Have a little soup

It's been a while since I've felt like writing in this very personal mode. I've been focusing on my photography blog and education blog. But it seems like the time is right to start again.

It has been a year now since Keith got out of surgery -- and that year has had some very anxious moments. Each time there is a scan there is worry attached. We have had some big arguments regarding his eating at times. I just want to smack him "upside the head" when he says things like he'd rather die than spend the rest of his life eating soup. I know what he really means -- that he wants to live a normal life. I understand that. But so does everyone. But were not talking about a vegetative existence here. We're talking about eating certain foods. I know Keith has always been a meat and potatoes kind of guy (especially when the meat is a big steak). So now he can still be a meat and potatoes kind of guy, only with hamburger. And I make great soups too, by the way.

Altering life-long habits are really difficult -- but missing out on some of these small enjoyments are not worth dying for. If eating soup is what is required in order to hold your new granddaughter Emily when she is born in January, then I say "waiter, soup please!"

Life is worth living until the very last moment possible. To hold a child, share a thought, listen to music, watch a good movie, write an idea down, talk in the early morning hours, watch a sunset, and a million other moments. All these things are what life is all about.

Keith has worked hard to overcome cancer -- now it is time to overcome the need to be "normal." For what is normal anyway? Human beings survive and thrive in spite of great physical and personal obstacles. Cancer is only one of them. It is time to look at what we have, rather than what we don't have. Keith -- you can see, hear, feel, smell, and taste. The five great gifts from God. You have a family that loves you. You have friends who care about you. You have the respect of your colleagues. You are able to work and play. You have a home. You have a life that is meaningful. You have helped others in this life. You have experienced great joy and great sorrow -- and will continue to do so. Your life is a part of many other lives. We have a lot to look forward to in the future -- our family is still growing and changing. We have more young men to add to our "sons," and we have more grandchildren to enjoy. We have new siblings to build relationships with. We have aging aunts and uncles to cherish. Our own parents are gone now, and that means that our family now relies on us to take up their mantle of love and support.

So I say, "soup please!" It's a small price to pay for the joy that this life brings.

Anniversary of sorts

It's been almost a year since Keith's surgery and it seems like a dream rather than reality. Keith has been forced to face unbearable feelings, and has done it with grace and dignity. Fear has been a constant companion -- sometimes a deep fear, at other times an unease that hovers over every daily activity.
The difficulty in getting his stomach to operate correctly has been challenging. It is very difficult to change a lifetime of eating habits. What was once a comforting and enjoyable part of life (enjoying a meal) has now often become a time of discomfort and nervousness.
The recent CT scan has brought back to light the fear that we try to push into the background. Will it come back? That is the question lurking in the darkness.
I say NO. It won't come back. Keith has done this well because there is a purpose to his life and our lives together as a couple. He has much left to do in this world. Soon-to-be-born Emily needs her grandpa to help her grow up. All of the grandchildren and children need Keith to be a part of their lives -- he is the glue that cements the family together. He is the "push over" who always gives in because he loves them.
Cancer will not take the man I love -- he is strong and determined. A Cancervivor if ever there was one.

Back again

It's been a long time since I've written on this blog, but I thought I'd give it a try again.

Keith and I just returned from our Southern California/Vegas vacation. We spent a lot of time with his new family and it was a very worthwhile experience. We visited the beaches, went to family get-togethers, had fun at Universal Studios and Magic Mountain, enjoyed a night at the Magic Castle, walked in the shoes of stars in Hollywood, lost money in Las Vegas, played games at Dave and Buster's, watched surfers from the pier and lots more. Boy, am I tired.

Each day has become a blessing, not that it stops us from arguing about driving too fast, or feeling weary about bills and housework. But, we do share a closer connection this year -- aware of the close call we've had with Keith's cancer. However, there are many times when I yearn for more quiet time -- more peace so that we can reflect on our life together and enjoy our time without feeling so much pressure to do things.

