Outside at MDA in sock monkey slipper socks post-surgery. Couldn't do anything about the stupid stockings & gown though. Ha! I knew that'd get your attention. I expect my blog stats to shoot through the roof on this one based on the title alone. The title really should be "Black & White, or 50 Shades of Gray?" but who'd read that? My wording choice really does have a place in the story though, in addition to it's function as a titillating attention grabber. It indicates where I've been living my life for awhile now, and where I believe I'll continue to live from here on out.
To catch you all up, I had a tumor show up on my liver when I had scans at the end of February. This time there was no 3 month wait-and-see as it was it was pretty obvious what it was. So off I trundled to the liver surgeon down the hall that same day they read the scans. He felt the location of the tumor made it resectable. (Aside: my spellchecker is putting a red, squiggly line under resectable. It wants to replace it with respectable. A respectable tumor? I think not!) The part that gave him pause was I'd just had a major surgery a few months before (the lung metastasis). Fortunately, my overall and otherwise good condition served me well again and the doc felt like I could handle the risk of 2 major surgeries close together. After weighing all the options, my medical oncologist agreed with the surgeon and we scheduled the liver resection for March 21. Lucky for me, March is "Buy a liver resection, get a hernia repair free!" month at MD Anderson. It seems my original and now defunct ostomy site had herniated and needed to be repaired, so that was added to the to-do list. Since I'd have to stay in Houston again for about 2 weeks total, and I've had ENOUGH of hotels, I took the camper down again to the same South Main RV Park I used during radiation in 2015, which is located 3 miles S of MD Anderson. It's walkable or they offer a shuttle service. Perfect. Mom agreed to drive down with me, and Joe flew in the day before surgery. Armed with my new sock monkey hospital socks, I checked into MDA for my BOGO surgery special.
To catch you all up, I had a tumor show up on my liver when I had scans at the end of February. This time there was no 3 month wait-and-see as it was it was pretty obvious what it was. So off I trundled to the liver surgeon down the hall that same day they read the scans. He felt the location of the tumor made it resectable. (Aside: my spellchecker is putting a red, squiggly line under resectable. It wants to replace it with respectable. A respectable tumor? I think not!) The part that gave him pause was I'd just had a major surgery a few months before (the lung metastasis). Fortunately, my overall and otherwise good condition served me well again and the doc felt like I could handle the risk of 2 major surgeries close together. After weighing all the options, my medical oncologist agreed with the surgeon and we scheduled the liver resection for March 21. Lucky for me, March is "Buy a liver resection, get a hernia repair free!" month at MD Anderson. It seems my original and now defunct ostomy site had herniated and needed to be repaired, so that was added to the to-do list. Since I'd have to stay in Houston again for about 2 weeks total, and I've had ENOUGH of hotels, I took the camper down again to the same South Main RV Park I used during radiation in 2015, which is located 3 miles S of MD Anderson. It's walkable or they offer a shuttle service. Perfect. Mom agreed to drive down with me, and Joe flew in the day before surgery. Armed with my new sock monkey hospital socks, I checked into MDA for my BOGO surgery special.
Go ahead - count the tubes. They drew 13 tubes/syringes of blood ahead of surgery. Sheesh.
We've seen The Little Bastard, and apparently he looks like Kim Jong Un. Surgery went well. The tumor was right on the surface of my liver, which caused concern as the surface-mounted models sometimes attach themselves to other surfaces. However, they were able to visualize my entire abdominal cavity and found nothing else growing on any other surfaces. Phew! Also, they ultrasounded my whole liver while inside, and it too appeared clean. I met post-surgery with my oncologist and we decided for the 2nd time not to do any additional chemo at this point. We are actively conserving our weapons. My cancer appears to be like Kim Jong Un: a dangerous Little Bastard that we have to learn to live with. Therefore, we're keeping a strike force in the area but are not launching the attack unless we really need it.
Now, back to the "gray" part of the story. Maybe you'd forgotten (or thought I had), but that was the title way up above. Let me sum up my former black & white philosophy like this:
Now, back to the "gray" part of the story. Maybe you'd forgotten (or thought I had), but that was the title way up above. Let me sum up my former black & white philosophy like this:
I used to think of having cancer as pretty black and white. If you got it, you went through treatments.
