I LOVE QUOTES

I have been collecting quotes for years.  I have them on scraps of paper, in notebooks, and post it notes.  They pop up on web pages, Pinterest, Tumblr and books I'm reading.  

Couldn't tell you why I love them so much.  Maybe it's because I'm not smart enough to make up my own.  Maybe it's because I just love them.  

Sad thing is that most quotes from the internet do not have the author's name.  I know I'm an old person and I believe this is a tragedy and very thoughtless of the person sharing.  You find a quote, no name, find it again attributed to one person, find it again attributed to another.  Then you Google it and find neither name is correct.  I try to look them all up if I'm going to use them.

And I do use them.  Every day a new quote, with color and pictures, find it's way to my Facebook page.  When I was working, a print out was hung on the wall and the employees came to see what was pinned up for the day.  

I like funny quotes, serious quotes, and thought provoking quotes.  Somewhere I read (another quote)  that you liked a quote because of the mood you were in.  I think that's probably true.  I often look at one scribbled on a scrap of paper and wonder why I picked it.  I can go back to a website and reread the quotes and find one that is right up my alley even though I skipped it before.  

After all the history of mankind, the quotes just keep coming.  And I keep scratching them on a piece of paper to store in a box and pull out to share once in a while.

Ever wake up one morning and wonder what you had done with your life? 

During my illness this was a thought I had often.  After all, I thought I was facing death when they brought up the "C" word.

I began to wonder just what I had done with my life.  Well, I was a daughter.  Not always a good one.  I was a wife.  Not always a good one.  I was a mother.  Not always a good one.  I was a grandmother.  Here I can honestly say I was a good one.

All the dreams I had as a girl had never come true.  But then they were not always realistic.  I wanted to be a fighter pilot.  That was something unheard of in my youth.  No lady pilots then.  I also wanted to be a research librarian.  That was my "real" dream I think.  I love to look up stuff and learn and share. But there were drawbacks like distance to the college of my choice and money.  So I became a clerk.  That was my existence for the rest of my life.  Not a happy one but I was good at it.  It paid the bills too.

Still you look back and you wonder.  What if?  Did I miss something?  Did I not have the courage to follow my dreams?  What if?

Thinking back I realized all the mistakes.  I also realized all the good.  I realized I made a lot of friends.  I tried to help people whenever I could.  Gave advice when it was probably not needed or wanted.  Gave as much love as I could to family and friends.  Somehow I think that was probably the most I could ask of my life. If I had been meant to be a fighter pilot, it would have happened.

Chemo is over.  Might be hard to believe but I was sad.  You see all the people at the Cancer Clinic in St. Augustine had become like family.  The staff and doctors were so upbeat that it was hard to not like them.  And it was like leaving friends.

I had a fabulous nurse through the whole ordeal.  She was one of a kind.  Not saying the other three girls weren't great.  I just bonded with mine.  It was very hard to say goodbye.  Oh, I'll go back to see her and take her to lunch some.  But I will not be sitting in a chair anymore and I'll miss the laughing and crying (she cried when my Mom died).  

Now I'm on a 6 month check up for two years.  When they said this was the best kind of cancer (follicular lymphoma)  to have, they were right.  Cure rate is high even at stage 3.  I am forever grateful that God sent me a doctor who almost immediately knew the disease that was killing my body.

There were days I thought I would not make it before the diagnosis and treatment.  I felt myself slipping away slowly.  I lost so much weight; could not walk without help; or do much else for myself.  I was trying to stay strong but after 9 months of not knowing and getting sicker and sicker, I was giving up.  So when this one doctor sent me to the er after blood work showed I was slowly dying, I began to think I might have a chance.  Five days in intensive care and my angel doctor was enough to give me hope again.  Then I began to fight.  Very seldom did I have a bad day or bad thoughts.

The doctor and my nurse both told me how proud of me they were.  I didn't know how to take that at first.  After all I wasn't the one giving the care.  But then it dawned upon me that they had seen me come in a wheelchair and walk out under my own power.  They had watched my weight come back to a good weight.  They knew I was fighting with all my might to get my life back.  So I'm proud of me too.

