Wait for iiiiiit ……….….. THUD!

I can’t say it has been easy to write about someone else’s journey, which is why I am trying to emphasize it from my point of view.  I don’t understand what it is like to have your voice go up and octave over night and try to cough the next morning without enough power behind it to clear your throat.  All for no apparent reason, then carry on like nothing happened.  But I’m trying.  Lately I’ve had some conversations with Miki to understand what is motivating another pain pill or why she can’t do more than 3 reps of a seemingly easy exercise from the physical therapist.  That is why this trip includes both of us, but she’s in the driver’s seat.  She is the one that understands what she feels through the steering wheel as she rounds a corner and feels the road as she accelerates ahead.  She is the one that hears a slight change in the pitch of the engine and decides to pull over to look under the hood.  But to be in the pit crew, I have to know what is going on in order to support the effort.  Okay, enough comparisons of Miki to a car…

It’s MY BIRTHDAY today!!!

Enough about me!  Now back to her.  Actually, as friends and family have sent their birthday wishes my way, I received some pretty sweet gifts today, not to mention some sweet treats left on our front porch early this morning (thank you very much, you know who you are).  For example, Miki has felt less of the debilitating pain lately that has kept her horizontal for almost two months.  This means less pain meds and in actuality she is off all meds now except one that is to protect her kidneys during chemo.  That in itself is a pretty nice gift, don’t you think?  She also had more of a twinkle in her energy today, before it got siphoned off through the day’s activities.  That was a pretty nice wrapping on the gift.  And to top it off…we showered together!  Okay, bring the heat down a bit.  I got to wash her hair.  Her new hair!  She cut her almost waist length locks, partly in anticipation of losing her hair (if that happens).  Now that it is within a few inches of her scalp, it was much easier to lather it up and get my fingers through it than the last time when it was 10x longer.  And in order to keep most of the water within the confines of the shower, I joined her.  For more details, it will cost you!  That was a nice big bow on the gift I got for my birthday.

Before scissors...

...in anticipation.

Oh, I almost forgot…the THUD from above.  Do you recall I was waiting for the other shoe to drop?  I was referring to what side effects may rear their ugly heads during this process.  It appears so far, that it is pure exhaustion.  When you can’t hold your head up for more than a few minutes at a time…when you think you can’t make it to the bathroom and back before sundown (and its morning)…or you have to sit down on the top step of the staircase and scoot down one at a time…you are utterly exhausted.  Miki has become the poster child for abso-friggin’-lute exhaustion.  Its not pretty, its not attractive, its not glamorous, but her hair is.  The side effects from chemo and radiation could be a lot worse, so I count this as another gift.

So unless the idiom referred to above uses a three-legged person as it’s inspiration, Miki’s side effects to treatment seem to be minimal at this point and we hope there are no other shoes to drop.  As birthdays go, it was a significant one.  Not because I am another year younger, but we spent another year together.

My Zen from Home:  Wow.  When Miki and I went to her radiation treatment today, we settled into the waiting area with approximately 8 chairs, 4 on opposite sides of this small room facing each other and a small TV mounted on the end wall.  The first two visits, I think we saw one other person waiting their turn to be zapped.  There must have been a blue light special today, because it was almost standing room only.  There were two wheel chairs, a gurney, a woman with a walker, and 6 of the 8 chairs filled.  Granted, 4 of the people there were supporting those there for treatment, but 2 wheel chairs, a walker and a gurney.  It was like a puzzle when the furthest one from the door was called to get their treatment.  But that is not the point.  The point is, that we were almost literally face to face with other cancer patients and their supporters (if they had one).  We are now those people.

