tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76454372024-03-06T22:08:23.059-08:00THINGS THEY DON'T TELL YOU ABOUT LIFE AFTER A DOUBLE CORD BLOOD TRANSPLANT OR ANY TRANSPLANT IT STARTED OUT AS A BUMP BECAME 2.5 YEARS OF TREATMENT. SURPRISE RELAPSE AND NOW LONG TERM SIDE-EFFECTS. NO COMPLAINTS, JUST REPORTING. Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.comBlogger1539125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-80910058916426938162021-03-01T17:59:00.000-08:002021-03-01T17:59:03.302-08:00It Has Been A Year, and What a Year. <font size="6">(Clearly, I have been working on this post for a while. We really are in March 2021. I began o write this post in August of last year. )</font><div><font size="6"><br /></font></div><div><font size="6">We have arrived in the first week of August 2020. Summer slowly made itself known, but now it is going to start slipping away. We are watching the tomatoes ripen, the baby Siskins are growing, and the hummingbirds fight with each other over the best feeder. </font><div><font size="6"><br /></font></div><div><font size="6">We also realize our old world is gone. We are not going back to "normal." The virus has its clutches tightly wrapped around the entire world. A stupid microscopic item that invades our bodies and wreaks havoc on every system. Lungs, brain, blood vessels. Unknown, but still there, revealing itself insidiously. It has blindsided the world as it crept into our consciousness and our lives in the latter part of December 2019.</font></div><div><font size="6"><br /></font></div><div><font size="6">I heard about it in late December and realized it was a problem. I often hear weird things that others don't notice. I had a profoundly sinking feeling as I was listening to the bits and pieces of the news. In the back of my mind, I heard my father's voice and it was warning the world. Being a doctor who worked around the world during his career, he knew and saw small micro-organisms' invasive nature. He was horrified when some researchers were planning to exhume a body in Alaska of someone that had died of the Spanish Flu or when they made the decision not to destroy the last remaining smallpox cultures. As a Doctor of the world, he was aware of the power of an epidemic. Every time there was a start of a viral outbreak, my dad would worry a bit scratch a lot, and then breathe when the feared outbreak did not appear. </font></div><div><font size="6"><br /></font></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">With the news, I instantly overreact. When the first death hit Washington State, I mobilized. My leukemia and bone marrow transplant training went into overdrive. I'm an old hand at believing every single person carried some pathogen able to destroy Mary-Elizabeth and how to keep it at bay. Locking down was not a difficult thing—sort of like riding a bicycle. I know where to clean and what to wipe down. I don't feel bad about asking someone to use hand sanitizer when they come into the house and later to wear a mask. Never do I apologize about asking someone to exit my personal bubble and take their germs elsewhere. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">I didn't rush out for toilet paper and water. I made sure everyone had ample supplies of things made in China. Medications for three months for Mary-Elizabeth if Trump shut down trade. Coffee for the early mornings. Good books less Amazon decided not to ship "non-essential" items. You know, the important things. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Pandemic took away lots of the business out of our lives. I find such quiet times create space for long-overdue organizing. Sewing, reading, writing, baking, correspondence, long talks on the phone. Time to really figure out what is going on in the garden. A chance to see the myriad of birds that briefly visit but often go unnoticed. A big slow down. Nothing on the calendar but time. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">It hasn't been easy for everyone. Many of our fellow humans are not very capable of spending time with themselves. It makes them frantic. I learned long ago that I liked myself and my own company. I also know I am blessed. I am lucky because I have someone with whom to spend this quiet time. I am even luckier that I like him as much as I like myself—the time is a good thing. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">15 years ago, I remember what it was like to be the only one I knew that was in a bubble. I remember our calendar before diagnosis and then what it looked like after. Lots and lots of "negative space." The whole world continued to plan and meet and enjoy life's little pleasures. We were very much alone. I so remember those first few months of cancer treatment when it seemed endless. It seemed like it would never end. We had a 2.5-year treatment possibility, but then we knew there were years of follow-up and dealing with side-effects and the side-effects of the treatments for side-effects. I don't even want to think about Relapse, but that is an entire tangent. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">For me, it is all about the unknown. The "what's next: when will the next shoe/piano/astroid drop??? You find after a few weeks, stress becomes part of your DNA. It hangs on like bad moss in a swamp. Not knowing makes everyone just a little bit crazy. </span><span style="font-size: xx-large;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-size: xx-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: xx-large;">This virus has ahold of the world, and we have a long way to go. Promises of Vaccines. Promises of Control. Promises of successful treatments. It is all is too much. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">I learned that I just needed to focus on the next hour, the next day, and maybe if things are going well. </span><span style="font-size: xx-large;">next week. No plans to be made. Just now. Just this moment. This breath. This glance out the window. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;">While the big world begins to shrink as people die, the observations of our view grew. Did you know that we have Goldfinches most of the time, but they are different flocks? The ones that spent the summer with us have fled. We have new visitors. They seem to have a slight British Columbia accent. They have stopped by for a few pounds of seed as they prepare to venture further South. We have fattened them up for their journey. They will soon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNOKJ37XKqHyNxorLT6Q7C1WfnT7VeNbOm-zojj6JNaudr8j4-ffLWC9gLMH2Ogg6GUX3oQJODNqnyDjMWZhnDOKNyxPsG5ixhom7EajQtLR1DTbxqJy0GyT0MymMF87UGPbFk/s6000/DSC_0016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6000" data-original-width="4000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNOKJ37XKqHyNxorLT6Q7C1WfnT7VeNbOm-zojj6JNaudr8j4-ffLWC9gLMH2Ogg6GUX3oQJODNqnyDjMWZhnDOKNyxPsG5ixhom7EajQtLR1DTbxqJy0GyT0MymMF87UGPbFk/s320/DSC_0016.JPG" /></a></div><br /> leave, and then those from way up up north will come for the winter. They will hang around and provide lots of good entertainment. Bits of flashy yellow and lots of chirps make the mornings special. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div></div>Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-27490168986145675002021-02-28T17:41:00.000-08:002021-02-28T17:41:05.063-08:00It Really Has Been Nine Years<p> <span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><b>We are heading to the day. The day I consider the most important. It was the day when there was concrete proof the transplant had worked. There were balloons and there were cheers and there were orange slices on the day of the actual transplant, but I wanted to know that the cells had taken hold. I wanted to know it was working. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><b>Mary-Elizabeth is 9 years out. She has more than 3285 days from the times of such despair. She has finished college. She has become a fully employed human being. She has faced so many many struggles with Post-Transplant B.S. She has grown into an amazingly funny, smart, thoughtful human being. The transplant really was a miracle. I enjoy every day that she is with us. Every day that she calls to complain that she looks bad in a swimsuit. Every day that she shares her chocolate chip cookies. Every day that she reaches out to check-in and just tells me she loves me. Every day that she is on this side of the world of reality, it is a better world. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><b>I keep ending this blog. I don't add to it much anymore. I guess I should say that I have over a 150 unpublished posts. I sometimes question whether or not it is time to make a bold step out of this world of reflection and maybe focus on something else. I am coming to realize that even if I try, I won't/can not make a grand exit. It's not a choice to stay in Cancer World, even if on the edges. </b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><b>It just hangs there. Not like the big flat overwhelming clouds currently gently dropping some Valentine shaped snow flakes, but the kind that you catch out of the corner of your eye. The little bit of fluff on the horizon that doesn't seem to be going anywhere\.</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><b>Nine Years. </b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoL-V8CZvJoN48uguT_tRf5rGOaAbS4JWiijUI5vigukpASNrnKvp8c_yEgml0BFf8jTzfqssJlZVlsd3byUbOW3-GOQWozwuoRWYHCfBQa9Z7TpbBpANx14TJDOMk5MMZL3c5/s6000/DSC_0883+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoL-V8CZvJoN48uguT_tRf5rGOaAbS4JWiijUI5vigukpASNrnKvp8c_yEgml0BFf8jTzfqssJlZVlsd3byUbOW3-GOQWozwuoRWYHCfBQa9Z7TpbBpANx14TJDOMk5MMZL3c5/s320/DSC_0883+%25281%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></b></span></div><span style="font-family: trebuchet; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span><p></p>Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-20403031610349944712020-07-18T20:28:00.004-07:002020-07-21T12:59:38.881-07:00Two Old Dogs and The Rainbow Bridge<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Picture two old dogs sitting on a porch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One is a graying a Scottie, the other an old Shitzu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both on soft blankets, overlooking a green
yard and trees with a big rainbow in the distance.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gizmo: Hey, see that blob of color?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
Tucker: Not really, I have not been able to really see for
some time or hear or run or properly chase a cat far. Hey, I am 14 years old
and you are 17.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You do not even have
both eyes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am surprised you can see anything.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
Gizmo: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess I am
sort of blind. Not that my eye was very useful at the time the weird lady took
it away. But boy can I still smell good things like other dog’s butts and when
there is food on the table. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tucker: Have you noticed that every time our person takes us
to that lady in the place that smells bad and they do mean things to us, they
discuss how long we have on this side of the bridge? I have heard my person
talk about something called the Rainbow Bridge. I cannot see color on a good
day so why would I have to go there? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know that rainbows come after thunderstorms, so I am not a fan. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it were made for us, it would be covered in pieces of meat and carrots and bones and chocolates and maybe some roast
beef. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
Gizmo: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When my person
talks about it, he seems so sad also.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What do you know about it the bridge?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
Tucker:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well when my
person mentions <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>she gets those wet blobs in her eyes and her
eyes leak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
Gizmo: But they say good things about it, so I am
confused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it is such a good place,
why are they sad? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
Tucker:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think it is
because we must go there before they do. I think all we do is go there and wait
for them to join us later. Sort of like Doggie Daycare. We get treats and chase
balls and I think we get to hear and see and jump and be like we were when we
were puppies. I am not sure the cats are there, but I am hoping so and maybe a
squirrel or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would you want? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
Gizmo: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would
want to bark at every officious interloper and have no one tell me “NO”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would want to sit in a warm place in the
sun and have everyone tell me what a good dog I am being, even when I
bark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would want endless Chicken Jerky
