Tanya Writes About Daughters

Now, I know I have a son, too. And he's got a son. And my hero's a son. But I've got some special daughters to write about. Next month--the birthday month of two of my guys, I'll hit their male counterpart.

Daughters. Oh, expecting my second child in those pre-ultrasound days, how I wanted a little girl to book-end our toddling son. We did the wedding-ring swing over my tummy and it precursed a girl...and I was chubby all over, not the watermelon that had been our son. So all the stars were aligning.

And a week before due date, just before Christmas, there she was! She had all her fingers and toes, ate like a champ, and never ever cried.

Until her thirteenth day. She cried and never stopped, ran a fever of 107.

Bacterial meningitis.

Thanks to medical science and our dear and generous Lord, she was declared out of danger with no residual damages on Christmas Eve! Tell me God doesn't exist, doing something like that on His Son's birthday.

She went on to be an honor student, award-winning athlete, cum laude grad from college...Daddy's little girl, and one of my best friends.

Having her at my side when the doctor told us her dad's tumor was indeed malignant was so good for me.

So terrible for her.

Having her at my side when he was too weak to walk, when he shed tears over the unendurable pain, was so good for me.

So terrible for her.

Having her wipe away my tears and her own when Dr. Schwartz announced remission was so good for us both.

But two dear writer friends of mine had daughter-experiences during these same days.
One is almost too heart-rending to consider, as Darlene had to spread her daughter's ashes.

One is so full of joy I can almost reach out and hug my friend's new baby--all the way in China.

Darlene's precious girl took her own life after years of emotional struggle. Although Darlene is a woman so full of faith I envy her...(BTW she writes award-winning inspirationals...) she has pondered on such a tragedy and how it might have been prevented. It couldn't have been. Her Jolene struggled with demons none of us can understand and found her own source of solace.

So on this Mother's Day, I envision Jolene in the arms of the heavenly Father, begging Him to send tons of comfort down to her mom and gramma.

Paula's precious 8-month old Chinese baby girl will come to her new home in North Carolina in June...after a process that took almost three years. Amazing. China doesn't want their baby girls but makes it hard for decent, well-off, freedom-thinking people to adopt them.

Arrrrrrrrgh.

As for me, my hero and I will be with all our dear ones tomorrow. I told the kids I don't need anything, but if they gotta...I'd like thata DVD of Drew Barrymore and the Red Sox fanatic (can't recall the title but having been at a game in Fenway a few months ago, it seems like a fun movie to watch again.)

And they could adopt a wolf in my name.

(That's another passion: animals.)

Sigh. The sun is out, our two black Labs are freshly groomed and fragrant, and health reins.

God is good. He did have mercy.

Kyrie eleison. Thanks.

Tanya Writes About Crackerjack

Oh, on Saturday, my hero took me out to the ballgame...and bought me crackerjack and a frozen chocolate malt.

And we won!

Sitting in the sun, surrounded by happy families (tons of little kids; it was Helmet Day) reminded yet me again of the blessedness that has come upon us with remission. His health returns markedly each and every day--along with his appetite. It was only days ago that he slept and slept, and slept and slept.

Thank you, Jesus! The ugly thing is gone.

I wandered to the souvenir shop to buy a new team hat for our little grandson. He outgrew last summer's "baby" size and now needs the toddler one. Oh, and I couldn't resist a blow-up bat. That way if he bashes something, it won't break LOL. My hero had a hot-dog and slathered on the sunscreen. It's been so long since he spent any time in the sun.

Afterward, we spent the night at Roberta and Tim's and my MIL took us all out to a yummy steakhouse. This morning, we had breakfast (cinnamon-roll french toast) at a lakeside restaurant. And my hero ate all three slices!

The days of a mouth so sore he couldn't chew or swallow anything seem nightmarish, and we've woken up.

I will never be able to forget all the out-of-body experiences of those horrific three months, how it had to be happening to someone else, but it really was us after all. But the warm spring sunshine wraps us in a coziness that helps ease the nightmare and reminds us of the faith and love in our lives.

