Trials, clinical and otherwise

So much has happened in such a short time...

After the marathon, Dad had a nice week. Went out to dinner, took walks, shopped, watched Anna play soccer, tried to catch up with MJ on her scooter, ate nice meals at home together. Anna insisted on reading to Grandpa every night before she went to bed, and MJ always wanted to be the first to wake him up in the morning. Dad even went to Anna's last Brownie meeting and helped the girls make their annual scrapbooks.

On the medical front, Dad met with part of the highly competent team of cancer doctors at UW on Tuesday to start talking about his treatment plan, which they thought would include a clinical trial. On Thursday he met with more doctors who then ruled out the clinical trial because Dad was on a blood thinner. However, the chemo doc reassured us that being on the blood thinner could actually be just as good as being in the clinical trial -- without all the nasty side affects, such as green skin. Apparently, something about the blood thinner, or those on blood thinners, helps the radiation work better. As Dr. Robins said, "I actually get excited when I see people with this condition come in with blood clots!" They respond well to treatment.

So, going in to the weekend, we all felt good.

Then Saturday morning hit us like a brick.

I woke up to see Dad looking perplexed. When he tried to explain what was wrong, he started slurring words and eventually could barely talk at all. I rushed him to the ER, wondering if he was having a stroke. But a new MRI revealed tumor re-growth, only a few weeks after surgery. I've spent 24 hours in the last two days with Dad at UW hospital. He is walking around, eating and looks very healthy. But he cannot make all the right connections to communicate. He's frustrated.

Tomorrow the brain tumor board meets to discuss his case and make a recommendation, which most likely will include a second brain surgery. We have decisions to make. As I write, Heather and Chuck and Charlotte are just pulling in the driveway. Linda is on her way...

Marathon

Welcome to the Emotional Rollercoaster. Please fasten your seatbelts.

As if it's not enough to be rushed to the emergency room for a possible stroke, diagnosed with a brain tumor, operated on in brain surgery, diagnosed with cancer, given a radiation and chemo treatment plan, married and moved to Wisconsin -- all in 3 weeks! -- Dad watched Scott run the Madison Marathon on Sunday.

It was an emotional experience for me, so I can't imagine what it meant to Dad. At mile 18, Dad was so inspired that he joined Scott to run for a couple of yards. Linda and I were nervous he'd fall, but the man couldn't help himself. We also watched two other friends -- Dennis and Christian -- as well as Scott's brother Todd, finish the race. In a fairly warm day, Dad spent about 5 hours being shuttled from mile-marker to mile-marker (we saw them at miles 11, 16, 18 and finish) and then ended the morning at Brat Fest for lunch. We asked him if he felt okay, ad nauseum. He told us there was no other place he'd rather be that day.

Scott was amazing. His first marathon and he finished right around 4 hours, ran all the way. Each time he passed us Dad smiled and laughed, nearly cried, and repeatedly commented, "Can't believe he is doing this! Can't believe I'm here!" At one point he said, "Man, this is awesome. What am I doing in this chair?." He, of course, wanted to be running. Dad and Mom ran several races back in their 30s, and Dad regaled us with some good running stories.

On our way from the finish line to Brat Fest next door, we rode on a golf cart with a gentleman in his mid-80s, dressed in teal cotton pants and a matching argyle shirt. I kiddingly asked him how the marathon went. "Well, I didn't run it, but I was on the beach at Normandy on D-Day." No way! Here we are, inspired to the hilt by Scott on Memorial Day weekend and we happen to meet a war hero. Dad's father fought in WWI and his brother in WWII, both in the Navy. The veteran told us about his visit to the American cemetery in Luxembourg and how he met a German man there who was also at Normandy. The German offered to take the American to the German cemetery 40 miles away, then they shared dinner and agreed that war is hell. This story really touched Dad -- and all of us.

After a terrific, inspirational weekend, Linda went home Monday, Scott and I are back to work and kids are back to school. Dad's poised at the starting gate of his own race. Our first appointment at UW is on Wednesday. Dad could not be in better health or spirits right now. He's ready to start.

Wisconsin; wedding bells

Dad and Linda arrived in Madison, tired but cheerful, a few hours ago. Just yesterday Dad decided that he would take his radiation and chemo treatments at the University of Wisconsin Hospital, which is 5 miles from our house. Cleveland Clinic is 50 miles from his house. The docs at CC supported this decision 100 percent. First, they understood the human dimension of this disease affecting a family and how the family needs to be together. (Heather, Chuck and Charlotte will also be spending extended time with us.) Second, the docs spoke highly of the world-renowned physicians here, particularly in the brain tumor clinic, and encouraged us to explore UW's clinical trials. (CC doesn't currently have any trials for Dad while UW does.)

