polepole ~ breathe

Just another day in Paradise

Wednesday’s day trip to Boston and back was uneventful. While I still do not know exactly what “ill defined stranding” is, what was in my abdomen had nearly disappeared. Almost the “poof” I hoped for. It was decided to have been inflammation and will be watched in my 3 month scans. Up next, but not until late June, is the CTA Coronary Arteries to see what damage, if any the high cholesterol (lorlatinib side effect) and the radiation fibrosis may have caused. If damage is seen, well, there’s a treatment for that.

The next month for Dan will be getting the boat ready and in, and we will spend more time at camp and getting ready for our garden, along with attending ballgames and art play of course. Sounds like joy filled days to me. Thanks for caring.

Always Something…

Last month I posted that we had traveled to Boston and my scans were stable once again. That is the best news one can hear when you’ve lived well with stage IV lung cancer (here, there, and not quite everywhere) for 8+ years and are approaching 7 years on the same TKI. We remain feeling blessed and we’re grateful to all(science, people, hope, and more) that make this possible.

On March 27 I saw Dr. Nohria, the oncology cardiologist I was referred to because of years of high cholesterol, caused by Lorlatinib (also known as lorbrena). After an ECG we went over my history and she decided I should have a different scan than I’ve had before – CT Angio Coronary Arteries. She thinks it is likely that there is radiation fibrosis as there is in my lung (and that side was zapped), and that coupled with the years of high cholesterol may have caused something that needs different treatment. But without seeing this scan, she cannot order the different medication (insurance will not cover it unless damage has already occurred). I couldn’t get the scan that day or the next (when I had all my other appointments), so we’re aiming for June 27 when I have my next day of scans. It is scheduled at Brigham, I just need to make sure with all the contrast, etc. that it is okay to add another scan in addition to the chest/abdomen/ pelvis CT and brain MRI I’ll have that day at Dana-Farber.

And then… the day after we returned home the NP on my care team called and said the radiologist had seen some “Ill-defined stranding/fluid in the left upper retroperitoneum” when reading the abdomen scan. Mee-Young Lee said it is probably not related to my cancer, but something to watch and recheck. Okay… so Wednesday, May 1 back we go to Boston for a scan and an appointment. If you’re interested in knowing more, research something called “fat stranding”. I still have no idea what it is or if we should be concerned. But, better safe than sorry.

Not to complain, just to say (for those interested, for the benefit of others going through something similar). Over the course of this many years the side effects of the radiation and the medication have a cumulative effect. They are not “stable”for all these years, but increasingly worsen. So far it’s all been tolerable and manageable. That’s just one of the joys of living well for 8+ years with stage IV lung cancer controlled by a TKI. I’ll take it. The other joys in our lives far outweigh the burden/difficulties. For example, this week our Heart Hero grandson turns 18! There’s an actual bridge between our two places of HOPE, Children’s Hospital Boston and Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. Dan and I are definitely feeling blessed and grateful! What joy this young man has brought to our lives as we’ve watched him grow and follow his passions.

Finding joy in the everyday every day. That’s me, I hope you can too. Love to all.

Goals and Milestones

First I will say my scans again show stable disease. Hurrah! I am feeling grateful and blessed. In another post I will speak to this further and describe the roller coaster known as side effects. But today is a day to celebrate yet another goal met, milestone reached.

In August of 2017 I was just a few weeks into my relationship with Lady Lorlatinib. In May it was confirmed that yes the cancer had managed to sneak past Queen Crizotinib while she was sleeping and it had reached my brain meninges. I began the Lorlatinib clinical trial in early July and we were traveling to Boston every three weeks. The early side effects were horrendous, but the drug immediately began working.

During this time we continued our modified version of Camp Gramma. I remember the excitement leading up to the total eclipse that month (Aug. 2017). We bought our glasses, nearly wore them out, and hoped for sun on THE day. I cannot describe how very thrilling it was for me to watch the four campers and their cousin Jake on that beautiful summer day as they turned their faces to the sky in awe of the magnitude of the moment. I was grateful then and still today that we experienced that and so much more in our Camp Gramma days.

