Mies en place

(Translation: Everything in its place)

This was Dad's favorite phrase to use in the kitchen. It basically means to prepare for your next meal ahead of time. Chop the veggies, set out the ingredients, wash the prep dishes before you start cooking, etc. I can vividly recall my father running around our kitchen island hollering out "Time to mies en place!" hours before we were to have guests over for dinner. He loved to pretend that he could speak foreign languages. :)

So tonight is New Year's Eve and instead of venture out on a night when couples everywhere smooch at the stroke of midnight, our couple-less family is having a Game Night tournament. And my job is to make our famous vegetarian chipotle chili. Mmmm.... Everytime I've made this recipe, it gets rave reviews. Thank you, Cooking Light October 2006 issue! Or was it November?

So I'm off to mies en place! Dad would be so pleased. Happy New Year everyone - see you in 2008!

And We're Off

Ventured back to the gym this afternoon to try my luck with the stationary cycle. I survived for 45 minutes but have been completely knocked out for the rest of the day. Baby steps, Teeny, baby steps.

But having successfully navigated the crazy holiday weight-crunch (thanks to the ol' gallstone), I'm more determined than ever to stay on track. See Exhibit A to the right - my Traineo.com weight loss tracker. You can sign on to be my "motivator" at their website. It always helps to get encouragement from a few coaches. :)

Given this new lease on life and in honor of the upcoming New Year festivities, I therefore unveil my new campaign: "Healthy Teeny 2008". It's way more than a weight loss goal (although losing weight and fitting back into my favorite outfits will be a major residual plus). It's a plan to carry out the promise I made to myself and to my father to make 2008 a better year for my mind, body and spirit. It's kind of a "do-ever" on my adulthood, which has had its fair share of trials and tribulations.

A new Teeny. With a new 'do (to dye or not to dye). And a new bod. And a new city (when I start nursing school next fall). And a new future. Here we go...

We Did It

And I must say, rather successfully.

There were certainly moments when tears were shed. But that is to be expected on this first Christmas without Daddy (and every Christmas from now on, for that matter). Gifts with great sentimental value were exchanged. And we visited Dad for a long while this afternoon. Although I've adjusted to the reality of seeing his name on the gravestone, I still feel like I've been punched in the stomach every time I sneak a look.

The good news is, there were also a lot of moments that Dad would have loved. From the Christmas Eve festivities (read: chaos and debauchery as only our family can do it) to the Christmas morning traditions to the annual delivery of homemade tamales from our wonderful friend Ari, Christmas '07 was certainly one to be treasured.

And of course, when this family celebrates the holidays, we can't help but add a little comic relief to the mix. The highlight of this year was walking into church at 4:30 for the Christmas Eve service, only to find out that this year they switched the time to 4:00 instead of 5:00. We made it just in time for the pastor's meditation and a couple of carols, and then we were out the door again. And we couldn't help but notice that we weren't the only ones who made this blooper. 'Guess us Christmas Eve Christians/heathens didn't get the memo. Daddy would have checked ahead of time but we've been going there at 5:00 for so many years, we figured we were safe. Oops!

Honorable Comedic Mention goes to my sister Kayley for intentionally becoming the center of attention for the entirety of Christmas Eve. 5 words, Lil' Sis: "On behalf of my mother..."

This is the kind of Christmas my father taught us to create. And I can't help but imagine him watching us from above with happiness and pride and quite a bit of sadness that he's unable to take in the fun himself. Of course, knowing him, he's befriended everyone in heaven and probably threw a Christmas bash that put ours to shame.

Merry Christmas, Daddy. We did the best we could but it will never be the same. We love you!

A Man of Tradition

If I could capture my father with one word...well, actually that would be impossible, but if I narrowed it down to three descriptors, one would have to be "traditional". Not in the imposing, this-is-the-way-things-are way but in the celebratory, I-love-to-create-a-legacy way. Whether we were doing birthday strings or cooking a Thanksgiving turkey on the ole family rotisserie, there were certain traditions that Dad cherished because they were part of our fabric.

And then there was Christmas. If Dad loved Halloween and adored Thanksgiving, he treasured Christmas. It was the one time of year when we knew we would all be together. From the homemade advent calendar, to waiting until we were all home to put the angel atop the tree, to planning an elaborate Christmas Eve feast, our family was swimming in daily Christmas traditions. We could always count on Dad storming in to the house like a puppy dog on his last day of work before the holiday, hollering "WE'RE ON VACATION!" And starting the celebration on December 23rd with a "Merry Christmas Eve-Eve" greeting. And videotaping his now grown children waiting at the bottom of the stairs on Christmas morning to be released into a living room wonderland of festive music and overflowing stockings.

We have managed somehow to keep most of those traditions alive this year. We still baked up a storm of Christmas cookies (actually, mom did). We still posed for a picture when putting the angel on the tree. We'll still have a big Christmas Eve party with an elaborate meal (this year it's cornish game hens atop a Christmas wreath medley of vegetables and wild rice...yum!). My sister and brother and I will still go to the 5:00 service at church tonight.

And yet nothing feels the same as it has for the previous 26 years. The man who created most of these moments isn't here. And that seems to make all the difference...

I'm Ba-ack!

As surgeries go, cholecystectomies have the reputation of being among the "easiest" (as if there's such a thing as an easy surgery!). Now I understand why...

I checked in at the hospital at 1:30 pm on Wednesday. Up to the short-stay unit to change into the oh-so-flattering open-backed hospital gown (how many folks d'you think I inadvertently mooned while admitted? I'm taking guesstimates). Then I got a wheelchair ride down to pre-op holding where the poor unfortunate anesthesiologist attempted to find a cooperative vein. I pity the fool who must locate a vessel in these arms. And those IV needles are freakin' HUGE! Mommy was there to hold my hand through it all, and my surgical nurse successfully distracted me with her own gallstone horror story of being diagnosed while pregnant and unable to undergo surgery until after her baby was born. And I thought my situation was awful.

The IV successfully started after 15 minutes of poking and prodding, I was pumped full of Versed and wheeled into the OR by 4 pm. All I remember is greeting the nurses with a huge if somewhat goofy grin and scooting from the gurney to the operating table.

30 seconds later (or so it seemed) I was stirring and being told that I was in recovery and all had gone well. Already?

By 6:30 I was back in the short-stay unit emerging from my haze and fearful of the impending nausea. My last experience with general anesthesia...not so pleasant. But either the drugs or my tolerance have improved - no upchucking for me! Soon afterward they proclaimed me ready for discharge when I successfully got up and used the little girl's room, and I was home by 8 that evening.

Since then I've medicated myself through the worst of the post-op pain (thank you Vicodin!) and although I'm still nowhere near 100%, I'm feelin' pretty groovy.

And so relieved that this is over!

Catch Ya on the Flip Side

T-minus 2.5 hours until I make my appearance at patient check-in. T-minus 5 hours until I go under the knife. T-minus (hopefully) 7 hours until this is over with.

See you in a few days! :)

Thank You Daddy!

Well my guardian angel has gotten right to work 'cuz the pieces keep falling into place for this surgery. I had a fantastic consult with the doctor this morning - he was friendly, informative, clear and took as much time as I needed. He even drew little diagrams to explain what was going on now and what the surgery would do.

Then I went to meet with his scheduling nurse in the hopes they might be able to squeeze me in as early as possible in January (he's out of town next week until Jan. 2nd and I figured there's no way they could find a place for me this week).

Lo and behold, when his scheduling nurse called the hospital about OR availability, someone had JUST called to cancel an appointment for tomorrow. Whadduya know!?!?! I should be feeling human again by the weekend and pretty decent by Christmas. And I'll be ready and raring to go for our family trip to Hawaii in January. Nice.