California has its beauty -- the ocean with mountains that drape down to the beaches, the houses balanced along the sides of cliffs, the roses blooming along the roadways. But I missed the green we take for granted here. The desert holds little interest for me -- with the possible exception of when we drove through a dust devil (mini dust tornado), that was pretty cool. There are few trees that have not been planted by someone. The skies are rarely clear as a hazy smog envelopes the valley and the surrounding hills. The ground is dry and brown, dotted with dusty shrubs. The houses spread across the landscape like a virus -- there is seemingly no end until you reach an area such as Death Valley. The traffic is everywhere -- gridlock a daily part of life -- highways that stretch ten or more lanes, and yet it still seems to take forever to get anywhere.

I hope we don't fall into the same pattern here. What a shame that would be. It seems that we are on our way to falling into that same trap here in Central Florida -- with the endless building of condos and houses and timeshares with little regard for how we will impact our quality of life down the line. Life becomes as dry as the landscape when we strip the natural world from our lives.

I'm going to the country for a few weeks in Maryland to visit with my oldest daughter and her family. I think I will take some time while there to walk in the woods, splash in a cold running stream, pick some wildflowers, and enjoy some quiet time with a book. And, of course, play with my wonderful grandchildren. As much as I love a great roller coaster, or a magic act or a casino -- I crave that quiet reflection time.

Keith and I developed some wonderful family relationships in Southern California. Along the way I think we also developed a greater appreciation for our home here -- with it's huge oak trees and crazy vines, with it's summer thunderstorms and warm ocean water. Even I-4 doesn't seem so bad anymore. Hard to believe.

Waiting to come home

Today is the day Keith might get to come home from the hospital. He seems to be able to eat without trouble and I bet he's looking forward to something other than hospital food. If I were Keith I would never eat Jello again.

So we wait for the afternoon and I pick out going home clothes and think of how lucky we have been so far that this difficult operation has gone so smoothly.

Today is my Thanksgiving. I send my thanks to Dr. Boyer, Dr. Z., Dr. Diamond, Dr. Grobler and all the wonderful nurses and staff at Florida Hospital and the Cancer Center. Also thanks to Brenda for her outstanding work keeping everything moving along successfully.

God bless you all for your expertise and kindness.

Together, forever

Well, I'm going to try to continue blogging this month even with a cast on my right arm.

Keith is a little bit discouraged by his uncooperative tummy, but hopeful that with Dr. Boyer's return Thursday things will move forward.

Today, we played backgammon and I actually won (that's new) usually I only beat Keith when we play chess. We read the news, talked to the nurses and watched some TV. I even borrowed his hospital bed while he worked on his computer from the easy chair. It was almost like home.

I really miss him around the house but am thankful I have my daughter Kim around for company and help.

One of the hardest things has been the aloneness of this process. We have been together for such a long time that it just seems all wrong to be apart. I miss those quiet moments in the wee hours of the morning, snuggled in with piles of pillows, holding hands under the covers and just talking about everyday things.

Love deepens as the years roll by, it changes from a blaze to a steady fire that warms the heart and soul. It lights our way through times of trouble. My love for Keith has unexpectedly become the kind that really seems to be everlasting. I feel strongly that even death will not part us -- and most certainly, we will not allow the fear of death to do so. We have shared our deepest fears and greatest joys. Our marriage has grown stronger and will continue to do so, because we have learned that love is based on forgiveness and sharing and steady commitment to each other. Cancer is an obstacle to overcome, not a barrier to our love for each other. No matter what the outcome, our love for each other and for our family will endure. Keith will return to us healthy and whole with the help of his doctors and nurses and through his own strength of will. And I will be beside him all the way.

Blessings from heaven

Hi to all.

Well, true to the way this year has been going I was getting ready to go to the bat mitzvah early Saturday and had the dog run under my legs and knocked me down face first onto the kitchen floor. After a trip to the ER I found myself in a cast with a broken right wrist! plus bruised ribs etc.

So I am typing this very slowly with my left hand and wondering what the heck will happen next.

My sister said trouble is a blessing from God. I say, couldn't he bless someone else for awhile?

