Why

The girls, Scott and I went camping with friends this past weekend, giving Linda and Bill some peace and quiet. Sounds like they had a low-key Saturday then Sunday ventured to the International Crane Foundation near Baraboo -- only place in the world where you can see all 15 species of cranes. As with anything animal- or nature-related, Dad loved it. Sunday was also Linda's birthday, so we celebrated when we all got home with strawberry sundaes. The kids wondered why poor Grandma Linda only got a handful of cards and Grandpa got "like more than 100!" Dad enjoyed teasing Linda about his popularity while at the same time commenting, "I didn't know that many people even like me!"

Things are still going well for Dad, although he's tiring out quicker, has a short fuse at times and seems to be sick of dealing with cancer. Can ya blame him? Even though we've succeeded in enjoying time as a family, we just can't seem to kick the fact that we're dealing with this awful disease. I was taking a walk with Dad last night. He's still a fast walker! But as we cut our walk short and talked about muscle atrophy, I couldn't help but think "why, why, why..."

Why does Dad have brain cancer? How did he get it? Why do Heather and I have to watch another parent suffer? Why does Linda have to go through a second husband's battle with terrible disease? Why couldn't we just have had the summer as planned, including a wedding on Put-in-Bay?

Beyond our immediate family, why does my dear friend's 7-year-old daughter have leukemia? Why did a local Madison family disintegrate when parents died in a car accident on a family vacation leaving 3 orphaned children? Why did another dear friend lose her job? Why is my aunt's health failing at such a young age? Why are we still in Iraq with a dear marine friend having to leave his young family for more than a year? Why, why, why?

After Dad's first brain surgery, his neurosurgeon broke the news to us in the waiting room that he most likely had brain cancer. We were still hoping that it was benign or some other abnormality. Brain cancer was worse case scenario. I lost it right there in front of a bunch of other stressed out family members, waiting for their own news. I wailed and wailed and mumbled and drooled and probably looked like someone in desperate need of a sedative. I finally went into the bathroom where I picked up a garbage can and threw it across the floor. Looking back, I'm surprised they didn't call security! But all I could process were two words: "NO" and "WHY?"

Anxiously waiting for Dad to get out of his second surgery at UW a few weeks ago, Pastor Jeff walked up to us for a visit. Heather, Scott, Linda and I had all been through this routine before: You are given 4+ hours to wait while a loved one is in brain surgery. Too much thinking time. I felt all the feelings bubbling up: anger, sadness, fear. Jeff asked questions and listened. This is a pastor who really has found his true calling. I'm sure my own question to him came out sounding very childish, but I asked it: "Jeff, why does God allow this to happen?"

He told us about what drove him into ministry: His father died when he was a young man, and he wanted to find answers. He told us about another very serious family issue that brought him to a low point in his life. Here was a man of religion not giving rote answers just to bring comfort but offering up his own humanity as testament to faith. The closest he came to answering my "Why?" question was another question: "A fallen world?" Jeff believes that God is not the puppeteer orchestrating all these awful things -- cancer, war, poverty -- as punishment or to test us. God is lifting us up (through friends, family, nature) as we trudge through the deep thickets on our way to the open meadows and cool streams. We all have both in our lives.

Maybe it is a fallen world. I have no answer but continue to pray for those who are sad and suffering, including my own family. We are lucky to have each other ...

When we go camping, one of the highlights for me is craning my neck to look at the night sky. Outside of the city, in pitch black, a clear sky of stars is a diamond-studded antidote to any kind of negative feeling. The world may be falling, but stars still hang on our wall.

Pictures of Bill

Looking back at pictures from June, it's hard to believe that only a few weeks ago Dad was in a hospital bed, hooked up to a system of tubes, barely communicating and re-learning the names of his wife, children and grandchildren...

At the Union Terrace on Lake Mendota. We spent some nice time outside listening to music before the rains fell. We then moved the party inside to the Rathskeller student union for more music and BEER. (Dad had a few sips, along with ice cream, popcorn and nachos!)