So on Wednesday, December 19th at about 4 pm PST, think happy thoughts and say a little prayer. I hate general anesthesia but I hate gallstones more.

This Is Getting Ridiculous...

...and unhealthy. Got on the ol' scale this morning and have dropped 3 more pounds in the last two days. That's minus 24 pounds since Thanksgiving.

Not that I'm complaining - this is a great start to my weight loss goals for the year - but at what cost? I'm most definitely malnourished.

I just want to make sure that when the pounds come off, they stay off and that I do this in a way that makes me healthier and stronger. So the minute I feel halfway decent post-surgery, it's back to the gym I go!

Thank God for Small Favors (And Vicodin)

I must have sounded really pitiful on the phone last week because one of the surgeon's assistants I spoke with convinced him to see me for a consult this coming Tuesday (their first available appointment on the books wasn't until January). Hopefully that means he'll be just as willing to squeeze me in for the actual surgery.

My only other option is to hop on over to Wendy's and stuff my face with a Jalapeno Cheddar Double Melt, let it do its magic on my digestive system (spicy + greasy + cheesy = my gallbladder working overtime) and then crawl to the ER in genuinely unbearable pain, hoping that they get me in for surgery right then and there.

While my situation is not life-threatening, here's the thing... I have the option of not eating and avoiding the pain but also being on the verge of passing out from weakness (and also not being able to drive for fear of fainting at the wheel- yes, it's that bad). No fun. Or I could suck it up and eat, then nip the pain in the bud with a little white pill. Better, but it means being fuzzy for the next several hours. And since there's very little in my stomach to help absorb the medication, the effects last that much longer. So I'm light-headed and dizzy either way - take your pick between malnutrition or narcotics.

I hate to admit it, but there is silver living for this one ... at least it is serving as a distraction from the "Merry" bit of "Merry Christmas".

Paging Dr. Teeny

Being a nerd comes in handy sometimes. Like when you conduct your own differential diagnosis (see below) and turn out to be exactly right. That white boomerang I saw yesterday at my ultrasound is most definitely a gallstone. A 1.3 cm gallstone, to be exact. "Quite large," to quote my doctor.

Doc gave me the option of trying a few more tests but said based on the results and my symptoms, he's pretty confident that this is the source of my pain. So he made me a copy of my ultrasound report, gave me a list of general surgeons he recommends, and sent me on my way.

The trick will be finding someone willing to squeeze me in before they leave for the holidays. A cholecystectomy (that's gallbladder removal for those who were curious) is not typically considered urgent unless you arrive at the emergency room puking your guts out. Nevermind that I can't eat anything without enormous pain and have lost 9 pounds in 2 weeks. Nevermind that my supervisor told me that waiting until your gallbladder actually ruptures is bad news for you. One doctor's office told me I'd have to wait until mid-February. As if! But another office has an appointment definitely available on January 2nd. A little better and at least it means I won't be susceptible to the added Christmas poundage. They also said they'd see if I could get worked into the December schedule, if at all possible.

Oh well, at least I have a prescription for Vicodin now. Pain? What pain?

This Is My Gallbladder

Okay, okay, so it's not really my gallbladder (thanks, Google Images). But it's pretty close.

I went for an abdominal ultrasound today because my doctor wanted to get a closer look at what was going on inside that belly of mine. Lo and behold, when they got to the liver/gallbladder, what should appear but a large boomerang-shaped white mass. Also known as a gallstone.

Dammit.

Now I am no radiologist and I could be way off-base, but when I did some research over the weekend and looked at images similar to the one above, I had a sneaking suspicion that this could be the problem. And when they dug that transducer thingamajig (nice health care lingo, Teeny) into my abdomen - which, by the way is pretty uncomfortable - I saw the same image pop up that I'd been staring at all weekend. Put it this way, if it's not a gallstone I saw today, I don't know what else it could be.

Now of all the things it could be, this is one of the more benign. It is fixable and it means that the horrific pain I've been experiencing will soon be a thing of the past. Even better, it means that I'm not losing my mind - I was genuinely concerned that the pain was psychosomatic and I was in need of some serious therapy.

The bad news is, fixing it more than likely requires surgery. Again, a pretty benign procedure that entails removing my gallbladder laparascopically. Discharged from the hospital within 24 hours and fully recovered within a week. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am. And if I thought I got a jump start on my weight loss goals by having zero appetite (for fear of being doubled over in pain for hours after each meal), this is icing on the cake for my poor little bathroom scale.

Still, going under the knife is not appealing to me right about now. Especially because general anesthesia and I don't get along very well. And it's Christmas time. And I am not a fan of spending the night in the same hospital where my Dad suffered for a full month. That place haunts me.

But I guess I should be thankful. It could be so much worse. Who needs a gallbladder anyway?

Differential Diagnosis

2007 is going into the Hall of Fame as Teeny's worst year ever. Now I'm sick. With what is the question.

It started out innocently enough as an upset stomach and just feeling kind of crappy overall. I toughed it out for a couple of days before taking off work and was starting to feel better with rest. I thought maybe it was just complete exhaustion from a hellish several months or maybe even physical manifestations of my grief.

Then bam, last week my stomach started cramping up in ways I have never before experienced. It wasn't the pain of food poisoning (been there, done that), or PMS cramps (know those well too) - it was in my upper abdomen and it HURT! My doctor prescribed an antacid in case it was a stress-related "nervous stomach" and an anti-spasmodic medicine and said to come back next week if the pain continues. He did order some tests (serum enzyme levels, stool cultures - ew!, etc.), all of which have come back normal.

Unfortunately the pills have done jack for me. And as I started to pay closer attention I began to notice certain patterns. For example, the worst pain kicked in within an hour of a meal, with episodes lasting up to two or three hours. No matter how I shifted positions, there was no relief. I moved around hoping to distract myself from the pain but it didn't really do anything.

Needless to say, this has not really encouraged me to eat anything. As long as there is nothing in my stomach, it is mild discomfort that I can tolerate (for now). Talk about an effective - but dangerous - weight loss plan. And then there is the "bubble factor" - usually when I have an upset stomach, drinking Sprite or ginger ale settles everything down. Not so much this time. In fact, my Sprite last Wednesday almost killed me after I drank it, the pain was so bad.

So...my first phone call tomorrow morning will be to the doctor. I believe the next step is an abdominal ultrasound.

Any wannabe (or real) M.D.'s in the house who want to solve the puzzle? I'm all ears.

Bad Medicine ... Good Management

Well the health care system may be messed up, doctors may still have huge egos and there may be no simple solution to our complaints, but I have to give kudos to the hospital for wanting to know, in painstaking detail, exactly how bad our experience was. I honestly believe that the Quality Control Chief is invested in learning from us and while publicly tarring and feathering Dad's oncologist may not be an option, I really do think our letter has made a difference.

Dad would like to know we're using his experience to help ease the suffering of other patients. At least our anger can be directed at something constructive, rather than vindictive.

But it doesn't make it hurt any less...

The Empty Stocking

So this weekend was full of taking down boxes from the attic, putting up Christmas lights and assembling the tree. I stayed away as much as I could. I know I need to be more helpful because Christmas decorations in this house are no small task, but the whole thing feels like a "What's Wrong With This Picture?" activity. I honestly thought we'd at least have one more Christmas, even given the hospital stays and the scan reports of doom. And so I'm just not ready to do this whole season without my father.

Our stockings are already hung on the mantel, including Dad's. We're not quite sure what to do with it. But it just epitomizes all that is wrong with feeling festive when the grand master of all festivities isn't here to take part.

