God Speed Jordan


Many of you know that one of my "wanna be comedians" aka my kids is Jordan. He has asked me from time to time if I would ever write a blog post about him. So, "Boy," this is for you.

Jordan was born on June 1, 1989. It was a hot summer day, school was out, and I was ready for this baby. (His precocious sister was five and we felt we could handle another child.) He was born in Bisbee, which is about 25 miles from home and if we had had a flat tire, Jordan would have been born on the highway. He came into the world 30 minutes after Bosco screeched to a stop in front of the Copper Queen Hospital. The doctor did not have time to change out of his gardening clothes, but he did wash his hands. There were no pain killers, no soft music, and no Lamaze transitions. I took a shower about an hour after I delivered him and took him home about 15 hours later. No frills, no fuss.

As a baby and as a child he was extremely funny. It was hard to scold him because we wanted to laugh at some of the things he did. But we tried. We had to call Poison Control a few times with him because he was always into something. He knocked flea powder off a shelf and it hit him square on the head, covering him from top to bottom. Lucky for us it was the "good kind" and we just had to give him a good bath and he never had fleas or ticks. When he was about three years old, he usually had dry dogfood in his pants pockets as a little snack and his sister and her friends could easily talk him into taking a bite out of a dog biscuit. He spray painted a wide streak of green on our first Labrador, Gussie. He made chute out of the dog door in the garage and chute-dogged our second Labrador, Poppy, until we had to put a stop to it. He could cartwheel and round-off better than his sister, the cheerleader, and did this at the most inopportune moment--like in front of the cheerleaders during a high school basketball game. He and two other friends "mooned" Meghan and her boyfriend as they sat on .the swing outside on our porch. He blew an electrical circuit or two when he tried to fix the cord on his electric sander and crossed the wires (he was in the fifth grade). There are more stories for other blog posts, but I am sure you get an idea of how life with this child was anything but boring or ho-hum!

School was not always easy. He was never phonetic when phonics was cool. He didn't love math and it was usually a struggle during homework time at the kitchen table. He didn't make bad grades, but when all his friends were getting the ribbons and awards for reading the most or the fastest or being a math-whiz, Jordan went unnoticed. They don't give school awards for teaching the substitute teacher how to use the vcr or finishing your homework at 5:30 in the morning because you feel asleep at the table at 10:00 the night before. His best friend, Tanner, stood by him when elementary and middle school kids humiliated him because he wasn't on the A-B honor roll and would tell him he was stupid or dumb. It was so hard helping him see that it all takes time, and that he was not the image of their small perspectives. One teacher in seventh grade almost did him in, but he was loved by some great teachers, who helped him see that they cared. They always reassured us that he would find his way. I worried that his way would be difficult and he would give up, but he is tougher than his obstacles.

Jordan followed his sister's path into 4-H. We should have really paid attention to the signs when he was signing up for the Horse Project and the Cattle Project when he first joined. We lived in town and had no plans to buy a horse or pasture a cow, but he went to the meetings and learned all he could. He did show rabbits for a year or two, which wasn't so productive. His first rabbit was eaten by a neighbor's dog, the second died of heat-stroke, his breeding pair wouldn't breed and when they did the doe gave birth to one large baby that didn't live, and one rabbit honestly seemed to die from choking on a carrot. Seriously. Jordan loves our county fair and it was there he made friends with a girl whose father would play a big role in Jordan's future. During weekends, summers, school breaks, the Zamudios would invite Jordan to hang-out on their farm and help-out with their day-to-day chores. He worked with their animals, helped clean pens, bag feed, bathe and groom their show animals, assist in birthing goats, and go to nearby livestock shows with them. So, after years of being nagged, begged, and pleaded with, we told him he could raise a pig IF he raised the money to buy his animal, his set-up equipment, and his feed. Six months later, he had his money, a place to raise his animal, and we were off to the pig sale. One pig led to another which led to another, and then a pig and a steer, and then another steer, and another pig. We started going with him to livestock shows and our spare time was spent around loading animals into trailers, moving steers to pens, working along side him when one needed an inoculation, and even not smelling the pig poop when we ate pizza outside the show-ring. It wasn't on a football field or the baseball field where we saw him grow gracefully from an awkward middle schooler into a confident young man. It was smoothly backing his pick-up and hitching up the stock trailer or driving his pig past the judge with a wink for me standing on the rails, cheering him on. When he graduated from high school, he wore an FFA stole around his neck and we knew the direction he was headed, but we weren't sure about his destination.


