Please put Linda in your prayers. Sounds like she's doing okay, but she was diagnosed with shingles -- just what she needed! It sounds like they are under control and she's much better now, able to go to work.
Linda also provided this update on Dad via e-mail:
Just a quick note to let you know I think your dad is doing better. The weekend was still difficult but since Monday I am seeing a real difference. Better speech and also better writing, thinking, recall and personality qualities like humor and joking and not the tearful or negative mood. It must be the medicine making a difference. Also less edema in ankles and just all around I see improvement. Some of these are subtle changes, but still when I look at all the things, it is better. Physical therapy said he did not need them -- speech comes today I believe, and that should help.
We start today on only 4 mg of Prednisone (Yeah!) so that could be a factor. He spent several hours on mail and from the looks he did okay with that. I am so relieved. I am eager to see what the doctor thinks. The tumor board was to review his tests this week.
I talked to Dad today and echo what Linda, Heather and Scott have said: He sounds better -- more cheerful, laughing, not as emotional and better with his speech. In fact, today he spoke more full sentences than I've heard in quite awhile, including use of two big vocab words!
First, I told him Mary Jane's been sick and he responded that he felt bad about that, but, "At least she is building antibodies in her system." Way to go, Bill. Regaining some words.
We also talked about me leaving my job, which has been a major source of stress for the past several months. He knew the background, but I finally opened up and shared the whole story with Dad. As he's always been, he was there for me:
"Lisa, don't let this guy demoralize you!" (Demoralize! Good one, Dad!)
Dad boosted my spirits and confidence with just a few simple words: "Lisa, you're my girl. You're a great lady."
So remember when I said a few blogs ago that my days of getting advice from Dad were over -- guess I was wrong.
Dad told me to stay strong, have confidence in my work. Stand up for myself and stand up for what's right. "That's what I've taught you."
And he has. We ended with a laugh when he added, "Don't be exactly like me, but just very close." (tee hee!)
So maybe it's the change in his medication regimen, maybe his brain is healing from the trauma of the last six months. Whatever it is, I'm grateful Dad is seeing some good days. After what he's been through, he deserves a boatload of them.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Home again
Bill's back on Becker Road! It's a beautiful time of year in my hometown, like many other places. So I'm glad he's out of the hospital, able to look out the window at his trees.
Linda said Dad's discharge papers did list him as having a seizure, which would explain his fall and black eye. But I guess the primary problem was a seizure medication that has been giving him an array of ugly side affects. So docs decided to wean him off Vimpat and replace that with another seizure medication. Dad will be on seizure meds for the rest of his life. Seizures are one of the worst side affects of this kind of cancer. You just have to learn to control them if possible, and live with it.
Talked to Dad this morning, and he was cheerful, cracking jokes. Aunt Donna was there with him because a physical therapist was scheduled to stop by and assess household risks, such as stairs. So Dad was on the phone with me making jokes about Donna. They've known each other for about 40 years, so ribbing back and forth is totally acceptable.
"Yeah, Donna's here. She's gotta take care of me. Make sure I'm alive."
(Donna laughing in the background.)
"She's wearing a short skirt and looks real sexy!"
"Oh, Bill!" (More laughing from Aunt D.)
I got to talk to Aunt D. on the phone, too. She was like a second mother to me growing up. I had a few second families since we lived within 10 miles of 10 aunts and uncles (and a haywagon load of cousins). Heather and I grew up crossing fields to get to relatives' houses for play or food or just to join my mom, who'd drink gallons of coffee with her family each week.
Aunt Donna, especially, was a mother hen and took good care of all us crazy cousins. She kept us fed and kept us in line. She also had some terrific Halloween parties. Donna and Bill (and their kids Jason and Molly) lived in an old farmhouse built in the 1860s. Aunt Donna and Uncle Bill still live there, and Uncle Bill farms with Uncle Jim. The farmhouse is beautiful. Aunt D. has spent years going over every corner with polish, adding antique furniture, re-doing floors, hanging old spoons and utensils on the kitchen walls. I love that house. But when we were kids, we were all infatuated with and fearful of the cellar. It was a cellar, not a basement. Low ceilings, dirt floor, stone walls -- and dark. So Aunt D. invited us for Halloween parties in that cellar, where we witches and ghosties bobbed for apples and scared ourselves silly, and Uncle Bill would take us for hayrides.