Visitors welcome

Just wanted to let everyone know that visitors are definitely welcome.

Keith is still not quite ready to come home, which is good, because no one will be at home this weekend -- the "kids" and I are attending Keith's cousin's bat mitvah in Tampa (a two-day affair) and he will be all alone. That was a pathetic attempt at sympathy guys! So, come on down to Florida Hospital if you get a chance and visit Keith for a bit.

Keith is in Room 3305 in the main Florida Hospital near Orange Ave. -- if you park in the Medical Plaza lot (they charge up to $4 for parking, but it's less if you are there for a short time) go to the 3rd floor and take the walkway to the hospital, which will then take you down a long escalator. Once you get to the hallway at the bottom go straight ahead and follow the signs for the B elevators, then go to the third floor and he's just down the hall.

You can also valet park for $5 at the entrance to the actual hospital. Or, do what I often do, find free street parking next to the parking lot and walk into the side entrance to the garage where the physicians park and take the elevator up to the 3rd floor and follow the directions above.

Keith has his computer -- keep an eye out for his blog again

I brought Keith his computer today and if he feels up to it he might do a little blogging.

Today was a pretty good day again. The pulmonary doctor said he was doing wonderfully and they don't need to see him much any more. The doctors also said they might send him home soon, since his progress has been so good. Aside from pain from the incision sites he is feeling remarkable well. He is even eating some real food today, although in very small amounts at a time.

Also wanted to say thanks for the beautiful plant sent by Charlotte and the newsroom -- Keith got quite emotional when it arrived in his room. It is up on his shelf where he can see it easily. The cards, blog comments, phone calls and visits have meant a great deal. He is very anxious to get back to work. I believe boredom with being sick is definitely setting in.

Keith's mom is still holding her own, but also still in the ICU at ORMC. In spite of her own difficulties she always seems to be more worried about Keith than herself. She's a tough old lady, so we have hopes that she will fool everyone again and make it home soon.

Thanks again to all for your prayers and good wishes.

More good news

Today the doctors removed Keith's catheter and central line from his neck -- he's down to only an IV! He also is eating (sort of) now -- broth, jello, juice.

They have moved him to room 3305 and he is now out of the ICU.

His progress has been phenomenal so far -- let's keep our fingers crossed.

A Merry Christmas to all

Today was a very Merry Christmas for the Kohns. Dr. Boyer came in and gave us a thumb's up on Keith's progress. They then removed the nasal tube that was draining his stomach and new esophagus, along with the chest tubes. After only a few minutes Keith felt more like a person again.

At the same time, our daughters called while visiting Keith's mom and told us that she was breathing completely on her own with the trach in place and was doing so well they were going to transfer her today into their intermediate care facility on the ORMC campus to renew the "weaning" process of getting her back in shape for rehabilitation again.

Keith is able to munch on ice chips now and his esophagus seems to be healing well. Tomorrow they plan to have him walking around the ICU to get him moving a bit more.

He is in good spirits, especially since all pathology reports have returned negative for cancer.

Can't beat that for a Merry Christmas -- New Year's is looking up.

Not for the squeamish...

Well, we finally get to put some pictures on the blog. They weren't cooperating the usual way so we sent them directly to my email so we could upload them.

Here is Keith in the prep room before his surgery looking a lot happier than after his surgery.

Above is Keith after they placed the first IV lines and the nurse was getting ready to give him the "happy juice" that makes a person amenable to having their guts played with by strangers.

This final photo Keith took today when they were checking his stitches (staples actually) on his side and abdomen, along with the miscellaneous tubes that are draining all the bad stuff. Leave it to Keith to have the presence of mind to snap pictures during such a time.

Okay -- yuck. I agree. This officially gives him the title of "Borg Keith" with battle scars and everything.



On a positive side Keith is doing great so far. There is pain obviously, but the medications are managing that pretty well. He is sitting up in the recliner during the day and the nurse already had him walk around the ICU twice this afternoon. Coughing seems to hurt the most and the medication makes him a bit loopy (but not that much more than normal...), but the hardest part is feeling lonely. Keith misses being home with the family. Visiting is just not good enough.



