When my husband and I were called one day soon after his melanoma brain cancer diagnosis by the admitting department at Stanford, we jumped at the chance like two Jack rabbits on steroids, taking at least 4mg of steroids twice a day…with food. His primary care physician had referred him to a neurosurgeon at Stanford and we thought it would be months to get in but it took only a few weeks. We were beyond grateful. We were told to go to admitting at Stanford Palo Alto the next day.

We had previously attended an appointment with a neurosurgeon who accepted my husband after seeing brain scans also and he definitely expedited the process as well. In September we set out on a journey where Ken drove from his hospital bed on a bumpy road in a wheelchair trip for a biopsy under one arm which confirmed an unusual under the skin melanoma which metastasized to his brain. Many tumors were found in his brain He was often picked up from his bed by hospital staff to travel by wheelchair many times for CT scans and MRI tests. One time they took him to a specialist who made a mask for him. Not your normal Halloween mask. This mask would be fastened down on a table where it would hold his head still and would help with pinpointing radiation. This was called cyber knife treatment. We had never heard of cyber knife treatment. Was a true knife used? Was it really developed in cyberspace? Was it made popular by some sci fi movie? No and no. No. It sounded really awesome but no real knife was used and cyber is added to the term since it sounds cool. It was developed in the 1980’s and in 1991 used at Stanford. We were impressed. The best news was that no surgery would be needed on the 13 brain tumors…for now.

The treatment was used and after nine days in the hospital, with our wonderful kids and others visiting my husband, he was discharged and was going home. At that point he could walk and make sense in conversations. Things have changed since September. We have had our lives change. We’re still on the journey but our vehicles have shifted from fast moving sports cars at first to slow moving model T style vehicles slogging along with many flat tires along the medical roadways. We’re in a routine now and feeling more settled dealing with cancer, seizures and mobility issues. Our model T is parked out front. It’s gassed up but not going anywhere. We’re having setbacks and roadblocks. Will keep you posted.

When I found out my husband had melanoma metastatic brain cancer, it was at first not sinking in. No, the doctors and scans must be wrong. That cannot be true.

After more tests and a sobering visit to a Stanford neurosurgeon, complete with computer images showing the tumors, and detailed explanations, it did sink in, and the shock was felt and was overwhelming us and carrying us away on a tidal wave of emotions. Sometimes we’d be on the crest of the giant wave of feelings and other times we would come crashing down, covered in watery frothy clouds of despair. We’d be down a long time. Not drowning but barely keeping our heads above water.

Ken said one day to me that our lives would never be the same again and that’s true. Within about six months we went from Ken driving us everywhere to me driving. Over the months he had trouble walking which is the most difficult part of this change in our lifestyle. After treatments on the brain tumors and experiencing seizures, Ken is unable to do many things he could navigate just a few weeks ago.

We have been installing and learning about useful items to order or get through advice from a visiting physical therapist and occupational therapist since we signed up with a home health care company. We have gotten a wheelchair, special toilet that fits over regular one, a pole that works with tension so Ken can hold on and pull himself up, a shower tub bench, safety bars installed in a shower, a gait belt with handles to move him more easily, and a gel cushion for sitting comfortably in the wheelchair. There’s more, but it’s overwhelming to figure out how best to use all these items. It’s a lot for me to learn since I am the caregiver. I didn’t have to fill out an application, nor send in my resume or email my experience and qualifications for the job. I got it and I’m receiving on the job, hands on training. Ken is my best patient, my best partner and my only one. He can’t fire me and I can’t quit. This is part of being 70ish. I’m ready for the challenges even if I wasn’t ready a few months ago.

Neighbors, family and friends are helping by saying or texting things like: let us know if you need anything or we’re here for you any time of day or night or whatever you need don’t hesitate to ask/ if you need a walking buddy, groceries or food delivered, let us know. These people have been amazingly supportive. I’m definitely leaning on them for moral support as well as supplying trips to the grocery store, treatment centers and doctor’s appointments.