After that (in my mind at least) you were either cured or you were dying. Simple as that.
After that (in my mind at least) you were either cured or you were dying. Simple as that.
I am a black and white person by nature. I've always believed when we humans get into the gray areas, we start to get in trouble. You can't be a little bit dishonest, just like you can't be a little bit pregnant is my classic example. Thus, this is what it looked like graphically:
My old cancer graph had only 2 points. Pretty simple & straightforward.
One end or the other, baby. It's a binary system and you're either a 0 or a 1. Simple, straightforward, and easily quantified. Well dang it, seems I was wrong. I have never written that sentence before. You might want to screenshot that statement for future use.
As it turns out, I've had to accept that there's 50+ shades of gray in between my former black & white extremes. In fact, it's not even gray, it's a spectrum. As you may remember from HS geometry, a line has an infinite number of points. Indeed this does too. It's been a difficult concept for me to grasp, because it means living with uncertainty. Where's my neat little package with all the loose ends tied up? Dang it; life's messy, and neither you nor I should expect this to be the last installment of the saga. But if I refuse to accept life on the spectrum, then I might as well give it up, because then there are only 2 choices, right? I don't know about you, but that's not a good place to be. Therefore, I have come to realize my cancer situation is somewhere on the slider. And it's a BIG slider with infinite points:
As it turns out, I've had to accept that there's 50+ shades of gray in between my former black & white extremes. In fact, it's not even gray, it's a spectrum. As you may remember from HS geometry, a line has an infinite number of points. Indeed this does too. It's been a difficult concept for me to grasp, because it means living with uncertainty. Where's my neat little package with all the loose ends tied up? Dang it; life's messy, and neither you nor I should expect this to be the last installment of the saga. But if I refuse to accept life on the spectrum, then I might as well give it up, because then there are only 2 choices, right? I don't know about you, but that's not a good place to be. Therefore, I have come to realize my cancer situation is somewhere on the slider. And it's a BIG slider with infinite points:
I know what you're thinking. "Barb, your artwork is incredible. Truly, you missed your calling and your talents are being wasted on cattle ranching."
Maybe it's easier to think of cancer as a chronic, manageable condition. I first heard that term several years ago, in my pre-cancer life. I didn't like it then, no surprise. It totally conflicted with my black & white world. But now I'm better able to see it that way. Kind of like any number of chronic conditions that millions deal with every day. Maybe not what I wanted, and certainly not benign, but I'll work to manage it while continuing on with my life.
The sobering fact is, we all live somewhere on the spectrum, no matter what our health situation. The day we were born, we were plopped onto the graph of life, rolling merrily along, never knowing exactly where we are at any given time. And we don't really need to know where we are per se as long as we realize that life's a gift, not a guarantee, and it's to be cultivated, savored and enjoyed. Obviously a cliched and unoriginal thought, but cliches arise for a reason, don't they?
The sobering fact is, we all live somewhere on the spectrum, no matter what our health situation. The day we were born, we were plopped onto the graph of life, rolling merrily along, never knowing exactly where we are at any given time. And we don't really need to know where we are per se as long as we realize that life's a gift, not a guarantee, and it's to be cultivated, savored and enjoyed. Obviously a cliched and unoriginal thought, but cliches arise for a reason, don't they?