We are counting the days and crossing our fingers. Our luck is improving (although not enough to win the Lotto last night). Keep those thoughts and prayers flowing -- they seem to be working. Thanks.

Looking pretty good, considering...

The nurses had Keith sitting up by 5 a.m. this morning. How do I know this? Because by 5:30 he had called me and left a message. If phone usage is any indication of wellness, Keith is doing wonderfully -- by the time I got there this morning he had already called me four times, plus a fifth while I was in the hallway of the hospital heading his way.

Well, I did marry a professional communicator, so I shouldn't be surprised when he insists on communicating even when he should be resting.

He looked remarkably well, in spite of all the tubes and wires, sitting in the recliner watching Bravo on TV. By the way, it is the oldest little TV I have seen in years -- Keith has already learned where to bang on it when the sound doesn't work. It's on a moveable arm attached to the wall.

I brought him his Soduko books, reading glasses, and his palm pilot -- and his all important cell phone. But I think he mostly wanted his phone, if only to play games on it when he feels a bit better.

I brought our "baby" Karen to see her dad. She's the one who says he looks like a baby ostrich right now with his fuzzy head. They had just moved Keith back into his bed, so he was kind of worn out by that, but he rallied for a little while to make jokes with his "favorite" (so she claims) daughter.

Aimee and her boyfriend Luis and older daughter Kim will all join me tonight to visit for a little while and then we will go to ORMC to the ICU there to see Keith's mom (who got an infection and is back on the ventilator again).

This running back and forth between ICUs is getting pretty crazy. Keith is very worried about his mom and she is very worried about him. In the meantime I have trouble keeping track of which doctor or nurse I have spoken to recently and which elevator to take to which floor of each hospital. Christmas has taken a back seat to everything (boy did it cost alot to send the grandkids their gifts via FedEx today!) -- except for those few I haven't bought any presents, been able to put up the tree, or buy food for Christmas eve. I sure hope the stores aren't too crowded tomorrow!

But, all of that is just side stuff. What is really important is the health and well being of Keith and Bea -- and the girls all understand that too. So, this year's celebration will be very small. We will share it at home and at the hospitals and be glad for the good things -- a new son-in-law, a cancer that hasn't spread and was operable, a new job teaching high school again, healthy children and grandchildren, and a grandma Bea who, in spite of her terrible ordeal, is still more concerned about her son and his family than herself.

My greatest gift this year will be the return of my husband for the new year and a quiet uneventful 2008.

Thanks for all your prayers and good wishes. I am relaying all messages to Keith and as soon as he gets into his regular room in a few days I will bring his computer to him so he can communicate more directly with everyone. The support of his Sentinel friends has meant a great deal to him and he is anxious to get back to work.

Have a safe and joyful holiday.

What a day!

In the wee hours of the morning we stumbled out of bed, threw on some clothes and grabbed the umbrella, because, of course it was pouring outside, and headed for Florida Hospital. We joined an amazing number of people waiting for surgery -- fa la la, what a way to spend the holidays.

They took Keith to be prepped pretty quickly, but I had to wait for awhile and fell asleep in the chair. After the second time they called for me (because of my little nap) I found Keith in one of those little cubicles, looking chilly and nervous. He joked that he still had time to change his mind -- I said 'no way.' And we sat together trying to avoid any serious conversation. A very nice man came in and shaved Keith's chest and the inside of his arms (to avoid tape sticking) and they took him off to take a shower and then we waited a bit more.

Finally, we moved upstairs to the operating area and once I found the place (couldn't use the same elevator) I waited for them to get him ready in the final staging area. The cardiac surgery waiting area was staffed with a volunteer, who was absolutely marvelous (a former cardiac patient himself). They offered help, a kind ear and assured me I would be contacted as soon as the surgery was over. Another staffer came out to give me a tour of the area and take me to Keith. At this point they had managed to put in various IVs. We spoke to the several doctors and nurses and everyone explained everything they were doing, or were about to do, clearly and kindly. One of the doctors described Keith's surgeon, Dr. Boyer, as one of the most gifted surgeons he had ever seen. (That's nice to hear!) Keith, still nervous, joked a bit and we gave a kiss goodbye.

