The dilapidated barn next door.

It is a mess. It makes my house look good. I’m glad it is next door.

My morning walk was all the way to the barn. That is more exhausting in my head than it is in print. I compare it to a walk up the Rue de Rivoli in Paris. There is no comparison. I must get better so I can stroll the streets of Europe one more time.

Frankenstein

39 staples, 4 stitches and some Elmer's Glue later: they have put me back together.

(The staples and stitches have been removed, but my beauty queen days are over.)

Another trip to Portland

And my doctor had more good news.

I don’t have to go back to Portland until 2015. I am well enough that I don’t need to visit with my doc until January! I call that great news.

And no more chemotherapy.

I think this calls for dancing in the streets!

The whole motley crew.

Another sib trip has come and gone. My four sisters and I gathered to commemorate what would have been our mother’s 100^th birthday. And commemorate we did. We visited Mom’s old stomping grounds; Winlock, Kalama, Ridgefield, Vancouver. Flowers were laid on Mother’s grave and maple bars were eaten in her honor. My frailty prevented us from visiting her birthplace near Spokane as originally planned, but we made it work.

And of course, we gathered to cheer on the Ducks! And the Ducks won again!

A perfect weekend!

Happy 100th, Mom!

I think Max tried to kill me last night.

I woke up at about 3:00AM. My oxygen tube had been taken from my nose. It hung loosely on my chest.

The only explanation I can think of is Max gently pulled it down and away from my face, letting it fall in a position where it caused no harm, but gave no benefit.

That cat is so lucky that he is soft and cuddly and purrs so sweetly, or I would scold him severely for attempting murder.

4:00AM – I lie flat on my back in bed.

My pain pill has worn off. There is another pain pill setting on my dresser. All I need to do is sit up in bed, throw my legs over the edge, pop out of bed, take the couple of steps to the dresser, throw the pill in my mouth, swallow and a short time later there will be partial relief.

It isn’t rocket science. As Nike would say, “Just do it’”, and but for that first step, I would be happy to do it. But that first step, sitting up in bed, is painful. Very painful. Lying in bed and thinking about it in no way will lessen the pain of action. I would pretend I am weighing the pros and cons, but there are no pros and cons, it is strictly a “has got to happen”.

After a 20 minute conversation in my brain, I sit up. Yes, it still hurts, but at least I know I have explored all options. Who am I kidding, there are no options. Tomorrow morning I will lie in bed and have the same conversation. Verges on crazy, don’t you think?

Turn up the oxygen, I’m gonna party like it’s 1999!

I got my pathology report back today. They got it all. I am cancer free! Yee haw, let the good times roll!

I’m skinny, I cough deep and hard, my right arm is numb and I am showing signs of Horner’s Syndrome, but I am cancer free. Crap, I get all weepy just thinking about it.

I call it VICTORY!

I am home: I have survived.

The memories may be few and fleeting, but I underwent a 5 hour surgery and a week-long stay in the hospital and am able to tell stories. I remember little, so my stories will be laced with inaccuracies, but hey, they are better that way.

I know the Ducks beat Michigan State. I remember watching the game. I had to forgo my traditional back flips after each touchdown, but I do remember the elation.

And I remember nights in the ICU, unsure of where I was. It could have easily been a terrifying experience.

I’ll write more as I make it up.

and without further ado!

I'm going to take a few days off and have my lungs ripped out.

So I sign off and bid you all Good-day!

My Daddy Warbucks days may be coming to an end.

I’m going in for surgery tomorrow, and it doesn’t sound like it will be pretty. They’ll go in from the front, the back and I’ll have tubes hanging from my sides. I think I’m going into my Frankenstein days.

Oh, well, everyone loves a really big scar. And I think my really big scar will be on my back, so I won’t be able to see it and as such, it won’t bother me in the least. The front and sides are suppose to be just small incisions. Not much for bragging rights, other than sheer quantity, I guess. 

Oh, and before I forget to mention it, I am scheduled to go to a PAC-U instead of an ICU after surgery. I know, inquiring minds want to know.