HAPPY 65, BILL! You all went beyond Dad's wildest expectations with cards. He was overwhelmed with birthday and wedding wishes and loved EVERY ONE. He spent a long time reading and re-reading each card, making notes on it and saying something nice about each sender. I was hoping for 65 cards and we stopped counting way after 100! (With all the food he's eating, I thought the puffy face was weight-gain, but Linda said it's the steroids.)


Going out for ice cream on Father's Day after we went on a picnic on the lake. Dad had the biggest waffle cone I have ever seen ...


You can't keep this man away from a car show! Turns out our local Quaker Steak n Lube has a car show every Thursday. Dad even entered his suped up Subaru. Looks like we know where we will be every Thursday...


This is the mouth-watering and artistic strawberry-rhubarb pie made by Linda and devoured by Dad.


Hand-in-hand with the girls on our trip to Wisconsin Dells.


Helping Anna improve her swing for Wednesday night baseball games, at which Dad is a loyal fan.


Hanging out on the back deck with a few of his girls.

Medical update

Dad got his stitches out yesterday with Dr. Sillay. So now instead of a black-laced question mark snaking from his left temporal lobe to the front of his ear, he just has a naked scar. Sillay was impressed with his progress -- speech and strength. We'd plan to get Dad in some speech therapy, but he doesn't need it. Well, he's probably needed it his whole life but why start now! All kidding aside, Dr. Sillay was happy with Dad's healing. Of course Dad worships Sillay and hangs on his every word. I am thrilled Dad has such confidence in his doctors. It makes a world of difference when you think you're in good hands.

Thank goodness for modern medicine. I think we do focus too much on treating illness v. prevention. But hey, when you're in a crisis, you're glad there's an opportunity to gulp down a pharmacy full of pills, go under the knife of a skilled surgeon and get beamed with radiation. I remember one of the doctors telling us early on that even 5 years ago, the treatment options for my Dad would have been limited.

Four more weeks of radiation/chemo to go. Then he takes a short break and moves on to an even more aggressive chemo regimen sans radiation. At some point, we get another MRI. But right now things look good. He's had no outward signs of tumor growth like he did the past two times (seizure and major speech impediment). So we are optimistic.

How to spend the perfect evening

We're getting a respite from the devastation, deep sadness, fear, anger, exhaustion, etc., associated with cancer. We hope it will last a long time. Either way, we're enjoying it. Here's our advice on how you can live for each moment and spend a lovely evening with your family:

4:30 Take kids swimming, watch them love learning the back stroke and swimming underwater like fishies. Do a few laps yourself and bask in filtered sun and perfect temps.

5:15 Come home and be greeted by a delivery from one of the "church ladies," our culinary angels who weekly bring us the most delicious, nutritious feasts. This time it was Debra with a vegetarian dream: spinach pie, green salad, quinoa and bean salad, fresh bread, oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Watch your Dad's eyes light up as he takes Debra's hand and offers a very heartfelt thanks. Savor this meal together at the table with open windows and gentle breezes. Savor the Martha-Stewart-inspired rhubarb-strawberry pie lovingly made by Linda. (Stand in awe as your Dad eats TWO pieces!)

6:15 Sit on the back deck and watch kids play in the yard. Your kids are in their jammies already. (They opted for jams after swimming, tired from the pool.) Find a toad and gather the cousins -- Char, MJ and Anna -- to watch in wonder. "A toad!" Relish each giggle as said toad hops, gets gently picked up, then pees on MJ's hand. Watch toad hop under the porch to safety.

6:45 Take a walk with the family: Char in stroller being pushed by two big cousins in jammies, Dad and Linda hand-in-hand, your beautiful sis Heather, Scott the caboose. Laugh heartily at Dad's penchant for gas -- hey, at least we're outside! (We blame it on the meds...) Follow winding trials through your neighborhood past veggie gardens, flowers, the call of birds, and suddenly look to the sky at a rainbow-colored hot air balloon floating right above your heads. Hear the kids wonder who's in it, where they're going, how they land ... Continue the walk and watch the balloon's serene journey until it's out of sight.

