Passing the Baton

One thing I always admired about Krista was that she was always engaged in a good cause. She had too many things to do to not be. Today in church she was released from her callings as the Ward Music Specialist, Ward Choir Director, Cub Scout Bear Den Leader and Relief Society Instructor. It’s hard to remember a time when she didn’t have multiple callings at church. She was always happy to serve wherever and whenever she was needed.

Since Krista’s passing I have felt the weight of her responsibilities fall upon my shoulders. No longer do I have her to share the workload of cooking, cleaning, laundry, homework, shopping, paying bill and raising Jacob and Emma. And the list seems to grow daily. There have been other needs that exist because her death was so sudden and unexpected like figuring out what to do with her consulting business, her support group and website, her children’s book that is close to being published, her blog and many other little details that I have discovered over the last few weeks. These are the many things that give me little time to sit and worry about how things are going to turn out because I’m too busy trying to get everything done.

Today I’ve gladly accepted one more of Krista’s old responsibilities. I have been called to be the Ward Music Director. I’m responsible for selecting and leading the congressional hymns and arranging the special musical numbers for our weekly sacrament meetings. Though it’s only a little of what Krista did I’m glad to do it. I have learned from her to serve wherever the Lord needs me. No calling is too small, nothing we do for others is insignificant in the sight of the lord. As it says in Matthew:

"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." - St Matthew 25:40

I hope to continue Krista's legacy and always be engaged in a good cause and serve the Lord wherever and whenever He needs me. To serve the Lord we must serve others and it is in serving others that we forget ourselves and find joy and peace.

Month One

Those of you that regularly follow Krista's blog know that we keep track of many dates and loved to find reasons to celebrate. Every 20th of the month was our "month-a-versary" (it was always fun to see who would remember it first). We have the season of Jacob and the season of Emma which included their birthdays, homecoming days, adoption days and sealing days. We even celebrated the 12th of each month since her diagnosis as another month she outlived her prognosis.

Today marks one month since her passing. A lot has happened in that month. There has been a lot of pain, a lot of tears and a lot of heartache. On the other hand there have been many angels that have blessed my family through countless acts of service. There has been a lot of comfort given through friends and family. There has been a lot of thoughts and prayers for me and my family. And there has been a lot of tears of joy for the outpouring of blessings that we have received.

I have said many times that life is messy. If it weren't so we wouldn't learn and grow and reach the divine potential that is in all of us. The Lord wants us to trust Him in all things. During times of trial it is of utmost importance to trust in Him and rely on Him. If we do He will strengthen us to endure the trials that shall be placed upon our backs. And He will pour out His blessings upon us so that our burdens will be light. I have felt His love many times this past month. When the pain and sorrow seemed too much to bear I would fall upon my knees and plead with my Father in Heaven for the help and strength to endure. Every time He has blessed me with his love and peace and I knew that all would be well.

I know my Heavenly Father knows me and loves me more than I can comprehend. He has been patient we me and has lead me step by step to become what I am today. There is much more that I need to learn but I know with His help all things are possible.

Looking back at this month there is much to celebrate and be happy for. Most of all it is the "month-a-versary" of my dear wife's successful completion of her mortal trial. No longer does she need to endure countless MRIs, chemotherapy, radiotherapy, injections, blood tests, pain and sickness. She is in our Heavenly Father's hands now. And it is one less month till we are together, never to be separated again.

Lead, Kindly Light

When I was very young my mom endeavored to teach me to play the piano. I remember countless hours practicing while I wished I was doing something else a bit more entertaining. Whenever I would complain about it my mom would tell me that someday when I was a missionary I would be in an area where I would be the only person that could play the hymns for church. At that point I would just roll my eyes and get back to practicing still wishing I was elsewhere. Needless to say, my mom's prediction came true.

While I was serving a mission in Japan there was rarely an area I was in that had someone who could play the piano. I was able to provide the accompaniment to the congregational hymns for most of the two years of my mission. I'm thankful for a mother that had the foresight to not give up on a young boy knowing that the benefit greatly outweighed anything I lost. I never became a great pianist but I learned enough to play hymns (which was my mom's goal) and compose some simple arrangements and original songs.

Many times when I find myself alone with my thoughts and the pains of mortality I turn to the piano for comfort. Sometimes it's much easier to express my emotions through the piano then verbally. Today was one of those days. While flipping through the hymn book I came across "Lead, Kindly Light". This brought back a flood of memories and emotions. A few years ago Krista used the first verse in her post titled "One Step Enough For Me". She compared it with our experience of adopting our Emma. Showing that sometimes we just need to trust the Lord. Knowing that he has a plan for us should be enough. We don't need to know the outcome we just need to take that next step and put our trust in Him and let Him lead us to where He wants us to be.