In a couple of weeks, we'll be spending time in Lake Tahoe, one of the most beautiful spots on earth.

And all we're gonna do, says my hero, is rest and relax.

Hey, he deserves it.

Tanya Writes About Normal

Yesterday, my hero took me out to lunch. His idea. Applebee's French onion soup, my absolute favorite.

It was so delish. So wonderful. So normal.

So normal.

Then today he and I wandered the aisles at Costco. He pushed the cart and got us a hot-dog after.

It was so delish. So wonderful. So normal.

He still tires easily and isn't yet up to an all-day marathon with our little grandson, but soon it'll be normal.

...I just finaled in a romance fiction contest with a Western historical in which a dead guy named Norman Dale is quite the kingpin to the action. Yeah, I named him after the coach in one of my favorite movies, Hoosiers....the entry got judged by three pubbed authors, then I got a chance to polish, or not, according to their remarks. They all loved it, but they found I'd mispelled Norman Dale's name a couple of times:

Normal.

Can't be mere coincidence, seeing that the same day things started to turn normal.

But I edited it to Norman because....now the thing goes to an editor. It's the second time this work has done well in a contest. Not long ago it placed first, with perfect scores in a fiction competition. It would be nice to see Marrying Minda brought to life.

But it won't matter a single whit whether or not the manuscript ever sees print. Because my life with my hero is on its way back to being delish, wonderful.

Normal.

Tanya Writes About The Last Three Months

Thinking back over the last three months, I'm still amazed at my capacity for tears and fear, for faith and unbelief, for nightmares that took my breath away and dreams that always have happy endings.

I'm grateful to God for giving us the confidence in those dark days to plan four vacations over the next six months. For giving us friends, family and neighbors who are everything good and nothing like the morons in sitcoms.

I thank God every day for giving us hope and strength, medical science and savvy doctors, nurses so tender and loving my eyelashes get wet just thinking of them...and along with my gratitude, I pray for a chain of people with dreadful needs of their own just now, the same people who prayed for my wonderful hero.

Oh goodness. It's a gorgeous spring day going on outside and I need to pick up a few groceries. The best part: my hero wants to go along, get a Coffee Bean then walk around the harbor a bit! Oh, these small mercies. I will never take our boring life for granted. Sometimes the last three months seem like a blur, other times so clear I am not in my own head but watching on some un-reality TV big-screen somewhere.

Other times, it slow-motions down undurably in my mind and I remember the sobs and the screams. Yet now he is well. I don't understand why it happened at all, other than bad things happen to good people. I know it strengthened my faith--I am sooooooooooooooooo glad I had already started going to First Church...but other times my faith went into the blackest of holes. Whew.

Well, as normal life begins to cover us like molten butter over popcorn, I mention that Midnight Bride just got two great reviews in two days, so that was feel-good. Makes a total of six. Yowza. And another project is doing well in a fiction contest after getting perfect scores in another one. Well, that's good too.

If anybody's reading this, I'll be guest-blogging at a wonderful Western romance site, www.petticoatsandpistols.com next Thursday, May 1. There will be prizes. Hope to see you there.

And hey, thanks for the prayers.

Tanya Writes About Missing the Wedding

We'd set it as our goal, dancing at Tawan and Nicole's wedding last Friday afternoon. Over all these weeks, the harrowing days, it was The Goal. And with remission announced on the bay of the very last chemo (the dreaded bleo)...we knew we would make it.

I got some new stuff to wear. Duh.

Tawan is our son's dearest frat buddy and his best man, and our son was doing the honors on Friday. Nicole's an angel who helped so much at our son's wedding four years ago. Best of all, Tawan's folks are dear friends--we met them during a college preview parent-thing before the boys even knew each other!

And to make it even more complete, Tawan is like our daughter's other big brother. The kids are all very close.

But...all the plans were set before the five-days in the hospital at the bloody end. Literally. You know, the blood transfusion, the IV's to get my hero's body and blood back to quasi-normal.