I had to go to work for a couple of hours, but while I was there Dr. Boyer called and let me know that the operation went very smoothly and that there had been no complications. He also said he went ahead and took a more thorough sample of Keith's liver while he had the chance, just to be on the safe side. He said his liver had taken a bit of a beating from the radiation treatments, but that it shouldn't be an issue later.

Once I got to the cardiac intensive care unit where they had to put him after the operation (it was a very busy day evidently and beds were filling up) he was in a lot of pain and kind of sleepy, but a bit later he was more alert and was able to talk to me and smile. I told him about Boyer taking more of his liver and he quipped "did he get some onions to go with it?" That's my Keith, even full of tubes, with a breathing mask and in pain, he still manages to see the humor in a situation.

Right now Keith is asleep and I'm waiting to see him when visiting hours begin again for a little while. I feel very relieved and I think it will be very strange around the house tonight when I go home. We've been apart before, of course, but this feels different. Unnatural.

I know Keith will recover quickly. His battle scars with cancer will eventually heal and we will share stories of these days in the years ahead. But, for now, I will spend my evening sending him my love and I know he will feel that love even though this illness separates us physically.

As soon as Keith is out of the ICU and into a regular room I will post his room number and a phone number. Until then please keep Keith in your thoughts and prayers.

Thanks to all. Keep well and have a wonderful evening.

Making a choice

It seems as if the tests are never ending. I am hoping that this will be the last one and the doctors will be able to move on to the surgery on the esophagus. It's like a checklist -- the PET scan checks what looks good and what doesn't and then each part of the body that doesn't look right must again be tested and checked off before the next stage of the game. Frustration doesn't begin to describe how we feel. But, as Keith has been saying a lot lately, "oh well, there's not much we can do about it." Unfortunately, true.

It's been very tense recently. Except for fatigue, Keith seems to feel pretty well most of the time, but there is a cloud of anxiety that has blanketed all of our activities. Often that anxiety manifests itself as irritability and impatience. Fear is in the background (and sometimes in the foreground as well, such as with the liver cancer scare). It is a strange way to live -- on the edge of a cliff, swaying with the wind, always feeling you are about to fall.

Many have written that when a person knows that death is imminent life takes on an almost miraculous feel. There is a sharp awareness of each moment. But, there is another state of being that is less explored. The time spent waiting to get well, or waiting to be told there is no hope, is a state when moments are spent from doctor's appointment to doctor's appointment, from procedure to procedure. Precious moments spent in tiny spaces in hospitals filled with mysterious technology and busy people scurrying around while you lay on a bed with tubes in your arms wondering what is going to happen to you. Meanwhile the day outside is clear and bright and cool. A day better spent on a sailboat if all this doesn't work out the right way.

There were no Hannukah candles lit this year. Only a few Christmas decorations are up. No lights on the trees outside. Keith will likely be in the hospital and things just don't seem put together in the usual way. Gift-giving seems unimportant when the only gift any of us really want is our husband/dad/son healthy and strong.

Time is the gift God gives us. It seems so endless while we are young and so impossibly brief as we age. It is the reality of the present and also the memories of the past. Time is the possibilty of what is to come and those possibilities are infinite. Every choice, no matter how small, affects the next choice, the next moment in time, until the dominoes are falling in ways you could never have imagined. Some of those choices are amazingly wonderful, and others impossibly tragic. I have often marveled at the series of life events that brought Keith and I together. Shifts and changes that seemed to push and shove us into the same time and space so that we could then make choices together. Since then time has been pretty good to us. We have made choices to have "too many" children together and we are both so glad that we did. We changed jobs and sometimes careers that have placed us in locations where we met other people who have made a great difference in our lives. We have spent our time together productively (and sometimes wastefully), but the main thing is: we have spent our time together.