Lead, kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom, lead Thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home; lead Thou me on!

Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see

The distant scene; one step enough for me.

As I sat at the piano reading the lyrics I got to the third verse with tears streaming down my face I read:

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on.

O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till the night is gone,

And with the morn those angel faces smile, which I

Have loved long since, and lost awhile!

I have lost my angel. Thankfully it's only for "awhile". I look forward to the day that we meet again, to once again see her smiling face and walk hand in hand. I know, with the Lord, we are never lost. He is the good shepherd and He knows his sheep. We must put our faith in Him and trust that He will lead through this trial, for there is no way around it. And if we are faithful we will reach the end of our journey and look upon His face and hear the words "Well done, thou good and faithful servant.. enter thou into the joy of thy lord." Matthew 25:21.

Magical Tender Mercies

Since October Krista and I have been planning a surprise trip to Disney World as a Christmas present for Jacob and Emma. After Krista passed away I thought about what to do and realized that Krista wouldn't want anything to get in the way of our plans for the kids. So after the last present was opened on Christmas morning I told the kids where were going the following Monday. Words can't describe the excitement expressed by Jake and Em.

The following Monday at 4:20am I woke the kids, packed the car and left for the airport.

We arrived at our hotel, Jambo House at the Disney World Animal Kingdom Lodge. Our room overlooked the "Savannah" where you could see zebra, impala, giraffe, antelope, wildebeest and many other animals roaming around.

Despite the cold and the parks being crowded nearly to capacity we had an wonder time. We saw shows, rode rides and ate more good food than we should have. The parks were lit up for Christmas with Cinderella's Castle covered in lights shining like a beautiful ice castle.

The highlight of the trip for Emma was a tossup between meeting "Prince Stitch" and the Princess Storybook Dinner at Epcot Center.

When we first arrived at Epcot center we saw Stitch signing autographs and taking picture. So we quickly got in line and waited. When it was our turn to meet Stitch he noticed the shirt that Emma was wearing that said "Someday My Prince Will Come" and indicated that he was her prince. He even signed her signature book as "Prince Stitch" and kissed her hand just as a prince would. Emma was smitten to say the least and even insisted on getting a Stitch stuffed animal before we left.

Later that day at the Princess Storybook Dinner she was able to meet Cinderella, Ariel, Princess Aurora, and Mary Poppins. But her favorite by far was Belle who signed her book "To: Emma Love, Belle" and even kissed her book leaving a lipstick kiss on the page.

Jacob loved the Stitch's Great Escape! Even though he was nervous while waiting in line and was scared a couple of times during the ride. But the biggest scare came early Friday morning.

When we were going to bed Thursday night Jacob was complaining that his stomach hurt. I thought it was just all of the food we had eaten that day and sent him to bed hoping he would feel better in the morning. But things just got worse. At about 2:00am Friday morning I was startled awake with Jacob crying and throwing up all over his bed and the floor. I quickly got up, cleaned him and the floor and took the bedding off of his bed and called housekeeping to bring new bedding and to further clean the floor. It took about an hour and three more calls before they came to the room with new linens and cleaned the floor. In the meantime Jacob vomited a couple more times and was complaining that his stomach was hurting. He didn't have a fever so I was hoping it was just bad food that needed to work itself out. I bought a Sprite for him to sip on in hopes of it settling his stomach. Nothing helped him feel better and he kept vomiting every hour or so until all that was coming out was saliva and mucus. I realized this was getting dangerous for Jake and called the front desk to see what medical options were available. they recommended a visiting doctor that I could make an appointment with. I called the doctor and after talking to him about Jake's symptoms he recommended that I take him to the ER. The hotel's concierge arranged for a cab to pick us up and take us to the local hospital's ER. They even gave us a voucher for the cab ride to and from the ER.