His release from hospital last Monday still held hope, with four days to go before the wedding. Particularly when my hero started staying up an entire day, sleeping well all night, getting stronger and stronger. I just figured, you know, things were kinda normal.

What we thought was a minor check-up at the doctor last Friday morning turned out to be another all-day IV infusion. Potassium, magnesium, other stuff to keep my hero well and get him on the road to full health. With the wedding two hours away, I had no chance of making it in time.

Did I cry? Yeah, but in secret like always. Just for a minute.

Thank God for small mercies, in this case the digital camera. I've already got wedding pictures, and there's more to come. And many more happy years for the newlyweds.

Not to mention many more happy years ahead for my hero and me!

Tanya Writes About Her Hero At Home

We checked out of hospital a while ago, and now my hero is taking a nap under the new duvet in our bedroom. I ordered it right after New Years but it took forever to arrive, so he's the first to sleep under it. Fitting somehow.

He's got some appetite back and the mouth sores are healing. The dogs are wagging their tails a mile a minute, and our daughter just sent a bouquet of cheery balloons.

Today is breezy, sunny and a million degrees cooler than the last two. Normal weather for here.

So...normal life returns. Now, I know we'll have surveillance --scans and tests-- for years yet. But it's all good.

Father, forgive me for the sobs in my throat that should have been psalms, for the demons inside my head where I should have let Your angels in. For screams instead of prayers. It isn't easy being a weak human, but I thank you for Your strength and compassion, for Your healing love.

Anybody out there who actually read this blog, thanks for the prayers you sent upward and the good wishes you sent our way. It all worked.

Live. Live your life.

Live strong.

Tanya Writes About Today, Sunny and Almost Summer

When this all started, the mountains were covered in snow. Of course it melted and nourished the earth. Now the hills look like Na Pali, only swathed with acres and acres of bright yellow mustard flowers, and the sea daisies I love so much. They bloom in April and how bright they shine!

Today was hot even here in our little beach town. I could almost touch the sun. Summer weather for sure, since June through August is almost always foggy.

Life is lovely. In the dark times, I wondered if I would ever write those words again, but my hero's getting well. Even though he's in hospital, he'll be home soon. Despite the gorgeous scans, the BEP took its toll, and my little vampire needed a blood transfusion and tons more potassium and magnesium. It's something called neutropenia, meaning there's not enough white cells to fight infection, so he's in a room all alone. At least he gets to keep the door shut, keep it quiet.

Doctor Schwartz said he's on the mend, getting stronger every day. "Congrats on the remission," he said. My hero asked what to do next.

"Live. Live your life," our wonderful oncologist said with a big bright sea daisy smile.

Tanya Writes About Using Your Words

Some words I hate:

There's something growing in there and it's not an infection.

It's highly suspicious. We must be aggressive.

Surgery. Removal. CT Scan.

It's malignant.

Let's get chemo started Monday. Sorry, it's gonna kick your ass.

Blood count is so low. No being around small children.

Here's Zofran for the nausea.

Bleomycin. It's the gnarliest one of all.


Words I Love:

I love you, Daddy. (daughter)

I love you, dude. (son)

Grmdplzdra. (grandson)

We'll get this cured. (Dr. Schwartz)

I will life up mine eyes until the hills from whence cometh my help. (Psalm 121)

I survived cancer. I know what you're going through. (Abby and Linda)

You look sexy bald. (Heather)

Live strong. (Lance Armstrong)

You're gonna make it. (Everybody who loves him.)

The scans look great. You're in remission. (Dr. Schwartz, April 8, 2008)

Tanya Writes About Today, Sunny but Definitely Not Summer

We slept in. He curled against me and said it felt good. Then he said, I wish I could sleep through one night. And eat one real meal. And have just a normal day.

The wonderful new friends on the T.C e-loop tell us to hang in, that it'll be over soon. And that he'll be well. That the mental part is hard too, just as hard as the physical.