I am ever so grateful to the many people who fought along side me.  The wonderful people who prayed and had their friends and family pray for me.  I came to realize that I had friends that I had not known existed.  That was a gift itself.

Christmas morning has come and gone.  Such a lot of work for such a short time of joy.  But well worth the effort I must say.  With only daughter and granddaughter here with hubby and I for our Santa time we were blessed.  Everyone was thrilled with their gifts.  Granddaughter wanted a back pack and I managed to find just the right one--a Tardis back pack from the Dr. Who television series.  Thought she would never quit hugging it.  Daughter wanted a showcase for her shot glass collection which I was able to fulfill.  Hubby got his air rifle and air pistol--his wish for this year.  And from the girls I got lovely perfume bottles which I collect and wonderful clothes from hubby.  Lots of little things also.  Stockings full of candy and junk stuff.  Just traditional Christmas morning.

Then we had more traditional--cinnamon and orange rolls with coffee.  Later we will observe our other tradition--steaks, baked potatoes, and corn on the cob with a side of macaroni and cheese.  We started having steaks years ago.  Traditional meal on Thanksgiving and something simpler for Christmas.  Less time in the kitchen and more our kind of food.

The girls will go home tomorrow and I will miss them.  After times of bad feelings between daughter and I, we seemed to have moved into a new and better relationship.  And granddaughter is about the sweetest, lovingest girl you can have.  

The boys are with their wife and wife to be and their families.  So I am happy they are not alone and having a good time.  We had our party the weekend before which was so great.

Christmas is such a special time of year.  I remember sad ones but more happy ones.  Having a family and a special friend who spends her Christmas with our family party makes it all so much better.  I missed my Mom this year even though she came down for only a few Christmas's.  But knowing she's no longer with us made me a bit sad.  Dad's been gone 14 years so I have gotten over missing him so much.

The cats even got presents and they have been playing with them ever since.  Silly furballs.

Now it's time to give thanks and get ready for the new year.  Next Christmas will be even better.

The Dalai Lama said, "Choose to be optimistic, it feels better."

Optimism which has not always been my strongest character trait until I was diagnosed with cancer.  At first I was overwhelmed.  But sometime during those first few weeks, I realized I had to smile, to think only healing, good thoughts, and to keep my optimism high.

That's not to say I didn't have days of pessimism and bad thoughts.  I don't know how you can go through all the chemo, shots, having a port put in without pain and bad feelings.  Having lain in ICU wondering if I was even going to make it out of the hospital changed my thinking.  Realizing how close to death you had come can only lead to optimism once you are out, diagnosed, and being treated.  So for the most part I was smiling and feeling upbeat.  Low points yes, but I tried to keep them to a minimum.

I think back over my life and realized how much time I wasted being pessimistic and cynical.  Somewhere along my life line, I changed.   And I'm glad because it made this time in my life so much easier to survive.

So the Dalai Lama is correct.  Being optimistic does make you feel better.  It heals also.  I've read numerous articles about that fact.  Smiling is now my favorite pastime.  I love to smile at people especially those who's mouths are turned down at the corners.  Sad to say only occasionally do they smile back.  I feel sorry for them.  Optimism (a smile also) can change your whole life and make you feel like you are on top of the world.

Don't be afraid of being different, be afraid of being the same as everyone else.  unkown

I spent a good deal of my life trying to be the same.  It was a different "same" at different points.  It depended on what person was influencing me the most at the time.

Sometimes that person did something to hurt me and I gave up on trying to be the same as him or her.  Other times I would realize after wasting months or years that I really did not want to be the same as that person.  

I think I was raised to be the same as everyone else.  My mom, bless her, was very insecure and wanted us to be the same as the people she thought were superior to us.  They weren't.  She just had a warped sense of superior.  But I learned her lesson.  And my insecurity grew as well.

There is no doubt that this upbringing gave me the mentality of having to be like everyone.  Therapy helped a bit.  Mostly my own sense of sameness began to fade.  I realized I really didn't want to be like everyone else.  I wanted most of all to be me.  Of course, I had to find out who me was.  That took some time and some reflection.

Today I'm relatively sure of who I am and what I want out of life.  It is definitely not to be like others.  I relish my freedom from that sameness.  No more having to do what that other person has told you is the only way to act.  Now you are you.  

