LiveSTRONG and Prosper

Today is LiveSTRONG Day world-wide. Wear yellow. Donate and get a wristband.

On this date 13 years ago, cyclist Lance Armstrong was diagnosed with testicular cancer...at a time in his life he had no health insurance. His memoir, It's Not About the Bike, broke the ground on T.C. awareness.

Thanks also to my hero, Dr. Lawrence Einhorn, whose research at Indiana University invented the chemotherapy protocol in 1978 that saved Lance's life. And also my husband's last year. Dr. Einhorn makes himself available by e-mail and phone to guys needing answers and second opinions. Thank you, God.

In 1978, s dying patient begged Dr. Einhorn to use him as a guinea pig.

He's alive today.

Of the 7,600 men who will be diagnosed with T.C. this year, more than 95% will survive. But only if the disease is caught in time!

I can't deny the BEP protocol is harrowing and life-threatening in itself. But it works. Get the men in your life to check their balls. Just like our BSE's, guys gotta do TSE's.

Please?

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.

Tanya Writes About Hot Rocks

How do you mend a broken heart?

Hmmmm. That's a lyric from a song in my favorite movie, Notting Hill, when poor Will Thacker broods over "the American." Well, he got the American back, but that was a movie. I just don't think you ever can, at least not once your loved one dies.

They take a piece of your heart with you. Maybe a piece of your soul, too. You can heal maybe; maybe happy memories lace up that fissure, maybe the pain will ease with time, but mend completely?

I don't think so.

This afternoon, I walked downstairs but Marl wasn't on her favorite rug, turning her sleepy face to see what I was up to. Yesterday after I called the veterinary hospital to arrange her last sleep, I broke into sobs.

She came running from another favorite napping place, in front of the fireplace, and immediately besieged me with loving whines and messy kisses to help me out.

I guess in the humane sense, I was truly helping her out...but it hurts so bad.

Whew. I'd scheduled a nice long massage today for just that reason, hoping to get some relief. I explained to the masseuse about my sweet dog, and she commiserated; when she spied my Lance Armstrong Livestrong bracelet, I explained my hero's journey and his 18th week of remission. Her reply: man, you guys have had one heck of a year.

We have, haven't we? But he's well now. Marl's running across the Rainbow Bridge with her big sister Tawny. And then the massage therapist placed hot rocks on the neediest parts of me. My knotty neck. My stiff back. Then soothed hot rocks over the rest of me. One even nestled in the palm of my left hand.

Oh, beautiful.

My hero rescued me as he always does. He took our sweet girl even in his own grief, just to spare me.

When she gently slept, he brought back her collar, still with her name tag and license. He'll hotglue it around her feeding bowl and make it a planter.

And I'll plant some forget-me-nots.

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 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!