Shortly after that day I saw a Facebook event post about the April 8, 2024 total solar eclipse. Laughingly I hit “going”, knowing the odds and statistics were against me, but also feeling that I really had so many things to live for that I didn’t see how I could take time to die. And then I began setting more and more goals, reaching milestones, and making it a daily practice to be grateful and to find joy in the everyday every day. Every once in a while that event would pop up, reminding me of the importance of staying filled with hope.

Today is THE day! While the rest of the path of the eclipse may be shrouded in clouds, the skies in Maine (after some very gloomy weather) are clear. I am not going to that event in Millinocket, preferring a quieter viewing. This afternoon Dan, one of the campers, and our daughter will be watching the eclipse in our blueberry field on our side of the mountain. How very wonderful is that!

Thank you for all your positive thoughts and energy, your prayers, your support in so many ways. Each day my appreciation for the gift of time and life deepens. Finding joy in the everyday every day with Dan, our dachshunds, and our goats on the side of the mountain.

Cancerversary Week: Still doing well, All Things Considered

The past week was my Cancerversary Week or maybe this month is my Cancerversary Month. At this stage in the game of life or cancer journey, this is definitely cause for celebration. Eight year with stage IV lung cancer is definitely remarkable. Thanks to two targeted therapy drugs, thoracic oncology experts at https://www.dana-farber.org, research scientists, the hard work of my family (Dan has made at least 80 trips to Boston and does whatever needs to be done without complaint. My sister has done so much for us from the beginning, and our children have taken care of things at home) and the hopes and prayers of many, I remain “stable” with the Lady Lorlatinib holding her high heel firmly on little ROS1+.

Before I recall the journey we’ve been on, I must express my gratefulness and a deeper gratitude for this gift of time. Together Dan and I have had so many more wonderful experiences to enjoy together, including our grandchildren’s graduations and sport events galore.We’ve been able to enjoy our time at camp watching the sunrise, the sea life, and our garden. And, of course, time with family, including our pet children. My appreciation for all life has to offer in everyday, simple ways has grown as I’ve found joy in the everyday every day. Has it all been blue skies and calm seas? Of course not. But what a gift that I could be here and well enough to help when times were and are tough.

When I made the decision, in May 2017 after the cancer found my meninges, to give up a piece of my life and stop teaching, it was because it was evident that keeping my body and mind as fit as possible was the only way I could survive what I would go through as a stage IV lung cancer patient with cancer here, there, and not quite everywhere in my body. I was about enroll in a clinical trial, requiring frequent trips to Boston. We had already been through a lot. Now, looking back over the eight years, having had radiation, biopsies, spinal taps, over 70 oncology appointments, 50+ blood draws, more than 40 CT scans of my chest/abdomen and sometimes pelvis, at least 35 brain MRIs, numerous ECGs, and medication side effects, I know it was the correct decision for my body. Staying alive to hopefully thrive was (and is) the priority.

EIGHT YEARS ago on Sunday, Jan. 3, 2016 Dan took me to a walk-in clinic because my undiagnosed cough cough had turned into “Now I can’t breathe.” (We were staying at camp and I couldn’t walk up our small hill without stopping to rest.) The NP at the urgent care was the first person to do a chest x-ray. (I had been to my PCP numerous times since early October, my chiropractor, the ER. Everyone thought it was linked to the stress from the house fire.) I could tell when she returned from seeing the x-ray that she was concerned and really wanted to help me breathe better. She did a nebulizer treatment, said that a radiologist would look at my x-ray and send results to my PCP. The treatment did little to help, but I sensed that she was on to something. The next day I received a call from my PCP (nothing happens the next day where we live). There was something seen in my chest x-ray that required I have a CT scan Wednesday morning. Holy smoly! That’s quick. Something? Like what kind of something? I had the scan on Wednesday and an appointment with the PCP was scheduled for Thursday AM.