He landed at the University of Arizona after Cochise College. As I said earlier, school was not always easy, but along the way, he figured out how to make it work and as his teachers predicted, he has found his way. He majored in Agriculture Education and minored in Animal Sciences. He has been alone and found friends. He has played and he has worked. He has lost at love and found the right love. He still has the same best friend, Tanner, and he will stand next to him as Tanner's best man on May 25. His boss at the U of A told me that he has never had a harder worker or a better worker as Jordan. On May 11, at 8:00, Jordan will march into McHale Center with the University of Arizona graduating class of 2013. I cried like a baby when his sister made the big march, but I have cried all week about this one. I know this is just one of the many milestones he will pass and as his mother, I have been so lucky to have been there to see it happen. I know he will struggle as we all do, but it will be okay because he has done it in his own time and his own way. We are so proud of our boy, our man.

God bless you, Jordan. God speed.

"Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)"
by Radney Foster

Dragon tales and the "water is wide"
Pirate's sail and lost boys fly
Fish bite moonbeams every night
And I love you

Godspeed, little man
Sweet dreams, little man
Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings
Godspeed
Sweet dreams

The rocket racer's all tuckered out
Superman's in pajamas on the couch
Goodnight moon, will find the mouse
And I love you

Godspeed, little man
Sweet dreams, little man
Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings
Godspeed
Sweet dreams

God bless mommy and match box cars
God bless dad and thanks for the stars
God hears "Amen," wherever we are
And I love you

Godspeed, little man
Sweet dreams, little man
Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings
Godspeed
Godspeed
Godspeed
Sweet dreams

Home Invasion

Those of you who really know me know that my parents live in Houston, Texas. They are in their 80's and they are still living unassisted. In this day and time, this is an unusual circumstance, but this is what they choose to do and are really not doing too badly. Both still drive, which can be frightening to their passengers, but they stay close to home and my dad is the night driver. They are self-reliable, but my brother is a phone call away should they need stitches, a ride home from the hospital, or someone to crawl around in the attic. My brother and I do our best to protect their freedom of choice, but living over a thousand miles away is hard when your parents get old.

Like today.

This afternoon, Bosco brought me my cell phone and I saw my brother's name on the screen. Thinking it was a call about the Tucson Match Play, I answered it with the usual, "Heyyy," but immediately, I knew something was up when I heard the tone in his voice. "Mom and Dad have been robbed," he very seriously told me. My heart stopped and suddenly I felt like I needed to sit down. He told me he had received a call from Mom, who was crying, telling him that they had been robbed. Gary was on his way to their home and would call me later. He didn't know what had happened, but he did say someone had come into their home, taken all her jewelry and their cash, and they had called the police. End of call.

An awfully lot goes through your mind when you are sitting on your couch in Douglas, Arizona, and you are waiting for a phone call. My brother sent me a text asking if they keep any cash hidden in the house. I sent him a list of all the places to look and a list of all her jewelry that I could see in my mind's eye so she could report them for the police if they had been taken. But mostly, I sat and prayed and wondered what type of person does this to two old people.

My parents do not lie, steal, or cheat in ANY way. When I was a child, upon receiving too much change at the bakery, my father marched me into the store and made me return the extra money. I never dreamed of taking money that wasn't mine nor did I ever consider taking anything else without asking. To be caught lying by my parents meant that I had broken the code of trust and understanding with the two people who would give their lives for me. I was admonished for being rude/hateful/snarky/witchy, but I was punished for lying. It was drilled into my head that behavior like this was WRONG WRONG WRONG. I was anything but perfect but my parents modeled the correct way for me to grow.