Our daughter is here now, so that makes things easier. For a while we sat outside by the fountain for a picnic, but the day grew cool. Sunny but definitely not summer.

Tomorrow is the last bleo. Let the reports be good ones. Let the nurses have remedies just to give him basic comfort.

Kyrie eleison.

Tanya Writes About Testicular Cancer #4

Today has been a pretty good day. My hero got plenty of rest and ate a tad. Now, someday we're gonna laugh, him and me, about these days and weeks of him not eating. Normally we both need to shed a few pounds...

Which of course he's done. Not me though. Stress eating they call it. Although I have abstained from wine, my favorite thing. It's the least I can do. The scent of it makes him gag.

At church, Pastor Walt asked how things were going. He was gone last Sunday so I mentioned the last two weeks had been pretty rough. His reply: Hey, you guys got a great diagnosis. He's gonna be fine. Save the depression for when things are truly bad.

How right he is. I recently joined a T.C. list-serve and have been getting e-mails from guys who are going through or already gone through just what my hero's going through. They all tell us to hang in and assure us he'll be fine. Tonight a wife wrote me, said to keep in touch.

How good not to be alone!

Not that we've been alone. All those near and dear to us have pulled through like you can't believe. My friend Karen fixed a ton of meals. Maxine and Jerry left a picnic basket full of goodies on the porch. Betty and Blake next door cook extra. Charlene met me for lunch during our long, five-day chemo weeks.

Oh, e-mails, inspirational forwards. Cards. Hugs and yes, even tears once in a while.

I just meant that now, we're taking the journey with other T.C. heroes whom I can whine to, cry with --rejoice.

But the best are our kids. My hero and I feel so bad they have to go through this, but in spite of their busy lives, they put us first. Our beautiful girl will be here tomorrow for two days. Her boss, the best boss ever, has told her to be with her parents whenever she can. Wow.

Every Saturday, our beautiful son brings his baby boy to spend time with Grampa. (We adore our DIL too but she has a few faithful clients on Saturday mornings.) Yesterday he brought breakfast, and that sweet little boy showed us how he's learned to climb. On anything and everything.

...when we first learned that this ugly thing had came to live with us, my hero held me tight and said, oh, I want to walk my daughter down the aisle at her wedding. I want to watch that little guy grow up.

I can't deny that moment brought us both to tears. Manly hero misting on his part. But he's gonna get his wish.

God is great. God is good.

All the time.

(I just need to remember it a hundred million more times a day.)

Tanya Writes About Her Sister

I just finished a good cry. It's dark and lonely. Now, I know I mentioned once that it's sunny here, but I lied a bit. We live on the coast and fog and gloomy clouds are quite the norm.

And that's what's going on right now. Deep gray gloom. And with the mood I'm in, the gloom seems palpable. I just went outside, like I do each morning, to fill the bird feeder and pause at the crucifixes, St. Francis statue, and fountain we've used as patio decor. Then I beseech heaven.

Oh today I yelled! Inside my head of course. We have great neighbors and it's too early for a rant on a Saturday morning. I want so bad to be a person of faith and I'm just so darn weak.

My hero sleeps and sleeps...ate a yummy dinner our precious neighbor brought over last night. He actually enjoyed it and couldn't keep it down! First time in eight weeks.

I just don't get any of this.

But my sister and her husband are on the way! Now, anybody who knows me knows I don't have a sister. I was born inbetween two brothers. While we had a happy childhood, we grew up definitely NOT into a Norman Rockwell painting. No John-Boy and Jim-Bob and Shish-ka-Bob around the picnic table for us.

Better, I have Roberta. My heroe's sister. And mine. Truer than any blood connection. We've always been good buds, maid of honor for each other. She's our daughter's godmother. And now in this deep crisis, she's here for us--for me--every step of the way despite the two-hours that separate us in distance. (In Southern California you don't talk distance in miles. It's freeway hours.) Cards. E-mails. Phone calls. Presents. Visits almost every weekend.