7:15 Stop at the Koch's house on your way home and chat with sweet neighbors/friends Shelley and Bryan. Watch little Landon and Charlotte show each other their belly buttons. Listen to Dad talk with Bryan about feeling so good and beating this disease. Feel a great warmth wash over you at knowing such lovely people as the Koch family. Say goodnight and be on your way. Walk home arm-in-arm with Bill, Linda on the other side of him as he says, "It's a rose between two thongs!" Oops, he meant "thorns." Have another belly laugh.

7:45 Put kids to bed with no trouble! Take a shower and join family on the back deck to soak in a bit more fresh air then move to the family room where conversation continues and laughs ensue. Read a blog comment to your Dad from a work colleague who he helped during a difficult time. (He wanted to remain anonymous, but somehow she found out.) Admire your Dad's generosity. Laugh some more before you see your Dad's eyes droop and Linda falling asleep at 10. You don't want this evening to end, but you yourself feel the pull of bedtime after a full day. Even in this trying time that may present sorrow or dread down the road, feel grateful God's blessed you and your family.

'I Love Boating'

Captain Bill spent part of the day yesterday on the water. We took him to the Dells to tour the Wisconsin River and out to eat at Mexicali Rose, waterside. He loved being on the river and reminisced about past boating excursions, especially his trip with Linda to the North Channel a few years back. They both said the geology looked similar in those two spots. Dad and Linda spent a good four weeks boating west on Lake Erie, up the Detroit River, Lake St. Claire and the St. Claire River to Lake Huron. They traveled the length of Huron and ended up in the North Channel, where they dropped anchor and did some "primitive" boating -- no docks, no marinas, no potties. What an adventure.

Our trip on the Wisconsin River was not as adventurous, but we did do some hiking through 600-million-year-old rock formations and on wooden trails through pine trees. Dad felt good and ate like a horse -- a big Mexican lunch along with two ice cream cones, popcorn, nachos ... And chemo is supposed to make you lose your appetite? Of course, he's still on a high dose of steroids, which makes you pretty ravenous.

It was a pleasure to see Bill in his boat shoes, wearing shorts, on a dock, watching water go by and thinking about good times on the Beech Buoy. Boating is such a part of him -- without it he's not himself. He's been on Lake Erie almost since he was a baby. His dad spent a good amount of free time on the lake. Grandpa Carl Beecheler (whom I never met; he died when Dad was 19) was a die-hard fisherman. Dad likes to tell the story of how Grandpa took their pastor out fishing. The pastor got sea-sick but Grandpa would not take him to shore and stayed out until he caught his limit -- about four hours. Dad ticks off the boats he's had as others would remember cars: his Dad's Lyman, Thompson, Wellcraft, Tiara, all increasing in length as Dad's hard work paid off and he was able to afford a bigger vessel to accommodate kids and grandkids on trips to the Lake Erie Islands.

Another example of Dad's passion for boating: On my wedding night I had a case of insomnia. I was at Mom and Dad's house and went in their room at midnight saying I couldn't sleep. Dad's response: "Lisa, when I am stressed out or can't sleep, I just repeat this phrase: 'I love boating, I love boating, I love boating.'" Unfortunately it didn't work for me, but Dad's mantra is right on target for him. He reads books and magazines about boating and the Great Lakes, his house is full of Lake art and lore. His biggest hero is probably Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry who served in the War of 1812 and earned the title of "Hero of Lake Erie" for leading American forces in a decisive naval victory at the Battle of Lake Erie.

Captain Bill got back from the fourth day of radiation today seemingly unscathed, my hero.