Waiting for the Other Shoe to Drop

Is it just a coincidence that the title of this posting is an example of an idiom?  Yes.  Do you think I would try to incorporate two language arts lessons in a row…do I look like an idiom to you?  For whatever reason, this expression found it’s way into my head and it seems to fit what I’ve been mulling around for a while.  With a few computer keystrokes, I found one it’s possible origins.  It seems to be most likely from the 1950's, when a British sitcom depicted an individual who lived in an apartment beneath a man who worked nights.  The person in the lower apartment would be sound asleep when the tenant of the upper apartment came home.  The tenant in the upper apartment would sit on the edge of the bed to take his shoes off.  The first shoe hit the floor with a loud bang, awakening the sleeping tenant in the lower apartment.  The groggy neighbor would remain awake until he heard the other shoe drop.  The tenant in the upper apartment would remember that he had a sleeping neighbor below, and take the second shoe off and carefully place it on the floor, making no noise. The groggy neighbor would then yell, "For God's sake, drop the other shoe!"  In a sense, this is what I have been experiencing. 

It seems expectations can be of help or a hindrance on the path we are on…time will tell.  The anticipation of Miki’s first chemo and radiation treatments, this last week, came and went without fanfare.  That worked out well, because who likes fanfare when you are hooked up to an IV?  We have and continue to get anecdotal data from other’s experiences, but we continue to go into this with the focus that this is Miki’s story being written and it won’t be exactly like anyone else’s.  But knowing the possible side effects to be prepared for that others have experienced seems like it would be helpful, so as to not be caught with our collective pants down…oops, sorry.  I said I wouldn’t start throwing idioms around…I guess you can’t teach an old-ish dog new tricks.

Even though it is early in Miki’s treatment, at times it seems as though I am waiting for the side effects to show themselves or as the title indicates…the other shoe to drop.  It is Sunday night, the third day after chemo and the second after radiation.  Throughout the day she has been sleepier than before, along with some new feelings that might fall under the nausea umbrella, but nothing severe.  I am seeing this as the soul of the “other shoe” getting into position on its way down.  Again, time will tell.

Not that I know a lot about cancer treatments and how people react to their bodies being challenged to extremes to gain their health back, but I find myself watching her as she naps during the day and wonder how she will be challenged in the coming weeks and months.  It tears me up to see where my mind goes, but I know that I need to stay on the same page she’s on.  As much as I want to be on this journey with her, it’s hers to live.  I can’t take the nausea away, I can’t take the crap out of how she feels, or re-grow the white hair she loves (if and when it goes).  I can’t feel what she feels.  But I can dish out her medications, rub her head and scratch her back, and push nutrition in one end while cheering it out the other.  I am not sure I would want a crystal ball to foresee what is heading our way, but I am not afraid of it either.  Preparing for the worst, but seeing the best.

What has been hard so far isn’t taking care of everything under the roof from sun up to sun down, asking her to repeat virtually everything she says (due to her higher pitched voice, thank you meds), or flailing around the kitchen trying to actually cook something edible.  That stuff is easy.  What is not, is seeing the effects of the medications she is on, her once strong muscles less than what they were, and that bed head she gets with her new hairdo…the bouffant is not back that I know of.  Unless chemo has some tricks up it’s sleeve, when Miki kicks the pain caused by the pinched nerve to the curb, chemo will be that much more bearable.

To end on a positive note…this experience so far has us communicating more and you might say having more quality time.  She is getting more head rubs and back scratching than a new puppy.  I am taking care of the house and actually starting to enjoy parts of it…some cleaning things…not so much.  And she is coming to grips with and letting go of me putting things where she didn’t.  To use one of her favorite company names, Life is Good …it’s what we’re doing.

My Zen from Home:  Over the last few months this has been going on, the word miracle has been brought up from time to time.  In hopes of Miki getting relief from the pain she has incurred and the diagnosis revealed.  Now I am not one to brag, very often, but I recently cooked up a dish called Cozy Comfy Chicken and Rice from the cookbook entitled, “The Cancer Fighting Kitchen.”  I am not saying anything here, but that dish made her feel better after she ate it and it is the first time in my cooking history that I have used saffron as an ingredient, not a word sung as part of the lyrics in a song called Mellow Yellow, by Donovan in 1966.  These seem to be fingers pointing at a miracle, plus the fact I enjoyed creating it in the kitchen, not in my woodshop.  Miracles could be in the eye of the beholder, like beauty.