This time of year it's fun to think about those parties, about mom raking acres of leaves, about Dad doing the final grass mowing, about those vibrant reds and purples and yellows and oranges in the woods where we grew up. I'm glad Dad's there to keep enjoying it.
Linda said Dad's discharge papers did list him as having a seizure, which would explain his fall and black eye. But I guess the primary problem was a seizure medication that has been giving him an array of ugly side affects. So docs decided to wean him off Vimpat and replace that with another seizure medication. Dad will be on seizure meds for the rest of his life. Seizures are one of the worst side affects of this kind of cancer. You just have to learn to control them if possible, and live with it.
Talked to Dad this morning, and he was cheerful, cracking jokes. Aunt Donna was there with him because a physical therapist was scheduled to stop by and assess household risks, such as stairs. So Dad was on the phone with me making jokes about Donna. They've known each other for about 40 years, so ribbing back and forth is totally acceptable.
"Yeah, Donna's here. She's gotta take care of me. Make sure I'm alive."
(Donna laughing in the background.)
"She's wearing a short skirt and looks real sexy!"
"Oh, Bill!" (More laughing from Aunt D.)
I got to talk to Aunt D. on the phone, too. She was like a second mother to me growing up. I had a few second families since we lived within 10 miles of 10 aunts and uncles (and a haywagon load of cousins). Heather and I grew up crossing fields to get to relatives' houses for play or food or just to join my mom, who'd drink gallons of coffee with her family each week.
Aunt Donna, especially, was a mother hen and took good care of all us crazy cousins. She kept us fed and kept us in line. She also had some terrific Halloween parties. Donna and Bill (and their kids Jason and Molly) lived in an old farmhouse built in the 1860s. Aunt Donna and Uncle Bill still live there, and Uncle Bill farms with Uncle Jim. The farmhouse is beautiful. Aunt D. has spent years going over every corner with polish, adding antique furniture, re-doing floors, hanging old spoons and utensils on the kitchen walls. I love that house. But when we were kids, we were all infatuated with and fearful of the cellar. It was a cellar, not a basement. Low ceilings, dirt floor, stone walls -- and dark. So Aunt D. invited us for Halloween parties in that cellar, where we witches and ghosties bobbed for apples and scared ourselves silly, and Uncle Bill would take us for hayrides.
This time of year it's fun to think about those parties, about mom raking acres of leaves, about Dad doing the final grass mowing, about those vibrant reds and purples and yellows and oranges in the woods where we grew up. I'm glad Dad's there to keep enjoying it.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Small setback
Bill's back at Cleveland Clinic. On Friday, he fell in the middle of the night and gave himself a black eye. Linda rushed him to the ER, and they thought it might have been another seizure. But it looks like he's having side affects from one of his seizure medications -- Vimpat. He's doing well at the hospital and possibly going home today. Doctors will be weaning him off Vimpat, thank goodness. I know these drugs are life-saving, but at high levels, like Dad's taking, they can be toxic.
I've talked to Dad several times. He's trying to stay positive but can't help but be discouraged with setbacks.
I'll keep you posted...
I've talked to Dad several times. He's trying to stay positive but can't help but be discouraged with setbacks.
I'll keep you posted...
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Phone call on a rainy day
Home from work today. Not feeling too good. Going through a job transition, and thought I would give Dad a call. He's always provided me with advice when times get tough and has been especially helpful when it comes to career questions.
Dad worked for Lorain Products/Marconi/Emerson (a telecommunications company) for 30 years. He started on an assembly line and retired in middle management. So he's seen it all, and done it all! He's not shy about telling stories that reveal his faults and at the same time he's happy to regal you with his tales of victory over tyrannical bosses and his steps up the corporate ladder. He worked hard for his company.
Through my own working years, I've appreciated his advice.
Back to my phone call. It didn't turn out how I'd hoped. First, I think I woke the poor guy up from a nap, although he tried to tell me he was doing a puzzle:
"Oh, hi Lisa. I'm just exercising my exercise. It's good for your brains." From that I surmised he was talking about the puzzle.
"Dad, what kind of puzzle is it?"
"Oh, you just take all these numbers and they don't go through the gates. It's hard to do. 1,000 puckles!"
"That sounds hard. Is it a lighthouse puzzle?" (Linda or Heather told me this.)
"Oh, what do ya call it? What do ya call it? ..."
"I think it's a lighthouse, Dad."
After this exchange, I thought career issues would be too confusing. But he did end with a clear statement: "I counted and I have five more lighthouses. I'll be glad when I get it done!"
