I reckon this goes here ... by der Wandersmann

Just so you know, I may not be too regular around here for a while.

My 37-year-old daughter has just been diagnosed with forty-leven different kinds of cancer. It seems well-metastisised, and things don’t look too damned good. That’s not a problem, though I’ll be heartbroken if I lose her, but it seems to be her karma. This time, she has to fight for her life, and whether she lives or dies, if she fights, she wins.

But her mom needs some support (she doesn’t know about this place, and wouldn’t appreciate it if she did), and I gotta admit to being a little shaken myself. Any form of energy you folks can send our way (and hers) will not go unnoticed.

Thanks for listening.

der Wandersmann

(This is a copy of a post I made on another Forum … just in case it looks a little familiar.)

NEXT POST

Thanks, folks … things don’t look as grim as they did a couple of days ago. I was out to see her on Sunday, and while it was pretty obvious that she was sick, the news about what they’d found was less alarming than what I had got second hand through her mother, who usually manages to get things a bit muddled.

So far, there are 4 masses that need a bit of investigation. Biopsies tomorrow, and I’ll keep you posted after that.

NEXT POST

You and the wicked witch of the West, eh? (In case you’re too young to remember, she sings “Don’t bring me no bad news” in “The Wiz”.)

NEXT POST

This is what I posted on another forum …

Thank you all …

An update of sorts: Still no biopsies as of last night; I think they’re trying to build her up before doing anything invasive, but this situation reminds me of the French, sitting behind the Maginot Line.

I’m getting to the point of pistols at dawn with these doctors.

NEXT POST

I’ve got my own long-range weapon, thanks … a Browning reissue of the old Winchester Highwall, in .45-70.

But that’s not quite the same as standing face-to-face with some scum and putting a pistol ball through his heart.

Anyway, the biopies came back, yesterday, and these cretins STILL don’t know what kind of cancer she has. So they’ve doped her up while they send the samples to Mayo Clinic for their best guess. Meanwhile, Rome burns.

NEXT POST

This is it … and the cover I made for it … the cover’s not done, though I doubt I’ll ever finish it with all the beadwork, etc.

That lump below the cover is Mr. Cat’s butt … he refused to make room for the blue blanket, so I draped him and shot the picture anyway.

NEXT POST

Forgot to say … the hospital people have given her a pooter to use while she’s in durance vile, so we can keep in touch, at least.

NEXT POST

Those old slug throwers, even the ones with rocklocks, are NOT inaccurate, if they have been treated right. Those old smoothbores were made with the utmost care and precision, and would put a modern snoothbore to shame, both in accuracy and handling qualities. Balance and pointing were superb, the trigger a wish-off, and lock time was as short as some modern cartridge guns. They had to be perfect, a gentleman’s life depended on it.

NEXT POST

You got that damned straight!

They’re going to do an endoscopy today. Ooooh! Radical, huh?

NEXT POST

I don’t blame you.

Seriously, though, I always wonder how these chaps can tell anything from the “image” that an endoscope gives. I’m kinda like James Thurber in his biology class at Ohio State. I can never see the stuff that they say I can see.

NEXT POST

Update …

The Mayo Clinic was unable to tell what sort of cancer it was, so they’re going on the “unknown cancer” plan, whatever the hell that is.

They put a spigot in her belly the other day, and the fluid seems to be draining well; she’s much more comfortable.

She’s also more obstreperous, if that’s of any interest, and has become rejective of all her friends and family … but that’s her; she’s always had a larger-than-necessary portion of that in her character. Takes after me, I reckon. I think it’s part of the “wounded animal” syndrome.

And … well, it’s hard for a wounded animal type to say it, but … thanks for caring.

NEXT POST

Chemo started day before yesterday … she said she didn’t notice anything, but didn’t expect to, this early, either. She’s going stir-crazy in there, as opposed to her normal “just plain” crazy, so I reckon she’s feeling better. The mental giants there are proceeding on an “unknown cancer” basis, since no one can figure out what kind of cancer it is. I don’t know what possible difference it makes to the cancer, or to her. At least they’re doing something.

NEXT POST

[quote author=Ludovico link=topic=955.msg3521#msg3521 date=1223051214] …and it’s gonna work! [/quote]

Danke schön, Kamerad.

NEXT POST

If she’s a female, chocolate is a safe bet.

Oh … forgot. Take something salty to go with the chocolate … like maybe potato chips.

NEXT POST

Exactly … notice that the operative word in the advert is “salt”. And I suspect that the nitrosamines and fat from the bacon give the flavour a certain depth, if the word is admissable in this context.

As a side note, the combination of bacon and natural peanut butter (not the hydrogenated, sugar-added kind) and butter (if you don’t want the butter, it’s OK; I just find that the peanut butter won’t go down without it) make the world’s most perfect peanut-butter sandwich. Smucker’s make an acceptable natural peanut butter, but my personal favourite is a local product made out here in Waukesha, Holsum brand. I think it’s been bought up by Beatrice. Don’t cook the bacon too hard, or it doesn’t give up its flavour as easily. I take ba pound of bacon, laid out flat, like in the packages, and just quarter it. Put the quarter in the microwave on a really absorbent towel, cover with another piece of towel, and microwave for however long your microwave needs to cook it.

NEXT POST

Damn straight, it ain’t bad. I have a hard time keeping bacon in the house because of it.

NEXT POST

Or a dog. Face it; even vegetarians love bacon, no matter what they might say.

Talked to Gwen on the phone, just now. She’s weak as a fish, but her spirits aren’t bad. She hasn’t sent any emails because the chemo (third go-round) makes her dizzy when she sits up to type. I asked her how could she tell? She’s always been a dizzy blonde. She was laughing, but she told me to bugger off, which I take as a good sign. I went away from there … she really is too weak to spend much time on the phone.