The Big C cannot be erased from our lives, but we can deal with it. I wouldn’t say we’re fighting cancer. We’re delaying it and sidestepping it. We’re learning how to live with it, as an older couple in their 70’s. Ready or not, here it comes.

If you have ever been to the gym or physical therapy, some trainers have crazy names for certain exercises or stretches. For instance, I usually do a floor exercise called the Dead Bug. It’s hard to explain let alone carry out but the other day I was trying to do 15 reps of 3 sets and I hurt myself. As I lay there saying ouch and some other cool words a few times, thinking about a possible scenario if I had to see a doctor, this came to mind.

“Doctor, I was trying to do 15 reps of the Dead Bug on the floor and hurt myself,” I would say.

“You mean you were on the floor after going after it and stomping on a dead bug?” the doctor might reply.

“No, I was exercising doing the Dead Bug and I think maybe I pulled a muscle. It hurts.”

“So is this bug dead? Were you trying to kill this bug? Did it hurt you?”

“No, Doctor. I was just lying down on my back with my knees bent and my arms straight up and doing the Dead Bug,” I explained.

“Ohhh, the dead bug is a dance!” this doctor might counter. “Or is it a Yoga pose?”

I was done trying to explain, in my imaginary meeting with this ghost doctor. I next would tell him or her about other exercises I knew.

“Doctor, I’m 70ish and trying to regularly exercise and I do a series of things like Cat Cows, Donkey Kicks, Clam Shells and the Bird Dog,” I informed him, like I knew what I was talking about.

The doctor would firmly say, “Here’s a prescription for pain. Next time don’t come see me. See a veterinarian!”

You know when we hit the 70’s in age, there are many things we need to face and experience especially regarding our health, not just exercising.

I went to the eye doctor last week finally. I hadn’t been to get my eyes checked for four years. The pandemic had kept me away plus a large dose of procrastination plus fears of facing the truth about my failing, fuzzy, unclear vision. Was I ready to see what was on line four at Dr. Lester’s office? Was I ready to take all those tests of my peripheral vision, recognize dots that move around on a field of white, have lights flashed in my eyes and answer questions challenging which letters I could see?

“Here’s one, here’s two. Which is clearer- one – click – or two? Click. One or two? Can you read any of those?”

“They both look pretty similar,” I replied to the doctor. I had to look through these lenses with a contraption pushed up against my eyes and nose. It was kinda like wearing a Halloween mask without the fun. He continued to project lines of letters all of which didn’t spell one darn word.

“Okay, here’s three, and four. Which is sharper, not just darker, but clearer?” He kept asking me this as he projected the lines of letters over and over. “Three or four?” Was that one a capital B or an 8? I’m not even sure there were numbers mixed in and why did some lines look like secret codes spies would use? I got more and more confused. Couldn’t they just flash lines of song lyrics or something fun to read instead of random letters? Jokes would work for me. Who writes this stuff? Probably some retired first grade teacher who studied the alphabet in reverse then got vindictive and threw in some numbers here and there.

Obviously I wasn’t passing these tests which is understandable because I hadn’t studied. When we were almost finished, the eye doctor exclaimed as he shone a tiny light into my eye and told me to look past his ear. “Oh my! Yup. It’s a cataract cloudy and thick. No wonder you cannot see out of your right eye very well.”

He said the other eye wasn’t as bad but I would need to go have cataract surgery on both and then return in a couple months for new glasses. He went over certain other tests and explained the anatomy of the eye which I sure hope he doesn’t test me on because I was getting pretty tired by then and would fail that also or maybe pull off a D-.

I was like a happy kid walking or rather skipping out of there into freedom and a chance I wouldn’t have anymore tests for some time. The questions had been tough and the exams were long, but the point is: get tested and see your doctors. It is important. Don’t be like me and put it off. So keep exercising and get your eyes checked regularly. Thank goodness for great health, experienced doctors, veterinarians and yoga instructors. Down dog!

BUT WE DO NOT LIKE VETERINARIANS.

Met up with an old friend today who my husband and I have known for 37 years. We see him more often now since his wife passed away and he needs good friends supporting him in these tough times.