On Thursday, January 7, Dan and I waited for the doctor to come in. We really already knew what to expect, but were holding on to the bit of hope not knowing the details provided to us. This lady was not good at hiding her emotions when she came in. Dan and I didn’t even have to hear what she said to know what was wrong. A mass in the left lung hilum. (The left hilum lies below the arch of the aorta and anterior to the descending aorta. The left main bronchus lies at the most posterior aspect of the hilum, with the left superior pulmonary vein located anteriorly and the left inferior pulmonary vein occupying the inferior portion of the hilum. The left pulmonary artery is anterosuperior to the left main bronchus. Pulmonary veins always lie anteroinferior to the pulmonary artery. Radiopaedia.org) ”Could it be anything other than cancer?” ”Not really, I’m sorry.” It was then that Dan and I knew, like we had always said, that as soon as we possibly could, we would go to Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. But first an actual diagnosis was needed. The next weeks included a consultation with a pulmonologist who seemed to not believe I was a nonsmoker, the bronchoscopy to remove a piece of the tumor to test, and a PET scan (whole body except head) to see where it might have spread. While waiting for results my research led to making an appointment at Brigham and Women’s thoracic department. They gave me an appointment quickly, Jan. 27, 2016.

In the meantime my diagnosis was confirmed. From Brigham I was sent that very day to Dana-Farber. There we met the first of many angels in the form of expert thoracic oncologists and their teams. Dr. Leena Ghandi. She decided to do radiation as palliative care as my breathing was impaired, my heart was racing, and I had a cough that was coughing up what I decided was pieces of me. The hope was to relieve my symptoms while testing was conducted. I was mapped, tattooed, and a cast made. (I also had a liver biopsy Feb.2 to determine that the lung cancer had traveled to my liver. It was assumed the place in my colon was also the same. A stage IV lung cancer confirmation.) The next days were crazy for us as we tried to keep me alive long enough to get me help. Nada stayed with us those first few days to take notes and help us process what was being said. Then once radiation was set, Dan and I stayed at a Hope House in Worcester, drove to Dana-Farber every morning, and then came home (to camp) weekends. In the midst of the radiation treatments (every week day for three weeks) that were not shrinking the tumor but causing the typical side effects, the test results came back.

It was just like we had won the lottery! The thoracic oncologist, Dr. Ghandi, and the radiation oncologist were beside themselves with joy. I was ROS1+, young and healthy (so said Dr. Ghandi) and there was a targeted therapy drug that had shown success in treating that cancer. I would take a pill every day, and if it worked the tumors would be reduced quite quickly. ”You mean I can take it forever?” ”Well, probably not forever. The cancer usually finds a work around. But by then there should be a next treatment.”

March 2, 2016 (after working out how to get the med) I took my first crizotinib. Up it came. With anti-nausea meds (3 at one point), it stayed down and Queen Crizotinib worked her magic. Within days I was feeling so much more human. I began to breathe more easily, and gain some of my weight and strength back. In April we moved into our newly renovated home. By summer, with steroids on board to fight the fibrosis caused by radiation, I was ready to do Camp Gramma (a modified version). That’s when we got our naughty Dottie and sweet Matilda. (Never did I think I would outlive them.)

Things settled into what people call the “new normal”. There is nothing normal about it and I don’t feel like it should be normalized. I call this our life now and the time before cancer our other life. But yes, things moved forward in a more even, routine way. Then in early March 2017 I started have odd headaches, unlike any I’d had before. At that time, because I didn’t have cancer in my brain, MRIs were at 6 months. A brain MRI was scheduled for my March day of tests and appointments. By that time I had a different oncologist, Dr. Janne, Director of Thoracic Oncology at Dana-Farber. The brain MRI showed something a tiny bit suspicious. The CT scans of my chest/abdomen were still stable. I would have another MRI in May, but call if the headaches worsened. In May it was determined that that nasty little ROS1 had driven through a red light, crossed the blood-brain barrier, and settled in the lining of my brain (meninges). While it was scary, and I regretted googling what that might mean, we were filled with hope because of the people at Dana-Farber. Yes, Dr. Ghandi had been right. Crizotinib had protected me well (and still was mostly) and carried me far enough to give researchers time to create another drug that may target ROS1. Designed to target ALK+, there was a clinical accepting ROS1+ patients. After a spinal tap determined the cancer had not yet spread further throughout my central nervous system, I began the process of being accepted to the trial. Once everything was completed (including a washout period), I began lorlatinib in July 2017. It’s side effects are unpleasant, really unpleasant. But, bearable and manageable. It began reducing the brain cancer immediately, stabilizing by late August, even with a dosage reduction due to neuropathy. I have remained on it since. I am a long timer now. And, thanks to Lady Lorlatinib pinning down little ROS1 with her sparkly red high heels, this gift of time has meant that, yes, there are new drugs in trials that show hope for controlling ROS1+. Hope. Hope for me, hope for all cancer patients. Hope that one day, not so long from now cancer will be a managed, chronic disease. Not yet a cure perhaps, but hope for life.