Time feels like an enemy. But that is only because we cannot see beyond the horizon of this life that we presently live. We have to accept the time that is given us and use it as best we can. Just writing these words has helped me to reaffirm my belief that time must be valued and that our place in the universe, as small as it is, may be more important that we realize. Each dominoe must be in place. As each individual choice affects another, so does each life affect another. From the beginning of time until the end of the universe, every moment and every life is connected. Keith's life touches many others. He has affected my life profoundly for the better for 28 years, and that is something remarkable indeed.

So today, while we go through yet another lengthy "procedure" I will keep these thoughts in mind and embrace the time we spend together -- the cool, clear day will be outside, but the warmth of human love will be inside the tiny room filled with machines and busy people.

Waiting game is being tossed out this weekend

It's the waiting game again.

We've decided that the only way to deal with the waiting involved in this process is to ignore it as much as possible and keep busy doing everyday things. So, instead of sitting by the phone waiting for the results of the liver biopsy Keith bought a new car (holy crap! he gave up his Mazda RX8 for a practical Saturn Vue that is easier to get in and out of); we're going to finish moving Keith's mom's stuff out of her apartment in South Florida (rather I will move the stuff and Keith will tell me how to do things, and I will tell him to... well, you get the picture); then we're going to have some FUN by decorating the house for the holidays (again, I set up the tree and everyone else tells me how to do it, and I tell them to ... ); and by going to Busch Gardens for awhile this Sunday when it is supposed to be chilly out (yah!!!).

Waiting is the enemy -- it is the spirit of negativity -- it is the stealer of enjoyment -- it turns everything sour. We refuse to be controlled by this monster any longer. Waiting is a waste of precious time, and if nothing else, we've learned that time really is precious and should never be squandered.

So, off we go to Del Rey Beach to pack up piles of dishes (Keith's mom has a thing about saving dishes for her granddaughters), and the last of her other stuff, -- using the bright and shiny gold Vue with the built-in hitch (perfect for towing a sailboat, Keith has explained in order to get me to be happy with the new car) and a little U-haul trailer.

Then off we go into the garage to try to find all those packed Christmas items and clutter up the house with them.

Then off we go to Busch Gardens to enjoy a beautiful day of cool breezes among the equally cool animals. No roller coasters allowed (damn!) but walking is good for the body and the soul and there is always a nice lunch to be had at the Crown Colony and baby animals in the nursery.

So in spite of this week's scares and delays we intend to enjoy this weekend and accomplish some stuff and be grateful for the time we spend together as a family.

Waiting is wasteful. Living is a better use of our time.

Power of music and art

It's been a busy week as Keith has said. He's been going through pre-surgery tests, and the waiting for the re-staging of the cancer that goes with it. The waiting really is almost unbearable. Keith has been understandably tense.

While he has been doing those things I have been traveling to Baltimore and Washington and back. Then went to mom-in-law's place to close up her apartment, with the help of Aimee and Luis. Got a new job teaching high school English.

Why is it that everything always happens simultaneously? Does Murphy's Law always have to apply?



The Jethro Tull concert with our friends Ted and Mary Ann was marvelous. Ian Anderson's flute is almost magical. It is as if the music just flows directly out of his soul. He looks like a crazed pirate on stage, but the sounds are heavenly. (The photo of Anderson is from the group's website.) All of the musicians were phenomenal, but I was especially impressed by guitarist Martin Barre who soared on the electric and acoustic guitar and John O'Hara who was positively amazing on keyboards (including the accordian!). O'Hara evidently also scores and conducts Anderson's orchestral work.

Keith and I both felt transported by the music. It had been a long time since we had attended a concert. I think maybe too long. I had forgotten how truly wonderful it is to become lost in a live performance that way. When all of this illness stuff is behind us I think we will need to make a stronger effort to include such things more regularly in our life.