THANK YOU

HUGE thanks to many who've sent Bill cards and birthday wishes. He lights up like the sun every day when the mail comes! The positive energy of friends and family is a powerful tool in his fight against cancer.

Treatment begins

Dad and Linda just left for Dad's first radiation treatment. He was as jolly as a person could be on the morning of the first day of fighting brain cancer. "I slept really great last night!" he said on his way to walk Anna to her bus stop. He commented on how cute she was, her thick hair and came back to the house and picked up Charlotte for a hug and kissed MJ. Nice way to start the day.

He's taken two chemo pills already and so far had no side effects (which is pretty incredible in my mind since that stuff is so toxic that the doctors warned us to not even *touch* the pills). I'm sure down the road he'll get tired and maybe feel sick, but obviously we're hoping side effects are minimal and his physicians don't foresee any major problems.

His communication has improved, although he's definitely been frustrated at times. We all take for granted how easy our day-to-day lives are when we can clearly speak about our needs and understand others. As he tries to do his bills and take care of "maintenance living" issues, as I call them, he often hits a breaking point. Linda has been incredibly patient and caring. I'm in awe as I watch both Linda and Heather interact with Dad. They're so compassionate, gentle and upbeat. Living with four extra people in our modestly sized house can be a challenge. But we seem to be doing fine. Oh, I gotta mention Scott and his contribution to the controlled chaos in the Bauer household. Nothing like his sense of humor to get me through the day.

I can't deny that the Type A part of me looks around my messy house as I step in sticky lemonade on my kitchen floor and tenses up a bit. But then we come to this day, Day One of radiation and chemo together -- I see Dad's smile as he takes Anna to the bus stop and hugs MJ and Charlotte, I know the short drive to UW hospitals and their competent staff is nothing like the hour trek from his house to Cleveland Clinic, and I remember how lucky we are to be together on this journey.

In a good place

Great weekend for Dad, which started out by him walking through my door in street clothes -- out of hospital garb -- and saying clear as a bell, "It is so good to be home." From that moment it's been smooth sailing. We've enjoyed delicious meals together, most of them provided by my "family" at Advent Lutheran Church. Dad gets teary with every bite, asking who made what and complimenting the cuisine.

He's enjoyed talking with friends and family on the phone, too. As he apologizes for his speech impediment on each phone call, he sounds great to me. Sure, a few words don't come out exactly as planned: arm=herm or shrum=mushroom. So what! He's making progress. He's just happy to be back to a more "normal" life, although normal is relative at this point.

This morning Dad and Linda went to church with us, where they were greeted with open arms. Pastor Jeff, who's visited Dad several times at the hospital, made special mention of his presence and expressed surprise and gratitude that he's recovered from surgery so quickly. This afternoon Dad and Linda drove to Lake Mendota for a walk then went downtown for lunch and a bit of shopping.

If it weren't for the fact that we're still dealing with brain cancer, this would start to feel like a family vacation, which just speaks to my Dad's unbeatable positive attitude.

Heading home from the hospital

As I sit at my computer I'm waiting for Heather and Linda to bring Dad home from the hospital. You should have seen his jubilant reaction when they told him he could go home. He has a perfectly sunny day in which to step back into the real world.

I feel like a broken record, but Dad's in great shape! Physically healthy and getting better with communication. He has what they term "aphasia" -- an impairment (but probably not loss) of speech and comprehension of speech. This could be the result of a melting pot of problems, including pressure on the brain from the tumor, swelling and meds. But he's working SO hard to regain abilities in that arena, saying things like, "I've got to prove myself!" and "My brain is working. I'm not dumb!" And he is, of course, not. He just doesn't always understand what we're saying and in turn cannot always come up with the right words.

We might say, "Dad, do you have pain your legs?" Now I don't know what he hears, but he might respond, "No, I'm not hungry right now." But if we write the question down for him, he immediately understands and responds appropriately.