Any Port in a Storm

Idioms are expressions that aren't meant to be taken literally, but can be.  I guess the same can be true of idiots.  I also am guessing that idioms don’t come from idiots, since their origin is Latin and Greek.  But those intellectual Greeks were probably a dime a dozen, while those Greek idiots were more like a drop in the bucket.  Just because they gave birth to western civilization doesn’t mean there weren’t a few slackers among them.  It’s all Greek to me.

The idiom, any port in a storm, came to me yesterday for a number of reasons (yes, idioms even come to retired science teachers), but primarily because Miki got a “port” installed.  I guess it would be more accurate to say she had a procedure done that left her with a device placed just under the skin, that allows IV (intravenous) things to be done through it.  Rather than mining for veins each time she needs to receive fluids, like for her chemo treatments or a variety of other medical necessities, it is a central spot where a connection is made with a tube, leading right into a vein that is always available.  Her’s is located just under her right clavicle (or collar bone for you none science teachers).  She is okay for show and tell if you are curious.  Now she no longer needs to worry about painful needle sticks and bruised forearms, she has a port for her next storm.

While you think what about what any port in a storm means to you, it is easy to describe some of her ports, since this storm started blowing weeks ago. The hospital that we seemed to have gotten all too well acquainted with, has supplied numerous ports.  For starters, the hospital airbed that she came to covet upon her first visit, gave her comfort that a traditional mattress could not.  And when she did not have one at the onset of her second and third visits, nurse Joe and nurse Dana respectively, went on the hunt and came up with one in short order each time.  They were the silver linings in some darkening clouds.  Of course the nurses can make all the difference in the world and we lucked into Kelsey.  Not only was she very personable and caring, but pivotal in making Miki’s literal port happen.  We took a liking to her, along with the “port doctor.”  Talking to him was like having a conversation with a good neighbor.

Centerpoint Medical Center, one of our ports in this storm.

All of Miki’s friends on this journey with her have been individual ports of call, you might say.  In their own ways, they each have comforted and sheltered her in one way or another.  Through sharing, smiles and hugs, and gestures of all kinds, they have lifted her spirits more than they know.  Our dogs with their waggy tails, and their infectious smiles.  Yes, I said smiles.  And their domain, the backyard, she loves her backyard.  Her sanctuary and its guardians.  And finally, both our families have been ever present, whether by phone, text, in person or in spirit, their presence is our foundation that holds us up.

So in a nutshell, accepting any help you are offered when you are in a difficult situation, although you may not want to, is one way of looking at the idiom, any port in a storm.  And I am continuing to slowly admit and accept mooring up at new ports.  Thank you for providing these ports as needed.

Now I don’t want you to go out and beat a dead horse, because that would be gross or bend over backwards and pull something.  And please don’t abuse idioms as I have done here, but remember that even the smallest act of kindness could be the smallest of ports for someone in the smallest of storms.

My Zen from Home:  For a few days this week I slept (using that word loosely) on a chair that morphed into a bed-like-torture device, only to wake up to a 4 am nurse invasion that lead to Miki needing to pee, and finally me leaving to go home and take care of the basic needs of Tuck and Tooga. Since I don’t find myself up that early on a normal basis, I found it an interesting and peaceful time as I drove my 6 miles in 13 minutes (or less if necessary), door to door.  It is easy to understand why photographers espouse the use of the early morning light and joggers get out in the cool, early morning air.  I saw incredible sunrises and wildlife waking up to new adventures on the back roads home.  I probably won’t change my normal wake up time, but I may get up early more often to see things in a different light.  So go do something you always do, but at a different time to see if you see things differently.

"Chemo"...having to do with chemicals.

I know this probably hasn’t happened to anyone but me (if that is true then just play along), but…you know when someone puts something you want really bad just out of reach and you lunge for it, only for them to yank it out of reach…and you want it so bad, that you reach for it again.  You are more nonchalant this time so as to make the jackass teasing you think you really aren’t interested.  You pounce again, only to be rejected over and over and over again, as they tug your reward just beyond your grasp.  Damn that bartender… (did I really just say that?) That is how part of this journey has felt to me, with Miki’s diagnosis and treatment…and I am not Miki.  I cannot imagine what she has experienced, although if you have been following her, you know about that more than me.  I have not been a loyal follower of “Mikisjoy,” other than the occasional read.  Not sure why, other than I live it with her everyday and when I do have the time, I am sharing my version or sleeping, unlike Miki the night owl e-mailer and blogger extraordinaire. 

