because I’m running out of time to do everything I thought I needed to get out of the way before my surgery next Tuesday.

My surgery is scheduled for some time on Tuesday. They’ll call the day before and let me know when. My sister, Elle James, has already volunteered to take me to Little Rock the day before. We’ll hole up in a hotel near the hospital, then she’ll be with me there for the duration of my stay. My lovely daughter will come for the surgery but has to head home afterward because…kids and animals. If all goes well, I’ll be there for two nights, then I’ll be sent home.

She’s having my lift chair moved to the living room while I’m gone because I won’t be able to go up and down stairs for about six weeks. I’ll be “installed” in the living room, which will be annoying for them, but I expect I’ll sleep a lot. I’ll be in the chair because my daughter, who had a hysterectomy years ago, says I won’t be able to comfortably get in and out of bed. She has it all planned out how she’s going to care for me. I hate that I’ll need that kind of help, to and from the bathroom, getting up to walk, etc. I know I’m going to be miserable, and a lot of things will fall by the wayside while I recover. Google says I won’t be able to swim for six weeks, and she just smiles and says I probably won’t feel like it anyway, but I hope to prove her wrong. Full recovery will take about six months.

I’ll be stranded away from my desktop for six weeks. Which means, I’ll be using my laptop, which I don’t love. I’m not sure how that will work. Likely, she’ll have to find some sort of desk/tray thing to place over my chair so I can reach the keys. How soon I’ll be back online is a huge question. I do have some guest authors’ posts to pre-post so this website won’t be completely dead. I’ll ask you all to support them, and me, by sharing their posts online. You won’t mind that, right?

I figure I’ll be back to editing in a couple of weeks—in short spurts. Lots of rest in between. The kids will watch movies with me so I don’t go stir-crazy. I think I’ll like their noise and commotion, the sounds of living, being around me upstairs.

Am I scared? It’s odd. I’m not. I know a million things can go wrong, but hey, I’ve made it this far, and this journey has been surprising. I’ve come farther than I could have hoped at the start last August. I hope I fly through surgery, that I avoid any major infection. The worst I will let myself consider is dealing with the discomfort and pain. I can do that. I already have experienced some of that. I’m feeling positive and making plans for the future. When they put my under, I’ll hold to an image of me floating in my pool with the sunshine beating down on me—my favorite place and activity in the world.

Report Card

Last week…

1. I completed one author’s edits! Yay!
2. I’ve continued some light exercises.
3. I’ve been painting every day as part of #the100dayproject—and I’m liking my latest efforts.

This next week…

1. I will have one author’s edits to begin work on. I’d like to get halfway through it.
2. I’ll send out a notice to authors to see who might like to blog on my website, April through June—since I plan to still be here!
3. I’ll return my attention to Ignition, because I really, really want to finish it before April 1st!
4. I have administrative things to do this week to “get my affairs in order” before surgery.
5. I’ll continue working on #the100dayproject.

Update

This month, I’m busy trying to get ready for my surgery that’s happening on April 1st. I have lots of little things to handle before the big day—making sure my daughter knows where my important papers are, making sure she knows who to contact should something go wrong, leaving breadcrumbs for her to find her way through my computer and files. I’ve had this computer for a number of years, and it has little idiosyncrasies that might drive a person who isn’t familiar with it crazy.

I’ve had interesting conversations with the girls—who gets my bedroom, office, and craft room when I’m gone. The 16-year-old has dibs, and she’s said my bedroom will remain the same because she loves all my “junk,” and the office will become her gaming room, AND she won’t let her mom ditch all my craft and art supplies in the art room because she wants to putter in there with all those “treasures.” We laughed about it. And we all talk often about what happens when I’m gone. Getting them used to the idea helps with the grief. We had a long time taking care of grandma, my father, and my mother to get used to the idea of their passing. It helped to talk about a future without them. Yes, their deaths were still devastating, but the sting was somewhat muted because we’d prepared ourselves emotionally. NOT THAT I DON’T FULLY EXPECT TO MAKE IT THROUGH MY SURGERY! I do! Still…

Can I bitch about a little thing and not seem silly? My hair is beginning to grow back in—and my, oh my is it ever gray (well, more silver than gray). And, it’s growing faster at the bottom than the top of my head, which looks very weird. I joke that I look like Ludwig Von Drake. I’ll still be in hats through the summer!

Now that I’m just doing immunotherapy infusions, the chemo-devastation has subsided. My foot neuropathy is still there as is my slightly blurred vision, but I can make it through the day without taking a nap, although I do shut down working in the early afternoon and head to my recliner to watch some TV. I’m still building stamina—which will take another big hit after the 1st.  I’m so not looking forward to the recovery, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure the 16-year-old doesn’t get her mitts on my art supplies just yet. 🙂

Yes, I’ve changed the color of my cancer awareness ribbon. The pretty teal one was only for ovarian—my cancer is more generalized: endometrial/mullerian. Besides, I was bored with the blue.