The hardest part of becoming my own person was to give up being afraid of what the "same" people thought.  That took more time than finding who I was.  I'm okay with it now.  I embrace my "difference" as a part of my life.

Just finished reading "Julie and Julia: 365 Days, 524 Recipes, 1 Tiny Apartment Kitchen" by Julie Powell. Yes, it was a movie and I did see it.  But I liked the book and the way Ms. Powell wrote it. 


In the book, which is a memoir of sorts, she decides to spend a year making all 524 recipes in "Mastering the Art of French Cooking"  by Julia Child.  And while she's doing that she'll blog about it.  She gets it done but not without funny and sad things happening.  Her thoughts on the whole blogging process interested me.  And no, I'm not going to try any cooking.  I just like to eat; not necessarily cook.  And from the description of the recipes I wouldn't eat most of them anyway.  Guess I'm just a good ole gal when it comes to food.

Her blog and it's notoriety brought her the book deal to write this memoir.

I had to agree with her about blogging.  It often seems to me that I'm maybe just a bit arrogant to think anyone would want to read this blog.  What do I know or have to say that is so important.  Reading about other people's thoughts and feelings doesn't always appeal to me.  I'll continue on with the blog but with a different attitude toward it.  Maybe, maybe not.

It's a windy, nasty morning.  Completely overcast and very damp.  

Isn't it wonderful that when you are at a loss for words and the conversation (or writing) has come to a halt, you can fall back on the weather.  Always a topic of use, weather is never the same.  Almost never the same.

And you think as you discuss the current weather and the forecast that perhaps another topic will come to mind.  Then you can carry on a more interesting or at least interesting to you conversation.

I am ready for nicer weather.  Alas (I like that word) it is going to get colder with possible rain.  It is winter but here in northeast Florida it should be sunnier.  

As you can "read" I don't have a topic today.  My mind is a little scattered.  At the cancer center they call it chemo brain.  Some days it's worse than others.  

But for what it's worth, here's today's blog.  Tomorrow may be better.

Sometimes memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks. unknown

Oh yes, especially this time of the year.  I can go back almost 70 years worth of them.

Christmas is a time of remembering.  Putting the tree up always leads to tears as I pull out treasured ornaments.  Ornaments that were made by little hands and big hands when times were tough.  Ornaments given by friends and family.  Ornaments that proclaimed a first Christmas.  So many.  It takes me hours to decorate a tree because I have to remember each one and it's history.  

There are boxes of hand carved Santas in the attic. They were done by my Dad.  I did not use them last year and this year I am not using them. They had sat out along with ceramic and other types of Santas for a great many years.  While I was semi-healthy last Christmas, I decorated in red ribbons and brown paper.  This year it seems more important to just do a little decorating and enjoy the moments of the season.  So I made no plans to do anything spectacular.  The hand carved ducks, Dad again, grace the mantel and I'll give them all a red bow and some greenery underneath them.  A tree and a wreath for the door will be the extent of it. I am enjoying not trying to come up with a theme and work myself to distraction. 

As the memories come flooding back, I will be remembering my Mom who passed this year along with my Dad who has been gone for 14 years.  There will be moments of my grandparents and the wonderful, easy times of my childhood.  

People get so wrapped up in buying and partying they forget the meaning of Christmas.  Besides being the celebration of our Saviors birth, it is a time to remember, a time to build relationships and be thankful.  I know that I am so grateful for this Christmas when early on I was not sure I would be well enough to enjoy it or even alive to celebrate.

Coffee brings warmth and comfort to my life. Part ritual, part relationship, part hope, having a cup in my hand feels as natural as holding a pencil. It stirs up memories and gratitude inside me.

—Nicole Johnson

Okay, I've written about coffee in my old blog "Coffee Cup in Hand".  So it's not a new subject; but one dear to my heart.

I know a lot of people don't like coffee or think it's bad for you; but not me.  My grandfather, who was the ultimate coffee drinker, started me on the stuff as a toddler.  Of course it was doctored with lots of sugar and cream.  Back then it was pure cream straight from the cow.  Can only dream about that today.