and not have it taken from me when I put it down for a short nap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> I want to find Otis and have him show me what he has discovered since he was such a great explorer when he was here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
Tucker: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think we
are closer to being puppies. Do you remember when you first met your
person?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were so big, and it was so
confusing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They made those weird noises
with their eating holes and wanted to keep us off the floor and try to keep us
close.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They tried to give us strange
food and thought we could not find the water place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember I had to meet lots of other things
like me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had an older sister named
Sadie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was bossy and would not let
me follow her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would make her legs
go fast and I would think it was a game only to discover she wanted me
gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She made lots of noises and
smelled different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used my short legs
and I kept up with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also spent hours on end making sure our outdoor
space was completely free of a black cat named Lucy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was so much fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She ran when I barked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a great time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My head was so big that when I jumped over
things, I would just tumble and fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Come to think of it, my head is still big!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have the teeth of a land shark and I am not
afraid to use them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
Gizmo: I met my person when my first people had to leave me
in a weird cage. My new person found me and took me home. I was not the only
child but shared my person with Otis. Otis was a bad bad dog. He looked quiet, sweet, and listened but sometimes, he would get ideas in his head and just go for meandering journeys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told me he was just exploring because he
had been a dolphin in a former life and could really move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otis was
insulted that he was so confined in a dog’s body. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That crazy dog would listen enough that he did
not have to be on the long string all the time but he was a problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being
the doting younger brother, I would just follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told me he was much smarter and wiser than
I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I look back, we were lucky that we
made it back to our person time and time again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Two 12” dogs wandering, in our neighborhoods, in the woods, down a busy
major thoroughfare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were quite the
pair. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otis left a few years ago and I am
sort of excited to meet up with him again <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One of my peeps says I am really a cat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been almost eaten by wild coyotes,
fallen in the window well twice, fell into the pond and had to swim for my life
and bark at the same time, I also just walked off the porch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John
found me once wandering in the basement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>15 steps down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am practiced at
rolling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What about you?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tucker: I have cost my peeps thousands of dollars
because of my love of food adventures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yummy
to chocolate, Oreos, chocolate covered almonds, bird suet, rat bait, and of
course let us not forget the purple “edibles”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I edibled three of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boy did
that make me crazy for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one
worried about the beer that Lisa Cooper gave me when I was just 8 weeks old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The can was bigger than my tiny head. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><b><br /></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>My Name is Sir Tucker of Berwick and I am an alcoholic, </b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>a
substance abuser AND a chocholic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tucker: Boy, we both have had a great life. I went to college;
you explored the world with Otis and John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have been fed endless carrots and slept on down comforters and chased squirrels
and chipmunks. I kept the yard free of pesky crows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
been on long hikes in the woods. I know I am going to go on that last long
chase soon. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will be free to bury my bones
and not have to worry about whether they have maggots on them. Just when the bones get good and ripe, I am not allowed to bring them into the house. It's called Aged. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal">
Gizmo: My life has been grand. I know my person is going to
be incredibly sad for a long time because we are special friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have worked extremely hard to properly
train him and he has done a good job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
wonder if he will still get up at 3 am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
have been making him give me a peanut butter<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> treat. </span>I wake up and I am bored, so he
gets up with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I of course must spend
a bunch of time making noise so he will awaken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That other one refuses in the morning. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She just closes the door and goes back to
sleep. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Tucker:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am a
Scotty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only really care about one
person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mary-Elizabeth has been my human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are really one person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has lots of good friends and a Mom, so she
won’t be alone, but I am special to her in another way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will
go on walks and have dinner and sleep with other people, but she is my
person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She and I graduated from Gonzaga University in
Spokane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I worry about leaving her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came to her when she was fighting a big battle with cancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she did it
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of her worry was focused on
me and then she could focus less on her own worry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am proud to say that I have been wonderful
for her, but I know my time here is coming to an end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can feel it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am slowing down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brain is weird, and Mary-Elizabeth will
not let them poke and prod at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
knows it is too hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Gizmo: I guess when we talk, I realize it is going to be
okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are going to go ahead and be missed,
and they will cry and have lots of those heavy sighs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are going someplace incredibly special and
we will wait. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are good at waiting unless
it is time for dinner or a walk or bedtime. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Gizmo:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tucker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tucker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Where did you go? I can tell you aren’t here anymore. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Tucker: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brain
went nuts again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mary-Elizabeth held me
tight and told me I was going to be okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She held me so I could smell her cuz during the Bad Brain things I could
not hear or see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was terrified but
when she held me I was able to relax.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
her quiet way, she told me how good things were going to be. I knew she was
there and that she would be okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
finally just let go. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got sleepy and
then I just left my stupid old and tired body. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m brand-new and have found Sadie and Grandpa John and Wolf
and a bunch of friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lucy is
here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get to chase her but she is
still way fast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Otis: See you soon<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-21139418824916003912020-03-23T12:06:00.000-07:002020-04-29T12:56:06.105-07:00When the Pool Expands<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I remember what it was like when they first mentioned a new virus. It was in January. In a lot of ways, felt I was the only person that heard it. Deep in my gut... a slow-burning sense of dread. Ever present. Ever-growing. A feeling I could not shake. Chocolate didn't help. A big rich meal and wine did not help. Sleep began to become more difficult. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">A steady beating drum....... It's coming. It's coming. It's coming........</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">It's contained.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">It won't get to Eastern Washington</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">It is just like the flu.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">It's a left-wing conspiracy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">It will dissipate in April.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Oh, the quarantined ships, well they are not Americans so they don't count. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Oh, we are screening everyone that comes into the country. We let them arrive after hours in close contact and then we screen....hmmm?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">No one can come into the country. Now we don't know if they are positive because we don't have any real testing because this is America. We are immune to all bad things. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Oh, we are ready. I was thinking about ready when I looked up the amount of hospital beds we have in this country. Less than a million. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">We are fine. We have this under control.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Spreading</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Spreading</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Death</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Spreading</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Now what? We all enter my world. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">From the beginning, I was confident I knew how to deal with this. I spent over seven years facing a world full of pathogens. Simple things could kill. Simple things did kill. What you eventually realize is that your mind needs a project to keep from thinking about what is happening to you and yours. I think as a species we need to think we are "doing something". Something. Something to make things better. The need propels us forward and keeps us sane to a certain extent. But where do you start?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Washing your hands.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Using hand sanitizer when no soap and water were available. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Wiping down door handles and other surfaces.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Tasering anyone that sneezes in your direction.