We then talked -- in chunks -- about Mary Jane's upcoming birthday, about him cutting back on a certain medication, about his visit with my Uncle Bob and Aunt Mary from Florida, and about how he feels okay and how glad he is to have Linda. He's good. He gets up every morning at 6 a.m. and still does his exercises.
But this conversation was another step in what I call "shifting reality." This is tough stuff. After 30+ years, I realize that my Dad will probably not be the person I'll go to for advice anymore. Maybe this will change! But for now, Dad and I will talk about other things. I'll dig in my mind's archives to use all the advice he's given me in the past. Mainly I'll just follow the example he's set.
At the end of our chat, I told Dad he sounded good and I was glad he was doing well.
"Oh, I think I should be better, but Linda says I'm doing really good."
Clear as a bell.
Dad worked for Lorain Products/Marconi/Emerson (a telecommunications company) for 30 years. He started on an assembly line and retired in middle management. So he's seen it all, and done it all! He's not shy about telling stories that reveal his faults and at the same time he's happy to regal you with his tales of victory over tyrannical bosses and his steps up the corporate ladder. He worked hard for his company.
Through my own working years, I've appreciated his advice.
Back to my phone call. It didn't turn out how I'd hoped. First, I think I woke the poor guy up from a nap, although he tried to tell me he was doing a puzzle:
"Oh, hi Lisa. I'm just exercising my exercise. It's good for your brains." From that I surmised he was talking about the puzzle.
"Dad, what kind of puzzle is it?"
"Oh, you just take all these numbers and they don't go through the gates. It's hard to do. 1,000 puckles!"
"That sounds hard. Is it a lighthouse puzzle?" (Linda or Heather told me this.)
"Oh, what do ya call it? What do ya call it? ..."
"I think it's a lighthouse, Dad."
After this exchange, I thought career issues would be too confusing. But he did end with a clear statement: "I counted and I have five more lighthouses. I'll be glad when I get it done!"
We then talked -- in chunks -- about Mary Jane's upcoming birthday, about him cutting back on a certain medication, about his visit with my Uncle Bob and Aunt Mary from Florida, and about how he feels okay and how glad he is to have Linda. He's good. He gets up every morning at 6 a.m. and still does his exercises.
But this conversation was another step in what I call "shifting reality." This is tough stuff. After 30+ years, I realize that my Dad will probably not be the person I'll go to for advice anymore. Maybe this will change! But for now, Dad and I will talk about other things. I'll dig in my mind's archives to use all the advice he's given me in the past. Mainly I'll just follow the example he's set.
At the end of our chat, I told Dad he sounded good and I was glad he was doing well.
"Oh, I think I should be better, but Linda says I'm doing really good."
Clear as a bell.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Guinea pigs
Heather was home with Dad for about a week. Dad couldn't hide his glee from having his littlest girl with him. They did some work. (Heather was going to mow the lawn for Dad, which is a big job. Dad probably has an acre of lawn. But he hopped on the mower to show her how he wanted it done and ended up doing it himself. This after not feeling well in the morning due to monthly chemo...) They chatted, took walks. Maybe Heather can provide a full blog/report?
It was Heather's b-day on the 6th, so Dad took her to a local jewelry/art store and let her pick out a beautiful necklace. Dad is constantly thinking of other people, how to make them happy. Seeing his ability to help people shine makes him feel good, as it should. Linda made a birthday cake for Heather and they celebrated. Dad's celebrated 34 birthdays with Heather, 37 with me. That's pretty incredible when you think about it. He was there in the beginning, and he's still here. Heather sent me some pictures from family albums that I thought I'd share to show a snapshot of happy life in the Beecheler family.
Thinking about my life goals lately -- career, family, etc. Tossing around the idea of getting a PhD, writing a book, travel. But once all that stuff swirled in my head awhile, I thought of Dad, looking back at his life. I bet he'd say his greatest accomplishment is Heather and me. And I realize that my only real goal is to grow a healthy, happy family, like he did.
These pictures really say a lot if you look closely. Heather and I often fought like cats and dogs (maybe it was more like kittens and pups), but we loved each other deeply. We had a very silly adoration that included code words, made-up songs and just goofiness. I look at my two girls with a "deja-vu" as they sing their own compositions, call everything "funky," and call me "momster."