And best of all, she brings along her husband. Our true brother. His love for us is completely unconditional.

So the gloom lightens a bit as I count the blessing God has given us in Roberta and Timmy. I couldn't be making it without either of them.

They are two of the sweetest of all my hearts.

Tanya Writes About Walden Pond

Last night I went to Walden Pond.

I couldn't think of any other place I wanted to be. To get the screams out of my head and have prayers inside instead. For to me, Walden is a cathedral. Like Yosemite Valley.

Like Alder Creek where the Donners spent that awful winter.

But there wasn't any gentle autumn drizzle landing on my cheeks this visit, for my body was in an ER room at my hero's side. We'd gone to hospital for the CT scans and while taking a stroll down the hall to ease that sore hip, he fainted.

And I wasn't even with him! He doesn't like me to hover, so I stayed in the waiting room until I heard a lady call out, somebody fell.

At the doorway, the first thing I saw was his hand, the hand whose wrist wears the yellow Livestrong bracelet. My heart broke one more time.

The doc figured it was because chemo weakens even a hale man. Indeed, after hydration and potassium and iron --and about a gallon of my tears-- he got to go home.

I hated to weep in front of him, but seeing him lying there...I just had no choice.

So while the IV's dripped and he napped, I went to Walden inside my head to quiet things down. Just like last October, my hero was with me, walking down the asphalt path through the trees. The anticipation was like, walking up the aisle or something. And there it was, Walden wearing a necklace of trees just starting to turn.

Oh, it was lovely, so lovely. I've wanted to visit Walden for so, so long. We walked the pathway Henry David once trod, to his homestead where I built a rock sculpture. I can still feel the rocks in my hand.

My hero found a tiny pinecone under a tree and handed it to me. My best souvenir ever.

And he took my picture at the sign bearing my most favorite HDT quote, about not getting to the end of your life and realizing you hadn't lived. Only my hero cut off my head.

Hmmmmmmm.

And while there, I thanked God. If my hero had to faint, at least it was in a hospital with smart, caring professionals. Instead of on the staircase at home or something with only his wuss of a wife around.

But it was still another uneasy night because of this ugly thing that has come to life with us.

Kyrie eleison.

Tanya Writes About Sleeping, and perchance, To Dream

My hero sleeps and sleeps.

He said two days ago that he woke in the middle of the night and thought it had all been one long, ugly dream. Then he rubbed his head, and then he knew.

There's still baby hairs there, like peachfuzz. But it's nothing like the pewter-colored hair that I could really run my fingers through. He's still got his moustache, although it's thinner. I haven't seen him without that facial hair since we were high school kids.

Oh, did I ever tell you we went to high school together? It was no sweetheart deal. In fact, he was Captain of the Football Team/Boyfriend of the Homecoming Queen/Head cheerleader. I, well, I was a dork.

But four years later, after college, we did that "across a crowded room" eye-contact movie moment thing at a Christmas party, and we've been together ever since.

Now, any guy who would stick with a girl who picks DELIVERANCE as their first-date movie is definitely a hero!

Last night, he stayed awake to watch American Idol with me. When Dolly's "Jolene" was performed, I misted up. For something other than my hero for a change. For that's the name of my dear Darlene's precious daughter who now lives with God.

A place of course where we all want to go.

Just not now. Please, God?

Tanya Writes About Bigstix, Birdseed, and Vicodin

Last night I cried in the car all the way to get him a chocolate milk shake. I think he knew, but by this time, I think he understands when I can't help it or hide it. The hip pain I wrote about the other day got worse and worse, so "worse" he said he almost cried.

Now, this is a guy who fought a forest fire in Big Sur for fourteen straight days a while back. Who sandbagged the Pacific Ocean for the big babies in Malibu who consider themselves too special to live among the rest of us. Who revels in home improvements and yardwork to keep his homestead tidy. Who worked his buns off to pay college tuition.