My mother and father are extremely generous. I cannot not count the number of times that they have given money to someone who was struggling, be it family or strangers. They have sponsored teenagers to go to church camps, mission trips, choir tours, and more. If there is a cake auction at church, you can bet S.E. Hill is going to buy several cakes and give them away because he can't eat them due to his Diabetes. My mother made quilts and crocheted receiving blankets for young women at the Houston Pregnancy Center because she felt like all mothers should take their babies home from the hospital in something made from love. She makes afgans for young girls who are graduating from high school so they will have something warm and snuggly to wrap-up in when they are away from home at college. Over and over they have given because they firmly believe that this is what they are supposed to do.

My parents are devoted Christians. They not only read their Bibles and go to church regularly, they live it. Each keeps a prayer list and it would not surprise me to learn that your name or your situation may have been on that list from time-to-time. The honestly believe in forgiveness and unconditional love. They practice forgiveness and unconditional love.

They are not perfect, but they are good people.

A little while later, Gary called and told me that everything was okay and they were safe. He gave the phone to my mother and it broke my heart to hear her sniffle and tell me how it had all happened. At the end of their garage sale, there were three people in their garage. One man showed an interest in buying an old television and said he would be back with the money. He walked away to his car that he had parked at a neighbor's home. One person engaged my dad in a conversation about landscaping and off they walked so Dad could show him some plants. The third started a conversation with my mother about her shrubs right outside the garage. The first person probably used this time to go in the unlocked door to the house and moved quickly, taking her jewelry and their garage sale money. When they closed the garage door for the day, they found their front door ajar and figured out what happened. It probably took minutes. My mother cried as she told me how hard my dad had worked to get ready for the garage sale and how he had sat in the cold damp air all day. She cried when she told me how hard he had worked to buy her nice things and in a minute's time, they were gone. When I told her that all that mattered was that they were safe and it could have been worse, she very sweetly told me that now she couldn't give me those things that my daddy had given to her with so much love. I assured her it would all work out and that she had given me more than she could ever dream. When Dad got on the phone, he listened while I said I was sorry this had happened to them and said, "Jan, it's all just things and things don't matter." He told me that he would be back in the garage again tomorrow for day 2, but he would lock all the doors. I could have argued, pleaded, and demanded that they not continue with the yard sale, but I would just be wasting my breath and time. They are going to do what they are going to do.

When my parents were out of ear shot, I told my brother that I wanted horrible things to happen to these people who would victimize two old people. I even described some horrendous death situations which would include intense suffering and life long pain should they survive. Gary said that really terrible things usually happen to thieves. Then, I remembered who my parents are and if I know them like I think I know them then they have probably already prayed for these people. They are hurt and probably still scared, but they'll let God handle it.

Mom was worried about giving me her jewelry. Doesn't she know they have given me so much more?

Fighting Fake-Cake

Lately, I have had a desire for a chocolate cupcake with buttercream icing. Or two. Or four. Yes, it has been weighing heavily on my mind.

So, last night, I convinced Bosco to go to Food City and buy cupcakes or a small cake from the bakery. When I saw a chocolate cake on the counter I absolutely danced around the kitchen! I was sooooo excited! I have been wanting this for about two weeks now and it was finally here! CAKE DELIGHT!!!

Bosco cut a piece of the cake, took a bite, and said,"It tastes weird." I took one look at the icing and saw that it was that horrible, fake, imposter icing--whipping cream icing. YUCK!

There is something you should know... I am an icing snob. Icing is not an accessory to the baked good, it is the focus of the baked good.

Early in life, I understood the value of icing. When my mother made a cake, I didn't lick the mixer-beaters with the cake batter, I licked the beaters with the icing. When my cousin Judy scraped the icing off her cake, she gave it to me and I put it on top of my cake to have double icing. It was so simple because all icing was basically all the same, sugary, soft, and delicious. Until that fateful day that some sicko decided to add Coolwhip to the recipe.