We talked for 3 and a half hours at a local coffee shop discussing our recent holiday trips. All of us had seen family and had been going new places. We shared all the things we had done lately. Then since we’re 70ish we brought up old stories and people from our past. When we’re 70ish, it’s comforting to talk to friends who are 70ish.

We both hugged our friend as we first walked into the local coffee shop, I lifted my head up and said, “I don’t want to get makeup on your jacket!”

Our friend said, as he often does, “it’s all right. Oh, I have a makeup story!” He has lots of great stories with a solid memory to back them up. He started to tell us about when he was a teenager growing up in New Mexico and was dating a twin. His friend and he went double dating to their high school prom with Vonna and Donna. The twins tried to switch places but the guys knew they were trying to trick them because the twins had slight differences in speech and one was nearsighted and kept asking, “Who is that coming toward us?”

The twin our friend dated also wore thick foundation and loads of makeup. Our friend had borrowed his father’s white dinner jacket for prom night and when he got home, it was all stained on the shoulder with makeup. His Dad didn’t say anything to our friend’s relief and took the dinner jacket to the dry cleaner. Then in another few days he took the same girl to her prom because she went to a different high school. He asked to borrow the jacket from his dad again and without a word, his dad handed him the white dinner jacket, clean and bright. Boy was he happy.

Our old friend can tell stories all day long. Just mention something like “makeup” and he’ll tell you a story. Or like one of us mentioned how our hearing is getting worse since we’re 70ish. Boom. He told a story about his wife a few years back making him go get a hearing test. The doctor said that he had lost a little hearing but overall passed the test and can hear well. Going home that day after his doctor visit, he shared this with his wife. She was so ticked off and angry. She said,”So if your hearing is fine, then you just must not be listening to me when I talk.” He said he tried to listen to her more closely after that.

As we get older, friends seem like family and we lose some dear ones along the way, letting us know we might go next. But when it comes to the holidays we can be childlike . (You can probably remember a special gift or two you got as a kid) My friends don’t have a lot of money so some of the gifts this year were a bit strange. Six of us met for our annual gift exchange. But we took the gifts home without opening them, because we had all had lunch together and time was limited. We also got carried away with the holiday gift giving. It took me two trips to carry it all to the car. I’m not even sure what some items are for but it was still fun to unwrap and pull out colorful tissue from gift bags revealing these things:

-A plugin snowflake shaped room deodorizer pine or peppermint scented (some assembly required.)

-Friends spoon with cute poem engraved (not for use with food or beverages.)

-Bar of goat milk soap.

-Dog gift catalog with stickers.

-Fifteen individually wrapped pretzels from Pennsylvania which are crunchy and delicious.

– A 2 foot long hand-sewn hanging kitchen piece made of fabric, shaped like a house with a floppy mini-wreath sewn on the door of the house. It has a big pocket on the lower half and two loops on the top suitable for hanging up…somewhere.

-A stick with a cute little gnome at the end.

-Gift cards.

As I opened each gift and card, I kept wondering where I would put these things. The giftcards were the best because then I could go buy what I want, especially the giftcards to a coffee shop. And of course there were also the pieces of jewelry given. You can always put those in your jewelry box, never to remember who gave them to you, or when to wear them. I don’t even want to bring up necklaces getting all tangled up.

My Dad used to say, “It’s the thought that counts.” That kept going through my mind as I looked over the collection of presents. I’m just lucky to have such generous, kind people in my life. It doesn’t matter what they gave me. Their friendship is what counts. They’re probably in turn looking over the gifts I gave them: a mug, kitchen dish towels purchased at a church gift bazaar, candy, and mini scented candles. They’re thinking the same thing I am. What will I do with all these? Do I really need any of this? What were they thinking giving these to me?

It doesn’t matter what you give to others at this time of year because just the giving part is what counts. The friendship is there. There’s love inside each gift. The friends give you meaning at this time of year.

Happy holidays!