This is a strong guy. It's just the chemo brings him so damn low. Today the doc and the nurses, those angels Abby and Linda who have survived this scourge from the Devil, told him the pain is part of it. His BEP is the most brutal protocol of all and it's accumulated now, and while it's helping him, it hurts, too. While we had some good-ish days with the first two rounds, those days are over. We're in the homestretch and this stuff--literally poison--has built up. They're easing the pain with vicodin, but he's gotta keep a stiff upper lip.

Then I remember my friend Darlene whose pretty girl has died. Whose voice she'll never hear again. Who won't hunt another Easter egg. Darlene's blogging about her pain and most of all her faith, and she helps get my own unbelief in check, resurrecting it back to that amazing grace I need so bad.

My hero and I will be able to talk to our pretty girl tonight. We are blessed. We are blessed for the miracles of medical science, for a brave waste-no-time doctor. For nurses whose special place in heaven won't be special enough.

We're blessed for the heroes that have gone before to prove to us It Can Be Done. Abby told us today we gotta read Lance Armstrong's book, so I'll pick it up tomorrow.

Right now, I've got to check my sleeping hero. Then it's off to the grocery store to buy the popsicles he loves, and seed to fill the birdfeeder he built for me himself. Soon it'll be time for the dozen doves to pop in for their dinner.

Live strong!

Tanya Writes About the Strange Day

A few years ago my hero and I rocked out at a concert of an oldies group from our college days, The Moody Blues. Our daughter had gotten him tix for his birthday. One of their songs has always struck me. Isn't life strange?

It is, isn't it?

Last night I couldn't sleep. Too much caffeine. These days, I'm mostly decaffinated, but yesterday I indulged in that international coffee Cafe Francais, my guilty little pleasure, while we watched John Adams. Hence the energetic sheep and demons that danced in my head when I tried to sleep. So I got up to, what else, blog and computerize.

In searching Google for tags that might come up for my blog, I came across a strange and awful new fact: Research is proving that firefighters have a 102% chance over other workers of getting--testicular cancer!

After the ruined knees and rebuilt shoulder, the hearing deficits from sirens raging in his ears in the moronic days before the department provided guys with headphones...now we get a "perk" like T.C.

But my hero had a bit of a good night. And after watching the Food Channel much of yesterday afternoon, he got a bit of appetite back, even wrote down recipes to try. (He's the Top Chef of this family.) And although we await more dagnabbed bleo tomorrow, we have every expectation of a positive outlook...

So after making him some oatmeal, I went to check my e-mail, a morning ritual. (well, make that morning, noon, night, midnight et al ad infinitum.) In my inbox was a post from a cyber-friend I hadn't heard from for a little while. Now, I've never met her, but we connected while blogging at a now-defunct romance blog.

When my hero's tribulation began in late January, Darlene immediately placed his welfare in God's hands through prayer chains, particularly American Christian Fiction Writers--she writes inspirationals. All these weeks, knowing people all over the country are praying for him has brought us such comfort.

But Darlene's e-mail blew me away and not in a good way. She hadn't written in a while...because her 23-year old daughter recently committed suicide.

I am speechless with grief. There can't be anything more terrible than losing your child.

My hero and I spoke with our beautiful daughter just last night. Held our handsome son tight just Saturday. Hugged that little grandson while he squirmed and squirmed. (his mommy, our precious daughter in law, had to work.)

Across the world-wide-web, I open my arms to Darlene, beseeching our Lord to help mend her broken heart.

To turn her tears into miracles.

Because my hero and I, well, we've got a family to die for.

Tanya Writes About the Darkness and the Screams

They're all in my head. The dark times, the screams. Sometimes I remember watching an old Jimmie Cagney movie on TV...White Heat, I think, when he rushes around in escape and it's like the camera is his eyes. That's how it is sometimes. My eyes are in someone else's head. I see but it's all too unreal. It must be happening to someone else.