So here we are. Dad looks healthy, is no longer on oxygen and is totally clear-headed -- and happy.

Linda and Bill are unpacking in the basement "apartment," or shall we say honeymoon suite, which is where we spent the last 24 hours since they made their decision -- cleaning, decorating and removing toys. I think I also spent an hour in Target today with my interior-design-wiz-cousin Tracy on the phone picking out bedding, curtains and pillows.

Oh, by the way, Linda and Bill got married! Yesterday I got a call from a giddy Dad introducing me to "Mrs. Beecheler." Linda got on the phone and giggled. Adorable! Their July wedding plans dissolved, they decided to tie the knot in front of a local judge in Ohio and Dad's attorney. I think they just wanted to be married, forging ahead hand-in-hand.

The kids decorated a poster board and we tied balloons to it to congratulate them on their marriage and welcome them to lovely Madison. (Winters here are not for the faint of heart, but the summers are heavenly.) We ate cake and ice cream to celebrate. Not the island wedding they had in mind, but still just as sweet. After cake we went to the back porch and each picked a balloon, made a wish for Dad and Linda, and let them go up into a blue, summery sky.

As they floated away in tight-knit flock, Anna looked up and said, "Look, they're all traveling together!"

Treatment

Heather and Linda briefed me on the very long and involved appointments at Cleveland Clinic with the oncologist and radiologist. Dad will need six weeks of radiation, five days a week, and six weeks of chemo, by pill. After radiation is over, chemo will begin another course. Good news is that the doctors say that treatment shouldn't be as taxing as it sounds, and Dad should be able to resume a fairly normal life.

I wish I would have been there today to help absorb the loads of information and some of the emotional and physical toll it took on those three.

Hard to believe that just about three weeks ago, this was unthinkable ...

In early May this odd bird started lingering around my home office window. It's a grackle with a single, long white tail feather. Sometimes it flits around the yard not 10 feet from me and other times it looks as if it's trying to fly in my office. I even saw it circle around to the front yard yesterday. In a meeting today, this graphic designer, an artsy gal, shared with me her love of birds. I told her about my grackle, and she's convinced it's a good sign.

Right now I don't know if I believe in signs. I looked and found signs during Mom's illness and after her death. So what? On the one hand they offer solace and hope; they don't always make your wishes come true. I guess it is comforting to know that the grackle will probably continue to come around in spite of my ambivalence.

Bumps in the road

The end of this post is that Dad's fine. He was downright jovial when I talked to him this afternoon. One of his observations was, "You know, I find I'm just not interested in watching the morning news anymore. That's okay. I was kind of getting obsessed with it." Coming from a Today Show freak, that's quite a statement. But it speaks to how Dad is processing all this -- adapting and accepting. I'm sure he's not always feeling this way, but he's making a real effort to stay positive.

The last week tested his efforts. About four days ago Dad felt pain in his leg. Linda and Heather took him back to Cleveland Clinic where they found he has blood clots in his legs and lungs (as if he didn't have enough going on in his body!). Long story short, they did a procedure to insert some kind of filter to stop the clots before they get to dangerous places, and he was sent home. Then yesterday he was having stomach cramps. After another 12-hour visit to Cleveland Clinic, they found nothing wrong. The guy keeps bouncing back. (Three cheers for Heather and Linda who have loyally been by his side during these small setbacks and long drives to Cleveland.)

After the first visit, the docs sent Dad home with oxygen due to the clots. This probably irritated him more than anything else. "I feel like an old person!" Dad's always felt and acted (at least) 20 years younger than his chronological age. Many people can attest to this, such as those greeted by an adult trick-or-treater during Halloween, those witness to his outrageous dancing at weddings and those being pinched or patted on the buns by Bill. Seeing him on oxygen would be like seeing a toddler in a business suit. Doesn't seem appropriate.

This whole illness doesn't seem appropriate for someone as healthy and active as Dad. I wish it were just a mistake and we'd all wake up tomorrow with notes taped to our door that read, "Sorry for the confusion. Bill had a walnut in his head, not a tumor. Please resume your normal lives."

How is he doing?

This is what we get asked daily.