Thanksgiving was hard enough but Christmas is going to wreck me.

Bad Medicine

One aspect of my father's illness that I haven't really delved into is the unethical, unprofessional, utterly appalling manner in which his own oncologist treated him. While I won't go into details about the hospital or doctor, let's just say that this particular locale has received awards for the cancer care it provides. So you'd think they'd have that whole "care" part down pat.

Alas that was not to be the case. The doctors at said hospital are obviously brilliant and know their sh*t when it comes to cancer, treatment options, clinical trials, etc. But there's something distinctly wrong with an oncologist who knows his patient is dying and rather than help the patient with end-of-life issues, provide supportive care and just be an all-around human being, he instead washes his hands of the situation. As soon as it became clear that my dad's cancer was one of the most aggressive types out there (this information came thanks to his very helpful radiation oncologist), "Dr. No-Good" distanced himself as much as possible from our family.

While Dad spent a good part of the month of August in the hospital for uncontrollable pain and nausea, this particular doctor was still cheerleading Dad along, telling him that he still had options and assuring us that when he felt it was time to discuss hospice, he would let us know. Meanwhile he's telling my mom in the hallway that Dad didn't have much time left and that he would more than likely be discharged into hospice. Why couldn't he tell Dad this? Apparently Dad "wasn't ready." Well pardon me, but isn't it part of the oncologist's job description to help make him ready?

It took Dad's palliative care nurse to sit us down and tell us that we were nearing the end of this journey and recommend that we say whatever needed to be said, and soon. Less than twelve hours later, he was in a coma. When the nurse called Dr. No-Good to tell him of this significant turn for the worse, his response was "Well, it's time we refrain from heroic measures." No sh*t.

I firmly believe that Dad hung on as long and as hard as he did because he truly wasn't ready. And I blame his doctor for that. Of course the prospect of facing one's own death has got to be terrifying - who is ever really ready? But had we had more time to grapple with it, had my father known what was about to happen, I know he would have done some things differently. As would have I.

When the dust settled and the relatives left town, our family sat down and penned a pretty damning letter to the hospital. We didn't mince words and we did name names. It must have gotten their attention, because a few days later, the CEO of the hospital called. He assured my mom that they were already making changes based on some of our observations. And then he told mom that someone would be calling to follow up.

And someone did. The Vice-President in charge of Quality Control, in fact. And we have a meeting with him Tuesday morning. Hell yes.

I know our anger had to be directed somewhere and I know Dad didn't like us criticizing the doctor he trusted with his life. But that's just it...he trusted this doctor and this doctor let him down. And as someone headed into the medical profession, I find it quite disturbing that an institution with multiple accolades for its cancer center is so messed up.

So I'll keep you posted how it goes. I do have to say I'm impressed with how quickly they have responded to our concerns. Hopefully what we contribute will help the next family suffer just a little bit less.

Facing terminal cancer is bad enough. You should at least be able to trust your doctor to help you deal with it.

Gobble Gobble

Yesterday we faced the task of making a Thanksgiving turkey without the master turkey maker. Yet another moment to realize exactly how much Dad did for us. It was an adventure and we actually ended up making a really yummy turkey but it was just not the same. These "firsts" without my father are really getting to me...

Nurse Teeny

I've been feverishly working on nursing school applications and just as feverishly seeking out HONEST insights about just what it is I am getting myself into. Lo and behold, there is an entire universe out there of blogs by student nurses and new grad nurses and veteran nurses. And I've come to two conclusions.

The first is, I am insane. But we all knew that. This is a thankless, exhausting, frustrating future into which I am about to embark. But for some masochistic reason, I am looking forward to it.

My second conclusion is that I should throw my hat (nursing cap?) into the ring and join the booming nurse blogosphere. Not for any particular reason. Just because maybe someday, someone else will Google "student nurse blog" and my insights will offer them encouragement. Or send them running for the hills. Either way, I feel that I might have something to contribute to the conversation.

It didn't seem appropriate to start such a blog in this context. This is my safe place, where I can offer more personal, sometimes raw, thoughts about the grief process and what it means to face cancer. My nursing tales belong elsewhere. So here's my new one: The Makings of A Nurse. Enjoy and feel free to pass along the link to anyone you know who may be considering a future in nursing. I promise I won't scare them - at least not intentionally.

A New Year

After a really emotional week where I almost reached my breaking point on several occasions, I was sitting at Panera studying this afternoon and one of my favorite songs came onto iTunes. I first heard it 15 years ago when my CTY partner-in-crime Stephanie sang it at a talent show. Then it appeared in the finale of the fantastic movie "A Thing Called Love". One of the verses goes something like this:

"There’s a full moon tonight
And I’m bathing in its light
Naked as the day that I was born
There is no shame beneath this sky
I have kissed the past goodbye
And mended up my broken heart so torn
With a sweet sound
Only I can make
And it gets stronger
With every breath I take
And it’s all a part of making me feel new
Makes me think maybe God’s a woman too
Makes me think maybe God’s a woman too."

I had been thinking about the past year and the hell it has been. But the simple fact is, it's not the last time I'm going to look back at a period of my life and think "Wow, that was awful." And I have a choice for how I deal with it.

So in a nutshell, I'm not looking at my birthday as an occasion for sadness. I'm looking at it as a New Year's Day and it's time to make a resolution. My father took care of this family and showed us how to take care of ourselves. So I need to do so. I'll allow myself days of sadness, I'll allow myself to wallow and of course I'll allow myself to cry. But the best way I know how to honor my Dad and the legacy he left is to be healthy. Rather than sink deeper into hopelessness, I can use my grieving more mindfully to consider how I live each day.

One step at a time. But soon I'll not only be as good as new, I'll be better.

Not Ready Yet

So my mom made an appointment for her, my sister and I to go for counseling with my Dad's friend and colleague who works with families of cancer patients. I opted not to go at the last minute. 'Probably shouldn't have done that and I'm not quite sure why I did. Just the more I thought about going to talk about it, the less I wanted to do so. Part of it is that I'm not quite ready to go there, especially at the tail-end of a very intense week. My brother reminded me that yesterday was the five-year anniversary of putting our beloved family dog to sleep. So we have my birthday, Halloween and Kenzie's death three days in a row. I think if someone asked me a question about how I'm doing today, I would scream. Or cry. Or both. Either way, I'm just not ready.

My greatest strength and my greatest weakness is my fierce independence. I take care of myself. That's what I do. But sometimes I don't know when it's time to ask someone to take care of me. "Help" does not seem to be in my vocabulary. But I'm not as strong as I make myself look. I've got issues too. :)

The other concern is that going to her feels a bit too close for comfort. If I'm going to counseling, I'd rather go to someone I don't know. I'd rather go to address all of my "things" (as Meredith Grey would put it). I don't think I could talk to her about the many layers that make up my grief, or about the many things I am grieving. I'm all for going to someone I know OF, whose reputation tells me that I will be helped, but I just don't know. I'd rather start fresh. There is a lot of ground to cover.

Haunting Memories

Last year at this time I was posting cute pictures of dogs in Halloween costumes. This year I am dreading the obligatory Halloween festivities. This was one of Dad's favorite holidays. He and my brother spent hours building a haunted house in our garage and scaring the little darlings that trekked down the road. Our street was always closed to traffic because of so many children so it was like one big block party. My parents made fish stew and hot captains and all of our friends came over.

This year the friends are still coming. We're making fish stew (and my favorite chili recipe) and Dad's covenant group is building the haunted house for us. For the most part it will be just like last year. With one major and heartbreaking exception.