Last week was a toughie. I guess to do its job, chemo builds up and up and up inside my hero. The vile endless fatigue that besets him had me rage and weep all day when alone in the car. For three decades, he's been the one I unload on when demons come--a bad rejection, a row with my difficult mother, an insane headmaster. But now when I need him the most, I can't burden him.

But I am a Christian. I know Jesus is out there somewhere. Easter still rings in my heart and deep down, I know His footprints are beside me. Still, my faith has taken some deep dumps. After a "nadir" last month, I confessed to my hero that I'd lost my faith for two whole days. He just chuckled and said, I bet that pissed God off. And I was okay then. Today after church, a friend sat and prayed with me. Now, I'm not a hand-waver, holy-roller type. This was kinda personal. Yet it worked. I felt the love, the amazing grace. The power of miracle.

I'm just human. When the screams in my head don't stop, I depend on God's mercy to quiet them, His light to shine through my darkness. I admit though, it doesn't always happen on my schedule. There's the human rub.

A writer pal sent prayers and love with this proverb: When the going gets tough, the tough get on their knees. Well, I'm not so tough, but I am kneeling big-time.

Tanya Writes About Testicular Cancer #3

I was too tired to write yesterday, about our last scheduled day of BEP, the week-long all-day stretch. But my hero, dang, this one knocked him out with the first drip. I don't mean it makes him unconscious like anesthesia; it's just an all-consuming exhaustion.

He says no one who hasn't gone through it can understand. I try, but I believe him.

He just curled into a baby-ball, knees drawn. And thank you very much, that pinched a nerve in his hip and now he has pain. I remember writing about Mrs. Coleman a while back, who realized a new non-chemo ailment was just Satan messing with her. Well, Satan, you aren't going to win here either!

And I drove home. This is quite a decision for my he-man to make. I'm a perfectly good driver but a man who spent twenty years driving a fire engine is allowed to be a perfectly good critic.

Even though in normal times it pisses me off.

Now we wait...for a couple more blasts of bleo. For scans. For opinions. For GOD WILLING, remission.

And today, most of all, we wait for our baby grandson to arrive. He'll be here in about ten minutes, and my hero is already showered, up and about.

In spite of that damn hip!

Tanya Writes about Oncology Nurses

Once I read that angels are Labradors with wings, and as the "mom" of three, I've tended to agree. Until now. Angels are nurses. And earning their wings right now are the oncology nurses who are keeping my hero comfortable while making him well. And letting me know they're concerned about me, too.

Linda and Abby are both cancer survivors. They asked for Oncology on purpose. Of course they've confided their experiences, their treatments, their recoveries. The fear, make that downright terror. The all-consuming exhaustion. A romance reader herself, Linda has visited my website and tells everybody about my book. Abby comes in every day to see which picture we've brought of our little grandson, he of the big cheeks. A mommy of two little boys, she wants to pinch those cheeks.

Keri is a ragin' Dodger fan and constantly ribs my hero, who is not LOL. Yesterday she brought him a gorgeous book on Body Worlds since my hero missed the plastination exhibition last time around, but we intend to get to it this time. Wow. And Primrose makes sure my hero always gets "the room with the view."

As we left Oncology just a bit ago, they all called out, see you tomorrow. They know it's the last day of the last prescribed, week-long BEP. Now...we have two short bleo infusions over the next couple weeks. Then scans.

Then the results.

So keep bombarding heaven we get good news. When this all started, our local mountains were covered in snow that lasted those whole seventeen days from ultrasound to chemo. Unusual in this land of sun. But they helped me focus on Psalm 121 which has become my mantra. I will lift my eyes until the hills...from whence comes my help (which is) The Lord God who created heaven and earth.

Today the hills are wearing as much green as Ireland.

Ah, how beautiful.

Tanya Writes About Getting Reviews...

Well, when they suck, you pretend they don't matter. But hey, that' s not happening with Midnight Bride! I've gotten four great official reviews in a row. Everybody, including the editor who picked the story for publication, remarks on how wonderful the characters are. Sigh. I'm happy.