I remember the first time I ate a piece of cake with whipped topping icing. It was missing something...like flavor. I didn't finish the piece of cake. More and more, at social events these fake-cakes started making appearances. At school and church potlucks, showers, birthday parties, they were popping up everywhere! I started checking out the icing before I would place a piece of cake on my plate in case it was "faux." Luckily, one of my friends joined my team and we started cruising the cake before it was offered to us so we wouldn't take a bite and fight the urge to spit it out on our plates. I have left many pieces of fake-cake hidden by napkins on my plates. Such a waste!

Now, bakeries are trying to pass it off as real cake. When Jordan was about five, I ordered a bakery cake for him and made the mistake of not writing BUTTERCREAM in all caps with large sharpie marker on the order form because someone in the bakery department assumed that children would want to eat an animation themed birthday cake made from something other than sugary, soft, lovely frosting. When I picked-up the cake before the party, I saw that it didn't look right. I asked the lady at the counter if it was buttercream and she said that it wasn't. I tried very hard not to react too much and I asked her why my order hadn't been followed. She told me that she was sorry, but with a huge smile continued to say that everyone just loves their whipped topping icing. So, I took the cake home and didn't tell Jordan. Imagine five or six little boys sitting OUTSIDE on June 1 in the summer heat and I pull the cake from its box. Imagine the look on their faces as their cake's icing does not just melt, but is sucked into the cake right in front of their eyes. My child looked at me and said, "Do we have to eat it? Some happy birthday, huh?" We are lucky he didn't need therapy.

So, I have been on a quiet mission to help others understand the wrongness of faux icing. Okay, I am not so quiet. At a Central Office potluck, I looked at this huge cake and asked, "Does this cake have fake icing?" Everyone standing around turned and looked at the fake-cake like it was a communist spy. Except for the baker. She looked like I had spit on her mother and proceeded to tell me that she used a special whipped topping and condensed milk to make the icing. She went on to say that it tastes so much like buttercream and I should try it. Okay, what is wrong with this picture? She is trying to make it like the real thing? But as I had already insulted her publicly by bringing attention to her counterfeit cake, I felt obligated to give it a try. Honestly, when I took the bite, I fought letting it drop out of my mouth onto my plate like I was a toddler eating spinach for the first time. YUCK! Needless to say, I left another piece of cake covered with a napkin like a shroud on a corpse.

PEOPLE, STOP MESSING WITH THE CAKE!!! Mark it with a warning lable like they do on cigarettes, alcohol soaked food, and toys with sharp edges. Because some of us want our icing! As Moses told the Egyptians, "Let my people go!" I am saying, "Leave my icing alone!"

Enough! It's time for Weight Watchers. Later!

It's a twap!!

For those of you who know me, you know I have two kids. Meghan and Jordan. Meghan is five years older than her brother, Jordan. Life with children is best described as "busy" or better yet, "unpredicitable." And unpredictable definitely describes the events of raising my two "wanna be comedians." And trust me, life with my two kids has had some seriously funny moments. Here is one of those episodes.

When my kids were young, we had the privilege of having a lovely piano in our home. It belonged to my niece, Leslie, and my daughter, Meghan, took piano lessons and played it as long as it graced our living room. One day, I heard some noise coming from the living room and I left the kitchen to check to see what was going on. Jordan was about five and was obsessed with bungee cords so it was no surprise to see him with a handful sitting in front of the piano. Some of the cords were wrapped around the legs of the piano bench and one was on the handle of the nearby coat closet door. "What are you doing, Jordy?" I asked. "Buildin' a twap," is how he answered. "A trap??" "What are you planning to trap?" I asked. My precious little tow-head looked at me so sincerely and said, "Meghan!" "Meghan!!!" I replied. "Oh, Son! You need to be really careful trying to trap your sister!" "She will GET YOU!" He just smiled and chuckled as he wove those bungee cords through the legs of the piano bench. I thought to myself, "He's got one big imagination."