Let me explain my granddad's coffee.  First he used chicory coffee, which is an acquired taste.  I assume he started during the war when coffee was rationed.  I find I'm not as fond of it today as I was as a kid.  He used an old aluminum drip pot usually fixing that first drip around 4 in the morning.  He'd drink a cup, maybe two, before heading for the garden each morning.  Grannie would get up around 5 or so and she would heat it back up on the stove.  Got a little stronger then.  When I got up, which I can truthfully say I have no idea when, it was reheated for the third time.  Now it could just about walk.  That's when Grandad came back in; washed up and we had breakfast.  Nice memories.

I never stopped drinking coffee.  It is an essential part of my life.  Summers I drink less, but winter it becomes an all day thing.  But I drink it black and have for quite a few years.  Once in a while, I'll have a flavored coffee; but they are not my favorite.  But offer me an Irish coffee with Tullamore Dew and I'm in hog heaven.

My mother was a big coffee drinker; Dad only having a cup in the morning and another about mid afternoon.  He only had that one because Mother always made it and gave it to him.

Coffee to me is a part of my life.  It brings memories and odd thoughts whenever I think about it.  Sitting on the back porch sharing the morning and a cup with Grandad being one of my favorites.  Sitting in the front porch swing enjoying a mid afternoon cup with him and whoever had stopped by for a chat.  Softer, sweeter, easier times for sure.

So many thoughts; where to begin

Could not narrow down a topic for today.  So it's just whatever comes to mind.

First would be gratitude.  I have so much to be grateful for.  Cannot possibly express it to all the people who deserve to be thanked.  Yesterday  my best friend from high school lost her husband.  At 72 he has been beat down by a disease called Lewys Bodies.  A Parkinson type disease with dementia attached.  It was a long, slow progression.  Things like that just make me realize how blessed I am to be in remission and going strong.

Second is the holiday spirit.  How can you not feel it in the air?  I always try to act like it isn't that important but, oh my, it is.  During my life time I have had some really lousy Christmases.  And some really great ones.  The last few years were the best with family and friends all enjoying our hospitality.  This year will be the most blessed.  Not only will the family and my best friend be here; but it will be a celebration of life.  

It was this time last year that I began to get sick.  So a whole year of illness, looking at death, and springing back.
You can't beat that.  

Third will be having attended one grandson's wedding and about to attend another.  What a wonderful blessing that is.  These two grandsons are such wonderful young men who give me such love.  Then there is my granddaughter who is so sweet, you just want to hug her all the time.  She'll marry someday also and I plan on being there for that.

So some thoughts; maybe a bit jumbled but writing as I think sometimes is a jumble.  Fingertips a bit numb from chemo makes it a chore to type and my brain often gets ahead of my fingers. 

Remission

When the doctor told me yesterday that the PET scan showed I was in total remission, I couldn't speak.  I couldn't even cry.  I was in shock.  My poor hubby he did shed a tear but didn't want to cry in front of others.  

The shock has worn off. And although still no tears, I am in total amazement.   I never thought it would be so fast.  Hubby and I both thought it would take a year at least.

When I went in the hospital in August, I thought I was dying.  Hope was still in my heart though.  I couldn't help but think that someone might look at my symptoms and come up with a diagnosis.  

And there she was, petite and sweet Dr. Montgomery.  She knew almost immediately and had a biopsy done to prove it.  

I can only believe that her managing my care was a great help.  But I also cannot help but believe that prayer played a large part of it also.  There were so many people praying and those people, who went to various churches, were having their congregations pray.  Then there were my own prayers and hubby's prayers.  So I will offer gratitude to all those people; but mostly to my Lord.  I knew he wasn't through with me.

Thoughts?

Seems I have been a wee bit sad; perhaps depressed the past few days.  Holidays tend to do that to me.  I know they shouldn't but even at almost 70; I cannot help myself.

I think my Mom was on my mind a lot.  I'm having a difficult time getting her death certificate so I can do the things that need to be done.  After I called for the third time, I was told in a few days.  It is a government piece of paper so who knows how long it will take.  Just that act, brought her to mind.  I think what I most regret is the wonderful life we could have had if she had not been so insecure and so mean.  I'm sure my own hard head made things a little worse.  Even so, I miss her.  I would have called her on Thanksgiving day.

