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A Snowy Saturday.

Saturday April 26, 2003 09:41 AM

Each day this past week, I’ve walked amidst the garden and seen the hopeful signs of spring. The catoneaster hedge, which Andrew planted three years ago, begins to unfurl new leafage. The grape hyacinths blossom with that gorgeous concord centre. The grass steadily turns from brown to green. The recent rains have released the rich, musky smell of wet earth.

On Tuesday, the basset and I went exploring up on Nose Hill Park. The warm air and rain had coaxed an endless carpet of prairie crocuses into delicate bloom. At the crest of the hill I surveyed the magnificent panorama of the Rocky Mountains.

David, Grace and I tentatively planned a yard sale for this morning to sell off their old toys. David is raising money to buy a new skateboard. Grace wants a new bike.

So much was spring in the air, that I was nearly tempted to choose some seedlings from a nearby garden centre. Maybe I could just plunk my sunflower seeds in the back lane.

I’m so glad my Calgarian sensibilities prevailed as we woke this morning to gale-like winds hurling huge, swirling snowflakes all around. As much as we would all like to stay home and nest away the weekend, David had to be at Young Writers’ Conference located at a downtown school by 7:50 a.m.

For the past couple of years, Andrew has been taking each of the children out for a Saturday morning breakfast date. This morning it is Michael’s turn. At last report, the guys are digging in at the Zeller’s diner. These times gently encourage ‘the quiet art of standing still’. Andrew tells me this is not a time designed for deep conversation, but for fostering the pure enjoyment of one another’s company.

As I write, the snow has blanketed the lawn, the spruce trees and the street. But we Calgarians know that this too shall pass. Last April’s weather was brutal. It was downright depressing to see 40cms. of snow in mid-May. Spring didn’t show up until nearly June. Maintaining a healthy sense of humour is the only way to survive this place of constant change. Maybe that’s one reason Calgarians are so resilient.

This week I've read, “The Lost Garden” by Helen Humphreys. This Canadian author poignantly writes of gardens, love and loss. I am but a fledgling in comparison, using this journal to unburden my heart during this anquishing journey. Hopefully, I’ll capture the beautiful moments as well as the beastly ones.

Humphreys ends her book saying: “Every story is a story about death. But perhaps, if we are lucky, our story about death is also a story about love.”

I would add that our story has been about life and love. Within that framework, Andrew and I have been so ‘lucky’.

Wherever you are, have a heart-warming weekend.

Judy
 

 

Lions and Tigers and Bears, O My!

Wednesday April 23 2003 11:50 PM

Sometimes I wish that I could just dash to Cosco and buy a jumbo-size pack of courage. I wonder if I can bid on some spare courage on E-Bay. Maybe I can purchase units of courage to add to my stock portfolio. The Canadian dollar topped 69 cents U.S. today. Courage must be trading well.

If only it were that easy. So many times this costly commodity seems just beyond my grasp.

Just when I do find some courage, it doesn’t seem to last very long.

What do I need courage for?

At night, when I turn off the light I just want to hold Andrew and never let him go. I feel the tears well up inside my eyelids as I think of how I will miss the warmth of his body beside me. I will miss the depth of communion we share. No other person understands me so totally and still loves me so thoroughly.

I need courage to remain the calm and graceful wife and Mum throughout this strange ordeal when everything gives the appearance of being the same but is so entirely different. Anger wells up inside me at this cancer and I don't know how to direct it.

On this treacherous path, I become easily waylaid, especially if I read the obituaries and see how many people have succumbed to cancer. Bad move. I must stop doing that because when I do my courage flees so fast it hurts to breathe.

So while I can’t buy courage, I have discovered that it sneaks up on me in glimmers and shadows. And yet when it does come, that tiny bit of courage is so tangible I feel as if I’m not only wearing a lifejacket but I am also being hoisted into a passing oceanliner.