So there it is, the Reader’s Digest Condensed version (for those old enough to get that reference) of my cancer journey so far. My blog posts provide more details about what living well with stage IV cancer can look like. My best advice for anyone with a cancer diagnosis is FIND AN EXPERT, someone who treats patients with your cancer, preferably at a cancer treatment center/hospital. Then make sure there is biomarker testing done, even if your insurance says no to it. Those two things are the reasons I did not die in the spring of 2016. Look at all the joy I’ve had with this gift of time and believe me. It is worth the “inconvenience” and the expense to do those two things. And, try to stay hopeful. Hope and inner strength will help you to find joy in the simplest of everyday things every day as you face the challenges ahead.

When I reached 50 I stated I was middle-aged and would have the goal to live to be 100. When I was diagnosed at 58, I set much closer goals and milestones. The next family event often. Then I passed my dad’s age that he was when he died of lung cancer (no, mine is not hereditary). And then I reached medicare age. (I was not excited about figuring that out with my health.) And now? One moment, one day at a time. Make plans for the future and hope. Always have hope. My best wishes and hopes to you all is for your year will be filled with moments of joy, good health, and peace. Love to all. Finding joy in the everyday every day in our winter home on the side of the mountain.

Don’t Wait

If you live in a rural area and you or a loved one gets a lung cancer diagnosis (or any stage IV cancer diagnosis), please consider traveling to the nearest cancer treatment center rather than being treated locally. Stage IV lung cancer has a high mortality rate and the expertise of oncologists and the availability of testing and treatment at a treatment center such as Dana-Farber may just save your life.

Recently someone thought they knew why I went to Dana-Farber so soon after learning I had a tumor in my left lung hilum (where a pulmonary artery, pulmonary veins, and the primary bronchus are). While that person was incorrect about why we knew to go to Dana-Farber, her comment did cause me to think it might be a topic of interest for this blog. So…

In 1994 my father died of lung cancer (no, my cancer is not hereditary). I remember taking him for brain radiation the winter before he died. Sometimes the machine would not be working, or there would be a backlog of people. But it was what was available then and there. But at the same time another person with lung cancer in our town was treated at a cancer treatment center in Boston. He survived. While I don’t know if that is why, that stuck with me. That, coupled with learning about the Jimmy Fund and Dana-Farber from years of Red Sox watching, caused Dan and me to “make a pact” that if one of us (and one of our family if we could convince them) got cancer, we would go immediately to Dana-Farber.

When my PCP said I had a mass and it was unlikely that it could be anything other than cancer, Dan and I said to each other (while still in the exam room) that we knew what we must do. But to get an appointment at Dana-Farber, you need a cancer diagnosis. So I had my bronchoscopy and my PET scan locally (an hour from home). Things move slowly locally and I was dying. So I researched how else I could get treated in Boston or speed up the process. I discovered that in just days I could get an appointment at Brigham and Women’s Hospital’s thoracic center. And then, just before we went I received my lung cancer diagnosis. After seeing me and reviewing my medical records at Brigham and Women’s, I was sent to Dana-Farber that same day I think. Things are really a blur for me, but the next few weeks included testing (that would find the ROS1 cancer), a liver biopsy (yes, that was lung cancer hiding there), and radiation (as palliative care, trying to shrink the tumor enough to keep me alive until the test results came back). The experts at DF knew that a healthy, nonsmoker likely had a treatable gene mutation or gene fusion. That’s why they fought my insurance to have the testing paid for. The insurance company (yes, the doctors who review the claim for them) thought I could wait and see how the radiation or other routine treatment (chemo) did first. And that is what would have happened if I had been treated locally. I would have received treatment that would not have been effective for the specific cancer type growing in my body. Let’s just say that I would not be here writing this.