Thanksgiving was a little lonely.  While I knew everyone had a place to go and the rest could not make it this far, I still missed them all.  We were invited two places but preferred to stay out of groups because of my low immunity.  Christmas they will all be home and we'll have a wonderful time.  

Now I feel better.  I've vented my depression and my sad feelings.  That's what a blog or a journal is good for.  When you write your feelings out, reread it for errors in the blog, your mind and heart releases it's bad vibes and the good vibes come in.  That's one of the reasons I started the blog back.  I'm glad when people read it; but it isn't necessary because it's more for me.

More thoughts:

I can't help feeling that God has sent me so many angels in my illness.  There were some, but few, people I could have done without.  Like the first oncologist that just didn't seem interested in helping me.  For the most part, each place I went I found at least one, usually more, wonderful souls that gave me such loving care.  I think my smiles and treating them like I would want to be treated made a difference.

My sister-in-law loaned me a walker and a wheelchair.  These were a necessity for a couple of months as I worked to get my strength back.  Now I am almost back to my old self.  Most of the medicine I take do make me dizzy and a little unsure of myself, so I take my time and walk slow.

During all this, my mother had to be put in a nursing home.  I could talk to her on the phone but couldn't go out to Texas to be with her.  Luckily she had friends that went to see her and watched out for her.  I knew when I had to make that decision that she did not have  many days left.  She did live a couple of months but had Alzheimer's and her memory was fast leaving her.  She died alone, which will always stick with me.  I knew I could not go but it didn't make it any easier.  And for a lot of you who know me, you know that Mom and I didn't have the best of relationships.  Being the last living relative and loving her no matter what made it harder.  There was a nice graveside service which the funeral director was nice enough to share on his phone.

One of the side effects of chemo is numbness in my fingers.  This is not bad and I've learned to deal with it.  The other is edema in my legs.  That is a result of the disease.  Thanks to a water pill it has gone down considerably.  But not completely.  At least now I can wear regular shoes most days.  I bought larger sizes to get me through the really bad swelling.

Although I am now more independent, I have to say I got very spoiled.  Having everything done for me by a loving husband was wonderful when I was so ill and weak I couldn't do for myself.  But I wanted my life back with all the bad stuff and good stuff.  Still, sometimes I miss being so pampered.

I have about covered all the illness I can think of.  I will have to think up some new stuff to write about now.  Not that I won't add a little as time passes and new experiences pop up.

Mish-Mash:

Back home after my second PET scan.  I have an office visit with Dr. Montgomery on Monday when I will get results.  Praying it will show more shrinkage.

I covered the early illness and the hospital stay, the diagnosis, and starting chemo.  Since then there have been three more chemos.  Each one is about three to four hours of sitting in a big recliner with tubes coming out of my port.  Sherry, my nurse keeps a close watch, and comes by to check on me.  I take a big oriental embroidered bag full of my "stuff".  My Kindle, snacks, water, tissue, and anything else I think might be needed or wanted.  I take my blankie because the room is fairly cool.  Has to be for the way those four nurses run around.  

The infusion room has fifteen chairs.  When I have been there, it is usually full.  The four nurses are so wonderful at what they do.  If they can't get an iv in someone's arm, they are terribly hurt.  I know they try to stay objective but my girl, Sherry, has become attached to us (Bill and I).  We don't leave without a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.  I watched and it seems all of them have favorites. I'm glad I am a favorite.  Her hug means a lot to me.

In fact, everyone, patients and staff, seem to be in good moods.  Maybe some are grouchy; but in a way I can understand.  But I have found that being upbeat and happy helps you get through this disease a lot easier.  True to my personality, I have made quite a few friends there.  

Just before the second chemo, my hair had begun to fall out by the handfuls.  They had prepared me for that.  I went to the sweetheart gal who has done my hair for years; and she shaved the rest off.  Was a heart wrenching moment as I watched it go.  Now I have about lost my eyelashes and eyebrows.  Strangely the unsightly mustache under my nose continues to grow but it is solid white now.   It will all come back I know.  At first it was hard for me to go out in public.  Even with a hat or scarf.  Gradually I grew to accept it and go on.  Now frequently I have women come up to me and tell me to be strong, or to fight, or just that they had been there.  That means a lot to me.