Once at the hospital they immediately hooked Jacob up to an IV and started giving him fluids to help with the dehydration caused by the vomiting. They also gave him a dose of Zofran to help settle his stomach. They then gave him an bottle of apple juice to sip on to see if he could keep it down. But after drinking only half of the apple juice Jacob started to complain and cry about how bad his stomach hurt. Shortly after that Jacob quickly sat up from the hospital bed and projectile vomited so hard it hit the wall 8 feet from where he was. We were quite scared at this point. I also realized that it was three weeks to the day from when I was with Krista in the ER when she passed away. I was worried about losing Jacob also and didn't know what to do. The doctor decided Jake needed a CAT scan of his abdomen in hopes of diagnosing the problem. The CAT scan showed that Jacob was constipated and other tests showed he was fighting a viral infection. The two together created a dangerous situation keeping Jake from being able to eat or drink anything. At about 3pm the doctor told us she wasn't comfortable releasing Jacob and wanted to admit him to the hospital for another 24 hours. I explained that our flight home was the next day and if he was admitted we would miss our flight and have to deal with the hassle and cost of rescheduling our flight. She finally agreed that if Jacob could keep down a popsicle for an hour or so she would be willing to release him. As soon as she left to order the popsicle we knelt down by Jacob's bed and prayed to Heavenly Father, acknowledging our faith in His ability to heal, and asking Him to heal Jake so he would be able to once again eat and drink and that we would be able to return home as scheduled. Things turned around rather quickly after that. Jacob ate the popsicle without any problems and kept it down. His stomach quit hurting and he was able to use the restroom. By the time the doctor came back to check on him he was smiling and cheerful. The doctor commented that it was the first time she saw him smile and that his complexion looked much better. After having him walk around the ER and pressing on his stomach she agreed to release him. At just after 5:30pm we left the hospital headed back for our hotel room. Needless to say we decided to forgo any New Year celebrations that night and go directly to bed.

I'm thankful for a Heavenly Father who loves us, who knows us and is concerned about our well being. I'm thankful for the power of prayer for I know that if we have faith for that which is right we shall receive it just as it is stated in 3 Nephi 18:20:

"And whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you."

I also like the words from Ezra Taft Benson's Last General Conference Talk as LDS Church President:

"He wants to help you because He loves you, and He will help you if you pray to Him and ask Him for His help."

I know this to be true. I know God loves each and every one of us. He wants us to be happy in this life as well as in the next. If we will just follow his Son and our Saviour Jesus Christ He will give us peace and joy greater than anything we can imagine. And if we ask Him for that which is right, having faith in Him and His Son, he will give us what we ask for.

I'm thankful the the many tender mercies that the Lord has shown to me and my family, especially in this time of need.

‘Twas the night before Christmas...

‘Twas the night before Christmas, kids finally in bed,
Dreaming dreams of tomorrow and present ahead.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
With one stocking empty, it didn’t seem fair.


Together we planned for next morning’s first light,
With children all happy and joyful and bright.
Announcing a trip full of magic and fun,
But now the announcement was for us, minus one.


Somehow we were meant to be a family of three,
For this year’s Christmas, it just had to be.
For the Lord knows what’s best for each of his children,
To reach our potential, if we will just listen.


His plan may be tough, and yes we'll miss mother,
Yet our family still knows that we’ll be together.
When we finish our test, mother with us will be,
And we will no longer be a family of three.

Nothing's Too Hard...

Krista's mom has a wonderful assistant who came to Krista's services last week. She was very touched by the services and was thinking about us while riding home. During the trip she turned to her friend who was driving and expressed her concern about how hard it was going to be for Jacob, Emma and I. As soon as she said this she looked up and saw a billboard along the side of the road that read "Nothing's too hard for God". She commented about how amazed she was and knew that Krista was still working to lift her spirits, even from the other side.
Truly nothing is too hard for God. And with His help we can overcome all He ask of us. Krista wrote the following to her 2ofus4now support group on March 15th 2009:

"I really know -- that God made me and loves me, just like he loves you. Just like he loves my family. He knows what we need in order to be all that we want to be. Whether I live or die, all is well. It may not be easy for me or for my family, but all is well. Our loving God is in charge, and if we will just stop trying to grab the steering wheel, he will take us where we need to go."

I know this to be true. For some reason things have to be the way they are. Krista finished her test and was called back to our Heavenly Father before we expected. But she was ready. She had been preparing for this for many years and was ready to meet her Savior and receive her eternal reward. I also know that God love me and my family just as He loves you and all of His children. He knows me, knows how I feel. He knows how much I miss Krista and the worry I have about being a good enough father to help Jacob and Emma endure and overcome this trial. But I also know that He is there to comfort me when I'm sad, to strengthen me when I feel weak, and to encircle me with his perfect love when I humbly kneel before him and ask. I have felt his love and I know He lives.

Jared

Over the Years

I thought I should upload this for those who weren't able to attend Krista's services. This is her memorial video that was shown during her viewing.

Jared

The Little Things

Sunday morning while I was getting ready for church I went to throw away a paper in the master bathroom. The trash can has always been by Krista's vanity on the other side of the room. So as I had done countless times before, I walked across the room and dropped the paper in the trash. As I was walking away I realized that I ought to just move the can closer to my sink as I would be the only one using it now. Suddenly my emotions overcame me and I started to cry for there was one more thing to remind me of the passing of my dear wife and friend. I have since thought about that event and how something so small and seemingly insignificant could have such a profound effect on me.