We had some laughs at his expense when he was working with the very sweet speech therapist. She'd show him pictures that he had to name and when it came to a pair of tongs, his response was, "Oh, well, I don't know what YOU call those, but I call them ice grabbers!" Brain tumor or no brain tumor, this would have been his response anyway. (And shame on us for laughing, right?!)

Anyway, truly amazing how the brain works. An aside, his neurosurgeon was telling us about a case where a bi-lingual (French and English) patient had a brain tumor on the right side of his brain. Speech is usually housed on the left side of the brain, but for some reason (perhaps it was his second language?), his French was housed on the right side of his brain. So, during the surgery to remove the tumor, they had to have an interpreter ask him questions in French to determine if they were damaging his speech. Fascinating ... just wish I didn't have to learn about it through this experience ...

Before we leave our UW stay behind, I feel I need to give props to ALL staff we encountered at UW hospitals.

We had nothing but positive interactions with numerous nurses, doctors, therapists, housekeepers, assistants, secretaries, etc. What a caring group of people. I'm in awe of those who serve in the health care industry with such compassion and dedication. Several nurses fell in love with Dad. He befriended just about everyone he met, remembered their names (quite a feat for him!), went out of his way to stand up and shake hands when he probably should have remained seated to avoid pulling out various IVs and monitors and constantly expressed his gratitude and respect for all who cared for him. A few nurses were in tears when they had to say goodbye to Bill. One wrote him a note that said, "It has been our privilege to care for you." (This was Tymalyn, a gal who, one night when Dad had some anxiety, created a 'zen room' for him complete with meditative music and low lights.)

Dad's kinda like the counterpart of "teacher's pet" in the hospital. And when he gets home he'll be just as loved.

Send b-day wishes for Bill

Dad's 65th birthday is on June 22. Wouldn't it be fun for him to get 65 (or more!) cards? If you have the time and inclination, please send to:

Bill Beecheler
c/o Lisa Bauer
1202 Tramore Trail
Madison WI 53717

Thanks, friends. Your support brings peace and strength to Bill and all of us.

Surgery over

Dad is okay. Dr. Sillay and his fine team here at UW did the very best they could do. It was re-growth of the tumor that, as Dr. Sillay said, is "coming back with a vengeance." But they were able to take some of it out in preparation for radiation to start Friday.

I'm so glad to see him.

Waiting..., Part II

Dad's second brain surgery began at 12:21 p.m. Here we sit, again, for the fourth time in 10 years, waiting to hear from a neurosurgeon about the fate of a loved one.

Sitting with Dad in his hospital room this morning, a tiny sparrow landed on the ledge of his window and seemed to look right at Dad, who was the first to see it and exclaim, "Look!" What is it with birds and brains? During medically trying times, seems like we're always getting messages delivered by beak. My white-tailed grackle, the heron back in the sad days with mom ... I guess it's easy to transmit a sign via wing. For me, it does provide that connection from solid ground to the sky.

Going in to surgery, Dad was calm. Because his brain isn't making all the connections between speech and understanding, we're not sure how much he's grasping. But we do feel strongly that he's still up for the fight. He's clearly said things like, "I want to do this! I want to keep living!" He can't quite carry on the conversation he could a week ago, but his personality, his jovial attitude, his big grin, his desire to learn and grow and work hard, his love for his family and friends -- it's all there.

We are all trying to follow his lead: chins up! We pray and hug and smile at little Charlotte toddling around the waiting area, bringing smiles to other anxious families. But I can't deny that I feel my heart's been ripped away, piece by piece ... It's amazing how attached we humans get to each other. That's the best and worst parts of love.

I cannot believe it's only 1:47. Godspeed to the physicians in that OR with Bill Beecheler ...

Brain Surgery, Part II

Dad will enter the OR mid-morning on Tuesday for his second brain surgery to "de-bulk" the tumor that has regrown. They hope this will give him a fighting chance to start radiation and chemo on Friday.

I'm exhausted but will try to post during the 4 to 8 hour waiting period tomorrow.