It is very easy to forget the importance of art, music and drama. Whether it is standing in front of an exquisite painting by Van Gogh or Monet, or listening to the sparkling sounds of the flute dancing with a mandolin in a crazy medley of music celebrating America by a Scotsman with boundless energy and talent -- every such experience is enriching beyond measure.

Cancer drops into the background during these experiences. Keith and I hold hands in the dark theater and feel ourselves lifted into another world -- one with beauty, joy and clarity of thought and feeling. We don't spend our time waiting for life to begin -- we are living our life together at these times.

So, thank you to our long-term friends. And also thank you to the musicians who gave us so much pleasure Monday night. Such a wonderful gift in so many ways.

The party's over...

Well, the wedding party is over and all went well. Of course there were a few glitches, it wouldn't be a wedding without them -- the AC stopped working the day of the wedding, it was warm and we all had the fans blowing full speed while we dressed -- someone forgot to fill the wine glass for the couple (the one that was supposed to be broken at the end of the ceremony) so Kim had to "punt" with the script a bit -- Chris started to put his ring on Jennifer, so we all had a laugh during the ceremony. But, it was all very beautiful and everyone had a great time.
Keith danced with Jennifer to the tune of "Sunrise, Sunset." It was a wonderful moment.
Bea had a fantastic time and it was great that she could be a part of the wedding. She looked very nice in her dressy outfit. Still can hardly believe she made it.
Keith held up amazingly well -- there was so much to do with picking up his mom and aunts in South Florida, shopping, rehearsal, party after the rehearsal, and all the wedding day stuff. It was neat picking out a suit for Elliot to wear. Both grandkids looked fantastic all dressed up as flower girl and ring bearer.
About the only time I get to dance with Keith is at a wedding, so it was really nice to be able to do that. He looked very handsome in his suit.
Speaking of dancing. Keith managed to get the "Chicken" dance into the night. Go Keith!
Jennifer and Chris looked so amazingly happy. Jennifer really did "glow." She reminded us of a 40s movie star.
It was great to see so many family and friends. With so many difficult things going on it's really wonderful to be able to share this kind of event with those we care about.

The next stage now begins. Facing the esophagus operation and getting Keith through safely. I think we'll just celebrate Hannukah, since it looks like he'll be in the hospital over Christmas. Although the first day of Hannukah is Wednesday and I won't be home until Thursday.

Oh, did I mention I'm back on the road to Maryland with my oldest daughter Melissa and my grandchildren, Remi and Elliot? Yep. Back on I-95 again (my favorite). This time, though, I'm going to take a day to visit Washington D.C. I love the art museums and I can pick up some cool presents at the museums.

One day at a time -- each is precious. That's what these past months have taught us. Our daughters have always given us love and affection. Jennifer's wedding reminded us that they also bring new people into the family to add to that circle of love. A wedding unites not only a couple, but the greater families as well. Chris is now a son. His parents are becoming not only in-laws, but friends. Our family has grown and will continue to grow as each daughter marries. What a wonderful thing indeed!

I never would have pictured all this on that fateful day in January, 1980 at USF's Oracle newspaper when Keith asked me if I wanted to go to Busch Gardens to be in the audience of the Dinah Shore show after he answered a call at the paper from their publicist. It has been a remarkable journey. It will continue to be so.

Raptures over the fall

Although I'm sorry to miss Keith's birthday today (my girls had better get a cake to our house today!) I am having a great day. I flew to Baltimore this morning in order to help my oldest daughter Melissa drive down to Florida with Remi and Elliot (my grandchildren) tonight so they can join us for Jennifer's wedding. So, this is the ultimate in short visits. Plus, we're going to do it all over again on Monday in reverse.

It's cool up here!!! Yay! The leaves have changed color and the air is dry and cool. (I can tell because I get a static electric shock every time I touch something.) I forgot how much I love the fall in the north.

Flight was great. On time. Smooth. Beautiful skies. Easily got through both terminals. Boy, that doesn't happen too often.

Florida is a great place, but I have really missed the climate here. The Canadian in me comes out this time of year. By December I want to turn off the air conditioner!