Happy Freaking Birthday

Today I am 27. And since I'm home I got a little dose of our traditional family strings/present scavenger hunt. Under normal circumstances I'd be bouncing off the walls on my birthday eve, unable to sleep and up at the crack of dawn. I LOVE birthdays, especially birthday strings! But this morning I must have pressed snooze five times before I dragged my ass out of bed and got dressed.

Mom and sister gave a valiant effort at making my birthday morning as enjoyable as possible under the circumstances. But I just didn't feel like celebrating. And still don't.

My friend Akin and I joked around about skipping our birthdays this year. I'm beginning to think perhaps that's not such a bad idea. Maybe for my 28th I'll be in a more celebratory mood.

My dad really made holidays and birthdays special. It just adds to my sadness to know that that extra dose of joy won't be there anymore...

Happy 57th Birthday Daddy!

You should be here. We can't make your famous guacamole without you!

Loving and missing you SO MUCH!

Hecticity

Is that even a word? Well I'm making it one ... if normal no longer applies, reality has still reared its ugly head with commitments every single night this week, except maybe Friday? I can't remember. It's also Fall Break, which entails me reading and taking notes on the five chapters I'm behind, and starting my term paper. Due November 1st. Exam is October 25th. University of Portland application due November 2nd. Sh*t.

And Tuesday is Daddy's birthday.

This could be my breakdown week...

Quiet

I used to welcome silence - there was always a certain peacefulness to sitting quietly and letting your mind be still. But lately I avoid it at all costs. If I'm in my room, music is playing. If I'm around others, I'm talking. I have a hard time staying home in the quiet. No longer is my mind still...it won't shut up. When the quiet comes, the grief comes and I'm afraid it will take over completely and I will shut down.

Perhaps I'm supposed to shut down. Perhaps I'm supposed to let the grief take over. How do I do this?

Big Puppy Dog

Dad's burial and memorial service were yesterday and he was there, no doubt about it. We had him cremated as requested and laid him to rest with his own father who passed away 10 years ago. A small graveside tribute with just family...it was beautiful.

Then we went on to the church for an incredibly moving memorial - over 500 people in attendance, all of whom had been touched by my father. Patients, friends, colleagues and family all brought together by this incredible man. His college friend eulogized him as a great big puppy dog full of love, and that pretty much sums up Dad to a tee. The three of us and mom all had a chance to say a few words and I was just so moved by the love in that sanctuary.

Aunt and uncle hosted a beautiful reception afterwards and everyone seemed to come. I had thought I would feel anti-social and stay away, but I actually ended up enjoying myself. We all swapped "Dougie stories" and looked at pictures and drank wine and ate good food, just as Dad would have wanted. We joked that were he there, he would have found the nearest couch and taken a nap, even in the middle of the party.

So today we start figuring out how to make life go on. This is going to be the hardest part. "Normal" no longer applies.

Crappy Day

Not 'cuz anything particularly bad happened ... just 'cuz it was crappy. Tomorrow is the burial, followed by a memorial service, then a reception at our aunt and uncle's house. I'm exhausted just thinking about it. It will be really nice to focus on my dad but really hard to go through hours and hours of well-wishes and hugs from people I barely know. Everyone means well I'm sure but it's so hard to be reminded by the look in people's eyes that all of the sudden my father is gone and they're so sorry.

'Don't mean to sound ungrateful, it just doesn't feel good.

Not to mention today is the 1-year anniversary of my beautiful friend Lisa's untimely death. This tragedy seemed to the first of a series of unfortunate events over the past year.

I'm done with unfortunate events. Will someone please inform God?

Love Pouring In

It's amazing how much one person can touch the world. I've seen over the past few days just how true that is for my Dad. How many times have I been told what a great man he was! And he truly was...a great husband, father, doctor, coach, volunteer, friend, everything!

Our old high school posted a very nice bulletin about Dad's passing:

I have some very sad news to pass on to the Harbor High community.

Yesterday afternoon, D.H. passed away after a brave battle with lung cancer. D. is survived by his wife and 3 children who all attended Harbor High. Our thoughts and prayers are with the [family] at this difficult time.

In a community of supportive parents, D. stood out as one of the best. He possessed a love for this school that was second to none. His kindness, wisdom, integrity and unassuming manner were traits that many of us were blessed by. He gave his time selflessly to serve the staff and students of Harbor High for many years, contributing to several campus programs.

D. was one of the founders of the Navigators, which later branched into what is now our Foundation. He served as a mentor for the Da Vinci Academy and played key roles on several school committees. As an example of D.'s caring nature, after the untimely death of a Costa Mesa High School football player a few years ago, D. launched a head injury monitoring program for our athletes to help prevent a similar occurrence at Harbor High.

Most important to me personally, D. was a mentor and a friend. He offered me his support and counsel during difficult times and I could always rely on him for sage advice on a number of different issues. He consistently maintained a positive perspective on life and just being in his presence made me feel that everything was going to be okay. D. had that same effect on countless people and we were all blessed by his beautiful spirit.

Principal

Rest My Sweet Daddy

Hell on earth. That is how I would describe the first 10 hours of today. Dad woke up at 3 a.m. gasping for breath...he would finally relax only to convulse in panic when his breath caught in his throat the next time. The fluid in his lungs was beginning to overcome him and he was so scared to let go.

Thanks to our wonderful home health nurse, however, we found a good balance of pain and anti-anxiety meds to allow him some rest. For two hours he slept peacefully and we all breathed a little more easily. Before we knew it, he had quietly slipped away.

What a tragedy to lose such a man as my father - the "Daddy of the Universe". What an injustice for him to suffer the way he did. But he is finally at peace and we can be comforted that his final breaths were not in pain or fear. He has family that went before him to greet him in heaven - he was never alone on this side of the journey and he'll never be alone there either.

I love you Daddy, all the way from the garage door to the living room wall!

All my love,
Teeny

Keeping Watch

Daddy is still with us but has slipped into a coma. We have been keeping vigil since last night and have all been able to steal moments with him alone and together. I finally let it all out earlier tonight, which felt really good, but now I can't seem to make the tears stop. I've tried to be the knowledgeable big sister/"nurse in training" but finally I just let myself be the grieving daughter.

There are so many things I love about my Dad that I'm overwhelmed to list them all. But here are a few just to give y'all an idea of how blessed we have been to have this amazing man as our father:
-His love for spontaneously dancing, whether it's the swing or the twist
-His communication skills - he always knows what to say and when to just give a big "Daddy hug"
-The traditions he created and carried on from his own childhood - every year we have "birthday strings" scavenger hunts
-His strength as our "rock" in the midst of a lot of family trials over the past 30 years
-His utter devotion to Mom, his soul mate, to the point of being a romantic sap we all teased but secretly wished our spouses would be like someday

I could go on. A lot of people are referring to him in the past tense but I refuse to go there yet. He's still here...really he always will be....

Too Fast

Dad's CEA markers shot up from 74 to 123 in a week. Yesterday his home health nurse said we should all start preparing ourselves. Last night he was agitated and in a lot of pain, despite increasing the dose on his morphine drip and pushing the button as often as we were allowed. Then he fell down while walking to his bed and was in so much pain we couldn't move him - he and Mom slept on the floor and the Fire Department very kindly came this morning to move him back into bed.

They're now saying it will be a matter of days, if not hours. We are discontinuing his TPN after today, as well as the Tarceva and Avastin, and making a rapid transition to hospice.

This is happening way too fast. I alternate between feeling completely numb and completely out of control. Mostly I just can't fathom the thought of waking up without him here.

Why Obama?

A small but welcome distraction from the day-to-day trials and tribulations of this cancer journey has been my involvement with Barack Obama's presidential campaign. And now I have a victory of my own to share.

