Countdown Day 14: Blue Plate Special

So begins our countdown. Here are Roger's 112 Xeloda pills. Four in the morning, four in the evening for the next 14 days. As they say, "Down the hatch..."

365 Million Miles

Here is a photo we took of Jupiter orbiting 365 million miles from Earth. There's something crazy about looking up into the sky and seeing this shining orb and knowing that it is the LARGEST planet in our solar system. We took a look at it through our little binoculars and saw three moons. THREE MOONS! There we were looking at our harvest moon and three of Jupiter's moon, and were incredibly delighted by this one night on earth.
So, we waved good bye to summer and hello to Jupiter on the same night. Are we lucky, or what?

In other news, Roger is on his week off from chemo. He has a rash that his oncologist thinks is not a side effect, but an allergic reaction. He's going back to see the doc on Monday when he will determine if Roger can proceed with his second set of treatments or go on to another protocol. In the meantime, we have been to the "big city" to get my computer fixed. The wonderful young man who worked with us admired my desktop photo (it's the new header on the blog). I showed him a pic of one of the bobcats we've photographed. He told us when he's not working the help desk at Apple he's an NFL photographer for the Oakland Raiders. And not only that, he's from my home state of New Jersey. We shook hands. What more can I say? I gave him so many people, I think he must have given me Joe Montana. Ha ha! Life is funny.

Updates of Various Sorts

Roger has started feeling some side effects of the chemotherapy. Some skin rash and malaise. According to him, it's not awful, and it hasn't slowed him down at all. He still has three more days of chemo before he gets a week off. Our mantra is, "so far so good." The oncologist told us he is not adverse to lowering the dosage, if discomforts levels rise. I started to wonder what it would be like for Roger to do ten days on and ten days off, instead of lowering the dose and keeping the routine at two weeks on, one week off. Appointment with the oncologist on Monday, we'll ask him all kinds of questions.
We bought a new camera last week. It was a crazy impulse buy, but we're still glad we did it. The old camera was five years old. It was starting to be less reliable, although the photos were still okay. Something was off, maybe it was the photographer unwilling to admit aging eyes and a shakier grip. (That photographer is me, LOL!) So, we bought a Lumix DMC FZ35. It's their 2009 model, and we got a pretty good deal, one our budget could almost put up with. (Have we mentioned how expensive medical care is even with Medicare? Oy.) I'm learning how to use the camera, but it's much harder this time than it was five years ago. Geez, aging is an ongoing annoyance. I love how close this new camera lets me zoom on its "close-up" setting. Someday I'm going to learn how to shoot like a real photographer, instead of point and click. Until then, this is really fun.
I did a post five years ago on September 17th. Same day, and now the 40th anniversary. I have no words of wisdom. Life goes on. Once I was 18, now I am 58. Same heart beating.

Home And Already Doing Chores

All the surgeon said was, "Don't lift anything heavier than ten pounds." Roger has taken that to heart and is doing everything he can without the heavy lifting. Yes, this makes me nervous, but look at the face. He's delighted to be washing Indigo's truck. Happiness must tip the scales on the side of healing.

All Together Now

Roger's surgery is scheduled for Monday morning 7:30 am PDST. If you want to know what time that is in your part of the world, please Check here. He's going to spend at least three hours on the operating table. Then some time in the narcotic haze of morphine while he recovers. Post-operative hospital stay is expected to be between 6-8 days. What we would like to ask of you, our incredibly loving and supportive virtual family here, is to send him your very best wishes and healing vibes while he's in surgery and after. We don't think there's any way to alter outcomes, but we do think you can raise his endorphins with love. So, let's do that.

We are grateful for all that you do. We'll keep you posted.

All together now!

The Normal and Not-So Normal Life

I keep thinking I should write something profound, eloquent and poetic about these past few days. Or maybe it should be a blistering rant about the unfairness of everything. But I can't seem to find the right rhythm. We're staring our philosophies in the face. Roger says, "Well if it's metastasized, I'm toast." Yes, that's the horrible truth. We've read the survival statistics for that scenario and they are absolutely grim. We won't know for a while yet what the status is on that large mass because the gastroenterologist and the surgeon are concentrating on determining how to treat the smaller lesion. Even though it may or may not be cancerous (the biopsy on that one has been sent to another lab for a second opinion), it still needs to be removed. If it's not malignant can it be taken out piecemeal during additional colonoscopies? Should it be removed surgically? These are the questions.

The surgeon is a wonderful, avuncular older man. If he wasn't a surgeon he'd make a very good soft-spoken pediatrician. Roger said he felt like a child, when this tall man raised the examining table and then gently bent to listen to his heart. The surgeon explained how he would perform the surgery, recommending a full opening rather than the more popular smaller incision for laparoscopy. He told us that patients come in after reading the internet, and ask for laparscopic surgery. He doesn't think that's the best way to go in these situations. We trust his experience on this. Yes, of course, he should open Roger up "larger than his hand" and do the work that needs to be done. Our mantra is: Fix This Now.
On trying to maintain life here in the normal way: Roger moved the bird feeder Thursday afternoon. We've been chasing the squirrels for a few days, after they figured out how to leap from the rocks to just above the squirrel-proof baffle. Hah, it is truly baffling how they figure that stuff out with their little rodent brains. The little blind and lame squirrel (pictured above) stopped showing up two days ago. He hadn't been looking very well lately. My twin brother said I should call Wildlife Rehabilitation and Release to pick the little fellow up. I said, "No I don't think so. Why deprive some coyote its natural meal?" Poor little thing. He was limping all the time, a real wreck of a creature. I often put out secret little stashes for him, hoping to cure him with extra food. Sometimes he even found them, and I would clap and sing.
The plan for now: The next appointment with the surgeon is Tuesday. Supposedly the pathology report will be back from the lab at the University of Washington. Then there really will be a plan on how to restore Roger back to his good health.

Stupid colon. Stupid cancer. Stupid labs. Stupid squirrel.