More mish-mash tomorrow

Coming home:

Once I got home, I realized how sick I had been.  Now I was dealing with weakened muscles and an extremely large weight loss.  

Three days after coming home, the oncologist's office called to set up an appointment.  The results of the bone marrow and biopsy where in.  I was scared because I now knew that it was cancer; but not what kind or how bad.  

Dr. Montgomery assured me that the news was good.  3rd stage follicular lymphoma was the diagnosis.  This type of cancer is highly curable and she gave me a 90% chance of surviving and being well.

In another two days, I had been given a schedule for the next month starting with the first infusion.  That chemo was heavy and lasted about six hours.  I was completely in the dark as to what was going to happen.  I had also been given a huge bag of pills.  Pills to keep me from being nauseous and Prednisone, for what I don't remember, and a few other assorted chemo type pills.  The next day I went back for an injection which was part of the chemo and was to up my white blood cells.  

Once a week for the next three weeks I returned to get lab work done to make sure my hemoglobin among other markers were getting better which they were.  This cancer center is a one stop center.  Your blood work is done there, ct scans and PET scans are done there, the infusion is done there and your doctor is on site.  The people are super and helpful and caring.  I was assigned a nurse who has become my friend.  

The doctor and Sherry, my nurse, had told me I would feel better after the chemo.  I had been so sick that it wouldn't have taken much to make me feel better.  And they were right.  I did feel better.  After the second I felt even more so.  I was getting my strength back and eating good again.  Seems the nausea was part of the disease.  Before the second chemo, I had a port put in at the hospital.  Makes it much easier to access and keeps my arms in better condition.  The chemo is very hard on your veins.

My gastroenterologist, Dr. Ahmadi, has continued to see me to monitor the liver lesion.  He's also the angel who had the foresight to do the unusual blood work and see the need for me to be in the hospital.  Without that, I don't think I would have survived.  I tell him he is an angel and he turns bright red.

I have now had four chemo's.  I go tomorrow for a PET scan to see how the tumors are progressing.  Have two more chemo's scheduled.  There could be more but won't know until the results of the scans are read.

A lot of my strength has returned and I continue to work on it.  My eating has been so good, I now am having to watch what I eat so I won't balloon back up to 198 which is where I started.  I like a slimmer me and I feel better but I continue to eat good things.  Eating all that candy, chips, and sweets was fun though.  Now I just have to be more conservative.

The Hospital

Once I was stabilized in the er, they transferred me to Medical ICU; step down from just plain ICU.   The fact that they were putting me in the Medical ICU disturbed hubby and the family.  They knew that I had been near death when I went into the er and so they were holding their breaths for good news.

It was a wonderful room.  One of the nicest hospital rooms I'd ever been in.  Completely paneled in a beautiful wood.  Naturally it held all the usual equipment to keep you alive and well.  And I had my own special nurse.

I liked that first nurse.  It was late at night and I was so extremely tired.  However, a male nurse from er and a young volunteer rolled me up to the Medical ICU.  There they transferred me to the new bed (which was extremely comfortable for a hospital bed).  As they tossed me over (that's what it felt like), I noticed how cute the volunteer was.  And for whatever reason, I asked "So you are a volunteer?"  He answered, "Yes Ma'am."  Which I promptly returned with, "You are adorable."  My nurse who turned out to have a great sense of humor said, "Oh, I already like her, she's a kidder."  She went off duty and was gone the rest of the time I was there.  I missed her because the other two were not nearly as much fun.

They continued to pour blood and fluids and who knows what else into me.  I didn't seem to get any better.  They continued to take blood and do more tests which I can't possibly remember.  Sometime the next day I began to get better although still not where the doctors wanted.  That was when I met Dr. Montgomery, now my oncologist.  She ordered a bone marrow test.  And that was where I first met Dr. Smith who is the Radiologist there.  He is a trip.  He did several ct scans.  After that, Dr. Montgomery came in to see me.  

I had mentioned that the "c" word had been mentioned several times during those 9 months I continued to spiral down.  She looked at me and said, "I think you may have follicular lymphoma but I want to do a biopsy."  Once again I was wheeled into Dr. Smith's inner sanctum.  All the tests he had done were done using the ct scan machine to pinpoint the area to be used.  And since my blood pressure was so very low they were afraid to give me anesthesia which would lower it more.  So none of these were exactly comfortable.