I have found it in Grace’s smile when she pulled me from sleep yesterday morning, with the beckoning question, “Mum, which came first, the dinosaurs or the Jews?” I nearly fell out of bed trying to stifle my laughter. I think she was wondering about Noah and his transportation dilemmas.

My courage is reinforced by the small circle of my dearest friends who e-mail and call from around the world, so generously reminding me they are holding on to us and praying for Andrew.

I discover courage when Michael, with tremendous insight, tells me that he reckons time has no measure in eternity, so when Dad gets there, it will be as if we all arrive at the same moment.

And in the same way, my courage broadened when David received a surprise package from a dear friend in Colorado yesterday. For perhaps the first time in his waking moments, David was stunned into silence when he opened the box to discover a Colorado Avalanche hockey jersey personally autographed by Joe Sakic.

So, bolstered by prayer and light, I paraphrase the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz:

“All right, I'll go in there for Andrew. Cancer or no cancer, guards or no guards, I'll tear them apart. I may not come out alive, but I'm going in there. There's only one thing I want you fellows to do.”

Tin Woodsman, Scarecrow: “What's that?”

Cowardly Lion: “Talk me out of it.”

So straight from the heart of this lioness, that’s it for tonight.

On a logistical note, Andrew’s sister Kim, her husband Neil and the five kids are winging their way from Australia to Calgary to be with us during the first three weeks of June. Locally, if anyone has a spare mini-van that we could use at that time, please let us know.




 

 

Two steps forward, one step back

Friday April 18, 2003 05:43 PM

On this Good Friday, the most solemn day in the Christian calendar, I pause to reflect. The past week has contained moments where I felt like life was back to normal. Andrew began the week well. The Communications Unit at the university moved to the administration block so he was busy unpacking his office. The kids are settled back into school and for a while life chugged merrily along.

I made copies of my voice-over demo and considered the list of sound and video engineers that I want to send it to. Before Andrew became sick, I was about to launch into this field and had been taking voice workshops and working with a voice coach to prepare a demo. But then the cancer sideswiped us and my aspirations were temporarily shelved.

Now it is mid-April and as much as I want to test my talent in the voice-over arena, I hesitate, wondering if I’ve lost the momentum. I also have this niggly fear that if I leap in at this time, Andrew might deteriorate and my time and energy will be needed with his care. This isn’t a bad deal, but it does present a bit of a quandary as to when to jump back in. If only I knew how long we can ride out this good phase. Nobody knows that answer.

So while Andrew’s health is strong, I make tentative steps towards facilitating a workout for other new voices who want to work in Calgary. These are mostly folks I’ve taken workshops with. I’d like to gather a group together so that we can network, practice and encourage each other. I’m also trying to keep up with my volunteer broadcasting for VoicePrint, a national reading service for the blind.

Andrew also faces similar challenges at work, given the uncertainty of his health. It’s difficult for him to plan his involvement in projects that are two or three months out when he’s not sure even sure his health will prevail. The only solution is to plan for the best, but have a “Plan B” for everything he does. On that note, Andrew’s superiors have been incredibly supportive and have given him as much lattitude as they can afford, which we have greatly appreciated.

On Tuesday, the children came along with us to a family counseling session. We wanted to provide them the opportunity to talk about their feelings regarding Andrew’s cancer. Afterwards, the kids all said they felt the time spent was positive and they liked talking with someone who understood what they were going through.

I hope we aren’t deluded when I say they are all doing well considering the burden that they carry. I think they are honestly communicating what is happening inside them as best they can.

Shaking things up a bit, Andrew’s headaches started again this week. We thought this was probably associated with weaning him off the steroids, so he put up with it and was able to manage with codeine-based painkillers. On Wednesday morning he called from work and said that he had fallen asleep at the computer with his hand on the mouse. I brought him home and he spent most of the next two days resting. We consulted our oncologist who immediately brought up his decadron dosage to 8 mgs. a day.