Well, the thing is, Bill is great. Heather's been giving me updates since I left, and I've talked with him on the phone each day. He's definitely not out cutting grass (surprisingly), but he's visiting with friends, running errands with Heather, taking walks, eating and sleeping well. He even made another trip to the marina. His comment to me has been, "I feel good."

Brain surgery, schmain surgery.

Mentally his chin is up, and Dad continues to express thanks to friends and family for support, meals, prayers. What keeps him positive is people power. Joe stops by to chat, guys at the marina tease him, Uncle Ray ribs him, Todd dedicates plays he directed in NYC to him, Anna dedicates her one-mile run in gym class to her Grandpa, Heather and Linda hug him, Kristine brings by a chicken dinner. His peeps keep spirits high and high spirits supply strength and help heal.

Share your Bill story

Remember Judy on the motorcycle (5/8)? Here she is:

I have a funny story related to my recent motorcycle visit with you and your dad ...

Remember when your Dad was asking how I held the throttle and the front brake when I would ride? I tried to explain to him that I just use my rear brake if I need to stop and he said, "No, use your front brake otherwise you will fishtail!" Well, I thought his advice was strange and it was the tumor talking and that he was confused so I did not want to argue. Anyway, Tuesday morning I was riding my motorcycle to work down a curvy back road when a big dog slowly started to cross the street. I moved to the left to avoid the dog, which was in the oncoming traffic lane, and hit my rear brake. I, of course, started to fishtail and felt the rear of my bike go left. I let off the brake, got out of the fishtail and eased around the dog.

Bill was right! I should have used my front brake and rear brake at the same time for the most efficient stop! The rest of the day I rode with my right fingers covering the front brake!

Thanks Bill ...

Here's your chance to share a Bill story -- anything goes. I know that he has touched, helped, advised (no doubt without solicitation) and baffled many people. Comment below or send to lisabauer@tds.net. I will share them with Dad. He'll really enjoy being the center of attention!

Walk in the woods

It's tough to shift gears back to real life in Madison. I'm so happy to see friends but miss Dad ...

Am thinking of walking through the woods surrounding the house I grew up in on Becker Road ... Last week before Dad's surgery MJ and I took a stroll because she said, "Mom, I really want to go in the forest!" Trees hug Dad's house like a security blanket. Dad has harvested wood for his stove to heat the house for almost 40 years now. Heather and I begrudgingly helped chop wood shortly after we started walking! Slight exaggeration, but let's just say the sound of a log splitter is about as familiar to me as the sound of my Dad's voice. Because Dad's removed dead and dying trees, this small woods is really thriving.

(An aside: One year Dad was climbing a tree with a chainsaw -- not recommended. He fell and broke both arms. A few weeks later Heather sprained both of her arms playing high school hoops. So Dad and Heather had four casts/splints between the two of them.)

Anyway, I wound through the woods with MJ trailing behind, chattering in her mouse voice about poison ivy and bugs and birds. We stepped over spring flowers, Solomon's seal, what we used to call "umbrella plants" -- all the foliage intertwined with childhood. We passed young trees just poking up from the moist ground and old oaks and maples and birch and hollow rotting logs that MJ guessed were homes for rabbits or squirrels. I showed her where Heather and I and friends used to build forts, told her about the time I stepped on a dead cow that my uncle dumped in the back of the woods. Gross, I know!

Everything felt familiar until we ran across this--


I never knew about this memorial to our loyal family dogs. Dad got it when he was picking out Mom's gravestone. He's always loved animals and has given time and money generously to organizations that help them. Seeing this stone reminded me the size of my Dad's heart. Room for many people, animals and even woodlands.

Visit to Zion

Pastor Jeff is in Zion National Park on a well-deserved respite from his flock in Madison. He called yesterday and I flat-out asked him: Why would God give us cancer? "I can't answer that on a short phone call, Lisa. Let's talk when I get back."

I've never been to that park, but I googled some pictures of it to find massive canyon walls and beauty on a grand scale. Is God still in Zion? Maybe we need to pack up and take Dad there.

I hung up with Jeff and looked out my office window at my red bud tree in full bloom.

Later that night I wandered downstairs in a daze to find the kids and Scott cuddled up on the couch watching SpongeBob. What a sight for sore eyes. I had to squeeze in to that little pile of arms and legs that I love. Good ol' SquarePants went to Frank's Pranks and found some invisible spray for him and Patrick. Since it stains clothes, they stripped and started playing tricks on all the neighbors at Bikini Bottoms. Of course when the spray came off they were buck naked on a stage in front of all those they pranked. hahaha! Anna and MJ's giggles were contagious. I could not help but join them in that Zion.