Last night the doorbell rang, I knew what was in store. The Relief Society president asked if it would be okay for them to come caroling to our house to surprise Jacob and Emma with songs, gifts and letters about each carolers' memories of Krista. I quickly gather the kids and went to the door. Upon opening the door I was astonished by the sight. There were friends from our ward, school teachers, PTA associates of Krista's, neighbors and school mates. Our sidewalk and lawn were overflowing with angels that came to sing to us. There must have been at least one hundred people there to show heartfelt love and support for our family. There were many tears of joy as each person came forward to give us gifts, letters, hugs and words of comfort. It wasn't a difficult or miraculous thing each person did that night but added together they made a big impact on our family and brought a peace and love into our home that was needed in this time of loss.

We may never know the impact of the little things we do in life. Smiling at someone that walks by, holding the door for the person behind you, saying kind words or at this time of year sharing a sincere "Merry Christmas". Not only can it bring joy to the hearts of others but it will lift your spirits and instill in you a desire to do more little things for our brothers and sisters.

In Alma 37:6 is says "by small and simple things are great things brought to pass". You may never know the full impact of the little things you do every day. Let's try to make them all good things that together add up to be great.

Jared

Fought a Good Fight

2 Timothy 4:7
"I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith"

This is the second time that I have posted on Krista's behalf and it may be the last.

Thursday night we read scriptures with Jacob and Emma, had family prayer and gave the kids a kiss and a hug good night. That was the last memory they would have of their mother. Krista passed away Friday the 10th of December 2010 at 3:15am. She went quickly with minimal pain and suffering. The doctors at the ER did all they could but it was her time go. I was able to hold her hand at the end and with Bishop Moon at my side was able to offer a prayer releasing her from this mortal world to return to the care of our loving Heavenly Father. She has truly fought a good fight and kept the faith until the end. She has been an inspiration and comfort to many. She has mourned with those that mourn, comforted those that stood in need of comfort and stood as a witness of God at all times and in all things, and in all places (Mosiah 18:9). All this she did while she stood in need of comfort herself. She was a remarkable woman and I am honored to be sealed to her as her husband for all time and eternity. I know she will be missed by many.

Memorial services for Krista will be held on Thursday December 16th at 11:00am at the LDS Church at 2401 Legacy Dr, Plano, TX 75025. A public viewing will precede the services at the same location from 9:30am till 10:30am. All are welcome to both the viewing and the services.

I would like to thank all those who showed support and love and offered many hours of service to Krista and our family. We couldn't have made it this long without your help. I would like to thank the doctors that treated Krista over the years, especially Dr. Karen Fink and her wonderful staff. They have given us over 4 years that we didn't expect to have together. They have been the best years that we have had. And I would also like to thank the endless procession of "Angels" - as Krista would call them - who have lifted our burdens and allowed us to fully enjoy the last 5 years. We love you all.

Jared

It's Okay -- Probably/Hopefully

"I have a brain tumor. It's okay -- probably/hopefully, but I have a brain "abnormality" that the neurologist believes is most likely a tumor. Saw it myself as clear as can be on the MRI films."

This was what I said to friends and family in an email that ultimately became the beginning of this blog. It was November 21, 2005. (Happy Blog-a-versary!)

I haven't told the rest of the story about that day, but I remember it well. It was a Monday, and we were awaiting word from my neurologist about the MRI and EEG studies that had been done on Friday. He had already called on Saturday to tell me to start taking anti-seizure medication, but had no other details. We had an appointment for Tuesday morning to go over these test results.

Then on Monday morning he called me with an urgent request to meet that day. Pick a time, and he would work me in. Other planned appointments and diagnostic tests had been cancelled. This was a highly ominous conversation, and I was obviously concerned.

Two conversations followed after I hung up. One was a phone call to my husband at work, so that he could arrange to accompany me. The other was back at my bedside, on my knees, to pray.

What occurred during my prayer was highly personal and sacred and comforting. I believe in the Comforter -- the Holy Ghost -- and knew that he was communicating with me in direct and immediate response to my prayer. Personal scripture with direct relevance to my situation was silently but clearly spoken to my mind. Specific words from long ago that had previously seemed unimportant and would normally go unnoticed, were recalled to my mind along with the impression that they were meant for this situation. And then there was a feeling of peace that cannot be adequately described. I rose from my knees knowing that I was under the watchful care of a loving Heavenly Father, and that whatever this was, I would be able to handle it.

Admittedly, I was also hopelessly naiive. The neurologist was very kind as he described the MRI results and the neurosurgery that would result. I knew that my grandfather had died from a brain tumor many years before, but this seemed different. I took solace in knowing that this was likely a primary tumor instead of a metastatic tumor, and that it was in an operable location. I had no clue that primary brain tumors are quite often malignant tumors, or that anything life-threatening was going on (other than the risks of surgery). I thought brain tumors were only a big deal when they were not operable. I was healthy and could surely endure neurosurgery. It honestly seemed like my biggest concerns were whether to continue with my upcoming hair appointment, and how to manage the logistics of neurosurgery so close to Christmas.