This was a bit discouraging, as Andrew was hoping to wean off the steroids completely. The side effects of this medication pervade his whole metabolism. In the short-term, he suffers fluid retention and his appetite goes through the roof. He tires easily, but can’t sleep well. His joints become achy and he just doesn’t feel like he fits into his skin.

In the longer-term, these steroids can cause brittle bones leading to osteoporosis. However, they do control the pressure of the edema in his brain which causes the migraine-like headaches. Given the choice between the headaches and the side effects, the steroids win out. He will probably drop down again gradually to a maintenance level.

In the meantime, we enjoy this quiet Easter weekend. Andrew is presently outside on this sunny spring afternoon, once again blissfully free of headaches. He’s sanding down the arbour that he built last summer, preparing to oil it. Grace rollerblades around the back patio next to her Dad. Singing “Down by the bay, where the watermelons grow...” her long braids trail in the breeze behind her. The boys are out and about on bikes with their friends.

And throughout it all, we take great solace in the knowledge that “Christ the Lord is risen. He is risen indeed.” We wish you well, this Easter season.

Peace,

Judy


Grace and Andrew (when he still had hair)


 

 

I really like this picture and it sums up how we feel right now

Wednesday April 16, 2003 08:56 PM

I really like this picture and it sums up how we feel right now

 

 

Redefining normal

Friday April 11, 2003 10:46 PM

Back in Calgary now and we have landed well. When we arrived, the tulips had begun to push up and tiny shoots of green grass were appearing on the lawn. Then winter snuck back briefly, just to remind us to be grateful for having been in Australia for the entire month of March. Today I hesitantly say that spring is really here.

There is comfort in returning to the routine and the mundane. The children settle back into school. I love watching from the kitchen window as the school bus arrives home, spilling my laughing children out on to the sidewalk. David and Grace dash to the front door hungry and playful as young cubs. Despite a month’s absence, Michael still managed to make the grade seven honour roll for academic achievement. The Australian experience has only served to enrich their education.

Andrew is in such a good phase of health. The radiation treatments seem to be controlling the brain tumors for the time being and the oncologists are weaning him off the steroids. We had a checkup at the Cancer Centre this week. The chest x-ray showed no growth to a small suspected nodule in his lung and the doctor said it was very difficult to see.

So, in consultation with our oncologist, we’ve decided to postpone any chemotherapy treatments for a month or two, leaving well enough alone and enjoying a season free of medications and their side effects.

The immediate and striking physical changes in Andrew’s appearance have been one the hardest things for both of us to adjust to. I think it shows how much we are conditioned by our culture to value the outward appearance. But it didn’t take long for me to realize that the very things which attracted me to Andrew in the first place - his steadfastness of character and his inherent ability to be see the best in those around him - these things haven’t changed one iota.

He is and always will be the love of my life.

Planning for the future is a hard one. This is the time to register the kids for camps and make decisions about the summer. We realize that we can’t let cancer hold us hostage from living. Sure there will be interruptions and disruptions but we can’t sit around waiting for them to happen. Life goes on and so must we. I’ve learned that we aren’t in the process of dying. Rather we are in the business of learning to live despite the cancer.

So on we must go. We learn everyday to define what “normal” is for our family. We adjure you to go prepare your gardens for spring or if in Australia to plant your bulbs. Discover the joy of mucking about in the dirt. Watch that which has been dormant all winter begin come back to life again. I plan on extending my sunflower patch farther down the back lane and with the help of a few friends and family, Andrew plans to finish the landscaping in the back yard.

Next weekend we celebrate Easter. The depth of Christ’s death and resurrection hits home to us more this year than any other. For it is in letting go of our lives that we truly find them.

peace,

Judy and Andrew
 

 

The ducks are in the nest.

Friday March 28, 2003 12:06 AM

The kids are all in bed. Andrew and I are heading for the jacuzzi and all is well.

A million thanks to everyone who made this dream trip to Australia possible. We couldn't have done it without you.

Andrew, Judy,
Michael, David and Grace.
 
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