Ugly turns

My dear friend Ken lost his farm in the 1980s. He raised four girls and herds of cattle in the sandhills of western Nebraska. Then the farm crisis hit and -- poof -- it was all gone. He drove away from his land with his family and whatever they could fit in their car. They settled in Lincoln and in his 60s, Ken went back to school to get a bachelor's degree. He wound up working for the SARE program, where I worked while we lived in Lincoln. Ken is my granpda/second dad/brother.

I'd avoided calling Ken about Dad's condition until today. Ken and Dad are kindred spirits. When I told Ken, he paused and in his deep and deliberate cowboy voice said,

"Life can really take some ugly turns."

That's where we're at right now. Dad is faced with rough seas. His neurosurgeon told him today that it is, in fact, an aggressive form of brain cancer. He will need chemotherapy and radiation. Next Wednesday he has appointments to discuss details.

But going forward, we remain optimistic. They removed the entire tumor, which is not always possible. Dad is young and strong. He's rapidly recovering from surgery, and his attitude is that of gratitude to his friends, family, doctors and nurses. Physically and mentally, he is fit. He's back home (only two days after brain surgery!) with Heather and Linda. I am in Wisconsin now, but my heart remains at 50902 Becker Road.

I keep this picture in my mind: Yesterday when we left the hospital, my aunt and uncle came in to visit with Dad, who was moving from the "step down" neurology unit (like ICU) to a regular room. As we waved goodbye to Dad walking down the hall, he had a grin from ear to ear. Embracing his brother- and sister-in-law and his nurse, Mo, he did not act like a man recovering from major surgery and looking down the line at more treatments.

Ugly turns will not bring him -- or any of us -- down.

He's OK

Dad made it. Brain surgery is done. Dr. Weil was impressed with his stamina and ability and discipline to count back and forth to 100 many times during surgery! He was nearly in tears when he saw us post-op and exclaimed, "I'm so glad to be alive!"

Pathology report on the brain tumor comes back in a week ... we may be facing 15-20 footers. But Dad is determined and our love and the love and prayers from hundreds of others will keep him strong.

Mass

Linda's Catholic so we joined her for mass on Saturday evening. The priest shared a lovely homily about Mother's Day. God is a father and a mother. I feel that way about my dad. Since mom died, he's mothered us, but even before then ...

A few days ago I got in bed to go to sleep in my old room at Dad's house. Was reading my book about Frank Lloyd Wright when Dad knocked, walked over to the bed and started pulling covers up to my neck. "Have to come in and tuck you in -- remember how I always used to do this?" And I do remember, even when I was a teenager and probably showed my distaste of that small act of love, he still did it.

During the mass, Mary Jane wriggled and kicked and generally acted like her little wormy self. Dad pulled her to his side and rubbed her back, smiled at her and she laid on his lap. I wanted to bottle that. Dad's a hugger and so emotional for a man from his generation, I think. Growing up I sometimes felt uncomfortable with it ... typical teen wanting her own space. But God I could do with one of his strong hugs right now.

When I think about it, he's mothered many people. If you met him on the street and had some friendly words with him one day, he'd be glad to come fix your car the very next day.

After mass, the priest blessed Dad and Linda's wedding rings. Anna felt pretty important holding the goblet of holy water! We couldn't hold back tears and of course Dad gave the priest a bear hug.

Waiting...

In hour 1.5 of waiting ... Lots of people around us with blank stares. They probably also woke up at 3 a.m. At least the waiting room is nice -- TV, wireless, coffee nearby. I could do without the sound of that wrecking ball, like a distance storm or a community headache.

Kids are with my Aunt Donna, who is spoiling them. Aunt D. called to see if MJ could have gum. They were on their way to the post office then to a picnic. I'm happy to hear any kind of normalcy.

We just took a humor break here, wondering if they remove that thing from Dad's brain, will he suddenly pronounce words correctly? Like Linda said, "No matter how many times you tell him 'tilapia,' he says 'talapeka." And Scott remembered him ordering a 'panty sandwich' rather than 'panini.'

Sorry in advance but there could be a flock of blog entries today. Gotta kill time. Linda is reading O Magazine and Scott's playing with his phone. We're having a conversation on whether Oprah's had a face lift. Consensus is yes she has ...

I felt so scared for my dad when they wheeled him to surgery. Was able to have a good cry after walking away. He claimed he felt good, wasn't nervous. We had some laughs and he told Linda and I how much he loved all his girls -- Linda, me, Heather, Anna, MJ, Charlotte. I showed him pictures of my gals and then a video on my phone of some of Char's first steps. We are all right there with him in that OR.