Oh … forgot. here’s a pic of her in ‘05 … I can’t see that it can do much harm.

NEXT POST

I resemble that remark.

NEXT POST

No, she looks bloody awful … even skinnier, and an unhealthy skinny, too … konzentrationslager victim skinny. And the presence of constant pain tends to erase the sunniness of one’s countenance.

This is the latest from her … I’ve posted it elsewhere, too, so if you’ve seen it, that’s why.

[quote:1xg1g57x]Drug dimentia rather horrid. Am now being treated for upper GI. Chimo makes tired and many diffrent things jumble up. Not depressed. Todd to call. Im not finishing sentences.

Sorry guys this is why I havent written. Soon we can catch up.

I drink a lot of tea ans sleep.[/quote:1xg1g57x]

She never was particularly good at spelling, and the drugs don’t make it any better.

Her mum is down with some sort of ear/neck problem (NEVER use an electric fan as a hair dryer!!!!), so it’s just as well she doesn’t want to see anyone. The last thing she needs is to catch it.

Thanks for caring …

NEXT POST

The Internet is surprisingly helpful … probably it’s just distraction, but I’ll take what I can get.

Also, the fact that I’m not actually going out there, daymeal, to see her … it’s a longish drive, Oak Creek to Waukesha and back, and tiring. Being tired is just another form of stress, and I don’t have it, which is good. And trying to figure how I’d pay for the gas is another stressor that I don’t need.

And you guys have been very supportive … I even get notes from folks who are apostate catholics, telling me they’ve gone to Mass, Confession, the whole bit, and lit candles for her. I ain’t exactly a touchy-feely sensitive ‘90s guy, but I gotta admit it brought a little temporarily impaired vision.

Thanks …

NEXT POST

Shudder!

NEXT POST

I’d druther DO the porn, but we don’t need to talk about that.

As the ad says “Mother, PLEASE! I’d rather do it myself!”

Anyways, I got a call last night while I was cooking dinner (you oughta see me juggle the phone and sausages parmigiana and vegetables, all at once) from her boy friend, who’s been with her pretty constantly. He made it sound pretty grim, and I gotta say that it’s taken a bit of wind out of my sails, and her mum ain’t taking it well, at all. They’re talking of sending her home, with him only there nights (he’s got a JOB!), which sounds pretty damn stupid to me. I haven’t been able to get the damn Dr to call me, and it looks like I’m gonna hafta go out there and threaten mayhem, to get any sensible talk from a pro.

So, I dunno nuffin’ right now, ‘ceptin’ things ain’t how I like ‘em.

NEXT POST

Not really.

NEXT POST

Well, I reckon I’ll catch you folks up, and probably let it go …

We got a call from her on Friday night; she wanted to see us. She sounded pretty good, so we said, “OK, tomorrow afternoon.” Fine.

We got another call from her on Saturday morning, saying she hoped we could make it; I was talking to Isabela at the time, and her mum took it … it had a grim sort of sound; “hospice” was one of the words I caught. Anyway, come afternoon, and we were off.

We got into the room, and I thought she was already dead … I’ve never seen such a shocking change. See the pics, and compare with the one from 3 years ago.

It looks like there’s nothing to do but accept the inevitable … not that that’s such a hard thing, but I had hoped that the 20+ years with us had turned her from this course (For those of you wondering what the hell THAT means, all I can say is that she was born with a drive toward death. How many kids just learning to talk do you hear saying “I’m going to kill myself!”? Well, we didn’t manage to change that part of her … but if there’s anything I’ve learned from the old Brooklyn Dodgers, it’s “There’s always next time.” But I’m making sure I’ve got some heavier artillery backing me up, next time.

Yeah, I know I sound like a nut. If it makes your minds any easier, you can call me one. You can call me any damned thing you like, as long as you don’t call me late for dinner. I’m a card-carrying member of the Lunatic Fringe, and proud of it.

Anyway, my very dearest friends … thank you for all your support and good wishes. I’ll keep you posted, at least until the comedy is finished.

The last shot was made just as I left the hospital last night … it seems appropriate here.

NEXT POST

Yep.

NEXT POST

[i:11x6nx4z]This is a copy, slightly altered, from another Forum … I sure don’t wanna have to type this out twice.[/i:11x6nx4z]

My daughter died at 1:30 yesterday. The Hospice called us about 12:30, saying that if we wanted to see her, we should come out. So we rolled out at around 1:00. Luckily, I had been to see her Saturday, because she had called me in the morning, asking us to come out. Her mom has a cold, so she thought it might not be too good to take it out there … I went alone. Just as well I did. It was a devil of a place to find, and if I had been under time pressure, I would have probably got to Minnesota before I was done. But her mom went with me yesterday, cold or no cold.

Even knowing the way, it’s a 2½-hour drive, so when we got there, she was gone. Her BF had been with her, though, so that’s some comfort.

My heart is full of pain, and it will be some time before I can be relied upon to think coherently for any length of time. It has taken me about twenty minutes to type this, for instance. It will get better; I have been through death before, and it always does. That’s cold comfort now, though.

Thank you all for the concern you have all shown for the past month … and right now, I think I’m going to put that bottle of single-malt, double cask Scots whiskey that someone on the Forum sent me to its proper use.

If you can drop by, drop by. We can share it … and some tears.

Forgot … some pics: The first is the view from her room, through a pair of French doors; the second is the view across the highway after the hearse came for her. She never would have forgiven me if I hadn’t shot it.

NEXT POST

Yes … meant to say so, myself. Got a little distracted, I reckon. Sorry.

NEXT POST

Getting there. It ain’t easy.

4 weeks from diagnosis to death … nice for her, but we didn’t really have a chance to brace ourselves.

It’s rough.