An update and 365 Week: 5

A quick update: 

We saw the surgeon today, and surgery is scheduled for February 19. The surgeon really put our minds at ease. It's always great to talk to someone who knows what they're talking about. He seems to believe that Sharon can come through the surgery and the treatment in pretty good shape, with minimal to zero changes to her quality and longevity of life. 

I believe, with all my heart, that this is an answer to prayers -- so many prayers,  from so many places. That kind of faith has real power. And for that, I owe each of you so much. Our lives were rocked with the diagnosis of cancer, and now our lives have been touched, and changed forever by the generosity and kindness of all of you. 

You have my eternal gratitude. 

365: Week 5

Day 29

January 29: The Big Red Dog. No this isn't Clifford. He (she? I've never been good with stuffed dog anatomy) is my wife's companion dog, to get her through the tough times ahead. A gift from her mother (we can't have real dogs). 

Day 30

January 30: She's only 5. At five I could barely ANSWER a phone. Actually, when I was five, we were talking about the far distant future when we would have phones like the one in Emma's hands. No it's not her phone. Geez, give me a little credit. 

Day 31

January 31: I went to the wild bird refuge, and all I got was this stupid seagull! Actually, we saw some hawks and some falcons, and a huge mass in a far away tree that had to be an eagle...but they're all so dang fast or far away. This is a CALIFORNIA gull by the way. It's the UTAH state bird. Go figure. You eat a few crickets and save my Mormon ancestors from starvation, and they make you the State bird.

Day 32

 

February 1: Did I mention that she is only 5? Emma was making her mother "beautiful," and saved a little for herself. I was going to take a picture of my cheek, after they both kissed me -- but they didn't look so much like sexy lips as a gaping wound on my face. Notice Emma got as much lipstick on the end of her nose as she did on her lips. 

Day 33

February 2: You can NOT infer things to your children. "Matt, do not play in the snow or puddles with your tennis shoes on. I don't want them to get wet."

Notice, there is no explicit mention of muddy bogs. He actually lost this shoe, had to come home and get his snow boots on, and go back to extract it from the mire. 

Day 34

February 3: The beatings will continue until morale improves. I don't work at a prison, or a jail. I work at a moving company. A while back we had some stuff stolen from vehicles in the parking lot. My employer put up a fence. And then added barbed wire. It does NO good. Why? Because the fence is only across the drive ways. We still get vehicles stolen from time to time -- they just drive across the grass. All but the world's DUMBEST criminals can just walk around the fence. 

The barbed wire just makes it feel a little more like prison for those of us that work there.

Day 35

 

February 4: I come in peace. 

I was wandering around my front yard looking for a picture to take, so I could post this. 

Hey, I never said they would all be great.

Come back next week, same bat time, same bat channel!

Kindness on top of kindness

Alexandria, over at I'm the Mom, has kindly bestowed an honor upon me. The Blog Star Award. 

I became acquainted with Alexandria through the same place I've met so many of you -- Photostory Friday. And now I'm honored to call her a friend. She is a devoted, and obviously loving, mother to her two beautiful children, as well as wife to the man she calls Duckman (I've never figured out where that comes from, by the way...). And she's VERY kind -- as all Canadians are! And I am truly flattered by the meaning behind the award. 

But more than that, Alexandria has been so supportive and kind -- as have so many of the rest of you -- as my family has begun this journey into the unknown, this past week. And knowing that you are out there, thinking and praying for my wife, and our little family, does so much more for us than I can express. 

Thank you, Alex. 

An update: we saw the oncologist Friday, and now we are waiting to hear from the surgeon's office. Likely we'll schedule surgery for removing the tumor some time in the next week or so. After that, Sharon will probably be on a medication called Gleevec for the next couple of years. It is something of  a wonder drug, and is helping to make great strides in the treatment of GIST.  There are some moderately uncomfortable side effects (possible rashes, some cramping and swelling etc...), but nothing like chemotherapy or radiation. So we're grateful for that. Once they get the tumor out, they'll be better able to determine the likelihood of recurrence. 

So we move forward. Cautiously optimistic. 

Photostory Friday: Joy

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

I was going to show you a picture of the fist size, bluish blob that has been wreaking havoc through our lives this week. 

But, I changed my mind.

Instead, I will tell you about joy.