A little while later, as I was working in the kitchen, I heard the sound of someone running down the hallway and then CRASH-BANG-BOOM!! I ran into the living room to find lying under the piano bench and a kitchen chair, a dazed and very confused Meghan! Jordan was standing nearby with the most wicked grin on his face. He yelled, "Got her!" Needless to say, when Meg untangled herself and climbed over the piano bench and chair, she made a grab for Jordan. He looked at me and I looked at him and off he ran!

CRASH-BANG-BOOM!!!!

BBQ Beef Burgers

This evening I called my mom for a recipe for BBQ Beef Burgers. She reminded me that it came from my aunt, her sister, Clara Lee. Ever since, she’s been on my mind.

I can see her standing at the stove, showing me how to fry yellow squash. Talking me through the process, reminding me to becareful because the oil will pop and burn me. She’s smiling, encouraging, and I feel so warm and comfortable with her. I can tell her anything and I know she won’t judge me or make fun of me.

She died in March, 1987 from Breast Cancer.

I used to dream about her now and then. I can still hear her voice and her laugh. The last time I saw her, she was wearing a red, white, and blue plaid shirt with a denim skirt, standing on the back porch of her house, waving at me as Bosco and I were backing out of the driveway of her farmhouse. She ran down the steps and jogged over to my side of the car. I threw open the door and jumped out to give her one last hug. She told me she loved me.

I saved her letters, the last birthday card and Christmas card she sent me. She gave me a baby ring when I was born and we shared the same middle name. Love doesn’t go away over time, it just gets deeper.

It’s October and I wear my pink Breast Cancer Awareness t-shirts, pink watch, and “Hope” necklace every chance I get. Today, I made her BBQ Beef Burgers. Maybe next week, I’ll make her Mississippi Mud. Sure do miss her.

And he took three stones and slew Goliath. Part 4

Challenging your oncologist to a showdown of tests means you are going to radiate (pun-intended) every energy possible! Here's a whole body bone scan with contrast means that before they run you through the big donut scan they are going to load you with radioactive dye. But your consolation prize is a little yellow card that notifies the security officials at the airport or the border crossing that your smile isn't the only part of you that might glow! Then, there's the abdomen scan with contrast--you drink that radioactive liquid. Here's your little yellow card and have a lovely day! "Mrs. Selchow, we are going to need a little blood. A little more blood. Just a little more blood. Oh, and another quart of urine." There's the looks the techs give you after they ask you why you are having the tests and the sad and concerned faces they give you when they shake your hand when you leave. One nice man said, "Good luck, Jana. I sincerely hope these tests bring you the results you are looking for." Kind people.

One Monday, sitting at my desk at work, the phone rang and Dr. Serious's office manager was on the line. "Hi Jana! Dr. Serious would like for you to come into his office for a bone marrow biopsy. Would Wednesday be okay?" Frozen, I stopped reading my email and I asked her to repeat what she just said. Very sweetly and very sincerely, she told me that I needed a bone marrow biopsy. I asked Bibi if the results from the last group of tests showed something. She told me she would look at the doctor's orders, which she did, and then told me the doctor would talk with me when I came for the biopsy. I made the appointment and sat at my desk in shock.

While trying to keep my head from spinning off, I hit compose on my email account and started a note to my brother. I quickly typed him a message explaining what had just happened. Then, I called Bosco. While telling him about the phone call, I finally gave into a little self-pity and started to come unwound. Sniffling, whispering into the phone, an email popped up from my brother, Gary. He typed three little messages: 1) 1 Samuel 17:49-51 Young David killing the giant Goliath with three small, smooth stones, courage, and God's guidance. 2) My dad's promise that "God takes care of us." and 3) My brother's promise to pray for me and that my big brother knows it will all be okay. I could have left work with good reason, but I decided to stay and finish my day. If David could be brave, then it was the least I could do!

Wednesday came quickly. At Dr. Serious's office, Bosco I was escorted to an examining room to speak with Dr. Serious. He explained what was going to happen and asked if we had any questions. Right away I said, "Did you find anything on the other tests that led to this test?" He surprised us by saying no, the tests were inconclusive and the bone marrow biopsy would definitely determine if there was a bone marrow cancer that was leading to Multiple Myeloma. I said, "Okay, let's do this," and I was taken to another examining room.