After coming home and digesting this news I started telling my parents. I remember both my mother and my father being very concerned, and weeping at the news. I figured they were overreacting because of my grandfather's experience. But it was so long ago! And this is different! I talked about it as matter-of-factly as if I had a cavity that needed to be filled. ("Hey, Dad -- wanna see the MRI film? Here it is right here!") I did my best to reassure them that I was going to be fine. You can see what I wrote at that time, if you go to my very first posts on this blog.

Obviously as the story began to unfold, my naivety gave way to reality. The seriousness of the situation began to sink in, and things beyond our worst fears were starting to materialize. It became overwhelming. However, once the pillars of ignorance and innocence fell, I did not collapse. The experience I had in my room prior to meeting the neurologist was a strengthening one that provided an important support column. It was the remembrance of this very personal answer to prayer, the words that entered my mind, and the unmistakable feeling of peace that accompanied it, that became the real source of my strength and optimism. Other similar experiences followed when needed.

I was taught long ago that there are counterfeits for everything except the peace that is the hallmark sign of the Holy Ghost. Within the presence of that peace it is impossible for fear and doubt to abide. There are many good feelings and emotions, and I've experienced those, too. Feelings of love and relief and joy and hope and wonder, and so on. But when there is spirit-to-spirit communication with the Lord through the Holy Ghost, it is unmistakably and undeniably set apart from these other feelings, and it becomes the only reliable source of confirmed truth. My greatest desire is to live long enough to help my children learn to access and recognize this for themselves.

What I came to know on that fateful day was and is still true, and it has sustained me throughout five years that began with "It's okay -- probably/hopefully" and remains standing at "It's okay -- definitely/surely--no matter what."

Countdown to Blast-off

Yes, we passed another twelfth. Fifty-nine months since the word "malignant" was pronounced upon me. We're practically on top of that five-year survival mark that seemed like statistical zero at the time of diagnosis.

In fact, we're already five years from the time of my first "seize the day" episode. November 13, 2005, was the Sunday morning when I had a seizure while getting Emma dressed for church. We had no idea what had happened. Three days later, on the 16th, I had a series of episodes that led to a wrong diagnosis by an over-confident ER physician. Finally, on November 21, 2005, we saw an MRI scan with some kind of abnormality that looked like a tumor. We had no idea what it was until surgery on December 12 revealed that it was a malignant tumor. I knew then that I had cancer. And on December 14 our worst fears were realized when the cancer ended up being a grade IV glioblastoma. Statistically speaking, five year survival was considered a miracle at that time.

So we're counting down to December 12, when we can celebrate the completion of my "high-five" year of survival.

We're also counting down what I call the "blast-off". As in, my final radiation blast is tomorrow morning. And hopefully we'll get all that blasted glioblastoma blasted off into oblivion!

Life Goes On

I have a new nephew! Caden James Ralston was welcomed into the world last week, to the delight of his mom, dad, brother, and sister.

A friend of mine lost her husband a few years ago. (Actually, I shouldn't say she lost him, because she knows very well where he is, which is a very comforting thing.) Anyway, as we talked in the days following his passing, she commented that when a person is born into this earth there is great anticipation and joy. And she felt certain that when a person is due to return home from whence we came, there is probably similar anticipation and joy for those who have preceded him and long to greet him.

During her pregnancy my sister-in-law had to deal with Braxton Hicks (false labor) contractions for several months, which thankfully did not result in premature birth or any complications. (Just maybe a great opportunity to play the guilt card later!) Caden was born healthy and beautiful and perfect...and at the right time for his mission in life. It was so nice to see him, fresh from heaven and ready to take on the world with a loving family surrounding him.

Meanwhile, I'm hoping to emulate his example of crossing the veil at just the right time...and not a moment too soon!

Home Stretch

I love it when my blog title has a double meaning.

I am home, stretching my muscles right now after Saturday's Brain Tumor Walk. It was a great event, raising over $1 Million for the National Brain Tumor Society, which puts a lot of money directly into research.

Our "High Five" team ended up with only three official members, because our daughter was too young to register. However, we still had many generous donors, and I appreciate each one!

We had a great time. Many volunteers donated food, drinks, and bounce houses to make it a fun event. The kids had a great time, and even had a chance to meet other children affected by brain cancer. Some of the children were feisty survivors themselves, and some had parents who were survivors. One of the highest fundraising teams had just lost their captain to a brain tumor the week before, and there were poignant "We Miss You, Mom" signs being carried by her children. One of the other teams donated part of their money to her team. It was a day filled with courage and support and lots of positive things being done about an otherwise awful situation. I always believe that God is so good, He can make good out of anything, and this was one example of how that happens -- especially when people are willing to help.