Surgery begins

Dr. Weil started brain surgery on Dad at 8:55 a.m. ET.

The waiting begins ...

Rustbelt

So glad to have Scott and my girls here! Dad keeps hugging the gals and saying, "You're Grandpa's girl!" Scott is just ... my man. I tease him and nag too much but he knows I could never do without him. (Yes, he's still training for the marathon!)

Dad's tired today. He's had quite a few visitors but also tried to do too much -- fiddling with this or that around the house. Glad Scott is here to help with big tasks. I'm tired and feel like I'm catching a cold. Figures. Plus, it's a bit depressing around here. Yesterday Dad and I drove past the Ford plant, shut down a few years ago, that was full of 1,000s of overstocked Hondas. I think unemployment is 8.9 percent in the Cleveland area. Dad said the marina has about 20 percent of their slips empty this season. Even folks at the grocery store and around town seem a bit downtrodden. We're insulated in Madison with state gov and university (she notes as her own job teeters on the chopping block). It's sad to see how the economy is affecting my hometown...

We did manage to enjoy each other today. The girls rode bikes all over Dad's big driveway, then we hit the rails-to-trails path in Kipton. Also stopped at the neighbors' garage sale, where dad bought Anna a purple big-girl bike and MJ some pastel legos. The neighbors have beautiful, award-winning show horses. We peeked in the barns at champions Larry, Lenny, Gloria and the pony Sally O'Malley.

Dad needs to rest, but his spirits are higher when he's around people. A lot of spirits around here could use some boosting.

Boating

Gettin' tough. My back and neck are hurting. Have been driving Miss Daddy around to get groceries, stop at the bank, see friends. I think I've listening to Dad tell his story 20 times. He has many friends! But every time he tells the story ... seizure, life-flighted, Cleveland Clinic, tumor ... my stomach drops and I start to feel a bit dizzy myself. Trying to share funny stories about the kids, ask Dad questions that invoke positive thoughts, but I just want to get this operation behind us.

Of course we had to stop at the marina to check on the Beech Buoy. She's in the Valley Harbor storage barn, wrapped in canvas and plastic. Dad was worried the port engine was out, but he fired her up and all seems okay. Phew. He would have been fixing an engine today.

We stopped at the marina office to visit with his Valley Harbor buddies like George, the crusty old sailor who owns the marina, and George's sons David and Danny. Beech Buoy's been at Vallely Harbor for 20 years now. Dad relayed his news and while they were all in shock, his buddies proceeded to make jokes about looking for Dad's brain in his rear, etc. That kept the spirits high. As we left, Dad said, "If it weren't for Linda, I wouldn't have made it. I just didn't know I had any problem with my brain." George replied, "Shit, I coulda told you that long ago."

Clouds are thick around here today but nice to see the lake and think about Dad boating later in the season.

Air is silent

"Air is silent .... unless it comes from your butt!"

Excuse the potty humor but Scott texted me this quote from MJ this morning. Dad thought this was the most hilarious thing and has shared it with several people already this morn. That little pipsqueak is a riot! They are on their way and I cannot wait to see my guy and my girls.

Vrrroooooommm

An old friend stopped by to see Dad (and me) last night. Judy and I went to school together kindergarten through graduation. We played on sports teams, knew and loved each other's families and got into some trouble. Judy pulled up Dad's driveway in a motorcycle she got for Mother's Day last year. Man, she looked cool. Dad was beside himself with joy to see not only Judy but Judy on that cycle! I keep re-playing Dad's smile from ear-to-ear as he talked to her about disk breaks, being careful at intersections and horsepower.

She stayed for awhile and helped us all laugh. Lee stopped by for supper and we talked about Judy's husband, a Vermilion police sergeant, and some of his stories. Apparently when Dad gets well enough to drive, he can do some name-dropping to avoid traffic tickets! Two of Dad's favorite topics: motorcycles and law officers.

Judy is GOOD people. Lifelong friend. We watched her drive away on her cycle and Dad was in awe. Later that night he said, "Boy, I'm really glad Judy went home before dark. Three things I don't do on my motorcylce: drive in the dark, drive on the highway and drive in the rain."

Keep the cycle polished, Dad. It will be there when you get better.