There’s this memorable old b and w photo from about 1915 of my young, beautiful, hardworking grandparents: grandpa so young in overalls, thin, tall, with a full head of hair, with his oldest two year old son, Wayne, who is looking like a grumpy toddler grasping onto the pant leg of his Dad’s overalls and petite Grandma wearing a long white two-piece homespun dress, holding baby Ella, my Mom, staring seriously into the camera and wearing her dark hair up, a bit disheveled in the prairie wind and sun, next to her handsome young husband. The flat, seemingly barren, never ending prairie goes rolling out behind them. Also standing next to them is a young gal totally dressed up in opposite style clothing, clashing in her citified hat, suit and manner with the harsh unforgiving plains of South Dakota. To this day we don’t know who she was but Grandma’s parents are next to this unknown woman. They are Perry and Elizabeth Tyrrell visiting from their farm in Iowa. They, too, are dressed up in typical 1900’s style clothes, like what you would wear for a long train trip obviously not ready to work on the farm that day. Perry is politely holding his hat and his wife gently reaches out with a hand touching little Wayne. The contrast between the young farming couple with two small children and the Iowa visitors is stark. This photo reflects a myriad of feelings, family history and questions. I’m captivated seeing it time and time again, never tiring of viewing my strong, loving, hopeful grandparents and the visiting Iowa relatives. They are frozen in time, in history with this photo, yet vibrant and youthful in the hopes for their future.

My family on my mother’s side was brave, capable and ready to take on the adventure and the toil of working on the hard untilled sod of the virgin prairie. My Mom stressed throughout my young days that I came from good people and no matter how rough life gets, I was part of a strong, courageous heritage. That strength was carried within me. I can hear them saying: Don’t let it go, pass it along to your offspring. Keep the spirit alive.

I’m trying to give that to my children and let my three children know that they have the same ancestry and the strong family background especially on my Mom’s side. It’s part of them. It’s in their blood. You can almost grasp it there in these old photos.

Don’t whine or complain that life is too hard. Your great grandparents truly had it rough farming in the early 1900’s in South Dakota, with the fears of WWI in the present and the Dirty Thirties and the Great Depression soon to creep into their future, but they didn’t complain nor give up. They should be an example to us all even in these modern times.

I hope my adult children take after my Mom’s side even though my dad’s family were amazing people also but in a different environment. I keep stressing to my kids to never give up. Keep going. Follow in the deep footsteps of your ancestors. They left some plans for us, some blueprint that life was harsh, but by their example you know you have the power in your heart and your body to follow their previous ideals to get through life. My grandparents did it and did it gracefully.

By Lav, alias Gimmy

Our daughter just had her second baby and we are thrilled beyond thrills. We have two grandchildren to be thankful for now and this one was born on her uncle’s birthday. Our oldest son was here visiting and celebrating his birthday, when we got the good news that his sister had her baby.

A friend texted me that in 2027 our son and our new granddaughter will both celebrate Thanksgiving and their birthdays on the same day. That will be fun. What a lot to be thankful for.

After we heard that our daughter got through labor and delivery, we were relieved. We had been anxious and nervous for the past few weeks worrying about her and we live about 12 hours drive from where they live. I was pacing a lot and eating out of sheer worry. I tried to keep up with her appointments, ultrasounds and health reports yet I didn’t want to bother her too much. Being a mother is like being an automatic worry machine. We pump out things to worry about even when there aren’t any. We worry even when our kids are adults and are having kids of their own.

I had been getting more and more stressed as a mother and grandmother, texting nonstop anyone who was involved in my daughter’s pregnancy which seemed to have gone on for…almost 9 months. Yes, that’s right. I did the math correctly. So to ease my mind, I texted her husband, Sam, a few days before my daughter delivered and asked him to PLEASE, keep us posted when they head to the hospital. I didn’t hear back from him so I checked again on my cellphone. Why wasn’t my son-in-law responding? The answer was on my phone. I had texted my boss, also a Sam, with the same last name initial. I had asked my boss to please notify me immediately if his wife went into labor. I have never met his wife. You can imagine how I felt when I realized my mistake. I re-texted my boss on the spot: “Oops, sorry, wrong Sam!”