Joy is not the same thing as happiness. It is a deeper and broader emotion. We feel joy like we feel sunlight, or softly falling rain. It surrounds us, and envelops us. It's effects linger, long after the cause has passed on.

Catastrophic events have a way of focusing our attention, of stripping away the non-essentials -- the things we thought were so important. So much that we thought we couldn't live without, suddenly seems superfluous, and meaningless. This past week has done that for me. 

I've been thinking about the things I can't live without. The things that truly bring me joy. The list is pretty small. 

I find joy in friends. I have always made friends easily, and I'm grateful for that. Friends get you through, when you have nothing left. 

I find joy in the beautiful things of the world, whether it's music, or art, or words or pictures --or the works of God's hand. I think beauty comes from within, from the soul -- each soul, and is left behind on the things that our lives come in contact with. 

But, mostly, I find joy in this little group.

They are my inspiration. 

They are my hope. 

They are my life. 

They are my greatest joy. 

An Update, and 365: Week 4

Gastrointestinal Stromal Tumor (GIST). 

That's what we call it. It's a very rare form of cancer, affecting only about 1% of cancer patients. We'll see an oncologist on Friday, and luckily for us we live in Utah. 

Utah has the Huntsman Cancer Institute -- one of the premier cancer research, and treatment facilities in the world. 

Honestly, now that it's out in the open, we both feel a weight has been lifted (one of them anway) -- at least we have a direction to move now. It seems to be a treatable disease, with surgery and medication -- we'll know more after Friday. But it seems to be unresponsive to Chemotherapy and radiation. My wife is not complaining about this part. 

We don't know what happens next, but we face forward, and we do whatever it takes to beat this uninvited monster. 

Now, to all of you: Thank you for everything. Your words, your prayers, and your thoughts have kept us going these last few days, and they will see us through the end of this. 

I can barely see the screen now. My eyes are blurry. Hope is very powerful. Love is very strong.

You have given us both, and there are no words to express my -- our -- gratitude.

My stupid eyes won't stop watering. 

365: Week 4

What a difference a day makes...

Day 22

January 22: An old friend. I am a big Star Wars fan -- at least of the original movies. They have always been a part of my life. And I was on the ground floor of the Star Wars Merchandise collecting phenomenon. I had ALL of the figures. And almost everyone of them suffered an ignominious fate at my hands (those hands were usually holding a golf club). But C3PO here is original. He was from the very first wave of Star Wars toys in 1977. I have no idea how I've managed to hold on to him so long. Probably because he gets lost for several years at a time. There's a very old Stormtrooper around here somewhere too...

Day 23

January 23: The day that changed my life. My wife went to the hospital for what we thougt was an ulcer, and instead, we were told "It looks like Lymphoma." That turned out to be not quite right. That night my wife stayed in the hospital, my kids were at my in-laws, and I headed home to the empty house, with the task of breaking the news to everyone. I felt dark all over, and almost stopped taking pictures right there. Instead, I took a shot of the blackest thing I could find -- the shirt I was wearing. 

Day 24

January 24: At the hospital. Sharon has always maintained that Matthew is her best snuggler. Both of them needed this.

Day 25

January 25: This was how I spent my weekend -- driving to and from Ogden Regional Medical Center. This was about as clear as it got -- in fact, Friday night, as I tried to see my wife, it was so foggy that I could not find the hospital -- and I know RIGHT where it is. I snapped this out the front window of the van. Whatever it takes to keep the streak going.

Day 26

January 26: A sight I rarely get to see. Emma has Kindergarten in the afternoon, so I don't very often get to take her to school. She won't let me walk her to the door. She's a big girl. So I stood out by the van and took pictures of her, with my zoom lens. I wonder if I made the ladies in the office nervous?

Day 27

January 27: White Salvation. We can breathe again. The only good thing about snow this time of year is that it clears out the smog and the inversion (Salt Lake had the worst air in the country all of last week -- what an honor!). That bright shiny thing that you can see through the tree is the sun. At least I think that's what they used to call it. It been so long...

Day 28

January 28: A diagnosis. And life goes on. Two weeks ago, I told you that Jordan, my oldest, had moved on in the Reflections contest at school, from the school level, to the district level. Tonight she moved on to the Regional competition. Have I mentioned how proud I am of her?

Drop by next week. It's got to be better than this one. 

Right?

Good People

Uncertainty.