Romance Junkies said that MB "reinforced my love of historical American romance novels. Her characters bring to life all the charming characteristics you'd expect in ths kind of story...throw in some unexpected events and some unexpected visitors and you have the making of a book you won't be able to put down."

The best "review" of all, however, came from my dear friend Nancy, a dedicated romance reader. She said the same thing...she couldn't stop reading.

BTW. When you read MB, "Nancy Jane" and her boy "Nate" are, well, named after the real Nancy and her son...

Thanks, everybody.

For links to all my reviews, visit my website www.tanyahanson.net

Tanya Writes About Locks for Love

I thought it was the most romantic thing when (fictional) Samantha's (fictional) boyfriend Smith shaved his head when she lost her hair to chemo in (fictional) Sex and the City.

Sigh. Now, I know it's easier for a guy to do it. Bald heads are even kinda in. Nonetheless, that's what I wanted to do for my hero. Cut off my hair when he lost his. And I found a real-life place that accepts hair to make wigs for chemo patients.

My hair is indeed long enough and I was so ready for a noble, selfless act. Until I learned from Locks for Love that bleached hair doesn't make the cut. When I complained about their pickiness, my hero just told me not to waste my hair. It was a lovely thought, he assured me, and my motive was good. Even though he claims my 'do reminds him of Eric Idle circa 1985, he admits he didn't want me to cut it off.

And it's blonde for a reason. Forget the "blondes have more fun" thing. I already proved that wrong when I went blond in college. Had as much fun as when I was light brown. Now it's all about the gray. Not that I'm old. I surely am not. But...with two young-adult children and a toddling grandson, anyone can figure out I'm, well, not thirty-something any more.

But I am air-headed and disorganized no matter how hard I try. This care-giver thing really strains my abilities, or lack thereof. So it got me thinking: maybe the dumb-blonde rep is real. Maybe it's because the bleach poisons our brain cells.

Dunno. But I found a cute joke that I thought I'd use to conclude:

A blonde decided to go horseback riding. As she mounted a spirited stallion, the horse sprang to action, causing the blonde to slip from the saddle. Grabbing the horse's mane, she hung on for dear life, then switched to an arm lock around the horse's neck.

Finally she fell off. Her foot caught in the stirrup as her head bounced on the ground. She was mere moments away from unconsciousness when to her great fortune--

The Target store manager saw her and shut the horse off.

Bye for now. Today was a bit better day. We're moving out of the nadir, or lowest point of a cycle. So my hero will be rarin' to go for Easter Brunch.

Tanya Writes About Tuesday

Well, today has been both good and sucky. Sucky things first: well, chemo in general despite that it will eventually give us health and life. But today was the half-hour bleo I.V. Dang, that little bag of goo totally knocks my hero's feet out from under him. He was tired just walking to the parking lot afterward.

Whew. For the first time since all this started, he wanted me to drive home! Now, we're talking forty-minutes of me behind the wheel! And in our new car, too. Believe me, he does not like to ride when I drive even in the previous car. The only other time was after the barf-a-rama in Yosemite last century, when most of the herd passed the stomach flu around. I escaped and ended up driving our Jeep Cherokee pulling a trailer all the way to Fresno. Wow. I cringe just to think of it.

Today he held himself to just one snide comment as he watched some needle jump around some dial on the dashboard. I said, Either go to sleep or look out the window.

Now for good things: I found that a new Dollar Tree just opened up! Ever a cheapskate in search of a bargain, I went in just to look and came out with four bags of essentials. Better: I picked up a few groceries --including soft food for my hero--and did not end up in tears! Yay.

Best: an e-mail from a close family friend. My hero has known Tommy since Tommy was a newborn. Tommy just read the blog and wanted me to remind my hero that he is Tommy's hero, too, has been all through childhood.

Well, it's mutual. When we married, my hero said, "I want only two things; otherwise, have at it. I don't want to write my own vows, and I want Tommy as my ringbearer."

He got his way! Both of them.