Sun, then rain

I convinced Dad to take a nap. He's been on the phone and visiting with friends and family all day, sharing his war story. "Man, I'm luck to be alive!" and "I woke up in Cleveland with a damn tube in my mouth!" He matter-of-factly tells them about his surgery Monday. I pray it's just like fixing a car.

We ran errands to get prescriptions and went out to lunch at Java Zone. A cute Oberlin College couple sat at a table next to us and I loved being a voyeur on their happiness. At the time they left the cafe hand-in-hand I was thinking, "Oh, to be young again..." But when Dad and I left, we had our arms around each other. So, there!

I tried not to say much about it being Mom's b-day today. Wanted to stay upbeat with Dad. But he insisted we pick up flowers and take them to the cemetery. We drove by old haunts: Firelands High, that run-down bar where I played pool once, the barn where Mom and I used to ride bikes to get brown eggs when I was small. The cemetery is tucked behind an old white church right across from the school where Mom taught. It was raining when we pulled in then, believe it or not, stopped the second we stepped out to set yellow tulips on her gravestone. Dad chatted with her like he was on the phone: "Anna is 8 now and really smart. Mary Jane is 4... or is she 5? She's 5. And Charlotte is a little whip." Laughed when Dad said, "Lisa works for the University of Minnesota and lives in Minneapolis." Not sure if this is the tumor or just regular Dad! As soon as we said goodbye and headed for the car, wouldn't ya know it, the rain started again.

It's a peaceful, old cemetery full of familiar names from my hometown area. We visited my Grandma and Grandpa, Mom's brother and sister-in-law (who died in a car accident several months apart at the exact same spot on Baird Road) and a cousin of mine who died 4 days after I was born. She was 10 months old and her name was Rebecca Ann.

Geeeeeez, so much sadness. This blog is going South quickly!

I am okay. I'm sad and frightened but trying to make the most of these next few days before surgery. Scott and the kids are coming here! Dad's planning a big Mother's Day picnic! Supposed to be sunny on Sunday...

May 7

Mom would have been 66 today. I am teary as I look out the window of the house I grew up in to see speckled light through newly greened trees.

Who woulda thunk I'd be back here dealing with brain surgery #4. Like Heather said, "Gee, when do we get our brain tumors?"

Positive thoughts -- Dad is so happy this morning. This man is invincible. Before Linda went to work, Dad asked us about details of Sunday. "Now when did I have that seizure?" He remembers going in to Elyria hospital Sunday morning and then waking up in Cleveland Clinic Monday morning. "Damn, I was tied down to a bed with a big tube in my mouth! I thought, 'What the hell are they doing to me?'" Looking back we could not help but laugh. They had to restrain Dad because he was trying to rip out his ventilator, which they inserted before the helicopter life-flight to Cleveland. The poor guy!

After Linda left for work, Dad started listing all the things that he had to do ... stain the deck, mow grass, paint the house. Oh, and spray for woodpeckers. Yes, you read that correctly. It's Bill against nature in these parts as bees and woodpeckers are eating away at some of his cedar siding. "Dad, this is a chance for you to think about what really makes you happy and only do those things. Do you want to waste your time spraying for woodpeckers?" Hire people to mow, spray, paint, etc. Dad got quiet but he gets it. He's worked his tail off since age 10 when he repaired small appliances for his Dad's business. When I was in high school and college he often had two or three jobs -- repaired corn dryers for farmers until 10 p.m., drove three hours home then got up for his mid-management job in the telecommunications industry. (Paid for my college, studying in Europe, etc.)

I'm not fooling myself. The man will not ever stop working. But maybe rather than spray for woodpeckers he could do something enjoyable like fix up that 1966 Mustang in his garage.

Right, Mom? Happy Birthday.

Drive

Before we left Cleveland Clinic, the neurologist gave dad marching orders which included no driving for six months. (It's a law if you've had a seizure.) Now, my dad has 2 boats, 5 cars, 1 motorcycle and 2 scooters. He likes to drive. It was sad to see his face when he grasped this reality. I think he's accepted the part about not driving cars. The boat part ... not so much. He still wants to put the Tiara in the water. Still has plans for the wedding at Put-in-Bay July 17 and in fact was on the phone with a friend asking if he got the wedding party invitation. He's making plans. He has drive. I just pray, pray, pray ...

First Mates

Linda, Heather and I have been Captain Bill's First Mates.

Linda saved Dad's life by getting him to the ER before he had his big seizure. Linda demanded he be transported to the Cleveland Clinic, world-renowned hospital with top docs. Linda is a nurse through-and-through, so caring, comforting and calm. Her soft voice is so soothing. She loves my Dad and has been his rock. Along with her son Lee, she's our family.