We don't know what's coming in the next few days. The doctors still say the mass in Sharon's stomach looks like cancer, but they are a little baffled that the CT scan came back showing only the one mass. Considering the size (about fist sized) they fully expected it to have spread in to other parts of her body. It hasn't. I don't know what that will mean, but right now we're taking it as a positive. But, come what may, we are coming to at least some level of acceptance, that we may have to build our lives around this for at least the foreseeable future. The reason we are able to do that is because of each of you. 

Sometimes, when you stare into the darkness, you can't see anything else around you. But, when your world comes crashing down, you find -- I have found -- that there are so many people out there to bear you up. Thank you to each of you for your prayers and kind thoughts on behalf of my little family. I beg you to continue. 

I have an old friend who is going through a very similar situation right now. She asked why bad things happen to such good people. I'll tell you what I told her:

I don't know why bad things happen to good people. I suppose bad things happen to everyone. But, I believe that it's the good people that get us through the tough times. 

There are a lot of good people out there. 

I know, I've heard from so many of you. 

Thank you.

 

I don't know what to do

Four words can change your life.

She is sitting there, having just been brought back into the room, after the procedure. Nurses are poking and adjusting and monitoring. She looks at me and whispers "They think it's Lymphoma."

How do I put on a brave face? I didn't expect that. I didn't even know it was a consideration.

My wife went to the hospital today with fatigue and shortness of breath and stomach pain. After many hours, she finally had the endoscopy. What we expected was some kind of intestinal bleeding -- an ulcer. Instead the doctor came back with a picture of a fist size mass attached to the lining of her stomach. He thinks it's Lymphoma. We'll know by Wednesday, when the biopsy results are in.

I've been trying to learn something, anything I can. I can't figure any of this out.

One word changes so much.

I don't know what to do.

Photostory Friday: Guitar Lessons

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

For Christmas, when I was in the seventh grade, my Grandmother gave me a guitar. Up to that point in my life, I had no interest in anything musical (other than the radio, and that doesn't count). The next year I took a semester of guitar lessons -- the only formal musical education I've ever had. I learned three chords, and that, until you develop calloused fingertips, it hurts to play a steel string guitar. And that's about it. 

In the twenty or so years since that time, I have been trying, with varying degrees of success, to teach myself to play this instrument. I am not a great guitar player, by any stretch of the imagination, but I've always wanted to play the guitar. Girls dig guitar players. 

I'm in a philosophical mood tonight, so I'm going to tell you the three things I've learned, from trying to play the guitar. 

I've learned that talent is not enough, usually you have to work.

God gives each of us many abilities, but I view talent as potential, behind a locked door. Work is the key to open that door. When you took piano lessons, it was called practicing. I come from a musical family, but for many years I believed that that gene had skipped a generation. Then one day, on impulse, I bought a piano (the same way we bought our house -- aren't we shrewd shoppers?). I thought I should teach myself to play (I would not recommend this method to most people) and I did. I am, by no means, a virtuoso of any kind, but the piano came very easily to me, and I discovered that I had a knack for playing by ear. This turned out to be a fluke. I thought that since the piano had been such a breeze, that surely I could master the guitar. 

Not so. 

I've been trying to play now for twenty years, and only when I practice regularly, and with real intent, do I progress at all.

I've learned that quality matters. 

Doing something just right -- craftsmanship that gets it right, no matter the time or the cost, has always been high on my list of human virtues (if not on my list of accomplishments). I've owned several guitars over the years, from pawn shops to online stores, and from everywhere in between. Each instrument has cost more than the one before it. Each has also been a higher quality instrument than its predecessor. It's quite amazing how much better a sub-average guitar player sounds on a well made instrument. 

I've learned the need for constant tuning. 

Unlike a piano, a guitar should be tuned each time it is played. All the plucking and picking and playing, and even sitting idle, causes the instrument to go out of tune. Usually (unless you have kids) it will only go out of tune by almost imperceptible degrees. But, left unchecked, over time the notes become too sharp, or too flat, and one day you find that you're no longer making music.

You're just making noise. 

But, daily attention, and minor adjustments, keep the instrument in tune, and sounding beautiful. 

 

A voice way back in the cluttered recesses of my mind is telling me that I should apply these lessons elsewhere. 

Life is funny. 

I never learned much from my guitar instructor, but the guitar itself turned out to be a pretty good teacher.