Hoping 3^rd times a charm, we are back at Centerpoint Medical Center (I think I have been referring to it as Centerpoint Hospital).  With her pain level too high when sitting up and her first chemo treatment looming, she was welcomed back to “the point” so she could be horizontal, while receiving her first round (by the way…the word treatment…treat does not seem appropriate here).  Evidently our outpatient facility (or maybe all of them) doesn’t want you to be that comfortable, or maybe there is a medical reason that hasn’t surfaced yet as to why they don’t supply an occasional bed…maybe it is a space issue.  But I am thinking, for what they are getting paid for this, they could squeeze in a cot or something for the prone position.  But I will inquire.  You know why?  Because inquiring minds want to know!  And I am nothing, if not a national inquirer.

Having had the privilege of being a “direct admit,” for the third time, we have experienced passing GO and collecting $200 each trip around the board here at Centerpoint.  Since we are in their system and evidently have frequent bedpan miles, we go straight to Miki’s room without getting sent back two spaces or paying a fine.  This time as we came off the elevator on the 6^th floor and headed passed the nurses station, we waved at our favorite nurse, who excitedly waved back and she immediately requested Miki for tomorrow’s shift, while we settled in to room 609.  Yes, we play favorites for various reasons, but I can easily find the “Nutrition Room” to get ice (for Miki) and a soda pop (for me) with my eyes closed, from any given hallway on the floor…we’ve now had a room in each.

Not that 12 days in a hospital is all that many, but for us, for the most part, having been on the other side, being the visitor vs. the visitee most of our hospital career, I am ready to be done with it and I know Miki is on the same page.  I don’t want to diminish the seriousness of what Miki is experiencing, but there are some SICK people here.  People that no one would want to trade illnesses for.  I am thankful that Miki will be helped here and will work her way back into some kind of normalcy.  For some of these folks, it appears that is not an option.  I have been struggling with all the pain and suffering…I take that back…I have been more aware of the number of people struggling with their health.  I count myself very lucky.

Finally, a tip of the hat to how strong Miki has been.  It has been approximately 2 months since this game began.  60 days on pain meds that have some side effects we see and some we don’t.  The dry mouth that keeps her reaching for ice chips, her fingers and toes twitching as if to music, but there is none, and a parallel universe, as she describes it, when she closes her eyes and another world carries on.  Eight weeks of a leg segregated from the rest of her body, a few moments of emotional collapse, and coming to grips with a healthy lifestyle that has not been a detour around this obstacle.  Yet she is her own best cheerleader and has attracted a crowd of positive participants.  As if the wave done at a sporting event is the love and support she has attracted, the wave just keeps coming.

As the first drips of her chemotherapy make their way into her body, we cheer for Team Etoposide/Cisplatin (the chemo cocktail) to find the opposition and give it a good ass whoopin’!  A necessary evil, but we cheer for her to be stronger than Wonder Woman and to come back to us whole.  "Chemo" means having to do with chemicals. It is usually a prefix on a bigger word like chemotherapy.  It has begun.

Wrapped in her cocoon, infused with love, treatment begins.

 

My Zen from Home:  Those of you that know me, know me as a huggy, touchy feely kind of guy that wants to know your deepest, darkest emotions, and in turn will share mine with you…NOT!  But it has occurred to me that I have not been touching Miki as much as I want or need to.  I think some of it is because of the gravity of this situation we find ourselves in and I need to remember to feel a little more and take a break from the seriousness of it all.