I kept thinking the pain was worth the probability that I would know what had made me so sick.  Although the bone marrow test results and the biopsy results were not going to be back for a week, I felt and Dr. Montgomery felt we were on the right tract.  She told me that all my symptoms were the same as the lymphoma.  And she asked me if I wanted her to send the results to the first oncologist.  Well, by this time I was in love with this tiny, gentle lady and I, of course, said no.  I wanted to stick with her.  Which caused a bit of problem she was not covered by my supplemental insurance.  But that's another story.

Another night in a regular hospital room (oh what a difference that was) and I came home; weak, tired, and scared.  I knew it could be a week before we had the results but at least I was home and sleeping in my own bed.

Next blog I'll go from here.

Describing what happened:

I was fortunate to have a PA (physicians assistant) that took an interest in my health and me.  He fought tooth and nail; sometimes against his boss, the Doctor to look for what was causing my symptoms.  All anyone ever said was it's a puzzle.  

He sent me to a local hematologist/oncologist who decided I had bleeding somewhere probably in the stomach.  So my PA, Eric, sent me to a gastroenterologist.  He did the usual upper and lower gi scopes.  Nothing.  An MRI showed a mass in my left side within the stomach.  So they went further with an ultrasound endoscopy mainly to check the small lesion on my pancreas.  It was decided that it was benign but would have to be watched.  Still no bleeding.  Then I got to swallow a pill shaped camera which found a small ulcer but no bleeding.  All this time the gastroenterologist was monitoring my lab reports as was the PA.  Still nothing.  After 10 trips to Flagler Hospital for blood infusions and 4 iron infusions, I was slowly going down hill.  Could not eat without throwing up.  Lost 68 pounds over that 9 months.  Looked like I was a living skeleton.  Had to have help to get out of bed, out of a chair etc etc.  I was giving up just like my body.

Then the gastroenterologist had me have another lab done and he was looking at all kinds of things.  Two days after I did the lab, he, himself, called me and said to go to the er at Flagler.  My potassium and sodium was non-existent and my hemoglobin had fallen to 6 (supposed to be 11 or 12).  I was scared.  All these doctors and PA's had batted around the C word.  But at the same time I couldn't help but feel that maybe this would be when they discovered what was wrong with me.

Tomorrow I'll cover the hospital stay.  Hope this is not boring to my few readers.  But it is doing me a world of good to write it down.

HERE I AM AGAIN

I wrote a blog for a year some time back; mostly about my alcohol addiction and then just day to day living with a couple of my try at short stories.

Friends and family have suggested to me that I should have started blogging/journaling about my bout with 3rd stage follicular lymphoma when it began.  I think it is a good idea to start even though I have had 4 chemos and am doing better.  At the beginning I could not possibly have written anything.  

 My experience with my first blog was interesting, helpful, and led me to some nice blogger friends.  But I grew tired of thinking of something to write.  So don't be surprised if you don't see a posting everyday.

I now have been in cancer treatment for 4 months.  Once a month I have received a chemo treatment.  Lots of pills helped to combat symptoms.  I have been extremely lucky to have few side effects.  Oh, I lost all the hair on my body; which in some cases wasn't such a bad thing.  My skin has been extremely dry.  My brain sometimes goes into omission mode leaving me grasping for thoughts and words.

I'm 69 years old and had always been in excellent health.  What started happening about a year ago will fill many postings.

Last Christmas as we held our annual family/friends soiree, I knew that I did not feel well.  The get together is a long standing tradition and I couldn't miss it or disappoint the others.  So as usual (little back slapping here) I had planned a wonderful party.  And it was great.

As the months began to pass, I felt worse and worse.  I begin to lose pounds every day.  I was seeing several doctors; all of whom were dumbfounded about what was causing my many symptoms.  The decline began to be life threatening.  Low hemoglobin count had me at the hospital 10 times for blood infusions.  The hematologist was filling me with iron infusions.  Although I would be better a few days soon it was back to being incapacitated.  What happened next will be in future posts.