I am very grateful for the quality health care we can receive locally. I think it is important to know that there may be better options. When your life is in jeopardy I believe that you need to find the highest level of expertise that is accessible to you. In my case it was a simple test. A test that they were doing for lung cancer patients at Dana-Farber. But it was not a test that was being done routinely in most places. It still isn’t in some places. Find that place of expertise.

My onco-cardiology appointment was moved to the day before my day of testing and my oncology appointment in December so that we wouldn’t have to travel twice. So for now I will keep on finding joy in the everyday every day, watching the sun rise and hoping its rays of hope will spread throughout the world so we may all live in peace. Thank you for staying with me on this journey, with your prayers and thoughts of hope and strength.

Survivorship

Still stable! Last week Dan and I had another whirlwind appointment day at https://www.dana-farber.org Out of bed at 3:00 AM, on the road at 4:00 (the plan anyway), and arrival (despite lots of traffic) at Dana-Farber for 9:45 check-in and screening on Yawkey 1. My blood draw, MRI, and CT scans were all at the Dana building on L1. That makes the day much easier, less back and forth, up and down. After all the tests were done we went to the cafeteria for a quick lunch before my 1:30 PM (more like 2:15) with Dr. Janne.

“Everything looks good!” Cancer wise that is. Of course my Lady Lorlatinib, who keeps her foot on the cancer, causes high cholesterol (along with other side effects). That doesn’t seem like much of a problem when you’re facing cancer here, there, and everywhere in your body. But when the cancer has been kept quiet for six years with the same medication, then the side effects of that medication take on more importance. Despite two cholesterol lowering medications, my cholesterol remains above normal levels (all due to lorlatinib). So in October I have an appointment with a cardio-oncologist at Dana-Farber, part of their Adult Survivorship Program. “Cardio-oncologists are typically cardiologists who see cancer survivors or patients getting cancer treatment who develop side effects that affect the heart. Cardio-oncologists have a special interest in and knowledge about cardiac side effects of chemotherapy, targeted therapy and radiation to treat cancer. ” Imagine that! I’ve lived with stage IV lung cancer so long that the concern is how the high cholesterol is impacting my heart health LONG TERM. How great is that? Seriously. Managing the high cholesterol is now the priority. That is just incredible to me. Not that it hasn’t been managed all along, but now it is right up there with the stomped on cancer in priority. Now, to me that is hope! And, it is part of the plan for living well with stage IV cancer, taking care of my body and mind while Lady Lorlatinib and my amazing team deal with the cancer. Long term. Huh. I just keep pinching myself.

All this can change tomorrow if Lady Lorlatinib grows weary and lifts her steel toed boot. But in those six years new treatments have been and are being developed, including one specifically for ROS1+ that shows great promise in clinical trial. And I will now add another specialist to our team for better managing my heart health for the long term.

The ride home Thursday was long, yet uneventful. Heavy traffic, slow going for a while. We listened to the Trenton Acadians’ game. My chauffeur once again maintained his perfect “trip to Boston” driving record, getting us home by bedtime. We are a great team, with terrific support around us. (Thanks to my sister for taking care of the “kids” that day.) Now back to finding joy in the everyday every day at the Salt Pond, in the garden, along the shore, and in the field gathering wildflowers for natural dyeing. Hope and joy to all.

Doing well, all things considered!

When “random” people ask,”How are you today?”, I often answer, “Doing well all things considered.” This gives them an opportunity to ask more, and maybe I get to do a PSA about the risks of having lungs.

I am doing remarkably well, all things considered. It has been a busy, happy summer watching (mostly from afar) our grandchildren and their exciting “one in a lifetime” events and accomplishments, and seeing the sun rise each and every morning. Our garden is finally producing well, and the dogs, goats and we are enjoying time at the Salt Pond. I have a new volunteering opportunity at Critterville Wildlife Rehabilitation , and a weekly art play date to enjoy.

So why “all things considered”? Why write this post? Well, never miss an opportunity to educate others about lung cancer risks for anyone with lungs. ANYONE. And, a jarring reminder. A screen in my echeck-in at Dana Farber.