Last spring I became involved with an organization called "Barack the Youth Vote". Joe Vogel, BTYV's founder and director, decided to self-publish a book featuring 25 essays by youth and young adults about why Obama was their choice for President. I submitted an essay and was selected to be part of the book.

The Obama Movement is now available on Amazon.com. It will soon be available through other online retailers. Availability in stores depends on online sales, so if you are intrigued, this it the time to make that purchase. :)

Here is a description of the book from the editor's website:

Why Barack Obama?

This was the question posed to students and young professionals across the country in the wake of the senator’s historic announcement for president in Springfield, Illinois. The responses came pouring in from all corners of America.

The Obama Movement is a collection of these fascinating and diverse responses.

Not since the Kennedys in the 1960s has a politician so energized the youth of America. The key distinction is that today's generation is mobilizing through technology and online networking in ways unimaginable to previous campaigns. Hundreds of thousands of previously turned off young people have tuned into the vision of the former community organizer from South Chicago. Online groups have swelled into the hundreds of thousands, creative ads by supporters have dominated YouTube, and interest has translated into record-setting donations and massive turnouts in Iowa and New Hampshire, Nevada and Texas.

The Obama Movement contains the personal stories of young people in the trenches of one of the most exciting and historically significant elections in American history—and reveals why they are determined to make their voices count in 2008.

Sudden

A few weeks ago my Dad and I were sitting in the infusion center on a hydration visit and a woman was set up next to him for a platelet transfusion. We got to chatting and found out her name was Cheryl and she too had a team for the Relay for Life last May. She was one of the most friendly, positive people I've ever met. She and all three of her sisters had faced cancer...and two had succumbed, one to colon cancer at a young age and one to breast cancer that came back all over her body on her 5-year remission anniversary. Her other sister was in remission after battling breast cancer. And Cheryl had stage 4 melanoma in practically all of her major organs, though you would never have guessed how sick she was from her spunk. She was planning to get into a clinical trial and was coming up on the year anniversary of her diagnosis. She and Dad hit it off and decided that next year they would co-chair the Survivors' Committee at the Relay.

Then last weekend we found a "mobile notary" in the neighborhood to come sign my car title; we got to talking and discovered that this woman is Cheryl's best friend! We were so excited about the discovery, and the notary gave Dad Cheryl's phone number and said when he was feeling better, he and Cheryl could take walks together. What a gift to encounter this beautiful soul yet again, albeit indirectly.

But alas, cancer is a bastard of a disease. Dad and I opened the paper Thursday morning to find Cheryl's picture staring out at us from the obituary section. How it happened we'll never know. We know she'd just had surgery, so something may have gone awry. But this is the first one of Dad's "cancer peers" to appear in the obituaries since this journey started. And it shook us all up. Cheryl seemed a lot less sick than my dad, and yet he's still here and actually hanging in there quite well.

Cancer doesn't play favorites, nor does it conform to expectations. It is not part of God's plan. It does not "happen for a reason."

And it sure as hell isn't fair.

10 Days

On Day 11, Dad got his walking papers from the big house. Thank God - we were all getting a taste of cabin fever and WE weren't even stuck there the way he was.

This time, though, things are going to be different. Through some brilliant investigative work, my mom discovered a home health option that is a continuum of care, from palliative care to hospice and end-of-life issues (and gee, it only took three trips to the hospital for someone to step up and tell my mom what resources were available). So Dad can come home under the care of an RN, a social worker, a medical director who specializes in pain control and home health aides to help with hygiene. He can continue his second line of chemotherapy in a last ditch effort to beat this cancer and still be as comfortable as possible. He is hooked to a morphine pump that provides a basal rate of pain meds every hour, with the option of pushing a button for an extra fix every 15 minutes. His AMAZING nurse Pam helped us get access to TPN - total parenteral nutrition, which provides via IV the carbs, fat and protein he needs to function since his appetite has been nonexistent (down 50 pounds since he started this journey).

Not only does Dad come home under such great care, but I am getting a hands-on education in med administration, saline infusions and TPN set-up. Pam coached us in preparing his TPN bag and programming his pump so that we can do it ourselves each morning, and I am learning so much about home health care and loving every minute of it. Putting off nursing school for a year doesn't mean I can't continue my education.

When I think of this as a learning experience, it's much easier to cope. But than again, I know it's different because it's my Dad. No possibility of detachment as his health continues to slip. This is the hardest nursing assignment I will ever face.

Let's Blow This Popsicle Stand

Day #4 of Trip #3 to the hospital. Yesterday was terrible - so much pain and agitation that they didn't make any movement toward getting him adjusted to the pump he would be on at discharge. First he actually has to be stabilized. It was a really emotional day for everyone.

Today was better. When I visited on my lunch hour we actually got to take a walk around the nurses station and he was much more lucid. But I can see in his face that the pain is still there. Bone mets are real bitches.

Floor 8 West

And it's back to the hospital we go....for the third time in three weeks. I mean, really? Seriously????

At least this time the order has already been made that when Dad goes home, he takes a pump with him - then whenever he is in pain, he pushes a button. Doc seems to think that with the pain under control, the nausea will subside. We're taking it one day at a time...

My two-year wedding anniversary is tomorrow. Ahhh, the romance.

Viper

True confession...I have never been to Magic Mountain. As a southern Californian, I hear that this is apparently quite a travesty. My high school senior class went on "ditch day" but I missed the bus...kind of on purpose. But all of those death-defying drops and swirls and twirls just held no appeal for me. I have no desire to be suspended upside down in the name of fun.

Which brings me to today. There is this ride at Magic Mtn. called Viper that apparently features the world's tallest vertical loop, two additional loops, a corkscrew and a double barrel bommerang turn. It is not for the faint of heart. But I'm beginning to think I could handle it after the past three weeks. Viper can't hold a candle to this new thrill ride known as lung cancer.

Less than 48 hours after being discharged from the hospital, the nausea and pain are back. A trip to the day hospital got things under control for the time being, but my dad's stomach is so weak and he has no appetite. He's lost 6 more pounds. He hallucinates like I've never seen and his body is so agitated that he twitches while he sleeps. I think this week there will be no choice but to hook him up to a PCA - a personal control assistant (?) that will allow him to push a button whenever he is in pain. Oral meds just aren't doing it. You'd think the doctors would have figured it out by now, but every time he goes in the hospital he starts feeling better and they send him home. Um, perhaps the reason he feels better is because he has access to IV pain control?!?!?!?

The night he got home from the hospital, Dad was so excited that he'd soon be back on the upswing and things would be getting back to normal. But I think the definition of normal has changed. The "ups" are small victories such as him having one lucid hour in an entire day and the "downs" are beginning to be far too frequent.

So bring it on, Viper. You ain't nuthin'.

Home Sweet Home

Dad was (finally) discharged from the hospital yesterday. They took him off IV pain control Thursday night to see how he responded to oral meds and apparently he did okay. Although his new doctor, a pain specialist, warned that the pain would increase once he got home because he'd be moving around more.

There is an elaborate list posted in the kitchen with all of his meds. We're keeping CVS in business.

IV Drugs ... A Cancer Patient's Best Friend

Well back to the hospital we go. Despite a completely vacant stomach, Dad's nausea revved back up last night so he was readmitted this morning. I went by on my lunch break and he was extremely groggy so I'm headed back there now to spend the evening chillin' with Dad.

Argh...

It Hurts

Imagine the worst pain possible. So bad you can barely move, much less breathe. Every tiny motion sends waves of indescribable knife shards into your body.

Now multiply that pain by about 1,000.

That was Dad's pain today.