Later, at 1:50 am last Saturday, Son-in-law Sam texted to let me know they were headed to the hospital and contractions were 3 minutes apart. Baby girl was born five hours later. Everyone was doing well.

I was relieved, ecstatic and ready to go see our new granddaughter.

I didn’t text my boss the good news. But he will be glad to know his wife isn’t in labor. I hope he understands.

You have hopefully seen the great movie SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE. There’s a comparison here. I know two people who are aimlessly driving all over the country on purpose and they have problems just like the rest of us poor souls. They’re not sleepless and not in Seattle but they are aimless at times ever since they were dealt a problem. This is a bigger problem, however, than probably many of us have, because you see, they’re crooked. They were in a sloping down RV. Yes, they cannot get their house level, their lives are off kilter. They are not on the straight and narrow. But let’s go back and give you the fascinating history on these two.

A few years ago Klip and May had a custom made tiny home manufactured and it was beautiful. They found a country lot in a rural area in a big state somewhere in the USA. They had it set up there after it was built. They were like a young honeymoon couple moving into their brand new home: Thrillingly happy and all set in a custom home with all the amenities . They later had a driveway poured and Klip had a warehouse style garage put on it for his tools, their jeep and the RV camper. It had to be big because his tool collection was humongous plus he had yard equipment: a mower, shovels, rakes, hoes, hose and naturally some power tools. It was his man cave.

There was also a small shed on the new property so May, not wanting to be outdone, had Klip fix it up for her as a she cave. This was a chore. This old shed hadn’t been used in ages. Being meticulous people, believe me, (it takes one to know one and no one knows one like me)- this remodel took several months. After all, it was a shed and it needed to be cleaned, reconstructed with lots of fresh wood, electrical wiring, plumbing, siding, paneling, roofing, paint and help. If you have ever turned a shed into a cave for a woman, you know it isn’t easy. It was small but had possibilities. May was willing to get her cottage comfy and cutely decorated. She was working hard. She had a place for her hats and other collectibles to be displayed

Finally the day came to move in. May wasn’t satisfied though. She wanted the yard to be landscaped and not just with plants. She had the great idea to use rocks, painted rocks. Kind of like the painted desert. Her friends came over for tea and they helped with the rocks. The legacy was being created. The cottage would be a credit to May.

Then something happened. Things clicked into a new gear. I’m not sure if it was in Klip’s mind or May’s. Maybe it was sprouting in both their minds. Maybe the cat, Dolly, used her feline skills and was an undercover psychic. After much discussion, dreaming, analyzing and planning, they decided to sell their tiny house and hit the road. They would live full time as travelers in their RV. I’m not sure what hit them but call it wanderlust or wonderland or Disneyland or AAA. I don’t know.

Now Klip and May travel the country together seeing amazing sights and seeing many friends and relatives living in their long, beautiful RV. They send us all clear crisp pictures of trees, and waterfalls and mountains and lakes and more trees – you get the idea. They have taken many trips but on this latest trip they were beset with a couple mechanical problems. The RV- let’s name her Gladys- had some leveling issues. The hydraulics or something got angry and wouldn’t level with Gladys. Her floor wasn’t even. Klip and May were leaning and it was disconcerting not to mention annoying. They tried to get Gladys repaired and on the straight and level path again but since they were in remote areas, no help was at hand.

To make a long story even longer, Gladys had also been pounded with hail previously so they needed to get the roof repaired. She couldn’t be left with a holey roof. Now that they’ve gotten back to where they started in their hometown, they have a good doctor for Gladys. Let’s hope this time she can be straightened out.

Soon they will be back to normal and planning another adventure with Gladys and their two faithful dogs. I wonder if they ever run across Yram Sicnarf. Talk about crooked. What is she up to? I sure hope they’re on the level now. They could be harboring the sneaky Yram, but we may never know. I’m just glad they’re settling down and not aimless. Do they look normal to you?