The Lemonade Stand is Open
 When-life-gives-you-lemons, carpe diem, glass half full, whatever you want to call it, I'm a firm believer. I decided to take the camper to Houston for this trip, on the theory I could make a mini spring break vacation out of the deal and Mom thought a camping trip sounded fun. Well, I was really questioning that decision after driving the rig through almost non-stop, narrow-lane construction traffic from the KS/OK line down all the way to Houston. I was just starting to semi-relax, knowing we were almost there (and thus, almost to cocktail hour) when we blew a tire on the 5 lane beltway around Houston. We got off and found an abandoned gas station where we could at least pull the rig out of traffic. For a couple of reasons, we weren't having much success in getting the thing changed and I was starting to think about swearing. A lot. With really bad words I knew Mom wouldn't like. Also, I was going to throw a few hand tools. Just before I could launch off the deep end, something spectacular happened that saved Mom from my temper tantrum. Knowing that my life has been marked with getting lucky more times than any one person should (I call it "God watches out for children and idiots."), what do you think happened then? Yep. A Boy Scout (he was wearing a Boy Scout shirt) and his Dad pulled in and had us back on the road in under an hour. You can't make this stuff up! |  Tense driving all the way down to Houston required cocktail hour at the end of the day. Mom & I prefer Manhattans. |
| Mom & I pulled into the South Main RV park a little behind schedule but in one piece. Now the only thing left to do was back the beast into our very tight space made tighter with big trees. I was "ably assisted" by some oil rig workers who were very free with all kinds of advice, being as they were several beers into their Sunday evening. They glad for this bright spot in what had looked like a pretty dull evening and settled in for the show. ("We'll let the Yankee lady try 'til she gives up, then we'll show her how it's done.") On my first attempt, they stopped me with waving arms, telling me I was going to have to pull forward 'cause I wasn't going to make it. I got out, took a look and respectfully said I thought I might be just fine. They settled back in with knowing looks waiting for their "I told you so" moment, but I disappointed them by slipping the sucker right into place. I earned a little roustabout respect and Mom & I got a dinner invitation out of it. They were pretty sure I drove semis for a living. The Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo was going on this whole time, so after I was out of the hospital but before I was released to go home, Mom & I spent a day there. Wow, is that a HUGE event! We took in some ranch horse events, wandered the barns and trade shows, and made our last stop the "Fried WHAT?!" stand, which we saw on the news the night before. As the name implies, they fry all sorts of delectable treats. We partook of the cookie dough wrapped Oreo, fried of course. Yum. I sent Mom home on an UBER and I walked up to MD Anderson for a blood draw ahead of my next morning check up. Coincidentally, Mom & I had wondered what our Fried What?! escapade might do to one's blood sugar. Well, we found out. Mine was 150 when I got the results the next day! Fortunately, everything else was good, so they cleared me to go home. |  Looking up through the trees at our camping spot in Houston, just a 3 mile walk from MD Anderson. Beats the heck out of a hotel room!  They'll fry anything at the Houston Livestock Show & Rodeo. They may be on to something. |
Mom & I had decided to spend a day or two on Galveston Island before heading N, so after the tornado cleared (I'm not kidding), we hooked up and headed to Galveston. We spent 2 nights there and it was lovely. We had a campsite right on the beach, toured around, ate some seafood and had ourselves a little R&R. Then we started the 3 day trek north. I was on blood thinner shots and they didn't want me sitting very long, so we drove only 5 hours a day. Stopped 1 night at a park in N Texas, then spent the next night at Coffeyville, KS where we watched Laura Cate show cattle the next morning and headed for home! It made a very nice getaway. Just sorry I had to have the surgery to get the getaway.
And that brings us to today. We're in the middle of Artificial Insemination (AI) season on the ranch, where we'll breed over 600 cows before we're done. For those of you not in ag, AI involves a lot of time, mud, manure and work, but it gets us ahead genetically. 2 years ago at this same time, I made a plea for cow AI help from a hospital bed in Houston as my surgical recovery was taking it's sweet time and Joe was short-handed. We were blessed with an abundance of help and it reminded just how good of friends we have. Remembering that makes me smile. This year, I had another surgery, but this time I'm recovered and blessed to be smack dab in the middle of the cow work. We'll finish up in early June, then on June 25th, I'll head back to Houston for another set of scans - next update then.
Thanks for your patience with the updating process. I promise not to make you wait a month and a half next time. And while I'm making promises, I will also promise to continue to enjoy the full and colorful spectrum of life. Thanks for sharing the journey my friends.
Thanks for your patience with the updating process. I promise not to make you wait a month and a half next time. And while I'm making promises, I will also promise to continue to enjoy the full and colorful spectrum of life. Thanks for sharing the journey my friends.
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