You can look up in that second pic and see Heather's ghingham yellow sheets and flower wallpaper. Is that the funniest shot or what?! Anna and MJ have held on to this guinea pig shot like it was a signed picture of Zac Efron (for Anna) or Luke Sywalker (for MJ). Living on an acreage Heather and I had pets galore -- cats, dogs, rabbits, turtles (temporarily, until we released them in the neighbor's pond) sheep, goats, a few cows. Now my kids beg me for "Just one guinea pig!!!" We'll see...
Dad made sure we had happiness, whatever form that came in at the time, even it it squealed and ate carrots and lived in a cage.
It was Heather's b-day on the 6th, so Dad took her to a local jewelry/art store and let her pick out a beautiful necklace. Dad is constantly thinking of other people, how to make them happy. Seeing his ability to help people shine makes him feel good, as it should. Linda made a birthday cake for Heather and they celebrated. Dad's celebrated 34 birthdays with Heather, 37 with me. That's pretty incredible when you think about it. He was there in the beginning, and he's still here. Heather sent me some pictures from family albums that I thought I'd share to show a snapshot of happy life in the Beecheler family.
Thinking about my life goals lately -- career, family, etc. Tossing around the idea of getting a PhD, writing a book, travel. But once all that stuff swirled in my head awhile, I thought of Dad, looking back at his life. I bet he'd say his greatest accomplishment is Heather and me. And I realize that my only real goal is to grow a healthy, happy family, like he did.
These pictures really say a lot if you look closely. Heather and I often fought like cats and dogs (maybe it was more like kittens and pups), but we loved each other deeply. We had a very silly adoration that included code words, made-up songs and just goofiness. I look at my two girls with a "deja-vu" as they sing their own compositions, call everything "funky," and call me "momster."
You can look up in that second pic and see Heather's ghingham yellow sheets and flower wallpaper. Is that the funniest shot or what?! Anna and MJ have held on to this guinea pig shot like it was a signed picture of Zac Efron (for Anna) or Luke Sywalker (for MJ). Living on an acreage Heather and I had pets galore -- cats, dogs, rabbits, turtles (temporarily, until we released them in the neighbor's pond) sheep, goats, a few cows. Now my kids beg me for "Just one guinea pig!!!" We'll see...
Dad made sure we had happiness, whatever form that came in at the time, even it it squealed and ate carrots and lived in a cage.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Spiders
My friend Janel writes in her blog religiously. Sometimes she'll skip a Friday night, but otherwise she provides the many followers of her daughter Ally with constant news, anecdotes, prayer pleas, thank-yous, pictures and honest commentary on Ally's battle with leukemia. Like hundreds of others, I'm a loyal follower and read her blog daily. I'm saddened by it, but also inspired by her, Ally and their army of family and friends rallying around one little 7-year-old girl.
Why haven't I -- as a writer, without a sick child, with a need to address my family's battle, with a promise to many folks to share Dad's news -- been able to blog?
I've brooded over this for weeks now since my dad left. Tell myself I don't have time, too busy with work, kids, life. Tell myself there's nothing to say -- I only talk to Dad on the phone and he's not physically here for me to observe.
Truth is I have lots to say (those of you who know me well aren't surprised at that!). But I haven't had the courage to say it. Or, rather, I haven't summoned my courage.
I hereby summon my courage.
I did need some time off after the Summer of Cancer. When Dad left I went from feeling empty to depressed to angry and then started to pretend this nightmare never happened. Then I talk to Dad on the phone, hear his muddled speech and mourning of his old life. Hear doctor reports from Linda (everything is still okay), hear reports from Heather's visit ...
Guess what -- it hasn't gone away. Dad is still battling brain cancer.
And onward we all go. Heather from Maryland, me from Wisconsin and Dad and Linda back in Ohio. We are all trying to integrate our "normal" lives with the cold, hard truth that Dad's disease is still with us. That's difficult, but we have to blend everything together and experience the highs and lows together. Otherwise, life -- with all it's wrinkles and ugliness and joy -- walks on and you're left holding a bunch of empty hours.
I hope I haven't lost too many followers. But, I am going to do my best to continue to document our story since it's kind of like breathing for me. Can't hold my breath much longer.
This same thing happened to me when Mom was sick: By the end of the summer with Dad, I started wondering if I had health problems. Just felt tired and weak. I felt like I aged 10 years in three months. In September, a group of my dear Madison friends did a team triathlon. They rocked it! I was supposed to join the fun, but felt totally inadequate. But the day of the race was beautiful -- I decided to take a long bike ride in honor of my pals and as a promise to commit to exercising and feeling strong again. I rode out on the trail to Sauk City in the early morning. The air was a bit cool, colors popped on the landscape like an oil painting. The muscles in my legs cooperated with my need for speed. My mind cleared. I peddled out about 8 miles and turned around.