Our Onion

As this journey began, it was apparent that many answers to our questions would take time and come in many forms.  As if peeling back the layers of an onion, we slowly started getting to the core.  Layers came off in the way words were chosen carefully, a look, body language, voice inflection, what was NOT being said.  My Intro to Speech Class 101, from 9th grade has finally paid off.  Visiting with doctors over the last month has heightened my observational skills (or at least I would like to think so) and from piecing together the information that we were not told until now, I can't say we were totally surprised by what we learned.  Evidently we have taken enough layers off to get to the core today, when we met with a new oncologist from KU Med. Ctr.  Her name is Dr. Chintala.  It appears that the pathology results point to a kind of mixed lung cancer.  It does have quite a long descriptive scientific name, with words that tease my spell check, but for us lay people..."mixed lung cancer" is as plain as it gets.  She visited with us for for a healthy dose of time and will return each day as a plan comes together for confronting Miki’s pain and dealing with the cancerous tumors we are aware of.

The one thing we have been looking for this whole time was a culprit.  Now that it appears to have been identified, a name has been placed with a face and it appears that it is a scary face.  It won't be a piece of cake, but the outcome is promising.  While we are still processing this news, the initial scare is still there, but now it feels like some of that fear is turning into a sense of “opening a can of whoopass” and like you would expect, we want to get on it and Miki is leading the way.

While this news to us is still only hours old, I go through the corridors of this hospital and can’t help but wonder how may others I am passing have the same thoughts and feelings running through their minds, because they too are rookies to this game.  While others may be veterans I walk by and are on a whole other level than we are at this time.  It feels so personal, like we are the first to step out onto this playing field, yet we know that it is one of the oldest games in town, and we owe the benefits that will help Miki heal to those that have come before her.

Like a real onion, whose enzymes permeate and diffuse into the air causing many of us to cry, this onion causes tears too.

My Zen from Home:  You cannot worry about what you cannot control.  In a past entry I talked about having control over things.  For me right now, it is taking care of the house and not accepting any help with it, yet.  When I was teaching and had a kid that was making all kinds of wrong decisions for themselves, when it boiled down to it, they had no control over anything in their lives.  They were acting out to be in control of something.  One of the first things Miki and I talked about after the doctor left, after delivering our future, was you can choose to be depressed and negative or upbeat and look forward.  We don’t control the existing cancer, but we do have control over how we react to it.  Guess which direction Miki is choosing.

How Do You See It?

While we continue to whittle down the time until the results of the last test to date on Miki’s biopsied lung arrive, perspective has been on my mind a lot.  Since Miki was admitted to Centerpoint Hospital through present time, my perspective and attention to everyday folks facing their own dilemmas has become more acute to me.  Miki has been so damned positive since the onset of whatever it is that has invaded her body and that she will “walk through this,” that I have been trying to keep up as we go down that road together.  In fact, I feel like it doesn’t matter what I think is happening or how it should be treated, I need to support whatever attitude she adopts and help prop her up as needed.  I probably wouldn’t make a very attractive cheerleader, but it’s a hat that I’ll wear (better a hat than a spandex leotard!)  And because of that positive forward thinking, I keep comparing others to her.

It is all about perspective.  For example, when I ride my bicycle, part of my loop is a stretch of about 3½ miles on a trail that follows the eastern shoreline of Blue Springs Lake.  As I was riding this evening with the sun getting close to the horizon, the shadows were long and every twig lying on the trail was a snake in my mind.  A poisonous snake, that was waiting for the chance to take a shot at my muscular calves… well, okay… my calves.  Now of course, logically I knew better, but where do those thoughts come from.  Maybe it was the 4 foot snake that I saw a few days ago, slinking off the trail as I whizzed by it.  I saw about 3 feet of it still on the trail, so there must have been at least another foot into the brush already.  But if perspective is how you see or view things around you, my take on snakes is a bit paranoidal (yes, I made up that word from my perspective).

This morning, while Miki and her congregation were convening for “couch church,” I headed out for a motorcycle ride for my church.  It was relatively cool, considering it being the middle of summer, and I was just out cruising without a plan or destination.  At this point in my worship service, I was in Independence, close to the Truman Library, and I came across a man standing on a street corner.  He had on a shirt too small for his size, hair that had not seen a comb for some time, and was facing a brick retaining wall with his back to the intersection and to me.  Normally when I see people in a similar location, they would be waiting for the light to turn, cross the street, and be on their way.  Not this guy.  As I got closer and was able to glance across to see what was on the other side of him that had been previously blocked by the overstuffed shirt, there were 6 bottles of what appeared to be Bud Light, all lined up on top of the brick retaining wall.  Lined up as if sitting in a church pew.  I could have seen myself staring at such a spectacle too, but he was carrying on a conversation and was pointing at one in particular.  By that time I was motoring passed, repeating…”Please don’t break down.  Please don’t break down.  Not here, not today!”  I’ve never had a monologue with a beer before, but if I had, I’d hope some serious help would follow.  I continued on.