He woke up this morning with a shoulder that felt like it was about to split in half, and nausea to boot. Despite a trip to the day hospital for some pretty heavy drugs, he continued to rate his pain at an 8 on a scale of 10 for the rest of the day. He finally got some rest about 6:00 this evening, but it didn't last long. A good friend of ours who happens to be an orthopedic surgeon says that the tumor in his shoulder has probably grown to the point that it split open the bone where it is growing. Just the thought makes my own body hurt.

Not to mention my heart. The worst part of all of this (for me) is watching the man who has always been my rock, physically, emotionally, practically, be so vulnerable that he can barely lift his arm. Seeing him shrink into his pillows and be unable to find a position that doesn't hurt. Seeing him keep his eyes wrenched shut to avoid any light that might sneak in and overwhelm his dizzy head. I had to leave the room for a few minutes and let the tears fall this afternoon. They just wouldn't stay put.

A very close friend of my father's (and a palliative care specialist) uttered the dreaded word to my mother: hospice. He also mentioned that the oncologists' estimate of 3-6 months is "optimistic." The plan is still to try round 2 of fighting this sucker but the fact that end-of-life issues are at the front of peoples' minds is not reassuring.

This is moving way too fast. I'm not ready for this at all.

Worst Fears Put To Rest

Dad's nausea and pain continued to worsen yesterday and last night. Despite a completely empty stomach, he hasn't been able to stop throwing up and when he tried even a couple bites of an apple, he couldn't keep it down. His scheduled appointment with the oncologist this morning resulted in an admit to the hospital to get some of these symptoms under control. The doctor was also very worried that the increasing nausea was a sign that the cancer had spread to his brain so they did an MRI - it was CLEAR! Dad wanted to jump up and kiss the doctor when we found out! As a neuropsychologist, his worst fears are brain mets.

Whatever they gave him at the hospital seemed to work wonders. Dad wolfed down his dinner and has kept it down and is already looking forward to his lunch tomorrow! It will be a tricky day because they now have to wean him off of the heavy meds and see how he does. Good news is, his old buddy from college is visiting for the weekend and just happens to be a physician who specializes in palliative care and pain management.

So a roller coaster day to say the least but we can all go to bed with smiles on our faces tonight.

Sabbatical

That word has a bittersweet meaning these days. Dad has decided to retire and go on disability, and go on sabbatical from his teaching jobs. He was waiting on this week's scan results to make a final choice about work and alas, the scan results were not promising.

The gist of it is that the cancer has progressed. Despite six rounds of extremely aggressive chemo and 2 weeks of radiation, those stubborn little bone mets are putting up a good fight. In Dad's terms, at the end of the first period: Cancer 1, Team Dougie 0. The primary tumor in his lung has shrunk but not enough and there are a number of new spots throughout his bones, plus a new soft tissue spot in his lower back and growth in the soft tissue spot in his neck.

We all had a feeling the news would not be good. Dad has experienced increased breakthrough pain and nausea and has spent four out of the last five days receiving hydration, IV pain meds and anti-nausea drugs at the day hospital. We knew this was coming, but it doesn't make it any easier to swallow.

So it's on to Plan B. There are a couple of different "second-line" options that are being considered, and Dad has appointments with lung specialists at three major university hospitals in the next three weeks. Two of his appointments are with doctors who conduct many of the area's clinical trials, so it is good to establish relationships with these docs in order to have a trial as an option. Really though, we're talking in terms of buying time, in months rather than years.

I'm glad that I came home.

Home Sweet Home

So we made it. 3,400 miles later my sister and I are safe and sound in good ol' Newport Beach. We actually got home last weekend, but were back for less than 12 hours before proceeding to board the Jet Cat Express, bound for Santa Catalina Island.

Catalina is a magical little place where we practically grew up - my dad and his brothers co-owned a condo with their father for years and years and we spent about half of every summer and several weekends over in the seaside town of Avalon.



It was the type of place where we'd spend the morning at the penny arcade downtown, stop at Rosie's for fish and chips, then Big Olaf's for ice cream, and then hike back up the hill to Fairview Terrace and turn into water babies for the duration of the afternoon. There are a lot of really special memories on that island, so we figured it was only fitting we take a family vacation there. Several longtime friends came over for a few days here and there, so it was quite an adventure! Dad didn't really have the energy to fill the days like we used to, but it was still special for everyone.

While we were there, Dad reached the end of round 6 of his chemo. Scans are next week to determine how effective the treatment was. He's felt progressively worse over this week and some of the mets in his bones have really been bothering him, especially in his hip and shoulder. We're hoping that's a sign that the chemo is working and the pain is the mets losing the battle. But honestly I don't know.

There are still a few treatment options, whether or not the chemo was effective. But I have a sinking suspicion that there are so many "hot spots" throughout his body, it would be hard for ANYTHING to wipe them out completely. Let's just hope we shrink those little bastards enough to relieve his symptoms and give him lots of quality time!

It's strange to picture your future without someone who has been so integral to your life, especially a parent. Dad and I have grown closer as I have grown up, and I'm not ready to raise the white flag by any means. But it scares me to think in terms of my children not knowing their grandfather, my siblings not having Dad there on their own wedding day....

What an empty feeling.

And We're Off!

Well folks, the next chapter of this adventure begins in about an hour. My sister arrived from D.C. yesterday afternoon and we picked up our rental car - a Chevy Trailblazer with a navigation system. Quite a sweet ride! 'Loaded up the back yesterday afternoon (thank God for unseasonally mild weather). It is PACKED!!! No room for nuthin' and I ended up having to leave some of my favorite pictures behind with Mr. D for the time being.

Mr. D found a room to rent with a very nice couple just 10 minutes from our house. We are putting the house up for rent to save money. Hopefully the market will get better and we can try to sell next summer.

I'll try to blog from the road but I don't know what internet access will be like.

Here's the route in case we disappear off the radar:
Day 1: Durham to New Albany, IN (just NW of Louisville, KY)
Day 2: New Albany to Lincoln, NE
Day 3: Lincoln to Evanston, WY (just east of the WY-UT border)
Day 4: Evanston to Reno, NV ... stay with our wonderful cousin Jenny
Day 5: Reno to San Francisco/Berkeley ... apartment hunting with my sister to find her a place for grad school adventures
Day 6: Bay Area to HOME (Newport Beach, CA)
Day 7: Home to Santa Catalina Island ... 26 miles across the sea for a much needed vacay in our family's little paradise - the seaside town of Avalon

Lots of pics to come!

Time to road trip...

The 3,000-Mile Budget

Pop quiz, hotshot....

You're quitting your job in one week's time, which means you will not get a full paycheck on July 31st (which must be mailed to you since you'll already be gone). Your bills remain the same through mid-August while you make the transition to move. You are hoping and praying that unused vacation days will help cover those expenses and crossing your fingers that your checks for your other part-time job will get to the correct address in California.

You won't start work again until mid-August, which means your first paycheck will not be full either ... your next "real" pay will be September 5th, the final day to pay your mortgage.

You also have some atypical expenses in the next week. You owe the property management company helping you rent your home, plus your husband must pay a security deposit, and July/August rent.

What do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO?????

"To-Do"'s

I've come to the conclusion that my life would not be my own if it weren't for sudden changes of plans. Mr. D will now be moving out at the same time I do into a rented room, so that we can rent out the house for a year (and wait for the market to improve to sell it next year - knock on wood). So that leaves quite a laundry list of things that must be done before July 23rd (or July 28th), depending ... see below.

I'm sort of scared to actually put this into writing for fear of overwhelming myself, but I figured this blog was a good place to record the small victories that are accomplished in preparing to uproot one's life and move 3,000 miles away. If I report daily what I actually did get done, I'll feel better that I'm on track.