On the way back, I saw an illusion. Either an illusion or just a splendid gift. Rounding a corner, with a hillside on my right that faced the rising sun, I widened my eyes to hundreds and hundreds of spider webs, glowing. I doubt I can adequately describe the scene, but for a good 1/4 mile, I was met with these glittery, silver webs glued to grasses like banners. I imagined each web as an important person in my life, holding a sign: Go, Lisa! Go Heather and Linda! You can do it! Three cheers for Bill! We love you all! It was truly a spiritual experience. I keep thinking, "I wish I would have thought to take a picture with my phone." But, it was so surreal, it could have been a strange mirage and the picture would have shown an empty hillside.
This vision is all the more important and meaningful because I remember Dad's cancer at one time being described like spiders or webs or vines streaking through his brain. So to me, the hillside spiders represent a way to turn the cancer into something positive, and hopeful.
My hope is more frequent blogging, documenting happy and sad. My posts from here on out might be a bit different than those in the past. But they are what they are, and it's not required reading. :)
More to come soon on Bill.
Why haven't I -- as a writer, without a sick child, with a need to address my family's battle, with a promise to many folks to share Dad's news -- been able to blog?
I've brooded over this for weeks now since my dad left. Tell myself I don't have time, too busy with work, kids, life. Tell myself there's nothing to say -- I only talk to Dad on the phone and he's not physically here for me to observe.
Truth is I have lots to say (those of you who know me well aren't surprised at that!). But I haven't had the courage to say it. Or, rather, I haven't summoned my courage.
I hereby summon my courage.
I did need some time off after the Summer of Cancer. When Dad left I went from feeling empty to depressed to angry and then started to pretend this nightmare never happened. Then I talk to Dad on the phone, hear his muddled speech and mourning of his old life. Hear doctor reports from Linda (everything is still okay), hear reports from Heather's visit ...
Guess what -- it hasn't gone away. Dad is still battling brain cancer.
And onward we all go. Heather from Maryland, me from Wisconsin and Dad and Linda back in Ohio. We are all trying to integrate our "normal" lives with the cold, hard truth that Dad's disease is still with us. That's difficult, but we have to blend everything together and experience the highs and lows together. Otherwise, life -- with all it's wrinkles and ugliness and joy -- walks on and you're left holding a bunch of empty hours.
I hope I haven't lost too many followers. But, I am going to do my best to continue to document our story since it's kind of like breathing for me. Can't hold my breath much longer.
This same thing happened to me when Mom was sick: By the end of the summer with Dad, I started wondering if I had health problems. Just felt tired and weak. I felt like I aged 10 years in three months. In September, a group of my dear Madison friends did a team triathlon. They rocked it! I was supposed to join the fun, but felt totally inadequate. But the day of the race was beautiful -- I decided to take a long bike ride in honor of my pals and as a promise to commit to exercising and feeling strong again. I rode out on the trail to Sauk City in the early morning. The air was a bit cool, colors popped on the landscape like an oil painting. The muscles in my legs cooperated with my need for speed. My mind cleared. I peddled out about 8 miles and turned around.
On the way back, I saw an illusion. Either an illusion or just a splendid gift. Rounding a corner, with a hillside on my right that faced the rising sun, I widened my eyes to hundreds and hundreds of spider webs, glowing. I doubt I can adequately describe the scene, but for a good 1/4 mile, I was met with these glittery, silver webs glued to grasses like banners. I imagined each web as an important person in my life, holding a sign: Go, Lisa! Go Heather and Linda! You can do it! Three cheers for Bill! We love you all! It was truly a spiritual experience. I keep thinking, "I wish I would have thought to take a picture with my phone." But, it was so surreal, it could have been a strange mirage and the picture would have shown an empty hillside.
This vision is all the more important and meaningful because I remember Dad's cancer at one time being described like spiders or webs or vines streaking through his brain. So to me, the hillside spiders represent a way to turn the cancer into something positive, and hopeful.
My hope is more frequent blogging, documenting happy and sad. My posts from here on out might be a bit different than those in the past. But they are what they are, and it's not required reading. :)
More to come soon on Bill.
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