Anyways, I’ve had an interesting day. My daughter and I traveled this morning to Little Rock to the Cancer Institute there to find out whether they would perform surgery to remove all my affected organs, which might give me a better chance of beating this cancer.

Before we even got there, we had an adventure. We had just taken the three-lane offramp and were stopped in a line of vehicles at the traffic lights when a firetruck and another emergency vehicle arrived with sirens and horns blowing. The cars in the center lane tried to move into our lane to give the big honking trucks room on the far left to get by. The vehicle in the center lane, to our left, began to back up, and my daughter laid on her horn to alert the driver that we were there—which the driver did not hear—and yeah, she hit our SUV. So, with only 45 minutes before my appointment with the surgeon, we had to contact 911 to get a trooper to come take our information before we could drive away.

We could not have been hit by a nicer lady. She took full responsibility, then saw my chemo hat and lack of eyebrows and told me she was a 15-year breast cancer survivor and asked about mine. She’s a nurse, teaching other nurses. The trooper was a very serious looking individual but very efficient. We made it to my appointment on time.

So, now for the news. Yes, I am scheduled for surgery at the beginning of April! They are going to take everything they find that’s affected by cancer—ovaries, uterus, cervix, fallopian tubes, omentum, and lymph nodes—plus anything else they discover once they’re in. It’s going to be a huge incision down the middle of my abdomen. Before I was scheduled, I told him the only thing I was concerned about was recovering in time for pool season. During the examination, he told me he was surprised that my uterus was a normal size now and that my cervix looked perfect. Well, of course, I wanted to tell him. I’m the perfect patient. Lots of fight and positivity left in me! My daughter is more worried about how all of this is going to go down. She has to have everything planned. Who’s going to stay with me in the hospital? Do we need another lift-recliner chair for me to sleep in because she’s sure getting in and out of bed will be too hard for me. She has to shop for dresses for me because she says I won’t want to wear anything that’s binding around my waist. And on, and on…

The nurse I saw at the beginning of all my appointments today (surgeon, bloodwork, EKG, X-ray) took my blood pressure after we rushed in fresh from the accident, and she told me she was very surprised my blood pressure was so normal after all the excitement. I told her I don’t worry about things until I know I have a problem. Why flap my wings like an excitable chicken and stress myself out? Right now, everything is wonderful. My latest bloodwork shows that everything’s trending perfectly. I’m in remission and heading into surgery to further attack this insidious disease. I’m here now. 

UPDATE: The winner is…Mary Preston!
*~*~*

I had bloodwork yesterday in preparation for a couple of upcoming appointments. On Thursday, I meet with a surgeon in Little Rock to see whether I am a candidate for having a hysterectomy. Next Monday is another round of immunotherapy infusions. Hopefully, the tests I took yesterday won’t show any backsliding! Only progress—good progress! Cross your fingers; I am!

Let’s play!

I bought this little brainstorming tool years ago at some writers’ conference. “Story Cubes” is a brainstorming game. You roll the dice, and whatever pictures appear face-up are the ones you use to riff off a story.

You can try to include all the cubes in your “story” or choose a few. The story you tell doesn’t have to be long or even any good. They all count!

To make this fun, I’ll offer a prize—a $5 Amazon gift card—good for purchasing one or two stories…
Have fun with this! Don’t overthink! Here’s the roll…

UPDATE: The winner is…Mary McCoy!
*~*~*

January

Work-related:

1. Again, I didn’t write a single word in all of January, but that was the plan—wait until after I recovered from the last of my chemotherapy sessions. Chemo sucked away all my energy and ambition. It wasn’t until well past mid-month that the aftereffects of my last chemo session on December 30th waned. And then I dragged my feet as I started thinking about what I wanted to accomplish writing-wise this year.
2. I completed 1 editing project for another author in January.
3. I settled on a theme and sent out the call for submissions for the next Boys Behaving Badly Anthology—Burn!
4. So, yeah, it was a light month of work, but I’m feeling so much better, and my brain is re-engaging!

Health-related:

1. I underwent a PET scan to see how my cancer had reacted to the chemo and got the amazing news that I’m now in remission from my cancer. Further, something I didn’t think would happen because I had far too much cancer everywhere is now within reach. It may be possible to have my girlie parts removed, which would yank out the source of my cancer. Not that it might not be lurking something else, microscopically, but right now the only place where it is detectable is in my uterus. It’s got to go!
2. After that good news, I spent the rest of the month…resting. I can finally get deep, restful sleep, so I’m catching up!