Keith, on the other hand, seems to always be cold lately. More than usual. So our tug of war with the temperature has become a battle of wits as to who can change the setting on the AC quicker. I turn on the fan, Keith turns it off. I fling off all the covers, Keith bundles up. I open the windows... you get the picture.

So, for now, I get to enjoy the cold air all by myself with no conflict. Keith can enjoy the 80 degree temperatures while I luxuriate in icy cold winds and falling leaves.

Jennifer's wedding has a winter theme -- so I guess I'll have to be satisfied with pretend snowflakes for my cold weather "fix." I wonder if I could get Keith to go to the ICE thing at Gaylord Palms before he has his surgery?

On a separate note -- Keith is one of the hardest people to buy a birthday gift for. So, for now, I am sending him my love and affection through this blog until we are together again tomorrow.

A birthday wish

This morning is Keith's birthday. He's 48 today.

For years now we've had a friendly "battle" of the ages. As in, I'm older and Keith likes to make jokes about it. Now he makes jokes about just wanting to make it to 50.
All that fuss I made about turning 50 seems pretty petty now.

We do fuss a great deal about getting older in our American culture. Getting older is seen as something to be feared and denied (as if we have any choice in the matter). We tend to talk about "the elderly" as if they were aliens from some other planet, rather than simply ourselves if we manage to live long enough.

I hated turning 30, 40 and 50. And I'll probably hate turning 60 too. But I look forward to hating it as well. Growing old together is now a goal for us. A goal we once took for granted.

Keith and I have stuck together through a great deal of turmoil at times. We have made lots of little mistakes and a few big ones. However, the one thing we could always see ahead was the two of us together, being cool grandparents together. Taking our grandkids on roller coasters, swimming, sailing and on trips across the country is one of our greatest joys.

We were even developing this neat scenario for retiring together on a larger sailboat and taking off whenever the urge took us. We want to go to Europe and England together. We have stories to write.

Cancer has put everything on hold. Keith is so anxious for things to just get done he would rather have the surgery just to move forward. The waiting to see what will happen seems to be the worst of all. Waiting for test results. Waiting for a response to treatment. Waiting to feel better. Waiting for a new staging, a new prognosis. Waiting. Waiting. And more waiting. It feels endless.

In the end, we are waiting for life to begin again. We want to stop waiting and go back to doing. We want to celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, graduations and all the million small events that comprise our lives. We want to grow old together.

I believe this will all happen in time. I'm willing to wait just a little longer.

Happy Birthday my love. I look forward to you turning 50 so you too can get the senior discount at Sea World.

Lucky after all

Keith is a lucky man. Not about the cancer, of course, but about the people he works with. Today was another example of friendship and support from a group of people I mostly know through stories and anecdotes. These friends and co-workers of Keith's at the Sentinel have given him the kind of support that truly makes a difference. They call, they write, they send thoughtful items, they keep him in touch with what is going on in the big, wide world outside the doctor's offices. When I read the scrapbook created by his friends it made us smile together. And cry just a tiny bit, too.

Knowing that there are people who care is so important to recovery. It has helped Keith stay connected and feel that there really will be life after cancer. It is so difficult for a man who has worked hard all his life to be forced to stay home and rest. Feeling like an invalid can actually make a person an invalid! (I hate irony.) So often Keith feels guilty if he can't help me with something, or if he feels sick or fatigued. It must seem like weakness to him (damn our society and what it does to the male psyche!), but it's not. His job right now is to recover enough to survive surgery, which, in turn, will require that he recover from in order to survive the cancer. It all sounds like a Joseph Heller story. (Catch 22 for you young'uns.)

Knowing there are people out there rooting for him is an amazing help. It boosts the spirit. It takes some of the loneliness out of the battle. And it is, ultimately, a very lonely battle.

Our bodies are the shelter of our souls and when we connect in these small ways I believe we create bridges between us. We are each separate and apart, yet still tied together through the bonds of friendship and affection. When we help each other, we strengthen ourselves.

Thank you. Everyone. You are all a blessing in our lives.