This evening I ran to the store to pick up some grocery items and to grab a quick bite to eat while Miki was sleeping.  Taco Bell.  Not high on Miki’s list of acceptable fast food joints, so I don’t get to Taco Bell very often.  I was ready to get crazy.  I am all excited to order 3 Taco Supremes as I pull in behind a woman in the drive through lane.  The evening is cooling off nicely, the car windows are down, and now I am lucky enough to witness the ordering of  a meal that does not exist at Taco Bell.  The woman is ordering her dream meal by describing it to the poor guy on the other end of the microphone/speaker.  I can only imagine viewing his reaction, as he politely explains for the 3^rd time that they have no meal by that description… as he begins to beat his head against the cash register.  And then as if a light comes on above her head and the previous 5 minute description of a meal with Spanish rice evaporates, she orders a Nachos Bell Grande and dejectedly pulls forward.  At this point you could have taken her car from her and she would not have cared.  She wanted her Spanish Rice Taco Bell Dream Meal, that she was sure they had, but that is all it was…a dream.

Everything is relative and we all wear glasses that shape our perspective.  Since this journey began, my perspective has evolved from thinking this won’t take long to fix (comparatively speaking) to… what the hell!  A good day is when Miki’s body is in sync with her meds.  A good day is when I get the mail and there are no medical bills to confuse me.  A good day is when I don’t imagine snakes all over the bike trail (it is really not that bad, I am making myself sound like I may be the brother to the beer preacher or cousin to the hallucinating Mexican meal woman).  Miki would probably tell you that all of her days have been good since this all started.  Me… I will just nod my head in agreement.

My Zen from Home:  A nice perk to being the husband of a “sick” wife, is that people ask how you are doing too.  How are you holding up?  Is there anything we can do to help out?  If I were a smart man, I would make a list and pass it out to those friends and family that know better than me, that there are things I should ask for help with.  Why is it, that I want to do everything I possibly can for Miki?  I don’t need any help right now, I tell those that inquire.  I can do it all, I am thinking.  That thought has lingered in my little head since the first few offers of help came in.  A few days ago I figured it out.  An epiphany (I’ve not had many!).  By definition, an experience of sudden and striking realization.  While washing the dishes from the last two meals after putting in a load of laundry, while taking a break from vacuuming to get Miki some more water and some fresh ice chips, it hit me… I can control these things!  I can determine if I do whites or dark colors today.  I can wash the dishes after breakfast, lunch, or dinner…or not at all.  I can control the level of the water in her water mug and the amount of ice she uses to keep moisture in her mouth, since the painkillers have a funny way of eliminating it.  BUT, I cannot control her pain or the distance she can walk without taking a break.  I have nothing to do with her appetite or the muscle atrophy in her arms and legs that carried sheets of plywood onto the roof of our old house.  And I cannot control the “drop foot” and cramping that prevents her from riding her motorcycle on a cool summer morning.  So while I am able, I will control as many things as I can, until she can join back in the fun.  So for those of you that have offered, it is and will always be appreciated, but for now, no thank you.

P.S.  You have just finished the 100th post on Walliebloggin'!!!  You have got to find something better to do with you time, but thanks for coming along!

Hurry Up and Wait...

It has been 31 days since Miki crawled out from the back of the car with the dogs, arriving home from North Carolina.  The onset of her right leg cramping, the drop foot dropping, the hospital stay with great care, the medical bills arriving like get well cards, the weekly visits to receive no news, and me becoming a caregiver as time goes on.  Now don’t laugh too loud concerning the last one on the list.  It has taken patience, humor, creativity, patience, compassion, anger, sleeplessness, patience, courage, and a number of other character traits to see Miki slip in her physical strength, but not in her resolve to beat whatever it is that is ringing the doorbell and running away.  It almost sounds as if I were describing myself while I was still teaching, or like I have referenced before, what it must be like to be a parent.  But at least for most parents, you wouldn’t be worrying about how fast the tumor is growing or how fast the cancer is spreading.