By the way, since I moved to Durham 3 years ago, I pledged no less than three times that each move would be my last. Then the rent went up, or we decided to become homeowners or life threw a curveball and I decided to go back to CA. So much for that!

1) Go over bills with Mr. D
2) Decide what to keep and who is keeping it, and what to sell
3) Sell furniture on Craigslist/Facebook
4) Decide whether to road-trip it (leaving July 23rd) or fly (leaving July 28th). If I drive, I need to find at least one travel companion (4 possibilities right now), rent a car and pack my things decently enough to fit in a standard SUV. If I fly, I need to pack and ship almost all of my belongings and fit more necessities into two suitcases, one carry-on and a personal item.
5) Pay ALL bills through mid-August before departing
6) Purge closet: donate, trash or pack?
7) Clean out car trunk (aka throw out anything that's been in there since before we moved to the house last April)
8) Finalize contract with property manager and pay $200 escrow fee
9) Have master suite repainted
10) Help Mr. D move
11) Get more boxes!
12) If road tripping, map out route, find hotels along the way.

I'm sure I'm forgetting about 20 things but the list will grow as needed (and hopefully shrink even faster).

AAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!

Waiting on the world to change...

My latest iMovie project...

My personal life may be a bit nuts right now, but I'm still all about Obama!

Why I Love My Mac...

Memories from the Newport Beach Relay for Life...May 19-20, 2007

Where People Know Your Name

Work closed early due to office renovations and I'm hanging out this afternoon at my favorite coffee shop in the world ... Sips Coffee and Tea. Best coffee, best staff, best big comfy leather chairs, and free wireless internet. Every starving student's dream. This morning I had to break the news of my impending move to Kristen and Shon (the a.m. staff that keep me caffeinated and make me smile) and it was actually really sad. The closest I've come to tears since making this decision. At a coffee shop, of all places.

I guess the emotions were spurred by the knowledge that I'm leaving behind a lot of really great memories here. The last few years were some of the most challenging I've faced in my young life and they all happened here in Durham, so you'd think I'd be chomping at the bit to get out of here. But instead I dwell on the good things and Sips has been one of the best there is.

This is the kind of place where the correct coffee cup size and your favorite pastry have been laid out for you the minute they see your car pull up in the parking lot. I've actually arrived to find my Mocha Blenz already blended. The morning patrons know each other's names and newcomers are made to feel like they are part of the family the moment they step in the door. In the midst of my crazy life, I knew I could come here and breathe.

There's nothing better than escaping to a place that is yours to enjoy. I've shared this place with friends and arranged for meetings here, but I still consider it mine. I come here alone to be alone but also be surrounded by people who are always up for conversation. I hope there's a Sips-like place back home that I can discover by accident. This place has saved my sanity.

Change of Plans

Sooooo.... After a great deal of soul-searching, I've decided it's time to go home and be with my family. It actually wasn't a hard decision to make. Do I a) put off nursing school for one more year and be with the people I love or b) try to focus while 3,000 miles away doctors are doing God-knows-what to keep fighting this beast in my dad's body? It's so obvious.

Yes, there is much unpredictability about what will happen. But I have options. Duke knows my situation and has said I can choose to defer and know I have a spot to come back to with next year's class. So I can go home and if things go swimmingly, I know I have something to come back to. I can also apply to programs out in California (UCSF is one of the top nursing programs in the country) so that I start next summer instead of this August. So in a way I'm one year behind, but most of the programs out there are Master's Entry programs, meaning you start a graduate nursing program with a Bachelor's degree in something besides nursing. It's three years instead of 16 months, but I'd have a Master's on the other end and be preparing to be licensed as a nurse practitioner to boot. I'd probably get there faster through this route than through 4 semesters at Duke, a couple of years of working to pay off loans, then another 2-3 years in a graduate program.

Actually the most daunting part of this are the hellish logistics to take care of in the next 6 weeks. Will Mr. D be coming with me or stay behind for about a year and then join me next summer, hopefully in San Francisco? Do we try to sell the house or put it up for rent? Do we REALLY have to pack and move AGAIN? How will we be able to afford living in CA when we're barely surviving here? Do we pack and ship, or use a Pod and pay to have it stored in a Pod warehouse until we know what the heck we're doing? Do we try to trade in Lola for a better car (if we can afford it) and then do the cross-country road trip (which I've always wanted to do)? Do I quit work a week earlier than planned and we drive out to meet my family for the August trip to Catalina? Or do we fly out for the trip, fly back to finish packing and then make the big drive? If we're not working in August where will the money come from to pay the bills? Our savings is nonexistent right now.

But all that pales in comparison to this.... there will be no regrets that I wasn't there or didn't do enough or didn't spend enough time. The logistics will be taken care of one detail at a time. So where to begin...

Lord Stanley's Chalice

My father and brother are humongous Anaheim Ducks fans! I take pride in turning them onto hockey 15 years ago, before there even were Ducks and we cheered for the L.A. Kings. When the Ducks (then the Mighty Ducks) first came to town, I teased my brother endlessly about cheering for a team named after a Disney movie. A hockey game is the perfect place to drown in testosterone. So a team whose cheer was "Quack quack" was not going to get my respect.

But as the years have passed, Dad and bro have gone to more and more Ducks games, and every once in a while have taken along me or my sister. The Mighty Ducks of yesteryear featuring the cartoonish "Wild Wing" are no more - they're now just "The Ducks" with a catchy logo, crazy colors and kickass players. Testosterone reigns at the Anaheim Pond, er, the Honda Center. Damn corporations! I've never seen such hard checks, such fearlessness, and such skill combined into one team.

The season started magically and rarely was less than that. Our boys in orange and black dominated the Pacific Division and the Western Conference, and stormed through the Stanley Cup playoffs to face Ottawa in the final round. It only took five games for them to knock off the final obstacle to hoisting the cup above their heads.

The best part of it all was that my dad and brother got to be there. They were one of the screaming fans that lit up the Honda Center last night. Dad had said before the series started "I hope they win the first two at home and then lose one of two away, so they can come home to Anaheim and win the Stanley Cup here in Game 5." They must have read his mind, because that is exactly what they did.

Who knows what the future holds for my dad or my family. But I'm just thankful that for this time, all of our minds are off the cancer and on the Cup.

Thanks for winning this one for Dad, guys!

Tragedy Back Home

Just when you begin to come to terms with the ups and downs of life, you get hit in the gut with news like this.

I attended elementary and junior high school with Amy and it is safe to say she was one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I have EVER met. She was just one of those people that everyone loved. I grieve for her family and her young husband but I take comfort in the fact that she lived her life to the fullest and made such a huge difference during such a short life.

Why do horrific things like this always seem to happen to the good people?

Pilot writer's daughter killed
Religion columnist and daughter were traveling on I-5 when the van's left rear tire burst and sent the vehicle off the road.
By Kelly Strodl

Amy Strutzenberg was the kind of person who made things happen.

At 21, she earned a master's degree from Stanford University, and the Corona del Mar High School graduate was moving back to the area to get her MBA from UCLA.

Those plans ended when she died in a car accident on Sunday. She was 25.

The daughter of Newport Beach residents John and Cindy Trane Christeson, a religion columnist for the Daily Pilot, Strutzenberg was a passenger in the car her mother was driving on a trip from Strutzenberg's home in the Bay Area when the left rear tire of their van burst and sent the vehicle rolling off the road.

Christeson, who has written "The Moral of the Story" column for the Pilot for about 10 years, was driving south on I-5 near Bakersfield when the accident happened, CHP authorities said Tuesday. She attempted to turn off the highway but instead lost control of the vehicle, Buttonwillow Highway Patrol spokesman Rick Jorgensen said. Strutzenberg was ejected from the van and died on impact, Jorgensen said.