Heather...it's hard for me to write about Heather. First, I'm so damn tired. Second, I had to say goodbye to her today. We decided she'd leave and come back next Tuesday, the day that I leave, so Dad would have at least two weeks of full-time care. So I'm sad and lonely without her. She reminds me of mom. I'm proud of her. I love spending time with her. But I know she had to get back to Chuck and Charlotte.

Heather and I used to play this game called manimal. I was the "manimal," and Heather was like, I guess, my zookeeper? I kinda grunted and crawled around and made her laugh while she tried to corral me. I don't know why I share this. I'm tired. And I just love my sister. We laugh a lot and totally understand each other. (She would be laughing at manimal right now while most others are wondering if I've finally lost it.)

Anyway, Dad is back in his chair in the family room watching 20/20 as if none of this nightmare had happened. Amen.

Outpouring

God, I love my village, which extends many miles across states and continents. People from my village have prayed for my Dad, sent heartfelt notes, called me, visited at the hospital, picked me up from the airport, watched my children, fed them, took pictures and video of them at school, comforted my husband, e-mailed Psalms, sent fruit. (By the way, people, if you ever need to send something special to a loved one, go to Edible Arrangements. Chocolate-covered oranges. Need I say more?)

I feel like running to the top of a mountain, stretching out my arms and shouting, "Oh, the humanity!" It's overwhelming.

This is my wordy way of saying thanks. I hope you know I'd do them same for all of you in a heartbeat.

A Good Day

Dad has a brain tumor. It's probably cancer. How, you might think, could we have a good day?

Well, it's all about that elusive goal many people are trying to reach: Living for the moment.

Yesterday morning we came to find Dad back to 75 percent normal after a day of being unresponsive. Heather and Dad and I spent the day sharing stories and laughing. We talked about Bunnifer, the 20-pound rabbit Dad had as a little boy. A man from an amusement park wanted to buy Bunnifer from Dad for $50 b/c it was an unusually large bunny. Dad would not sell Bunnifer. He showed us the scar on his thumb from Bunnifer biting him -- maybe he should have taken the 50 bucks!

We talked about "projects" that dad has done for us, most recently, as I mentioned, Heather's kitchen and the French doors in my office. Dad explained in exacting detail what Heather needed to do to install her new dinette table, at which point we knew that he had not lost a lot of brain function. He talked about bandsaws, planers, radius and diameter, moldings, and many terms I wasn't familiar with. Sure, some of his words didn't come out right. That was minor and even cause for laughter.

We laughed so hard. We pointed out to Dad the EEG monitoring his brain waves and all gazed at the computer's squiggly lines. "Dad, think of something really mean and see what those waves do," we said. He looked at the screen, scrunched up his brow and said, "Kill! Kill!" I think you had to be there, but damn we laughed so hard. And the lines got really dark and sharp!

Dad was just in such high spirits. He just loved having us all together right then and there.

Sue from West Virginia

When dad was in Neuro ICU and they told us it was a brain tumor, Heather and I totally broke down. I walked to the waiting room and openly sobbed and moaned and wailed. I curled up in a ball. Heather joined me and together we just simply lost it.

Suddenly a woman is sitting next to us. She's short and stout with a gray pony tail and green ribbon in her hair. She asks us if she can pray and she does. So the tears slow down and we learn she's Sue from West Virginia. Her husband Bob (whom her crazy neighbor calls Bill -- get it "Bill and Sue"?) had a stroke in February and has been unresponsive since the end of March. Sue's voice reminded me of that good little fairy munchkin in the Wizard of Oz. The docs keep telling her Bob is going to die and she keeps telling them they're wrong, with a smile on her face. She tells us dad is going to be okay. Keep the faith.

We left ICU but Sue is still there and I send my thoughts and prayers to her. So many people suffer and take care of those who suffer. My aunt is also currently in Cleveland Clinic suffering from side affects of another long-term illness. How do we keep from getting overwhelmed with sorrow? Well, we do get overwhelmed. Then we just find that internal drive to live and to plan for the future and just wait for Bob to wake up.

Medical Update

Latest reality: Dad is going HOME TODAY. That's the order from neurosurgery. He's doing so well that there's no reason to keep him here for four days prior to surgery on Monday morning. Will be so good for him to see his big yard, the woods, his cats.