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Wipe down places people touch. Door handles, phones, handrails, the outside car handle, the inside car handle. It all is germy. Wash all your hand towels every day. With Bleach. Throw away sponges. Make everyone that comes in the door use your special home-made hand sanitizer. When did alcohol begin to smell so bad?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Essentially what happens is a new awareness. A new appreciation of how many surfaces are lurking out there. A new form of hyper-vigilance. Every moment of every day your adrenaline surges through your body. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">You have To bE careful.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">You Have to Be careful.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">YOu have to be CareFul.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">This will be a much cleaner world. It might not be a much friendlier world. But at least wiped down and freshly sanitized.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8kO18vP3SE5jm4O7oXpUdSIal4dmjGWT7eFGIlHBDj3vDSQGLuk3V8tcdgmzvPP-aSaE98ZLJQKUd-Nq0zJnI5mmlX2UQw3o-HNTEG0jJLi4voVWVO84plgp7IAoP4paodonK/s1600/IMG_0421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8kO18vP3SE5jm4O7oXpUdSIal4dmjGWT7eFGIlHBDj3vDSQGLuk3V8tcdgmzvPP-aSaE98ZLJQKUd-Nq0zJnI5mmlX2UQw3o-HNTEG0jJLi4voVWVO84plgp7IAoP4paodonK/s320/IMG_0421.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-17105820839009836082019-11-27T12:31:00.000-08:002019-12-01T10:06:56.291-08:00Death and Dying and Why it Sucks<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">God knows how many tiny lives have been lost. God knows how many family members have been lost. God knows how many dear and near friends are going to be leaving in the next few years or in this case weeks or days. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">God should know better. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">So I have a friend. Her name of Patty. She and I did not find each other in this life until another friend Nancy made us all go to trivia together about 4 years ago. (Rules about Trivia are a whole other story. Love you Nancy.) Patty and I were sisters or brothers or littermates in a former life. We have read the same books, been to the same national parks, like the same foods, and most importantly have the same weird sense of humor. In this life, we have lived in a lot of the same places and had lots of the same experiences. Our fathers were doctors, we lived in Michigan, we have both traveled, love road trips and seeing the world's largest ball of string. I think she was even at the Michigan Women's Festival the year my sister got arrested. (Another long story to be told later.) We have come close on many occasions to having our lives intersect. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Well as fate would have it, we don't get to become better friends because God is not cooperating. She (Not God) has end-stage colon cancer and has decided that spending time with friends and family is more important than sitting with an IV in her arm. I love this about her. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The other day it just hit me how deeply deeply sad I was about our aborted time in this realm. We won't be sitting together in the Barking Dog making fun of the guy that runs the Trivia Night. We won't be able to have a good snicker when all the answers are Teddy Roosevelt. We won't just hang out and share a good glass of wine or beer or watch the hummingbirds. She won't ever be able to spend time in our lovely back yard in Eastern Washington watching birds that flock for good food. She won't be taking great pictures of amazing objects. She won't be readily accessible for witty banter and serious conversations. She won't be around to scoff at my dogs or ever really get to know my co-conspirator. I </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">bet she won't be able to join us on the Mini Road Rally set for this summer. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> It just makes me so melancholy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Patty recently shared a book she wrote about taking care of her mom at the end of her life. More than a book about her mom, it was a book about her. About her life. About the ups and downs of being a daughter, a mother, a wife, and a friend. It was supposed to be about having a failed relationship with her mom. A lot had to do with how she didn't want to be like her mom. After reading it, I don't think I had the chance to tell that I have never found her to be like her mother. I have never found her to be more than open and loving and caring. She is practical and direct and no-nonsense about life. She is a good example of how we grow in our lives and we are not always defined by them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">So while a lot of us write about people after they have become part of the universe we cannot access without a medium, I wanted to front-load my sorrow and grief. I am perched above the Pacific Ocean, watching the waves pound the ancient basalt formations. She is in Hawaii, enjoying time with family. Our views are very different of the same body of water. Her's is warm and sunny. Mine is cold and windy and angry with white caps and crashing waves. Maybe that explains our different states of mind. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">As I just watch the tide coming into shore, I just wanted to suggest we spend more time with those we love and cherish. Never let and thing go unsaid. Eat more good pastries and drink good wine. Read good books and remember Theodore Rosevelt is the answer to way more trivia questions than you can imagine. </span><br />
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<br />Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-35599654234217286312019-11-18T10:44:00.001-08:002019-11-18T10:44:43.638-08:00Really? How Can That Be Remotely Possible<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Parting words at 6:00 am this morning:</span><div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>Mom do you think I will ever be successful?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I can't tell you how far my heart sunk this morning. OMG, how, for even one instant, can my daughter not see how far she has come and how much she has accomplished. How can she not know? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I guess she let me peek this morning into a bit of her heart. She doesn't see herself as having accomplished anything. She doesn't give herself credit for all that she has done. Survivorship. Graduation in a difficult field. Setting up a life that works for her. Managing all of her side-effects from years of chemo and radiation and so many drugs I can</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">not bring myself to list them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The mirror she uses to inspect her life does not have the ability to show her those things. She only sees the lack of a career job. Serious medical issues that will affect her long term life. Lack of fertility. Thinner hair. Sensitive skin. Too much iron in her blood for unknown reasons. Too many doctors to count. Expensive insurance and medications to keep things in good standing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I guess my challenge is to figure out how to buy her a new mirror and steal the old one. Maybe as we get older we see pass all the self-perceived failures. Our vision changes and as we begin to explore the depths of the mirror. Only then to discover the great things we have accomplished and the treasures sitting behind the self-doubt floating on the surface.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I guess it is time to hit some thrift stores. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> </span></div>
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Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-9726599127302669462019-11-17T14:16:00.000-08:002019-11-17T14:16:04.000-08:00Post Traumatic Stress Pops up in Weird Ways. <span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Oh My!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Last night I attended a birthday buddies birthday. She turned 12 years old. While some might see me as a mature person exploring the joys of my mid-60's, I did demand extra cherries on my ice cream and a balloon. It was a lovely evening and great joy can be given to a 12-year-old with a large box of presents. It was a good reminder of how 12 can be a good time. The precursor to the rocky years ahead. The dark flood of hormones, social pressures and the need to dye one's hair the color of a seldom-used off-color in the giant box of crayons.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As I sat there, I realized Mary-Elizabeth was this age when we were trying to figure out what was going on with brain tumors, CT scans, weird blood draws. It was a time we tried to make normal but there was a cloud of doom hanging over everyone in the family. Then to think that childhood ended and Cancer World embraced us with open arms and great enthusiasm creates a knot the size of Jupiter in my gut. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I don't often wonder about how things might have been. I don't often say "Why her?" I don't often go down the "only if" path. I sort of put those thoughts into a different place. A place that collects dust and cobwebs and leftover bits of wrapping paper. It isn't </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">productive. It seems silly to look back but then there was a plan at one time. It was well set. It was reasonable. It was logical. It was pretty normal. It was busy and hectic and semi-organized. There was work. There was a home. There was a future of some certainty. Events to be attended. Holidays to plan. People to visit. Christmas cards to send out. Lists to be made of things to accomplish. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Oh..... how.....Naive I was. Silly Silly Sally. What was I thinking? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It's so foolish of me. Little did I know. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Well, this moment of reflection will pass. I will re-focus on what I need to do today and tomorrow. I will even imagine making some plans for next year. We will move forward knowing that while the future is never certain, there is at least a near future. That has to be enough. I will have to wait until my next life to have a bright confident accomplished daughter with a joyful laugh that just gets to be a child for as long as she might. I can wait until that next life. You might ask why I am so sure there is a next life. Well, when she was 3 we were driving in the country and she piped up and asked: "Mommy, do you remember when we were cows and I was the Mommy and you were the baby?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The box of sadness and regrets and lost opportunities is re-packed. It is put deep in the scary basement. It will sit, unopened until the next moment when something brings it bouncing back from its resting place. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-50153810466319472992019-11-04T08:00:00.000-08:002019-11-04T08:00:00.630-08:00I Haven't Written in a Very Very Long Time.<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I was thinking about a friend that was coming to the end of Chemo and about to plan an End of Treatment Party. We had one of those. It was great. I bet if I dug far enough into one of my back-up drives, I could find some pictures. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Whenever there is such an event, I rejoice with reservations. We left treatment with such joy and celebration. It was a great time. We rented the Lake Union crew house. Lots and lots of people came to help us celebrate a huge point in our lives. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Much has happened since then. Graduation, the beginning of college, a great summer, a relapse, a double cord blood transplant, a return to college, graduation, big moves for both of us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">While Leukemia and the entire experience has faded and been replaced with new memories, I still can't shake it sometimes. I spend time with families newly diagnosed and those along the route. I talk with them and they want, more than anything, to be reassured everything is going to be okay. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The truth of the matter is that it is never going to okay. It is never going to be the same. It never going to be over. It is just going to be a new part of the world in Cancer World. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I have had moments of withdrawal because I don't want to have to put on that smile. That face trying to make someone feel better about the fact we still reside in this place of shadows and fear. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Often as I view the world, I feel like we are in a bubble. The bubble moves and bends and flows like an amoeba. Everyone can look in the amorphous bubble and we can see out but we can't leave. Hands can touch but there is always a barrier. A simple minuscule surface that separates and divides those within and those without. Only those inside the barrier are even aware of the separation.