I know how blessed I am to be alive and even more so to be able to do the things I do. Life and quality of life are gifts we should never take for granted. Never. Gratitude and hope are so important. Today, I think of how very much I have experienced in the past 7 1/2 years. Today I also think about a tiny baby having his first of a few heart surgeries 17 years ago. Today our heart hero grandson, one of my greatest heroes, boarded a plane to travel to play in the American Legion World Series. Blessed and grateful. Thank you to all that has carried me to this time – the Lady Lorlatinib (3 pills taken daily), research and oncology experts, and the love, prayers, and thoughts of so many. Thank you, thank you for giving me so much hope, and so much to hope for. Nothing and no one is taken for granted. With each sunrise I am filled with gratitude and hope, ready to find joy in the everyday every day. May you find the same.

That “all things considered” is something I live well with. Even though I’ve plenty of daily reminders with numerous side effects, perhaps a little “jarring” reminder is a healthy thing. Here’s the photo.

Update Time!

Margaret is a Nurse Practioner that has been part of my Dana-Farber team since my first visits in 2016. While I was a bit disappointed (because I’d been doing phone appointments and even skipped my day of tests in late January) that Dr. Janne was away , I was excited to see Margaret because it had been quite a while. “God, your lungs sound GOOD!” she exclaimed. That was after marveling over my longevity on this TKI (Lorlatinib) and in general. And that exclamation was after asking a million health related questions as she caught up with my progress, which she’d been studying for the appointment. Just before the appointment, she had consulted with other oncologists and radiologist about that day’s tests to confirm that I continue to be stable. My blood work (except for the cholesterol which is elevated due to Lorlatinib) remains normal, normal, normal. Not sick with stage IV cancer normal, just NORMAL. In this cancer world where so many things are not normal in my body, it amazes me that my system stays so strong and well balanced.

When you look at my CT scan and the report, you might understand why she asked about my breathing, and admired the sound of my left lung. Here’s some of the report:

“Similar left upper lobe to superior segment of the left lower lobe groundglass and consolidative opacities, architectural distortion, reticulation, and traction bronchiectasis representing radiation fibrosis. Bibasilar subsegmental atelectasis (partially collapsed lung, but usual for me).” But then the magic words! “The central airways are clear. . No suspicious pulmonary nodules. Stable radiation fibrosis in the left lung. No evidence of recurrence.” My abdomen scan (No new sites of metastatic disease in abdomen and pelvis.) and brain MRI ( Which usually says unchanged lesion in occipital lobe, but this time said No intracranial metastases!) were equally good.

The drive was fine, Dan does so well. There was some rain while only 32º and dark on the way, but the roads were not slippery. Traffic was heavy near the city, but we arrived on time. Coming out of the city after the already long day, traffic was heavy and quite slow, especially around an accident area. We left home at 4:15 AM and returned home at 8:45 PM. So, all in all a very long, yet very productive day filled with hope. As always a day made easier knowing the goats and dogs are being well cared for.

My next day of scans (chest, abdomen), MRI, blood work, and oncology appointment will be in August. That means a hopefully uninterrupted summer of finding joy in the everyday every day with Dan, the dachshunds, and the goats. We’re looking forward to a summer of gardening and being at camp. I’m looking forward to learning more about natural dyes, stitching, and whatever art play presents itself.

I’m doing a stitching project for the Craft and Fundraise Challenge for St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. This is my project so far. I think it will become a journal cover. If you’d like to donate or follow my progress, I think this link will take you there: https://www.facebook.com/donate/5974691142618785/

Thanks for reading, thanks for caring, thanks for your continued prayers and positive energy. Please, always have hope and try to find joy in the everyday every day.

Trip trap, trip trap Over the Rainbow Bridge

For the year or so before I was diagnosed (Jan. 2016) I was trying hard to convince Dan that we needed alpacas in our family. I was sure they would be a great retirement hobby for me. (I was still a few years from retirement.) I think it would have happened had cancer not burst that, and every other dream bubble at that time.