His neurosurgeon, Dr. Robert Weil, visited with us this morning. I have dealt with neurosurgeons before. This man is not only brilliant but also has the best bedside manner of any doctor I have ever met (doctor friends excluded of course!). Step by step, he walked us through with honesty and a bit of humor. As he said, "I just love doing this!" I think he does 300 brain surgeries each year. Dr Weil said they will put dad to sleep for the incision and then he will be awake (I know!) during the procedure. They do this because the surgery is in a critical part of the brain -- language and speech area. So they send electrical signals in an area before they cut to see if dad can still talk when that area is compromised. Dad, of course, is thrilled to be awake and asking if he can have a mirror to watch the surgery. (No, he can not.) Typical engineer ...

It IS brain surgery. There's is a 1-2 percent chance of a very bad outcome. Dr. Weil seemed very optimistic, so we are as well. Don't get me wrong, I am so scared and saw the damage brain surgery did to my mom. But what do we have if we don't have hope?

Help the modicine go down

Dad is talking with us! He is laughing and totally aware of his surroundings. He's on an anti-seizure medication, which makes him a bit loopy and slightly confused here and there. But overall the guy is in the midst of some very smooth sailing. I am going to make this short because I want to get up and spend time with him.

Isn't the brain fascinating? His left side is definitely affected. He knows what he wants to say but the words don't always come out right.

medicines = modicine
helicopter = holly copter

The list goes on and on but we can figure out what he's trying to say, and we all laugh about it. Of course those of you who really know Bill know that perhaps this has been affecting him for some time! The guy is no English major. :) But he will still try to come fix your car if you ask him tomorrow. He's been talking about various jobs he's recently done for us -- remodeling Heather's kitchen and putting doors on my office.

This is tough. But seeing him smiling, sitting up and being able to hug him ... A spoonful of sugar helps the modicine go down.

Review

On Sunday morning, May 2, I was at my computer during a few quiet hours while Scott took the kids to Sunday School and to run errands. Scott flies in the door with a fearful face and says the words, "Your dad had a stroke."

Fast forward ... It was not a stroke. Dad had been showing signs of a stroke -- confusion and memory loss -- that morning with Linda. THANK GOD Linda was with him. She rushed him to the hospital, where he had a seizure and was life-flighted to Cleveland Clinic in what he now calls a "holly copter." (More of language/left side of the brain later!)

After test upon test, doctors determined he has a "lesion" -- most likely a tumor -- in the temporal part of his brain that caused the seizure. A CAT scan indicated that he does NOT have cancer in his trunk area (lungs, stomach, etc.). So now they need to biopsy the lesion to see what they are dealing with and how to treat it. Chances are that it is in a part of the brain that cannot be tampered with, i.e. probably inoperable. Biopsy will possibly be Monday, but he's doing so well that he MAY be sent home before then, treated as an out-patient and come in for surgery/biopsy next week. I am telling you, Bill is so damn strong.

All this could, of course, change in an instant.

I've left of many details, buckets of tears, a few moments of laughter and some incredible feelings of relief: he is alive and communicating and actually in high spirits right now. This is just the down and dirty of it. I'll do what I can to keep posting but Internet access is spotty here in one of the top medical facilities in the world. (!!??) Is that like NASA saying they have sub-par runways? Maybe not.

Waves

It feels slightly inappropriate blogging about my Dad's medical battle. (If I were 10 or more years younger ... it'd be second nature.) Bear with me if possible, or just stop reading. It's therapeutic and liberating to see words about these events that don't seem real.

Also, I feel a strong desire to communicate with many of you who have expressed your condolences, promised prayers, made phones calls, left messages, taken care of my children, checked in on Scott ... phew, and it's only been one day! To thank you is insufficient. I am virtually hugging each and every one of you. Your thoughts do not just help emotionally. I physically feel better. Many of you who've been through similar ordeals understand this power. It heals.

Why Twelve Footers? Ask Captain Bill about boating and you'll get an earful about all the waves he's fought throughout his long-time on Lake Erie. He's battled many a twelve-foot wave and come through not only with flags of victory but also with a bunch of great stories. Right now I see this as another big wave (and one helluva big one) to conquer.

More news to come ... I am only supposed to be on .gov or .org sites here searching for health information. Gee, maybe that's a better way to spend my time. As a good friend told me, "You can only do your best." So that's what I'm trying to do. Well, by far it's not just me. Heather and Linda and I are Dad's ladies, his first mates.

Stay turned for good and bad news but most of all just a journey about the love that two daughters, one almost-wife and many others have for a man named Bill.