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">As a mom of a Cancer Kid/Young Adult Cancer Survivor, the worry continues. I have a list in my head of all the things that are down the road. Breast Cancer, Skin Cancer, Lung Cancer, Brain Cancer, Thyroid Cancer, and the list goes on. The issue of infertility, weird skin stuff, just everything. One of the items on my list was her needing individual health insurance. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">We faced that issue in June. Her policy ended June 30th and she had to find something to replace it. The search was amazingly difficult. As she transferred out Seattle Children's Hospital, she found her list of needed "Oligists" at the Polyclinic : Endocrinologist, Hematologist, Oncology Gynecologist, and her GP that has been her doctor since she was born. None of the available policies would give her any of her doctors. Not a single one. None of the plans provided for her very complicated medications. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The entire process was interesting and educating. There are a bunch of plans out there that our current administration came up with that would have covered her for about $6000.00 a year for premiums. They didn't cover her doctors, her medications beyond a very specific and limited formulary, emergency rooms or medical transportation. They limit the policy to one million dollars. Sounds good! A million dollars is nothing when you live inside the Cancer Bubble. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">She made a very hard decision and gave up all of her doctors. She is going to have to establish care at Group Health/Kaiser. It is so hard to educate a whole bunch of new doctors. Her history is complicated and she has been able to make great progress with so many of her post-treatment regimes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Insurance fear has been faced and the challenge was met.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> One fear down. One of many to come. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"></span>Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-21937842282971585482018-01-18T15:32:00.000-08:002018-01-18T15:35:48.006-08:00You Can Be A Cancer Survivor but The Reality of Long Term Side Effects is often Daunting. <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Treatment is over. We are heading to the sixth anniversary of a double cord blood transplant. Six years. Seventy-Two Months. Two thousand one hundred and ninety days. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Amazing how time flies even when you are not having fun. Life continues to be altered because of the Long-Term Side-Effects. When the concept is first introduced it seems a bit silly. While in the midst of the battle for a life when faced with certain death, they don't matter. The facts are that </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The side effects just begin to blend into your life. Creams, jells, special shampoo, special drugs, monthly medical visits, blood draws, low iron or a new one, too much. Dead thyroid. Dead Pancrease. Dead Hair Follicles. Dead Girl Parts. It goes on and on. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Our kids have tests people don't normally have until they are 60+ like Echo Cardiograms, Bone Scans, and extensive blood work for values no one has ever had. No 20-year-old should be worried about the type of hormone replacement to take. No 22-year-old should learn there are multiple types of thyroid replacements. No 23-year-old should not have to learn how to manage her A1C. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Okay, Sally quit bitching. They spent 3.5 million dollars on your daughter. They told you in no uncertain terms that she would suffer long-term effects. They told you about the secondary cancers, cataracts before 30, the bone loss from prednisone, total body radiation and all the rest. They told you she would be damaged socially and emotionally and full of anxiety and never have children. They told you the radiation would continue to do damage for up to 5 years post-treatment. They told you about the GVHD in her lungs, liver, stomach, skin and even a few places not to be mentioned. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Okay. They told me. Sort of like giving someone the choice of hanging or guillotine Not much of a choice. </span><br />
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Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-53689959519384930922017-11-13T15:42:00.000-08:002017-11-13T15:42:02.549-08:00Letter to the New Owners of our home. <div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">614 NW 77<sup>th</sup> Street<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Seattle WA 98117<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">You will be the 4<sup>th</sup> family to call this house home. When we walked in we were greeted to seven different kinds of shag carpet, wall after wall covered with wood paneling and enough holes in the walls to be a sieve. Did I mention the gold foil wallpaper in the little bathroom, the 12 layers on the dining room wall or the green and white daisies in the upstairs bedroom? My personal favorite was the upholstery fabric stapled between the rafters’ downstairs as a ceiling. Imagine a middle eastern tent ceiling. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Some asked why I bought the house in Dumpy Ballard but then they had never been inside or felt the great energy emanating from the strong bones that lived under all the carpet. Slowly we did the necessary and much-needed house archeology. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">We started with windows. I wanted wood windows. I wanted them to open. I wanted them to be the original size. During my walks I realized there had been more than transom windows in the main floor bedrooms, large wooden windows have made those rooms light sun filled and moonlight filled sanctuaries. I had walked the neighborhood enough to know there was a window on the west side of the bedroom and we made a guess where it would and replaced it. All the windows have been replaced with wood clad double pane Milgard and Anderson windows. I left the windows in the living room. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I never did more than paint the cove ceiling. They are the original Paper Mache ceilings. A gent from England visited my house and was so amazed to see them. They still do this in England. As you walk this neighborhood some of the houses still have this original feature. No one has the cut-crystal and brass ceiling fixture in the dining room My family salvaged it from a 1901 home we owned in Idaho. It has lived all over the world. California, Canada, Switzerland, Michigan, and Oregon. We made the decision to leave it in Ballard. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">As we went through the house we found little treasures. Tile on the upstairs bathroom floor, a deep cast-iron tub that you can luxuriate in for hours, hardwood floors in the dining room and living room. Fir floors in the sleeping areas. Whenever we could, we kept the original materials. We replaced hollow core doors with real period doors, found solid brass door knobs. Several of the doors had sheets of wood put over them to make them look like hollow-core doors. We uncovered those doors, re-painted and re-installed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The kitchen has served us well. The appliances are less than three years old. The oven was chosen because it fit my grandmother’s turkey roaster. We have never cooked less than a 24-pound turkey in the house. It takes a special oven to fit such a beast. The oven also splits into two separate and independent ovens which have come in handy. After searching for several months, I realized tile selections were limited in the commercial world. We painted the tiles. Little bits were then also used by our designer in the basement bathroom. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In the basement, we replaced the shower with bits of art. The shower has two great shelves, a place to put your legs to shave. The large tile was designed and made by our neighborhood artist Steve when he was doing concrete art. He has a place across from the park and his work is prominently featured in the Pocket Park. The fixtures in the downstairs bathroom are from Waterworks. The marble sink top is from an old house on Capitol Hill. It is a special place. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The siding. I was not sure about the Marble Crete. It was put on by the prior owners who were from Saskatoon Canada. It is used on houses all over Canada. They call them Pebble Houses. I have come to realize this stuff is amazing. When the wind blows in the winter the house stays snug. When it’s hot in the summer outside the house does not heat up. If the color offends, it can be painted. It is totally maintenance free. The only people that ever complained were the window guys who had to use multiple diamond blade saws to make the openings bigger for the new windows. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "baskerville old face" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I am always amazed at how small the house looks on the outside. I want a dress made of this stuff because the house itself is huge. Lots and lots of space. We will miss this house. We pass it on for you to make it your home. </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-87572667608166610462017-11-12T13:48:00.001-08:002017-11-12T13:49:44.079-08:00Too Soon<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">We have been living in Childhood Cancer World for a long time and have seen many children leave way way to early. We gather around those that have lost children and we try to absorb a tiny part of their pain. We listen, we attend events, we raise money to cure cancer, we write, we call, we drop-by. Eventually, we come to realize it is a kind of pain that never dissipates. In the end, we realize no amount of time or visits and listening really works. We have to be happy with just trying. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I often wonder about those with adult children. Children that die before their parents. Children that have separated from their parents and established independent lives. Those cancer kids that were over 21 or 25 or 30... I think when it is all said and done, no matter the age, they are still someone's child. So much is lost, so much pain, so much grief. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">When a very young child passes away there is always a listing of the things missed. </span><br />
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: x-large;">First school days</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-large;">First Bicycle</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-large;">First Snowman</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-large;">First Communion</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-large;">First kisses</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-large;">First heartbreak</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: x-large;">Firsts of many things </span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">When an older child dies chances are she most likely completed her list of firsts. She might have graduated, fallen in love, been married in the perfect dress, found a new home, had a child, fixed that first odd Thanksgiving or recently taken up Yoga. The list of completed "Firsts" does not make the pain any less. In fact, the longer a person is on this earth, the more lives are touched and the hole they leave behind is even more vast. A better way to say it might be, the hole has a different shape. It has arms and crannies and tunnels that a young child's life did not have a chance to create. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">In the end, she is still gone. She leaves a </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">large empty space in the universe.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">A motherless child. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">A husband with no partner. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">A sister with no one to compare notes about a shared childhood.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Parents with an empty place at the Sunday dinner table.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">While those of us with younger cancer kids mourn the loss of all the potential in a fairly recent life, it's hard to imagine the loss feels when a lovely young woman leaves her sick, damaged and useless body. </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">She did not want to leave so soon but had no choice. What is sad, is that she did not die of cancer. She died of the side effects of a transplant. She was four years out and the side effects took her life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Every cancer death is an unnecessary and brutal loss. We never know how the world will be changed in the future. As Ray Bradbury's story <i>Sound of Thunder </i>set forth, even the death of small butterfly can change the world forever. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Tricia's was an amazing butterfly. The world is changed forever. The world is diminished. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJ-bvPHOmDAKy5VW0cJGdJZsDo4f_nxCKxSQhKkcNFoWampXd2_pk4w7GDPmx09Im9lQnAvydD6xAMEtwHD3WACMjH7h0j18HUhGegObKqQ9hQjLN95_fMGg3yQyJ9QtGNCpd/s1600/Tricia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSJ-bvPHOmDAKy5VW0cJGdJZsDo4f_nxCKxSQhKkcNFoWampXd2_pk4w7GDPmx09Im9lQnAvydD6xAMEtwHD3WACMjH7h0j18HUhGegObKqQ9hQjLN95_fMGg3yQyJ9QtGNCpd/s320/Tricia.