The nurses made me comfy on a long table with a pillow. Bosco was able to stay with me and watch the procedure. Dr. Serious had brought in an anesthesiologist and she was very nice and comforting as she administered the anesthesia. I was still talking as I closed my eyes and everyone said it was really funny when I said, "Bibi (the office manager) is sooo nice." Hello darkness.

Bosco told me that once he got over the shock at watching the doctor push a needle the diameter of a meat thermometer into my right hip bone with incredible force that it was very interesting! The doctor took the marrow samples and swabbed a couple of slides then placed the marrow slice into a little bottle with clear liquid. The anesthesiologist brought me out of my little nap and the nurses helped me sit on the side of the table until it was time to go. Wow! I was given an appointment card and Bosco and I left. (I did ask him if we could go to Marshalls to shop, but Bosco was not up for that!)

As easy as it sounds, the bone marrow biopsy left me with some pain and a hole in my skin you can still see, today. It was hard to sit in an office chair, it was uncomfortable to lay flat, and if I were touched or bumped I wasn't too polite for a couple of weeks. During an office meeting the following day, I did everything but hang upside down in my chair. Shift, grimace, shift, slide, grimace, bounce leg, grimace, shift, repeat...

A week later, Bosco and I drove to Sierra Vista for the follow-up appointment with Dr. Serious. Bosco took my hand as we walked from the car to the building. Dr. Serious's office staff were as nice as always and we went to an examining room to wait for the news. Dr. Serious breezed in, looking at the test results. He asked how I was feeling, did I have any problems from the biopsy, etc... Finally, I asked what the biopsy results were. He looked a little perplexed and told us that it was negative. No cancer. A flood of relief washed over me. Dr. Serious looked at me and asked, "So, did the endocrinologist really tell you that the parathyroid hormone could cause bones lesions?" I chucked and assured him they could. He said, "Only about 2% of people with hyperparathyroidism have lesions." I just smiled and said, "Well, that would be me."

I am one of two percent, but that day I felt like one in a million. When we got back to Douglas, I went to work for a couple of hours and later that evening, I had dinner with two friends. Telling them about my day, one friend took her glass and raised it and said that we should make a toast. The three of us lifted our glasses and I said, "To life. My life!"

Post Script:

Dr. Serious told me that I would need testing every four months to "keep an eye" on the lesions. I had a skeletal survey and a skull CT on Monday. We go to see Dr. Serious tomorrow.

Part 3 Dr. Flyboy

Part 3 Dr. Flyboy

The week after Meghan left, Dr. Wu's office called and told me that they had the results of my blood tests. You will never know how wonderful it is to hear that my parathyroid hormone level was in the nineties when normal is the thirties! This meant that something was malfunctioning with one of my parathyroid glands! We high-fived, hugged, and said we KNEW it was parathyroid the whole time!! Alfred referred me to an endocrinologist, a good surgeon, but I still had to go to the oncologist. I was walking on air!!! There was hope and it was my poor little parathyroid!

One of the symptoms that your parathyroid is out of whack is lethargy. LETHARGY=Serious sleepiness! It had gotten so bad that I would nod off during meetings, the second I got home, and it really had slowed me down. Bosco started driving me to doctor's appointments in Tucson and Sierra Vista so I wouldn't fall asleep while driving. I just couldn't get enough sleep!

The oncologist was...different. He looks like Peter Graves, you know, from Mission Impossible--the series? White hair, tall, stoic, no emotion. Let me stress STOIC! He doesn't laugh, he's pretty serious, and I bet he never does imitations. From the moment I met him I decided that it was my duty to make him laugh. Or chuckle. Or smile. He is nice, just serious. He doesn't seem convinced that the lytic lesions are anything besides cancer. After all, treating cancer IS his specialty, but THAT IS NOT WHAT I WANT TO HEAR!!!