During the last 31 phases of the moon, in the back of most of our minds, the question has been what kind of cancer is it?  And today, we are just as close to knowing, as we were 31 days ago.  We know the spot on the lung has not gotten any bigger, so at least it does not appear to be growing any too rapidly.  The sacrum would require another MRI to make a comparison, to know if it is changing.  That would expose Miki to more radiation than is necessary at this time, so we wait.  We wait on the results of one test that our oncologist appears to be putting all his eggs into.  When you have cells that like to disguise themselves and seem to be unknown, they must be compared to others that are of known origin.  That is what we are waiting on.  A “molecular study.”  And as we discussed this with the doctor yesterday, it didn’t take me long to realize I was needing a medical knowledge life preserver, when I pursued trying to understand the biopsy testing that was being carried out to identify these damn cancer cells.  At that point I accepted the life preserver and knew I just had to trust.  Just like taking my car to an auto mechanic and asking him to fix that noise coming from under the hood.  It was out of my hands and I had to trust he would do the job and do it right.

So, we hurry up and wait.  31 sunrises and 31 sunsets.  Waiting to get out of the back of the car after a thirteen hour trip.  Waiting for pain relief.  Waiting to find out what the cause of the pain is.  Waiting to learn more about the cause.  Waiting to wait while we wait.  During the wait time, there have been some really great connections though.  Connections between Miki and family, Miki and friends, Miki and me, Miki and Miki.  The outpouring of support has been tremendous.  It has been flowing in the form of kind words, actions, tasty sensations, sounds, hugs, and ice.  And Miki has made it clear that you don’t even think about her, unless you have a positive thought in your head at the same time.  So the wait time is filled with you and good mojo.

Over the last 31 rotations of the Earth, as word of Miki has spread through networks of friends and family, there are the coincidental connections too.  For example, we have some neighbors, down and around the way, we met though walking our dogs in the park.  During this last week, I met David on his way to work almost everyday, as I was walking our dogs through the neigborhood.  It was always within about 25 yards of the same place every time.  The first time he slowed his big red truck down and stopped, I brought him up to speed on Miki and the last few weeks.  Since then, it seems like at least every other day we meet and he always begins with, “How’s your wife doing?”  And he always finishes the same way, “Tell her we’re keeping her in our thoughts.”  Now when I see his wife, Kathleen, walking their dog each morning, I can almost feel the good vibes she sends as they pass by our house, 75 yards away in the park.  My old team from Brittany Hill has spread the word through their families, Miki’s Healing Touch network of friends has spread her story, and slowly but surely our teaching community is hearing about this as each day passes.  For something that you usually don’t shout from the mountaintops, it is amazing how caring and support seeps out, like water filtering down through the Earth, all the way back to you.

Today we make a conscience effort to get organized with our records, receipts, reports, and other “r” words that will help get us though this event.  We’ll try to make nice with our insurance company as we try to make sure they are supporting the financial end of this journey.  And we begin to come to grips with decisions that we will be making in terms of hospitals, doctors, and treatment, it begs the old question of…What to do when you come to a fork in the road?… Take it!  Miki will lead the charge down which ever "fork" she feels is best for her.   And as we all second guess and Monday morning quarter back all we want, it is not our path, it is hers.  You don't have to like it, just respect it.

My Zen from Home:  We are all caregivers to some extent every day.  You see it at the grocery store when someone gives their cart to the person behind them, who is waiting to get one.  You see it when someone motions to a car to pull out in front of them, so they don’t have to wait for the traffic to clear.  You see it in the unselfish acts people do every day when they put another person before themselves.  You can also feel it in the smiles, touches, and thoughts you put out there each day.  Don’t forget to dish it out to those closest to you also.  They may be the ones being overlooked and need the care the most.  Now, so you don’t think I have gotten soft, here are a few funnies…