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-29997507950226822892017-08-23T09:50:00.000-07:002017-08-23T10:18:36.948-07:00More Than One Kind of Eclipse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadFe6YOQE3UidBLzBlqc1AGR2fy0P7tjmQUwudptFMVE7kiKoz_2tiwNHNfj9J72dpyrqrh5aOLFUptFit6S6YQIpkUyIU-nRMw_tiN-dQiJKwK4Dst-f7Lrpqbxba5lWyiL8/s1600/IMG_8412.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1100" data-original-width="1600" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadFe6YOQE3UidBLzBlqc1AGR2fy0P7tjmQUwudptFMVE7kiKoz_2tiwNHNfj9J72dpyrqrh5aOLFUptFit6S6YQIpkUyIU-nRMw_tiN-dQiJKwK4Dst-f7Lrpqbxba5lWyiL8/s320/IMG_8412.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Totality. It really is a misnomer. Some things are so powerful that even when they totally cover an object, the object can not be obscured. It can be changed and altered, but it can not be obliterated. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Totality is something that can not be explained unless you experience it. Childbirth, seeing the </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Grand Canyon, being with someone when they die, seeing a bird hatch from an egg, watching whales spout in the ocean, hearing a symphony play a favorite piece of music, walking through a museum and happening upon a favorite painting. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Words are insufficient. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">But once you do have the experience, you are forever changed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">We went to see the Total Eclipse. The Total Experience is life changing. During the hour and a half dozens of things become apparent. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">1. It takes a while to develop but seems to recede more quickly. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">2. While the light remains eerie, it is still there. It doesn't take much to light up the world. Even a tiny bit is impressive.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">3. The sun actually heats the earth efficiently. Even when it is half-way gone, it becomes much cooler, quickly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">4. During Totality, it is possible to see the edges of the shadow of the moon. You feel like you are under a bowl of darkness with dusk around you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">5. Even at the darkest moments many of your friends provide much-needed support and light. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">6. Seeing the stars midday reminds you of what is in plain sight, if only you are in the right place to see them. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">7. The Corona is much more than a flash of light. It is magical, powerful and the memory won't ever leave you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Sort of like having a Cancer Kid. Parents can't ever explain what it is like. It never goes away. You live in uncertain darkness, not knowing if it will return. The world looks the same, but there is a chill in the air. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">You are trapped under a bowl with no way to reach the edges and enter the light. Even when Cancer "left" for good. Despite how close you are to reaching the edge, they keep moving it. The worry and long-term side-effects haunt your dreams and your waking moments. There is no way to ever believe the monster will not return. It is hiding ready to spring back if only we knew where to look and how to look for it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Both are an experience that changes your life forever. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidACk3DeuAy6lXkMdh4aa0U0TjYOgPoyYZFV88Ii6Rg4yXM8pa5vGgMxPKXQodAKVBHecfsG4bZe7sH_fo45E-RJ7Q4w2q27kbs4_zncu90no2S54wDcujpYXtuhAGa-j_96YQ/s1600/IMG_8374.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidACk3DeuAy6lXkMdh4aa0U0TjYOgPoyYZFV88Ii6Rg4yXM8pa5vGgMxPKXQodAKVBHecfsG4bZe7sH_fo45E-RJ7Q4w2q27kbs4_zncu90no2S54wDcujpYXtuhAGa-j_96YQ/s320/IMG_8374.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">This is my Cancer Kid taking photos of Totality. She had already been changed forever. This was just one more thing and a great thing. </span><br />
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<br />Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-48245954565475642832017-08-14T08:53:00.001-07:002017-08-14T08:53:23.664-07:00Thirteen Years Ago Today, at this MOMENT<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">A sleepy child stumble out of a bedroom and was mad that my phone had rung. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">It was Judy Sommerfeld with a message from Children's Hospital. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">They wanted me to call. I took the number and the person on the other end answered:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">"Jake Garcia, Hem/Onc"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">My reply:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">"Who the hell are you and why are you calling me?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Deep in my heart I knew the answer. I knew. He didn't want to tell me what she had but I wouldn't leave Lake Chelan until he did. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"> (I just realized I have never been back.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">13 years seems like a lifetime. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Dad always said life was like a pile of sausages. You fill one up and then you twist it shut and move forward to the next one. We have been trying to twist close this link several times but it is a stubborn one. One that does not want to close or another needs to be added. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">We are trying again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">The house is being ready for sale and </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">I am heading to the other side of the state.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Mary-Elizabeth is heading into the big bad world. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">This Link needs to twist and stay twisted. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Also I need to find the coffee that is somewhere in the house. </span><br />
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<br />Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-24031419316039279582017-07-18T13:49:00.000-07:002017-07-18T13:49:04.261-07:00The Hair and How it Falls <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Our Journey was a bit different than many. Mary-Elizabeth started off as a search for the reason she had swollen optic nerves. No one ever said the "C" word but after about a month plans were made to do a biopsy of her skull/brain. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Now wouldn't you expect that I would have been overwhelmed with concern about my child having her skull drilled? That would have been a reasonable response to the fact my daughter was going under the drill. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">To my shock and disgust, my first thought was "How much hair are they going to have to shave." When we were told she was going to have chemo and radiation, I secretly wondered how long before the hair was going to go. How shallow can anyone be? Life had taught me how mean girls can be and how much we value "hair." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Hair came and went and came and went and came and went and then went again, I began to be more accepting of the process. Sometimes it was mouse brown and soft. Garrison Keiler met her, and while I tried to take a picture she smiled, and he petted her soft silky unreal hair. He commented on how soft it was not knowing it was Chemo Hair. It came in curly and sometimes straight. It sometimes fell out for a reason, and other times it fell out for no reason. I do know that she always complained when it was coming back in because it hurt. Who knew hair growing back could hurt? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">When it forgot to come back, well. I was just sad. Mostly sad for her but still sad. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Seems so silly but I want you to know that the mom's do talk about it. I don't think we really care about hair on our kid's heads, but it is still just one more of the things out kids lose. In actuality, I had never seen my daughter's head without hair. She was born with a fully developed shock of black hair that never left her head. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">During the first few rounds of chemo, she kept much of her hair. I am always grateful that she had some hair when she had spinal/cranial radiation. It fell, she left enough DNA in the house, the car, the yard, the tub, the shower, the kitchen, the pillow cases, everywhere there were bits of Mary-Elizabeth. It came out in ways that were not really noticeable. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">We joked about it, but it was hard. So hard. Our dear friend Alison helped her buy a wig for the totally bald times. Mary-Elizabeth soon learned wigs are hot and some of my friends thought she had too much product in her hair. She gave up the wig after awhile and just let her beautiful head hang out. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">During her relapse and transplant, she was given a combination of drugs that hated hair. It came out in Movie/TV hair loss fashion. Handfuls and brush-fulls. If you tried to sit with her and she put her head on your shoulder, it was covered in dark black strands of beautiful hair. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">We have never seen that hair again. Too much chemo, too much radiation, too much prednisone, the death of her thyroid, GVHD. The usual "long-term side-effects." She avails herself of hormone replacements, creams, potions, lotions, treatments. It isn't the end of the world but just another factor she addresses every morning when she brushes her fragile hair. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">So why am I writing about hair now? Why the whining. Well, we are moving. Because we are moving, we are going through the house and uncovering years of forgotten items. I came across the notebook I put together during the first couple of months of her treatment in August of 2014. In the notebook was a lock of hair. Crudely folded into a piece of paper. No date, no time, no real identification. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">When I touched it, I knew. I understood what it was. It was the lock I clipped before her first infusion. The first dose of chemo I let them put in her body. The hair from the time before we entered Cancer World. I flipped through the notebook and realized it was filled with pages of anxiety and sadness and fear. It was full of anticipation and understanding about what was going to happen to my lovely smart, kind and lovely daughter with a full head of hair. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I wondered where I would keep this memento. I seemed wrong to toss it. Or burn it. Or frame it. Or weave it into a locket or a bracelet of any kind. I found a place. A page in her baby book that hair from her first bang trim, her first curl and her now her last lock of <i>Normal Hair. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><i><span id="goog_1718964864"></span><span id="goog_1718964865"></span><br /></i></span>Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-81676220074172610042017-07-11T11:17:00.000-07:002017-07-11T11:17:03.427-07:00Cancer Mom Dula? <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><u>Doula</u> : A women who is trained to assist another woman during childbirth and who may provide support after a baby is born.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><u>Translation</u>: A person with understanding about a trying situation who can assist the family during the transition.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Mom's are the first Doula's we know. They are there for us when we need them. They provide comfort and assurance when we are unsure of what is going to happen or how things with work out. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">As I look back, my mom has been such a person in my life. She was here when Mary-Elizabeth was born, she and Dad were available for all the times we had to deal with in Cancer World. More than once she just heard a tone in my voice and knew her presence was needed to restore the balance in the universe. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I wonder if I can be that person for those who find themselves in Cancer World. Can I be there to have a cup of coffee or tea with a panicked mom and dad? Does a quick and easy meal made somewhere other than the cafeteria help? I think it does. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">No cancer mom should ever feel alone. No parent should ever feel there is no one that can answer their questions. Especially the questions that come in the middle of the night. A person that can add meat to the bone of the explanation. A person that knows the nurses have instant hot water and can make a cup of tea in a moment of terror. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I think we cancer moms do a great job for those who are on the path but at the different part of the journey. We have the experience and more than empathy and understanding, we have experience. We have been there, done that and have the tee-shirt. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I wonder if we could figure out how to reach through the HIIPA barrier. As much as the social workers try, they won't hook up someone until the person asks. The parents are so freaked out they don't know they need to be hooked up. Quite a quandary. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Something to think about. </span><br />
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Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-67368694754497202462017-06-21T14:16:00.000-07:002017-06-21T14:27:06.172-07:00Moving Forward<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Cancer Moms are the strongest, most devoted and determined women I have had the pleasure to meet. They make tiger and bear moms look like a basket of kittens. As a group, we are fighting for the life of our children in a way that many don't and can not understand. (To be fair we don't want to be here, and we certainly don't want any more members.) </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Many friends have expressed amazement at how we keep putting one foot in front of the other. We continue despite the constant interruptions, the lack of sleep, the change in "plans" and the frustration of watching your child suffer in so many new ways you never even imagined. When you hear the words "your child has_______________, it's all over. You walk over a moat that is being raised as you head into the doorway. They seal the door, and there is no way back. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The thing we Cancer Moms do is keep moving forward, even in times of extraordinary stress and news. We are able to put one foot in front of the other. We keep asking questions. We keep receiving news. Good and Bad. We keep trying to make those around us feel better. We keep putting on a smile. We keep at it, day after day, week after week, month after month. We keep going. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">As I read the past, now a decade, blog posts even I am amazed at how things happened and how we handled it. When you are in the moment, you just do it. You keep going. You keep focused on the goal. You keep looking over your shoulder. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">You know there are more shoes just waiting to come crashing into your life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Over time you re-adjust your focus. I remember days that it was minute by minute. Drop by Drop. You are always questioning yourself, and others. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Do I have time to use the bathroom? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">What if I go get coffee? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Will I have time to take a shower for the first time this week? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Will I ever breath unfiltered air? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Will any of our friends still be there when we are done? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">It's hard to know what is going to happen. But you keep moving, and at some point when you take a</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> fraction 1/86,400 of the mean solar day to breath, you realize there has been some progress. Things are more predictable. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Life is settling into a pattern. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">As humans, we seek patterns. We learn about them before we are born. We recognize stability in our universe. If we put the spoon over the edge of the table it will fall, every single time. We take this expectancy with us over the moat. New patterns emerge. Some patterns are terrifying. Some are a mixed bag. For example, quiet coming from a room can mean restful, restorative sleep. Or it can mean so many other and insipid events are occurring or not be occurring. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">No matter what, we keep going, day after day after day. But how? I stumbled on one of the reasons last night as the sun was fading from the longest day of the year. It was pretty simple. No matter what... No matter the day.... No matter the time of year...No matter the news.... No matter, the Earth keeps turning. The sun keeps moving, and the world keeps moving, and the Cancer Moms keep moving. </span></span><span style="color: #545454; font-family: roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Deep down in our DNA is the knowledge of the benefit of forward motion. If we stop, we float off the planet and plunge into the sun. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #545454; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Yesterday was the longest day. Remember, keep moving.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span>Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-48769655194026003822017-06-05T09:51:00.001-07:002017-06-05T09:51:34.443-07:00The Chicken That Saved Us is not just about Autism<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I have a friend who has a friend who wrote a book called <i>The Chicken Who Saved Us by Kristin Jarvis Adams. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I bought the book because I too have a friend with a chicken and an Autistic Child. It is about a boy and a chicken with a deep connection but more than that, it is about a Mom seeking to help her son with a severe chromosomal problem. He was a child with T8M, a defect that puts an extra chromosome in some cells but not all of them. It is a very rare and it affects patients differently. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">In this case, Andrew's bone marrow producer attacked his own body and was slowly killing him. After much falderal, it was deemed he should have a bone marrow transplant at Seattle Children's.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">As the mother of a BMT child, I was hooked. It was absorbing to read about a Non-Cancer Mom's experience through the process. It was like watching my own daughter's journey. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Child is sick.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Child is eventually diagnosed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Child is deemed ready for transplant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Child is made ready for transplant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Child is taken to the verge of death and transplant happens.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Child hovers on edge of death for several days.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Child recovers. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Child's family tries to get back to normal. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Major parts of this story are my story. </span>Major<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> experiences are my life for the past few years. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Major parts ring so true. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">As I read this book, I realized the "Aloneness" of the mom is so apparent. I realized that while Seattle Children's does amazing things, they are missing the Mom's connecting to Mom's piece. I know they try. It is not enough to have a meeting at the Ron Don house or pizza in the conference room. The efforts to reach each other has to come from us. Those of us in the same aquarium. We need to be the ones that reach out and connect to each other. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Being a Cancer/BMT Mom is such a fragile and unusual thing to be. It is a combination of Tigress, Jelly Fish (the stinging kind), contemplative nun, superior researcher, knower of all things. It is not possible to understand what it means to be a Cancer Mom. You can look at one and imagine you are one, but you can't ever comprehend what it is to be in this small well defined and unique group. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">As a group</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">, we keep trying. Reaching out. Making noise, trying to send those lifelines to those who are deep in the battle. I think maybe this book will help other's realize the needs and complications of those in our exclusive world. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Read this bo</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">ok to understand your journey and to help those currently on the same path. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4P4mbaTAOiGtAaYeI8vtHBkfuCy6Q6uqjGotS0y0jXKzVxkUvVx-38Rki3stZHoe1YTIbtWwgZ5UGdBHCORt23k-HMMyAX1T8TwATjX4CZ6_qNmihxQQrYAHKR4FIpeu-LLC/s1600/IMG_6201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE4P4mbaTAOiGtAaYeI8vtHBkfuCy6Q6uqjGotS0y0jXKzVxkUvVx-38Rki3stZHoe1YTIbtWwgZ5UGdBHCORt23k-HMMyAX1T8TwATjX4CZ6_qNmihxQQrYAHKR4FIpeu-LLC/s320/IMG_6201.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br />Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-61178472134350642842017-06-01T16:46:00.003-07:002017-06-01T16:46:27.198-07:00Going Home<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">What is it about home? I guess, as parents, we should be happy that our child wants to return. It means we have done a good job. We have made "home" a haven, a place of rest and rejuvenation. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Sometimes the journey is to provide solace for the last days of a child or a parent or a loved one. Home. A place of good memories, hard times conquered, times of peace, times of joy, times of sadness. But most of all it is our sanctuary. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Why do we question a Salmon's desire to return to the place of its birth. As humans, we seem to want to return to our place of comfort and relief. Our own bed, our own "stuff," familiar sounds, smells and simple things like dogs barking in the morning. While Mary-Elizabeth has never been explicit about her wishes, if a choice should have to be made. But whenever a child knows they are done with treatment and wants to go home, she is very adamant. She wants to know they were able to do so. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">We have not had to face the choice, but we have known those who have. We have been part of those discussions and have tried to be helpful. Sometimes it simply is not possible. So much has been done to treat a person that such a move would end their life before they could make the journey. I know after the transplant Mary-Elizabeth had 8 or 9 IV pumps. I don't think our electric system would have been able to handle the power needs. Sometimes distance and medical fragility keep it from happening. Sometimes the thought of the death of a child being part of the continued fabric of a home is the real consideration. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I recently re-read the blog of a special friend of our Jai Anderson. She took Allistaire home to continue her journey from a place of comfort. Allistaire wanted to go home. She wanted to be where she had known only love and support and comfort. She did, she spent time with her family. They spent time with her and then she left them to spend time trying to figure out how to live with her departure. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Loss of a child is a post for a million other days. It simply is. For now I will not know the depth of that pain but will imagine it at times in my deep dark fears that swirl around being a Cancer Mom. I just deeply hope everyone is able to go home. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I have several pictures of Allistaire that I have used over the years. I love this one. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> But this is the one that haunts me. This was taken just after Allistaire died. She was at home. She was with her family and she was in her favorite bed with her pink sheets. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicIk_j6phTnVmki7GuJEdZa_ZQ-A60X54EseK6gSBrZSpiT3zx-DioOOFFVxdn3KnKvGUunC6dyAwXDNQVZlxIWN83EIUuvrL5fVvCI8CGtTnXrruHDjnGlQ8nyvD3wC-GdwDl/s1600/allistaire4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicIk_j6phTnVmki7GuJEdZa_ZQ-A60X54EseK6gSBrZSpiT3zx-DioOOFFVxdn3KnKvGUunC6dyAwXDNQVZlxIWN83EIUuvrL5fVvCI8CGtTnXrruHDjnGlQ8nyvD3wC-GdwDl/s320/allistaire4.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Home is powerful place. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://conglomerationofjoy.com/">https://conglomerationofjoy.com</a> is where </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Jai shares her journey.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-52736104214265562962017-05-26T18:53:00.000-07:002017-05-27T07:08:27.258-07:00I've Been Asked Why I Stopped Writing<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The longer one hangs out in Cancer World, the more apparent it becomes that it is not a wondrous, happy, healthy, healing place. It just isn't. No one exits without deep permanent scarring. The shocking kind that can be hidden, yet still exists under the long sleeves. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I often wonder if anyone is really interested in watching the Cancer World train wreck day after day, week after week, year after year. Does my writing help anyone? Do I do it because 12 years of living here have taken away my ability to write about anything else? Does my constant haranguing make people desensitized to the entire journey? Cancer World is simply a grind. An endless plodding grind. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> One with an ambiguous ending. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">People want happy endings, evidence of great triumph over adversity and life-affirming stories. The grim reality of Cancer World is there are no happy endings. Many many children die long horrible deaths. Some receive reprieves and believe they are done. Families celebrate "End-of-Treatment," "Cancerversarys" "One Year Off Treatment," "Last Dose of Chemo." No Hallmark card fits any of these situations. Very few children ever hear the words "Cure." They are told they continue to be "NED." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> No</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> Evidence of</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> Disease</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Many are told they are in "Remission" This is not a word that warms the cockles of our hearts. Simply a </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">reprieve. Some are short, some are endless. W</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">e all live with the fact next word we will hear is "Relapse or Recurrence." We know cancer comes back with a vengeance. There<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> is no way out. We are here for perpetuity. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Mary-Elizabeth is currently doing great. She seems to have settled into her little universe of side-effects. She handles the GVHD. She sees the endocrinologist. She manages her hot flashes. She weeps on occasion for the loss of the chance to have a child that carries her particular group of DNA. She is hyper aware of any changes in her body. A bump, a sneeze, a strange feeling of concern. She addresses each of them. I only try to put my worry in the way back of the fridge and hope it is not growing something disgusting. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Others have not been so lucky. We have met so many people over the years and know many many families that have come to the end of the road. They simply take their children home to die. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">These deaths are painful and agonizing in so many ways. There is no way to describe the veiled anguish of every Mother's post. They put their best face forward and try to have something happy to say. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">They acknowledge they are counting on God to perform a miracle and have their child with them again. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Yet they know, they know all too well, the time of the last smile, the last breath, the last gentle kiss is coming. The sand is rapidly escaping the </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">hourglass</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">, and there is no way to stop gravity. The entire process is just overwhelming and excruciating. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">Time does not heal the wound of losing a child. The pain does not lessen or diminish in few months or few years. This is a gaping, car-swallowing sinkhole kind of wound that never ever heals. The pain of losing a child remains forever. Life does not get easier, nor does the pain lessen. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">The reason we fight so hard to beat such a demon is that somewhere in our mother souls we know. We know the depth of the love, the deep well that burrows into the center of the earth and out the other side to connect with the Universe. We know how much we love our children and losing them is not an option.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">I ended the blog because I couldn't keep from talking about all the sadness that had been the last few months. There had been so many losses of such lovely children. Too many funerals, too many "Joyous Life Celebrations" too many deep sighs choking back tears moments. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> I don't keep count anymore. I cringe every time someone celebrates the last dose of Chemo or the end of treatment. I just hold my breath for them. I know too much. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;">We were at the end-of-treatment to only have the monster return seven years post-remission and 57 months after the last dose of chemo. What the Hell!? She is now 5 years post-transplant, and no one is talking cure. No one has said we don't have to worry anymore. No one is saying much. I think we are all just waiting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-large;"> I certainly am. </span><br />
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Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-1135268738273611682017-05-04T11:57:00.001-07:002017-05-04T11:57:29.575-07:00Another Old Draft..... Written several years ago. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">"I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the world gives. So don't be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am. I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do, you will believe in me."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">I look at this passage and know someone sent it to me. I think it is interesting to read it in the context of today and now. Cancer World certainly made me re-evaluate my relationship with spiritual world. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">My spirituality was practical: There is a God. God is Good. There is not a "Plan" or predestination sort of thing. God did not "give" my child leukemia in order to teach me a lesson. The Old Testament God just does not hold much credence with me. I have often wondered at those who don't see a God in the simple things, like a flower or a sunset. If nothing else, it's nice to share such moments. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">When Mary-Elizabeth relapsed, I told Father Hightower I was furious. I was incensed. I was heartbroken and it was all God's fault. He held me in his arms and gave me a place for my fury. He simply said " God has big shoulders". He made it all right for my anger and pain. I didn't have to put it in a deep dark place and try to handle it. I could be apoplectic until I could figure out how to cope. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">During the 12 years of Cancer World, I have been able to find a path because I knew I had the strength to return to a place of "peace of mind and heart". I could not always stay there but I could return to that place of hope, understanding, calm, simple sanity. I knew there was a sanctuary waiting for my return. I know there are special places and events that feed my soul. The ocean, a sudden downpour, a soft rain, a trip around a bend in a road, a new bird, an old tree. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">I have no answers. But I know "peace of mind and heart" are a good goal and place to be. </span><br />
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<br />Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-71900765879009365222017-05-03T12:59:00.000-07:002017-05-03T12:59:57.379-07:00I really Really Really Tried to Stop<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">But I have decided I need to check in on occasion. Basically, life is good. She is five years out from transplant and if you did not know better you would never know she was sick. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">No one would notice the total imbalance of her endocrine system. A tendency to have lung issues, a loss of fertility, a loss of hair, thyroid and a myriad of other issues. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Her skin has tantrums as small rashes seem to come and go. Never really letting anyone relax. Pearl Anne is 5 years old and so like any young immune system she is unpredictable. She was unable to fight off the last cold. 6 weeks, two doses of antibiotics and prednisone and still a cough. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">She has a five year follow-up next year with her favorite, Paul Carpenter, MD. They will banter, she will complain, he will ask her questions about private parts. It will be good. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I continue to feel lucky to have my child with me. I mourn and grieve over the fact she continues to suffer due to the treatment. Was it worth it, yes. Would I authorize the treatments again, absolutely. Do I know I am lucky? of course. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Yes, she is alive. Yes, she continues to grow and mature. Yes someday she can say she is a survivor. But I always worry it will return in some form or another. I wonder what live would have been had she not been radiated and poisoned and poked and prodded and tortured. What she have done with her life had four and a half of her life been spent chained to a hospital bed? What would my life had been? I guess we will never know. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica neue, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">We have a life. It is a good life. Progress is being made every day. I really have no complaints. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica neue, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I plead every day that things continue as is....</span><br />
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Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-56424981875179233322016-07-04T10:38:00.000-07:002016-07-04T10:38:03.688-07:00Oh My..... A Good Place To End this Journey. <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">June 17, 2004 was the beginning of what has been a long arduous trek though the Cancer World Mountains. 12 years ago. Half of Mary-Elizabeth's life. She is going to enter her 24th year in a day or so. It is time to let that new chapter not be about Cancer World. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">She was 12 when diagnosed. Seems like such a long long time ago. Seems so unfair and so sad and yet her last 12 years have been astonishing. Mary-Elizabeth has grown into a special and amazing young woman with a deep understanding of the universe. She is kind and loving and has suffered more loss than most her age. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Many of her contemporaries have said good-bye to Grand Parents, even parents. Few have had little people in their lives dies long horrible deaths. Few have drawn unicorns with five year old and not been able to build Legos with them a year later. Few have seen contemporaries die. Few have had end-of-life discussions with their parents. Few have mentioned what needs to happen at their funeral. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">It is time to put Cancer in the back seat for a bit. Find the future path. Find the place where plans can be made. Try to learn how to say; "next year" we will....... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The writing will not stop. It will reform in another universe. It is therapeutic for me to put words on paper. If they are on paper, they can be revisited when necessary. Sort of like a dictionary. It holds the words. I don't have to memorize everything. I can have a place, a basket, a drawer, a special mountain top, a piece of beach for things to reside. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica neue, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Mary-Elizabeth Sierra Lanham is a fully functioning human being with a bright future. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica neue, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">She is leaving Cancer World Today. I will be the repository and the guard. She can move forward with only good things in her life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica neue, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The END.... a good ending. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: helvetica neue, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiek_O1tOPOn7UYAOu8fU7nE2HAxUL156nUx-ueeTk-3SypKURQTW4tHSBEGniKBuSX-H_HptCbDX9nA5RP4abM3DOXjRpe4tkf_UI5zK2jMfNoQFes3ERI5HPedRS83Y_qrjvK/s1600/lulufireworks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiek_O1tOPOn7UYAOu8fU7nE2HAxUL156nUx-ueeTk-3SypKURQTW4tHSBEGniKBuSX-H_HptCbDX9nA5RP4abM3DOXjRpe4tkf_UI5zK2jMfNoQFes3ERI5HPedRS83Y_qrjvK/s1600/lulufireworks.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<br />Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-8549906863556556572016-04-30T15:25:00.000-07:002017-05-26T18:55:13.379-07:00Vigils.... <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">We wait, we wonder, we watch, we fiddle, we pace, we glance over our shoulders, we wait some more. We check our phones, we check our Facebook, we look for new e-mails, we look for new text messages, we look at Twitter. Somewhere deep in our souls, we know what we are waiting for, and we don't want it to happen, but we can't stop it. We can't change it. We just wait. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Two weeks ago Allistaire left Seattle Children's Hospital for the last time. Sometime early this morning she took her last breath. True to Allistaire's sense of self, she fought for those last few breaths. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Allistaire was not ready to go.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Sten wasn't ready for her to leave.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Jai never imagined she would have to leave so soon. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Solve was certainly not wanting to lose her baby sister.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I don't even know what to say. So I will do the next best thing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDoND4ZGBXvt9phJuE_YEfB4BNx16UUaWSwWra3Rm51CuzG6POmrcYwxRgXq2ozniPToMMBiMw5ZViA74t1Ua5ipiMz4bc89xPit9aW-CYDo2UA4_VzLZ-DBQKxs7UI2zGZE2B/s1600/orange+elephant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDoND4ZGBXvt9phJuE_YEfB4BNx16UUaWSwWra3Rm51CuzG6POmrcYwxRgXq2ozniPToMMBiMw5ZViA74t1Ua5ipiMz4bc89xPit9aW-CYDo2UA4_VzLZ-DBQKxs7UI2zGZE2B/s1600/orange+elephant.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The Allistaire I knew and came to love believed in magic..... She found it in her short life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The vigil has ended. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"> </span>Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-48521219984609591302016-04-16T13:54:00.000-07:002016-04-16T13:55:46.108-07:00Allistaire<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Sad: Me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I have been looking for the words to express the feeling when you know someone you have buried deep in the special places in your heart is not going to remain in the physical world. To learn a six-year-old girl, one you have grown to love is dying, make me Sad. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Sad. A simple three letter word. A word with long meaning within our lexicon but still, only a word.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">So I look for meaning. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Oxford English Dictionary Etiology of Sad</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span class="dateGroup" style="background-color: white; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Old English</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"> </span><em style="background-color: white; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">sæd</em><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"> 'sated, weary', also 'weighty, dense', of </span><a class="w translation" href="http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/Germanic#Germanic__2" style="background-color: white; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #3c9ae3; cursor: pointer; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: color 0.4s ease, background-color 0.4s ease;" title="Meaning of Germanic">Germanic</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"> origin; related to </span><a class="w translation" href="http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/Dutch#Dutch__6" style="background-color: white; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #3c9ae3; cursor: pointer; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: color 0.4s ease, background-color 0.4s ease;" title="Meaning of Dutch">Dutch</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"> </span><em style="background-color: white; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">zat</em><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;">and German </span><em style="background-color: white; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">satt</em><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;">, from an </span><a class="w translation" href="http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/Indo-European#Indo-European__7" style="background-color: white; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #3c9ae3; cursor: pointer; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: color 0.4s ease, background-color 0.4s ease;" title="Meaning of Indo-European">Indo-European</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"> root shared by </span><a class="w translation" href="http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/Latin#Latin__2" style="background-color: white; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #3c9ae3; cursor: pointer; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: color 0.4s ease, background-color 0.4s ease;" title="Meaning of Latin">Latin</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"> </span><em style="background-color: white; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">satis</em><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"> 'enough'. The original meaning was replaced in </span><a class="w translation" href="http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/Middle-English#Middle-English__2" style="background-color: white; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #3c9ae3; cursor: pointer; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: color 0.4s ease, background-color 0.4s ease;" title="Meaning of Middle English">Middle English</a><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"> by the senses 'steadfast, firm' and 'serious, sober', and later 'sorrowful'.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 25.6px;">The original meaning of sad in Old English was ‘having no more appetite, weary’. The word comes from the same root as Latin </span><em style="background-color: white; border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">satis</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 25.6px;"> ‘enough’, the source of </span><b style="background-color: white; border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">satiated</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 25.6px;">, </span><b style="background-color: white; border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">satisfactory,</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 25.6px;"> and </span><b style="background-color: white; border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">satisfy</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 25.6px;"> (all LME), and the idea was similar to our expression </span><b style="background-color: white; border-image-outset: initial; border-image-repeat: initial; border-image-slice: initial; border-image-source: initial; border-image-width: initial; border: none; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-large; line-height: 25.6px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">fed up</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"><span style="font-size: large;"> (early 20th century)—of being unhappy through being too ‘full’ of something. The word then developed through ‘firm, constant’ and ‘dignified, sober’ to our modern sense of ‘unhappy’ in the medieval period. In the 1990s ‘You're so sad!’ became the refrain of every teenager in the land, often to their parents. This use, meaning ‘pathetically inadequate or</span><span style="font-size: large;">, was not completely new, and had been around since the 1930s.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"><br /></span></span> <span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"><br /></span></span> <span style="background-color: white; color: #2a2a2a; font-family: "open sans" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 25.6px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Shakespear</span><span style="font-size: large;">:</span></span><br />
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<tr><td align="left"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.shakespeareswords.com/Glossary.aspx?Ref=sad&ID=13906" style="color: #8d000c; text-decoration: none;">sad (adj.) 1</a> serious, grave, solemn</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td align="left"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.shakespeareswords.com/Glossary.aspx?Ref=sad&ID=15557" style="color: #8d000c;">sad (adj.) 3</a> downcast, distressed, mournful, gloomy</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td align="left"><span style="font-size: large;"> seriously, gravely, solemnly</span></td></tr>
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<a class="leftAlignedImage" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/24391.Robert_Browning" style="background-color: white; color: #00635d; float: left; font-family: Lato, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; margin-right: 10px; text-decoration: none;"><img alt="Robert Browning" src="http://d.gr-assets.com/authors/1198543063p2/24391.jpg" style="border: 0px;" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: 14px;">“</span><span style="font-size: large;">how sad and bad and mad it was - but then, how it was sweet</span><span style="font-size: 14px;">” </span></h1>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Robert Browning</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Sometimes it is okay to sit with the sad. The tears that come, the moments of pressure on your chest so heavy it inhibits your breathing, the need to eat something chocolate. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">I will take a deep breath. I will light another candle. I will try to help in some concrete way. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">It is so hard when it is one of our own. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Another Deep Breath. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i>Every Moment of Light and Darkness is a Miracle. Walt Whitman</i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0qEBn8UAiYnhRy5qJ6nOv6YN6OvzM4G2A2_LBQHdyaaooNk9GvgzStV3sEOrT_kTrAnuGawlgHQi86Gt21gV-xkGSH_00nBCO6ebqHmzZiv7VNJ_xvw2MG5HlDz-Shy_-hmEA/s1600/Alistaire+3+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0qEBn8UAiYnhRy5qJ6nOv6YN6OvzM4G2A2_LBQHdyaaooNk9GvgzStV3sEOrT_kTrAnuGawlgHQi86Gt21gV-xkGSH_00nBCO6ebqHmzZiv7VNJ_xvw2MG5HlDz-Shy_-hmEA/s320/Alistaire+3+%25282%2529.jpg" width="242" /></a></div>
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Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645437.post-84495416203773363462016-02-29T13:04:00.004-08:002016-02-29T13:04:41.729-08:00Sometimes it is too hard to stay connected. <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Sometimes it is just too hard to connect to Facebook or other parts of the Web. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I would love to open the site and not see how many angels have been born. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I would love to open to not see how many kids have been admitted for unexpected reasons. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I would love to not learn some new and "special" side effect. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I would love to be able to reach out and help a mother who stumbled across an old Valentine. Such a small item can mean a day of heartache. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I would love to not read that a child is about to find a new set of wings. I would love to have words or pictures or signs I could send to the mother and family. Something that would make a difference. </span><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms', sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">b </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">It is not an option for me. I am either connected and life is hard and discouraging and terribly sad or I am blind to the hardship and suffering. I walk away sometimes for a little bit but then we all need some shelter out of the meteor shower. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKP6S_-UzcTKlJzt50w3BOPFHYx40oaNx26vaQzGa27iiVFNciDrGmuoAs6aLro5rS42Y_VzjCwXRQMfPKfr2b-KABBbIo1aCpF9-Lv7ZFoh9ftHej-hgAZKk3-TFCtIkzYrHg/s1600/IMG_1004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKP6S_-UzcTKlJzt50w3BOPFHYx40oaNx26vaQzGa27iiVFNciDrGmuoAs6aLro5rS42Y_VzjCwXRQMfPKfr2b-KABBbIo1aCpF9-Lv7ZFoh9ftHej-hgAZKk3-TFCtIkzYrHg/s320/IMG_1004.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Then I seem to be pulled back. While I have the luxury of not being in the heat of battle, the battle and struggles are not far away. It is like a haunting. You catch glimpses out of the corner of your eye. Just a momentary visit by a demon. Something that reminds you to be wary. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">I guess I will plunge back into Cancer World. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Even though Seattle Children's does not like me. Here is the most recent love note. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 18.4px;">I need to review with you both visiting standards and visiting protocols. I understand you’ve done some remarkable work supporting both families and patients. That said we need to insure that there are never any occasions where families or patients are visited without the needed approvals. Simply said there can be no cold calling or spontaneous surprise visits to hospital families and patients. I’d like the chance to review this with you and look forward to that opportunity</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 18.4px;">Just love these people sometimes. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 18.4px;"><br /></span></span>Sally A. Lanhamhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03391745908407108661noreply@blogger.com0