But then, thanks to a diagnosis of ROS1 and crizotinib, I began to live a bit. “Okay”, I thought. “I’m not going to be able to work until retirement and we don’t know how long this medication will keep it’s foot on the cancer, so no alpacas (too much work, especially if we have to rely on others to help), but maybe…” And so, two tiny sweet Nigerian Dwarf goats, Dottie and Matilda, joined our family the spring of 2016.

That spring and summer were glorious. The two little goats were such a delight. They provided such entertainment to us, to the dozens of school children who came for a Fun Day at camp, and to my Camp Gramma campers (my grandchildren). Anyone who saw the two little goats (Dottie with her black spots and Matilda a beautiful reddish brown) that summer can still see them side hopping down the hill in the field with children running beside. An image that fills my heart with joy.

Last week our sweet naughty Dottie died in her sleep. She was only seven. She had been ill on and off, and treated by the vet and us following the vet’s directions for a while, but always felt better. But this time despite the vet’s and our best efforts whatever was wrong was simply too much for her body to overcome.

I could go on and on about how loving, friendly, and fun our sweet Dottie was. She loved us so very much. She would sit in our lap very contently when young. She especially enjoyed shoelaces, hood strings, and coat zippers. Dottie was always the first to want to help mend the fence, trying to observe closely and give advice. She was the most charming of goats, a delight to have in our family.

When we first got the two little goats I kind of assumed that they would outlive me, but I knew Dan would love and care for them. (We’ve since added two fainting goats, Buttercup and Daisy.) One should never assume anything in life. I’ve learned that well in the past seven years. Last summer I felt sad that while I could do chores, I couldn’t spend much time with the goats because of high humidity and breathing difficulties. I hope this summer will be different.

So now there are three. Matilda seems to just be carrying on. She has seemed to be much more attentive to me when I’m at the barn. This morning she gave me nose kisses like our Daisy does. Buttercup and Daisy seem unaffected. I guess goats are resilient, much like human kids often are.

So please close your eyes and imagine a little white goat with black spots happily side hopping across the Rainbow Bridge. That will be our sweet, precious naughty Dottie.

Another year!

Please, when things seem hard, look inside and find a glimmer of hope. A stage IV cancer diagnosis, or any “terminal” disease diagnosis, is such a sudden, terrible reality check. In a few days I will pass my seventh “cancerversary”. Seven years ago, on the first Sunday in January 2016, someone finally x-rayed my lungs. We then began this journey we’re on, what I consider my second life this time here on earth. In those next few months those close to me thought they might lose me. But it wasn’t meant to be. And here I am today, still with stage IV lung cancer (here, there, and pretty much everywhere), but a thriving cancer survivor. Please, feed that little glimmer of light, let it shine bright. Always have hope.

This second life we’re enjoying has been such a blessing to me. I have loved looking for new learning opportunities, even when cancer forced me to let go of many things I had so enjoyed in my former life. Hope is, I believe, what made it possible for me to say, “No, cancer, you cannot, you will not steal my joy.” I have made finding joy in the everyday EVERY day a priority.

Recently a friend sent me a copy of her 2023 Calendar book she published. It is filled with words of inspiration, words she hopes will be source of inspiration for her readers as they/we travel through life. When I received it in the mail just before Christmas, I decided to have a sneak peek to get a dose of inspiration to carry me to the start of the year. Her introduction made me certain I would enjoy this calendar and find it a source of inspiration as I travel to 2023. Imagine my awe when I turned the page and read: January 1, “Find joy in the everyday every day.” Corinne Pert. Wow, my words that have carried me through this journey with a special kind of hope, peace, and joy are now the words chosen to inspire others as they begin 2023. Wow, how very wonderful. My hope for others is that they give this simple, yet powerful mindset a try. From sunrise to Ruby Jean dachshund kisses at bed time, there are a multitude of joy filled moments in my day.

Hope and joy lead to peace within, I believe. My 2023 wish for everyone.

I don’t have a health update to share today. Just that I’m helping to positively change those statistics about lung cancer survival, and being at a research treatment center means others will benefit from my treatment journey.

This winter I’ll be cozy and warm in our winter home, on “our” side of the mountain, with Dan, the dachshunds, and the goats, with family nearby. Crafting, reading, and finding joy in the everyday every day. Blessed.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: