Tanya Writes Again About Her Real-Life Hero

Currently reading: The Physick of Deliverance Dane/Katherine Howe
Recently finished: Pillars of the Earth/Ken Follet, Grade A+
Recently finished (second time) Angels and Demons/Dan Brown, Grade B

Well, I started this blog 18 months ago to promo my book, Midnight Bride. But the day the book was released, my husband (my hero) got a diagnosis that changed our lives and the very way we think about living: Life is a gift!

You have testicular cancer.

Needless to say, I lost it. A book was the least of my concerns. He was everything, and still is. In an effort to keep sane, this blog became "the hero's journey" as I unloaded, cried, prayed in the deep dark hours of endless nights. During the three months of chemo (a treatment called BEP) I found I couldn't read or write a single thing ...except during the early hours of sleeplessness, I unloaded in the blog. We actually found out the cancer is a result of 34 years of firefighting! Go figure. Save lives to almost lose your own!

Fortunately, after surgery and the terrifically brutal chemotherapy treatment (during which several times I was sure I had lost him), we heard the fantastic words, "you're in remission," and he's been cancer-free now for over 15 months. We expect a full long healthy life for him. And ever since he got his stamina back, we've been on the move. There is always some place we haven't been yet (like New York City where we celebrated his life last summer) to places we like to go back to (like Palm Springs, three week ago). So after the nightmare comes the wonder of life and health and love.

And my hero reading my latest book, Marrying Minda, in public, poolside, at the hotel.

Now, how's that for a true hero?

Tanya Writes About Scanxiety

Ditsy Tanya's Almanac #9

If I create from the heart, nearly everything works. If from the head, almost nothing. --Marc Chagall

Today, I decided to do Mark Chagall again, for two reasons. This comment fits me to a T. Second, his airy floating colors and shapes calm me. And today I need it.

My hero is the logical one in my life. He teases me endlessly about my lack of common sense, my ADD, my daydreams. I need him. As I know he needs me for just those same reasons.

My heart tell me today's routine CT scan will be free and clear and just in time to celebrate one year remission on Wednesday. But he says, cancer never leaves my head. The reality is always there. He's deservedly nervous today.

Most times we don't let it bother us, that ugly thing that came to live with us last year. It's been thwarted by gruelling chemo (3 X BEP) but tends to buzz around like a big fat stinky fly whenever a test or scan or blood work or doctor visit looms. I look at him, strong, hale...his hair kept short ala' Justin Timberlake to remind him, to remind us both that each day is a gift.

So I know today is a gift. As was this past weekend, with the grandbaby spending the night and our beloved sister and BIL visiting on their way north. And I know the scans will be clear. It's just...the frickin' seed of doubt the ugly thing left behind. It's called Scanxiety, and it's real, for survivors and their families. Two guys from our TC loop sent us private messages of good cheer. One is my cowboy friend in Texas...himself done with chemo just last week but sicker than the proverbial dog, awaiting his own CT Scan on Friday.

So if you're reading this, some prayers and good thoughts for my hero, for my cowboy, for all taking this tough journey, would be most appreciated.

Tanya Writes About The CT Scan

It was hard, the other night, at CT Scan...the very place my hero collapsed last April. Seeing him lying there those months ago, well, I can't publicly put down what I thought had happened.

Just five days later, remission was announced. But that was when he was the sickest from the chemo, in TC terms: 3 X BEP. He couldn't even rejoice.

During our trip to Lake Tahoe in May, he and I managed to finally discuss those dark days, in front of the fireplace with late spring snow falling outside. In those days, I still woke up in the night, shaking, cold, even though we knew remission was afoot.

So when another CT Scan had to be done this week, the tremors started, the demons surged. The bad dreams came again. That ugly thing still manages to terrorize us.

All I can say is, when Dr. Schwartz called just now, assuring us the cancer is gone and my hero is in remission: Praise God. The last couple days have been lyrics from Tim McGraw's Live Like You Were Dying...waiting for the x-rays.

My hero confessed he can't help a little man-crush on this wonderful oncologist. That's okay. I've loved him ever since the dreadful day of diagnosis last February when he held me in a great big bear-hug and promised to watch my hero like a hawk. "We'll get this fixed," he promised.

He even gave me his cell phone number. (Have I ever used it? I confess yes. Once.)

Tomorrow we're participating in a Livestrong Fundraiser in the gorgeous Santa Ynez Valley of central California. My hero and our beautiful daughter are going to ride a half-metric, about 31 miles. I, well, I'm no athlete. He got me a lovely new bike recently (the Comfort Model, read: Old Lady) but tomorrow, I'll hobble by foot as long as I can.

Our son, DIL and the baby can't make it. But as always, they're with us in our hearts. We'll all be together on Sunday to launch our fantasy football league. I'm Wild Thang...and right now, I gotta go finish decorating my tee-shirt for the team jersey competition and get the guestroom ready for our babygirl to spend the night.

Thank you, Jesus, for the blessings that never stop. And please forgive those moments of unbelief that still manage to snarl my mind.

Livestrong.