It is unclear whether Strutzenberg was wearing a seatbelt, but she was seated in a reclining position that would have negated the restraint's protection, Jorgensen said.

Christeson was taken to Kern Medical Center in Bakersfield and treated for minor to moderate injuries.

"Her heart is broken," husband John said. "She's … grateful that she was with Amy when it happened. Our challenge now is to not be sad. Every minute we spent with her was just joy."

Strutzenberg and her husband, Tyson, had just sold their home in San Mateo and were in the midst of moving back to Southern California to pursue graduate degrees from UCLA.

Cindy Christeson flew up over the weekend to make the trip south and spend some time with her youngest daughter.

John Christeson spent the past two days calling Amy's family, friends and co-workers to break the news.

Monday, he spoke with David Poe, managing director at Edgar, Dunn & Co., where Strutzenberg worked for the last three years as a financial consultant.

After they heard the news, the firm's staff gathered to grieve and reminisce about the good times with someone who personally invested in all of their lives.

"She was the kind of person who was always going out of her way to do things for people," Poe said.

"Whenever anybody needed help, they knew she would always make time for them, and she was in such high demand because she was always thinking beyond her responsibilities to others," he added.

"When she knew people needed an uplift, she would bring in her bread. We couldn't wait for the day Amy would bring in the banana bread."

Poe saw Strutzenberg for the last time Sunday, when he took her to lunch for a chat about the future in the hopes he could keep her involved with the firm.

"Amy was probably the brightest, most capable person we've ever hired," Poe said.

"I hated to see her go to graduate school but knew she was destined to go … improve herself and the lives of others," he added.

Last year, she became the youngest senior consultant at the global financial firm in San Francisco since the firm opened in 1978.

Before re-embarking on their educations, Strutzenberg and her husband planned a trip to Vancouver, B.C., in July, then planned to fly to Peru and spend the summer building houses for the needy.

"She had an idea and went and made it happen," Christeson said. "She was just that kind of person."

The family is in the process of planning memorial services.

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Conflicted

So I'm back in North Carolina after a very enjoyable 8 days with the fam! 'Got to meet my dad's oncologist and the nurses and spend a day at the infusion center with him while he received Round 4 of the dreaded chemo. Very interesting but very sobering...really hit home what my dad is facing. Mom and I pored over the radiology reports from the March diagnosis so she could point to various anatomical words and ask me what they meant. 'Don't know whether knowing what these reports mean is a good or a bad thing.

The mid-point scans they did a few weeks ago actually look pretty good. Several of the smaller spots in his bones seem to be clearing up, leaving the bigger ones more glaringly obvious and easier to see. He can only take 6 rounds of this particular chemo so we'll know a lot more in July when they do the next round of scans. Hopefully continued progress will be made and they'll be able to put him on a maintenance protocol that at least keeps the little bastards at bay, if we can't kill them all. But who knows how long that will last...

The most intense part of the week was a therapy session we attended Wednesday night with a psychologist who specializes in working with cancer patients and their families. There's such a fine line between being hopeful and being realistic and this lady made us look squarely in the eye the possibility that this disease could very well kill him. Not a fun thought. But she also reminded us that if we allow ourselves to go there, we will treasure our time now that much more. She referred to it as a "window" - we have a certain period of time to enjoy with Dad and we have no idea how long it will be. But we should live it to the fullest so that if the time is short there are no regrets, and if the time is long, it's full of warm memories.

To that end I face the inevitable question: what the hell am I doing 3,000 miles away, about to enter a rigorous 16-month program that will consume my life at the very time when I should be with my father? Then again, where do I get off thinking I can just drop everything and move back to CA, leaving my husband with a mortgage and bills to pay? How do I weigh logistics against what I truly want, which is to be around my dad as much as possible? If I could find a way to realistically be there and take care of my everyday responsibilities, I'd be in a much better place.

It's frustrating to think I've worked so hard for the past two years to get ready for this next adventure, only to be foiled by f*cking cancer. But then I kick myself for being so selfish. Nursing school will always be there, there's no hurry. But what happens to my marriage, which is already facing its share of struggles? What happens to my roommate if I ditch her at the last minute? Too many questions and never any answers.

Change of Course

Three weeks after my last post, the charming world I had known came crashing down when my 56-year old father was diagnosed with lung cancer. And not just any lung cancer. Stage IV non small cell adenocarcinoma that had already metastasized to several of his bones by the time they caught it. Dad had been suffering from lingering upper respiratory problems for months but no one ever suspected this because he wasn't a smoker and never had been. Chest x-rays were clear, it turns out because the tumor was hiding behind his trachea and couldn't be seen on a chest film.

The bad news is that statistically the five-year survival rate is less than 2%, and that radiologists seem to have missed a couple of spots that were there all along (a frightening thought!). The good news is that Dad's oncologist is trying to defy the odds. His philosophy is that the only statistic that matters is individual - your survival rate is 100% or it is 0%, and he is encouraging us all to fight hard. Given all the negatives, Dad is in wonderful health and great shape and because he never smoked, his chances are better overall. The other week he met an 88-year old survivor of six years with the same kind of cancer. So there is hope. After three rounds of chemo and radiation to some of the scarier spots on his spine and in his femur, all of the tumors are shrinking gradually. Dad is skinny and bald, save for a soft tuft he calls his "peach fuzz", and fatigues easily. But he is still working half-time, and he is still the same silly Dad we all grew up with.

But this means "People Are Crazy" will no longer be filled with rants and raves about the state of our world today. I'm even considering changing the name of this blog, if I can figure out how. What matters is here at my parent's house, where I sit after coming home to CA to participate in the Relay for Life. What matters is family and friendships. There will always be crazy people and there will always be something to bitch about, but all that seems so much less significant. I'm even looking for nursing jobs out here for when I graduate next December. North Carolina has been home for 8 years, but my real home will always be here.

Our parents are headed to Hawaii in June to celebrate their 30-year wedding anniversary. We're all going to Santa Catalina Island in August for a family vacation. Life is good. So it's time to tell our story...

It's Official!

'Nuf said. Let's get to work!

BARACK THE VOTE!

The Next President of the United States

Wowsas, it's been a while since I visited the blogosphere. Quite an eventful month, indeed. We have a Democratic Congress, led by a woman speaker, a president whose cluelessness emerges more clearly every day and a country in desperate need of something or someone to restore our faith in our leaders.

Enter Mr. Barack Obama.

There has been much speculation about this rock star senator from Illinios about whom no one knew a thing three years ago, but who has emerged as perhaps our greatest hope in over a decade. We've fawned over his handsome looks and cheered at his charismatic speeches, which is all well and good, but beyond this aesthetic and semantic appeal lies something much deeper: he is 100% real. I actually believe the words that come out of his mouth; I actually trust that he knows what he is talking about.

Much has been made of his lack of experience in the federal government, but he has what the entire Bush administration lacks: good judgment. The collective decades of experience represented in the White House have been nothing but catastrophic. Besides, perhaps what this country needs is an outsider, someone who has not been sucked into the insane asylum that is Washington politics.

And lest we forget, he is one of the few invididuals in the current Congress who spoke out against the Iraq war from the get-go (ahem, Hillary?). He criticizes the current situation not for political gain but because he has always had misgivings about the mess Bush has gotten us into.

When I gush about America's next Commander In Chief, I am asked if I think America is really ready for a black president. I can't read America's mind and I know our pathetic history. But I believe in Barack Obama and I hope against hope that electing him President will be the beginning of something completely different. Call me naive or idealistic, but I think he is EVERYTHING this country needs!