Let me back up and clarify some
history. This past summer, I had been plagued with sleeping issues, snoring,
waking up gasping for air and fatigued. I started to go to the ENT in September
and since then it has been a whirlwind of appointments and life changes. In October, I got the ear tubes and setup an
appointment for my lymph node removal in November. There are a lot of tests to run
and analyze before they can determine what type of cancer and what
treatment. I knew that I had cancer but
not what type, how bad and what type of treatment. People were asking and I
didn’t know.
My husband was my rock and
supported me by taking me to some appointments and mainly taking over the daily
chores. My energy level dropped and I
slept 12 plus hours a day. Going to work was hard but I teleworked twice a
week, so that was bearable. They were very supportive of me and let me adjust
my hours. My normally introverted
brother, Nelson, came out numerous times to help me with his partner, Jim. My
mom and Aunt made trips to make me meals to have me eat but I still lost my
appetite and was tired. I quit training my dogs and asked my good friends and students
to take the younger dogs, and keep them and run them in trials. So Ben went
with Diane Mitchell and Nell, Billie and Reba went with Tim. Tim did end up
buying Nell (TSN Peep) and now we co-own her, but she adores him and is his
heart dog. Mitzi took Bess to puppy raise her and Nikki is the only barn dog
that I have left. She was my house dog but kept jumping on me when I was so
sick, so I had to move her back to the barn. I reduced the chicken flock by
1/3. I had tried so hard to build some
rare breeds of chickens. I also reduced my sheep by 1/3 as well and sold one of
my beloved Arabs. At this point I had no idea if I would live, so I wanted to
get down to the lowest numbers. Scott Glen took Sally and Dixson for winter
training. And then we traded Dixson for his sister, Fleece, as she suited me
better and he liked the stubbornness of Dixson.
My father’s side of the family has
cancer. I think it is the leukemia. I don’t remember as that was years ago,
when they had the hushed whisperings. Then in 1990 or so, my father had
leukemia. He was in Costa Rica and was getting treated down there. He got
a blood transfusion and would be good
for a while. Then in Aug 6, 1992, he went in to have his spleen removed and he
died. Not from the cancer but from a nicked vein or artery, and he bled out.
They waited for him to stabilize so they could go in and stop it but he kept
bleeding and died. So this was translated to me from Spanish. We buried my
father on a hill, followed by Military folks, playing the sad tones of death on
their bugles. He had remarried and had a
young son, about six years old, named Milton Junior. He left everything to him
and his wife, and I walked away with closure.
In the last years of my childhood, he had changed and was an abusive father
to me and my brother, forever scarring us for life. I flew down to his place a
few year before to confront him and we made peace and buried the past. My
brother never forgave him, even though he wrote a letter to apologize. The chasm was too deep, the wound permanent
and the past left as was, buried.
My Korean sister, Jean Bowman died
of cancer as well. She wasn’t of blood but our families grew up together when
we moved to Port Angeles when I was 12 years old. My mother and Judy Bowman
were best friends and adopted each others children as their own. Jean was
younger than me by a few years, and we got into all sorts of trouble together.
We rode my horse and I taught her to get back on and ride. If you fell off
otherwise you would be afraid. As she lay dying, she told me of this, how she
wanted to quit but those words haunted her and that I would make her get back
on the horse, so she kept on fighting. Her lungs began to fill up and she
needed to try to expand them but the exercise hurt. I gave her my sheepdog
whistles and taught her some tunes. She hit them well and loud enough so the
Doctor came into the room and was amazed she was using her lungs. He said it
was the best thing so she had them play them for me, each time I would visit. I
would regal her of my runs on the field and how much fun we had and she would
lay her head on her pillow and sign and laugh at some of our bobbles. Soon the brain cancer took her life and soul,
and a piece of me died. So unfair, this cancer. So brutal and no mercy.
My mother had remarried to a
wonderful Japanese man, named “Hiro.” My brother and I were in our thirties,
and when we went to celebrate at the Japanese restaurant he introduced us to
the waiter as his children. The waiter lifted his eyebrow, two half Japanese and
American children, not young and him, a full Japanese. He simply stated, “It’s
the Japanese way. When I married their mother, they became my children.” The
waiter nodded and it was good, He loved my mother and she loved him. She was
happy and it was good to see her have new lease on life.
But cancer was waiting and struck
my beloved stepfather. He lost his appetite.
He had stomach cancer and by the time they had diagnosed it, it was
stage four and terminal. He fought a long battle but died in hospice. A piece
of my mother died as well. It was hard on her, and my brother moved in to help
her. I did the estate stuff, but she was missing the spark of life. I gave her
a kitty to raise for me, telling her I was too busy at work to raise her. She
was a demon spawn, always getting underfoot and a real spitefire. I asked my
mom to keep her for a few months and after a while she called me and told me
the ploy worked and Mika was staying. The kitty gave her a reason to get up,
tend to and keep her happy. She acquired another kitty from me as well. In late
October, I had gotten a free feral kitten that lived in the barn. My mom
tripped over her and took her home stating, she would return her in the spring
when the weather was nicer and the tiny, frail kitten was grown. I smiled as I
knew the kitten would never return but asked her weekly how my kitty was doing.
In spring, she stated that Tama was not a barn cat and was going to stay. I
smiled.
Cancer retreated for a few years.
Then it struck again. My best friend, and in the Japanese tradition our
American sister, Kathy Davis, was hit with colon cancer. She leads a very clean
life, and it was a huge surprise that she got it. I cried as I heard the words from her. As
time progressed, she had surgery but found out it had advanced more. Right now,
she is still fighting cancer and is living life to the fullest. We plan to beat
the cancer and pop open a bottle of wine and have sip to celebrate.
I was reading on who gets cancer.
Sure genetics has a part but recent studies shows it is a roll of the dice. Who
knows but at least in this time, we have a good chance. Cancer has taken enough from my family and
friends and it won’t win this battle.
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