Five years ago I was training for a 5K run when I started having seizures. This year I thought I would train to run this 5K event when I ended up with a spine tumor. I decided to stop telling myself to train for 5K events...and I stopped preparing to run this one. I thought I would just sneak up on myself and see how much of it I could run. I ended up learning that I need to re-learn how to run! I think with everything that had been going on with my back and my legs and the foot drop thing...and the lack of running for so long...I just need to retrain some of my muscles. It just felt kind of weird to run, like I needed to remember how. I was stable enough -- didn't fall into the Trinity River that ran along the course -- but I did take it in walking and running intervals just to be safe. I would pick a landmark, like a tree or a pole and focus on running toward that. And then I would walk to the next item and try again. It worked out well, and I was happy with my time -- and the fact that I was doing this when last month I had foot drop and couldn't walk on my toes!

We are approaching the home stretch of the treatment game. Six more radiation sessions. Five more weekly Topotecan injections through the "oh my -- a reservoir." A few more rounds of Avastin. About a week left of nightly Temodar. Things are still very tolerable. So far bone marrow has been holding strong, which has kept me in the game. So far, CSF remains clear, with protein levels decreasing (a hopeful sign). Pain is also decreasing, which is another hopeful sign.
For some reason I have managed to lose some weight and spend a lot of time happily pulling clothes out of storage that have been mocking me for the past five years! (That's been my favorite side effect so far!) I still have my moments when I need a serious nap during the day -- and I remember from my first radiation adventure that the fatigue wall really starts to hit toward the end -- but still, there really isn't anything to complain about, all things considered. We'll get through this home stretch, and then we have a pause before we know the actual score. The Mets didn't have a great season on the field, and I'm praying that they will continue to lose here!

This One's for Charlie

Tomorrow is my last chemo day with Charlie before she moves on to a new opportunity as an ER nurse closer to her home. Charlie has been my chemo nurse during the Avastin days and celebrated with me on graduation day in 2008, and we both foolishly lamented how we missed each other during those long stretches between MRI scans. And she's been here to get me started on this latest round of Avastin, transitioning me to a new pair of caring hands.

Charlie also introduced me to Coconut M&M candy, which may actually cure me. It's good stuff -- like an Almond Joy in a candy shell!

I just can't say goodbye to Charlie without thinking of one of my favorite Michael McLean songs, called "One Heart in the Right Place":

There's no telling how much a sunrise means to the one who had a terrible night;

And there's no telling how much a hand to hold means to one whose being led to the light.

And no one can tell, though at times they might try what it means to have one friend that's been true;

So I guess there's no telling you just how much one heart in the right place can do.

There's no telling how far ones eyes can see when someone's vision can inspire a song

And there's no telling how big a dream can be for the one whose learned to never think small

And no one can tell though at times you might try what another person's love means to you

So I guess there's no telling you just how much one heart in the right place can do

But there's been a heart as big as it's dreams that's blessed us all for so many years

It's been in all the right places at all the right times and it's changed everyone of us here.

There's no telling how much that sunrise meant to the one who had a terrible night

And there's no telling how much a hand to hold has meant to someone whose been led to the light

And no one can tell though at times they might try what it means to have been touched by someone

So there's no way of telling you just how much your heart in the right place has done

We wish we could tell you now just how much your heart in the right place has done

Trunk or Treat

(We have a friend who said, "I choose trunk." Small pause for a chuckle here.)

Saturday was our annual Trunk or Treat event at the church parking lot, where everyone passes out candy from their cars. Despite our family tradition of strategic planning long in advance -- and despite my earlier blog with potential costume ideas with the Ommaya reservoir -- we ended up going with something unexpected.

I should say some THINGS unexpected...like THING ONE and THING TWO from The Cat in the Hat:

And Jared and I decided to go as one of the great movie couples of all time: Napoleon Dynamite and Deb. (Deb's side ponytail combed nicely over the Ommaya reservoir!)

It was fun -- to stay in character, we went to Sonic afterwards and ordered tots...

Fantastic Friday

Life moves fast -- especially when staring mortality in the face -- and if we watch closely enough we can capture some precious moments along the way.

Friday was one of those spontaneous precious moment days. My husband ended up being able to take the day off, and with the kids in school we had an all-day date. I relieved my angel driver for the day with full honors and blessings, and Jared drove me down to the medical center for my Friday zip-zap. He was able to meet my friends Terry and Janice (pray for them as they go through their radiation treatments) and some of the radiation technicians.

The rest of the day was filled with other tasks, and we were able to quickly turn a lot of "to-do's" into a lot of "Ta-Da's!" and even squeeze in a quiet lunch together before school got out.

It's kind of funny; other than lunch, the list of activities is pretty boring in regular retrospect. However, in my very non-regular retrospect, I think this was one of the most romantic days we've spent together. It reminds me of our dating years, when we were best friends and getting things ready for his mission and my schooling.

This is one of the gifts of the cancer experience. Before it, I wonder how many fantastic Fridays we've breezed through without stopping to notice and give thanks.

Checkup

I got the full treatment today: radiation, Avastin, Topotecan, and Temodar -- and a neuro test! Throw in a manicure and a robe, and I would have just written it off as a day at the spa.

I remembered "fox," "popcorn," and "tree." I spelled WORLD backwards and forwards, but didn't get asked to count backward from 100 by sevens. (I just naturally start doing that when I see Vanessa coming my way!)

Labs look great: I still have bone marrow, chemistry looks good, and so far no tumor cells are showing up in the CSF. I'm still in the game!

I actually had reflexes in my legs, which is something kind of new. Even when I was a kid I wondered why the doctor always banged on my knee with a hammer, because I never had a kick reflex. Maybe this is a new skill, like when I became better at sightreading after brain surgery!

I managed to lose my foot drop and aced the catwalk portion of the exam, walking straight lines on my heels and on my toes and proving once again that I am (and always have been) stone sober. I'm hoping this is a signal that the underlying cause of nerve problems is being defeated quickly.

We'll know more soon. I'll be a five-year cancer survivor by the time we know how this plan of attack has been working.

But what an interesting date to look forward to. I go in for a brain/spine MRI on December 14, 2010, which is the fifth anniversary of the day my neurosurgeon confirmed the word that changed my life: "glioblastoma." I meet with Dr. Fink for a verdict the next morning, which is the 5th anniversary of my Grade IV Glioblastoma blog post. (That post has the most comments of any on my blog.)

A most amazing, wonderful day

Friday was a most amazing, wonderful day in so many ways!

I remember waking up and feeling very rested and comfortable. As always, I'm just happy to wake up, period. But I realized that I had rested well, and that I was in a comfortable bed in a comfortable bedroom in my home. My husband was with me, and I was madly in love with him. My children were upstairs sleeping, and I was so happy to know that they were part of our family. Together, our family knew and relied upon our Savior, Jesus Christ, and were grateful for the knowledge of Him.

I rolled out of bed to say my prayers, and I noticed how comfortable it felt to kneel without screaming pain in my back and legs. The gratitude list began easily and went long.

Friday had an unusual schedule. Two parent-teacher conferences. One radiation treatment downtown. School holiday for the kids, followed by a Primary activity in the afternoon. And ward temple night with my husband. We decided to try and squeeze in a quick trip to the state fair, just to make it a fun family day. It was an ambitious but fun venture, and we were blanketed with tender mercies to make it an especially memorable and happy day.

The parent-teacher conferences ended up happening back-to-back instead of hours apart, making it possible for both to be completed before I had to run to my radiation appointment. Both teachers had excellent reports; both kids are doing very well, despite the new chaos in our family.

Traffic was uncharacteristically easy, and I emerged early from radiation just as my husband and kids pulled up to take me to the state fairgrounds a few miles away. We arrived just before the gigantic Texas Star ferris wheel opened for the day, and were the first ones aboard. I'm not much of a ferris wheel person, but this one was fun -- I felt as though we were on top of the world for a brief moment.

We attend the state fair once a year, and have our own little family list of favorite "must-do" things. This time they all fell perfectly into line, and with minimal crowds and beautiful weather we just plain had fun. Em was able to do her butterfly ballerina dance, and Jake was able to be the lion tamer in the Backyard Circus. We indulged my husband's favorite car show exhibits, we did the DAR Museum and the Little Hands on the Farm and sampled the disgusting but cool fried offerings that make corn dogs seem passe.

This year Jared tried both fried Frito Pie and fried pizza. (Jake helped him with the latter.) The kids and I had fried PBJ & banana sandwich along with some grilled corn and a caramel apple. Thanks to the local dairy sponsors, we had plenty of milk to drink.

Normally excursions like this involve at one grumpy/whiny/overtired episode before the day is through. With so much going on, it can get exhausting and overwhelming for kids and adults alike. But it wasn't like that this time. It was just a really happy day! I kept sitting back and hoping I was imprinting these memories into (what's left of) my mind, and hoping even more so that they were being imprinted into the memories of my family members. I want this to be remembered as a happy time for all of us, being able to spend time together just enjoying each other.

We left for home having done all that we set out to do, and having plenty of time to prepare for the events ahead of us. Traffic was easy on us again, and I continued to marvel at what a blessed, easy day this was. And on the horizon was a chance to go to the temple that evening. It just couldn't get better than this!

For a fleeting moment, the thought crossed my mind that it was such a good day -- if it had been my last day on earth I couldn't have imagined a better one. (Unless, of course, we had each been about fifty years older that day!)

As my husband and I left for the temple, it occurred to me that I had not taken any anti-nausea medication that evening. It was not something I would typically do, except that between the Topotecan and the radiation hitting so close to my stomach I am more prone to nausea. I am normally premedicated for nausea when I receive Topotecan, but this was the following day, when that would typically wear off. Since I had not yet had a major nausea problem, I figured I would probably be okay.

I wasn't. I didn't figure in the "fair factor." I ended up having to excuse myself during our temple session to avoid catastrophe. It was disappointing to feel so physically awful, and to miss this opportunity that evening. All was fine. Temple workers were swift and kind in caring for me. I'm sure my name was added to the prayer roll by many of the others in attendance that day!

The rest of the evening was rocky as I fought to keep down that evening's chemotherapy, even after taking my anti-nausea medication. It was a long night. But I made it! It was still a most amazing, wonderful day. My temporary physical setback was no need for alarm. God hadn't stopped pouring tender mercies on me that day. I had merely enjoyed my amazing, wonderful day so much, I overdid it!

Kneeling by my bed that evening I had an even longer list of things to be grateful for that day. (Including the fact that a fried peanut butter/jelly/banana sandwich is out of reach for at least one more year!)

Another Twelfth!

And this one makes 58 months of cancer survival! We're still pushing our way through this HIGH FIVE year, despite this new twist in the story.

One week down

The first week of shock and awe is behind me, and it wasn't too bad at all. Only on Friday did my body finally say, "Hey...I'm tired!!!!" I slept early on Friday and most of Saturday.

Monday through Friday was radation and oral Temodar chemotherapy. My favorite part was riding down to the medical center with friends who gave me limo service. We had lots of fun visits and chats together. It's a lousy circumstance for getting to know awesome people better.

The radiation routine is a quick one. I walk in, scan a card, and gown up. They let me keep a gown for the duration of my treatments, so I can "pre-gown" at home to make sure the backyard is completely covered, and then just remove clothes when I get there. I sit down and have a brief chat with Janice and Jean, other survivors on the same schedule, until our turns are called. Then it's about ten minutes in the zapper and out to change and move on.

I'm not sure what the big deal was with the tattoos. They are smaller than freckles. In fact, the radiation technicians mark all over the tattoos on my abdomen with marker.

The session is so short, I usually hear the same reggae song in the background and watch the machine rotate around me a few times, and then I'm done. For my visual on Friday, I began to picture a skylight opening up in my spine to reveal a cringing tumor (gurgling with chemical poisoning) as it begins to shriek at the incoming beams. I had to keep from giggling so I could hold still. After a few days I noticed a slight sunburned feeling on my backside. I wonder if I should put one of those tanning booth stickers on me to check my progress.

The nightly Temodar thing is familiar and easy. Just no late-night snacking, which has paid off on the scale already -- despite getting lots of steroids in the mornings.

I started Avastin this week, too. It is also familiar and very tolerable. An IV infusion every other Thursday. And maybe a Benadryl at night, because once in a while I might get one hive from it. I'm just glad that Avastin is still available. It worked wonders on me before, but its FDA approval is in jeopardy of being pulled, simply because of its cost. (What is the value of five years of my life? Can I decide, or is that now up to a death panel?)

Topotecan is the fourth blow. It goes in through my Ommaya reservoir ("Oh, my -- a reservoir!"). Only Dr Fink or her nurse practitioner may do this infusion, because it is a highly specialized process. This has the longest list of undesirable side effects, including nausea and arachnitis. They pre-medicate me with more steroids and anti-nausea meds before giving it to me. I get this on Mondays and Thursdays for six sessions.

(Arachnitis, by the way, is kind of a chemical meningitis. It has nothing to do with spiders.)

With the exception of Temodar, I have the weekend off before heading on my daily trek to the medical center. I'm looking at the list of my chauffeurs for this week and eagerly anticipating our visits. I look forward to seeing Janice and Jean again. (We're all praying for each other.)

On Mondays I meet with my radiation oncologist for a review and also for blood tests to see if I still have bone marrow producing enough red and white blood cells and platelets to continue treatment.

We're one week down; not sure yet how many more to go. The worst part has been fatigue, as though I finally realized that a major battle is being waged. I'm managing pain very well, and I'm also getting some strength back in my droppy foot. (Just don't tell the kids, because they are in charge of keeping the house free from stuff Mom can trip on!)

Someone asked me if I'm hanging in there okay. I had to reply that I'm not hanging at all -- I can't hang, because I'm being so well supported!