My "endo" was an unusual little man who had a swanky office in
Tucson. My first visit to him was a little weird. He became unduly excited that my mother had had parathyroid surgery due to a benign tumor. After many blood tests and a freaky urinalysis, and a sonogram of my neck, he agreed that I had a tumor on my pt gland. I already had the name of a surgeon, and I was ready to get this thing out of my body so I could start feeling better.

So, I have Dr. Serious and Dr. Different. I learned right away, when you possibly have cancer or some condition, the doctors get kind of excited about the disease. Sometimes you can get lost in the tests and leave feeling pretty confused and frustrated. It's not their fault. We pay them to focus on the diseases.

My niece is an RN. When she learned that I had a surgeon and I was going to have the tumor removed, she was really impressed and excited that Alfred had recommended "Dr. Jim Balserak." I wish there was a way to circle his name with stars and sparkles in this blog! It would be accompanied by a trumpet fanfare and "Hail to the Chief." "Dr. Jim," as he asked me to call him (gush-gush) is pretty famous in the surgical circles and parathyroid is his admitted "favorite surgery." He is a Brigadier General in the AirGuard, had received commendations from at least two presidents, and is sssssssooooooo cute and nice! He is a pilot and several times a year, works with our troups in Afganistan. His office is not swank. In fact, it reminds me of Alfred's. Nothing flashy or too ritzy like the endo's. However, on the wall of the examining room are pictures of Dr. Jim and different presidents, world leaders, and various awards of merit for his bravery and his philantropy. Gotta love him! However, like the others, he ordered tests, scans, blood work... However, by January, I had a surgery date, and things were lookin' good!

And they were good! The surgery lasted less than an hour. The scar is barely visible. And I was starting to feel so much better. The sleepiness leveled out. I was more mentally "sharp." And once my calcium levels stabilized, I was feeling bulletproof. January and February blew by with work and wedding plans. Everyday was sunny and better for the most. When you don't wake-up worried about cancer, everything else is pretty good!

The oncologist's office manager called in March and told me that Dr. Serious wanted me to have another skeletal survey and a bone scan. This seemed reasonable. After all, it would take some time for the lesions to go away and he was overseeing that part of my health. I scheduled the procedure a week before Meg's wedding and would have the follow-up the Monday after her wedding.

The procedure was the same. I knew what to expect and I wasn't expecting anything new.

The day of the follow-up with Dr. Serious, I took my mom and dad with me to Sierra Vista. We would go to the appointment, I would run in, they would sit in the waiting area, and zip/bam/boom, we're back on the road for Douglas. However, Dr. Serious was more serious this time. There was a new lesion on my left hip. A "fairly large one." This was not what I wanted to hear. Dr. Serious and I verbally danced around the subject. Could it be this? Could it be that? Tell me about your surgery, parathroid? Not likely. Finally, wanting him to be more direct, I said, "What do YOU think it is? I have had all the tests, the scans, and my endo says the parathyroid could be causing these lesions." I could tell he didn't want to answer. So, I pushed him further... I said, "Go ahead. If you're wrong, I won't hold you to it." He very calmly and gently said, "I think it is some type of cancer in its earliest stages and it hasn't made itself known." I felt deflated and a little irritated. I asked him what the symptoms would be. He told me 1)Unexpected weight loss 2)Bone Pain to name two. I smirked (and if you know me well, you know I can be a Class One Smirker) and said, "Well, I am up four pounds and I haven't lost a pound since we started all of this! I feel great! No pain, no aches, nothing but feeling great!" Dr. Serious not look convinced. So, I took off my armor and asked him how we could find out if it really is cancer? He told me...more tests and scans. Crazy laughter in my brain at this point! Dr. Serious told me I would need scans with resonance and possibly even a bone marrow biopsy. I looked at Dr. Serious and said, "Well, let's get started!" We shook on the deal, I spoke with his scheduler, and I walked into the lobby like nothing was wrong and drove my parents back to Douglas. At this point, I was shaking, but determined to be bullet-proof.