Happiness-related: 

1. My family, all of whom have been astonishingly good to me over the months of my treatment, are now expecting me to pick up some slack. LOL. I’m doing the occasional dishes and keeping my own spaces clean. It makes me feel productive, and I know my dd needs some relief.
2. I’ve been working on organizing my art studio, going from table to table, shelf to shelf, putting things where they belong and clearing working spaces.
3. I painted this month. Not much, but here are a few small pieces I completed:

February

  

For work-related, I plan:

1. To complete Ignition before the end of the month and publish it. I was able to persuade Amazon to give me back my pre-order ability (Yay!), but I’ll wait until I finish the book before I let you know it’s out there. Writing is a little elusive still, which has made me feel a little…not afraid, but hesitant to slap dates on things.
2. To plot stories for the new year for my current series, Montana Bounty Hunters: Yellowstone, MT and We are Dead Horse.
3. To complete 3 editing projects in February.
4. To look at books I already have out that I might bundle together or publish in print. I’ll be assembling another Ultra collection of short stories for publication in March.
5. To begin work on the next We Are Dead Horse book, Built Like Mack. The plan is to release it in March.

For health-related, I plan:

1. To meet with a surgeon at UAMS to discuss the possibility of getting my girlie parts removed. The appointment has been made—it’s happening at the end of this month.
2. To begin again watching what I eat to drop a few more pounds. I’ve rejoined WW. Now, I just need to knuckle under and do the work.
3. To add physical activities to my daily routine so that I can regain some muscle tone. I plan to begin some daily chair yoga exercises and spend some time on the exercise bike.

For happiness-related, I plan: 

1. To get ready for the #100dayproject, which begins on February 23rd. This will be the 5th year I’ve participated in the challenge. I can’t wait! I’ll be going through art books and Pinterest pages, looking for ideas for projects.
2. To clean up my art room, which was a disaster!  While I was feeling like hell, I tossed supplies on table tops rather than storing them properly, eating up my workspace.
3. I have plans to do an online oil pastels class and perhaps make some more collage fodder.
4. To spend time with the family—more movies, meals, and flea market adventures!

Contest

Comment on anything you’ve read in this post. Tell me what you’re doing to make yourself happier and healthier, or tell me what you plan to read in February…

Like I said, comment on anything for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card!

UPDATE: The winner is…Dawn Roberto!
*~*~*

I live with two grumpy old cats. The one above is Pumpkin, who adopted me. The first time I met her she was feral and wandering on the edge of the forest behind our house. I began leaving her food on the other side of the fence because I was worried about her. She was small for a cat and looked rather pathetic. I fed her daily, but she never approached when I was there. I’d watch as she waited for me to disappear inside, then from my window, I’d observe her eating the food I left.

Then one night many years ago, I had set an alarm to get up in the middle of the night to go outside and watch a large red moon. I felt something making figure-eights around my legs. When I glanced down, I was startled to see this cat (and so glad it wasn’t a raccoon!). She’d come to trust me, and slowly, she went from being a skittish outdoor cat to being a cat who refuses to step outside. She now lives in my bedroom, taking up the space on my recliner.

Tessa is the other elderly cat who inhabits my space. The two cats despise each other, and if they meet in the doorway as one comes back from the food bowls and litter box, they howl and spit at each other. Tessa inhabits the pillows at the back of my head when I lay down, and her purring is what puts me to sleep, although her yowls, when she gets mad if I roll to my side and disturb her sleep, are quite grating. If my hands are outside the covers, she nudges them for me to pet her—incessantly. So, I hide them under the covers when I’m done and wait for her to give a grumbling meow before she flops behind my head on the pillow and goes to sleep, snoring.

Right now, they both want to follow me into my office, so they are crouched on the floor, berating each other, waiting for the other to walk away, but that never happens. I have to break them up, picking them up to put them where they belong—one on the chair, one on the pillows.

This has been going on for years now. There is no peaceful resolution. They are sworn enemies who are jealous of the attention I pay the other. They will never be besties although they occupy the space of my bedroom for most of the day and night.

We live together, me being the buffer between them. I don’t know why I’m telling you about them this morning, except that Pumpkin is still trying to jump into my lap as I type. I rarely allow that because she doesn’t stop demanding pets and never settles—and I have work to do!

Betta fish are so much easier to care for. Feed them, keep their water the proper temperature, and enjoy the show. Not so cats.

So, for fun, have you ever had pets who were sworn enemies? How did you manage to keep the peace? Answer in the comments below for a chance to win a $5 Amazon gift card.

P.S.: I just wanted to let you know that I had no discernable side effects from my immunotherapy infusion last Monday. Not one. I sat for an hour while they dripped the medicine in my IV. Then I went about my life this past week without any nausea or pain. It’s so lovely. I’m still recovering my energy level after so many months of chemo, but I’ll get there!