Really?

72 F and sunny in Quartzsite, Arizona on Tuesday
27 F with snow on the ground in Ely, Nevada yesterday
Pictures later.  We just got up and are heading down the road, hopefully before it starts to snow. 

HOME TODAY!!!

Captain's Quarters

 

So the sad news is that Mom and I are on our way home.   Rob showed up night before last with Dad's car and he's going to stay with Dad until things are figured out at Mayo. So, yesterday we packed the car, loaded the gun--yes I'm serious, my mom is a pistol packin' Mama.  She hangs it on the seat behind her within easy reach.  Holy crap.  She says if it's not hidden, we don't need a concealed weapons permit.  We stopped in and saw Uncle Oscar and Aunt Mollie at the hospital in Phoenix before we left (he's been sick),  and hit the road.  Last night we stopped at a little motel in Quartzsite.  I'm not sure what the name of it is because Rodney didn't give me a reciept and there is nothing in this "room" with a motel name.  He said he was giving us "the Captain's Quarters, a very large room and the nicest one we have."  I went looking for the room (the buildings are all detached) and finally went in and asked Rodney to show me where it was.  He came out and pointed to the above structure.  Mom said "you mean the little double wide there?"  And Rodney replied, "No, the Captain's Quarters."  Okie dokie.  It was dark and late and we were tired and we said "thanks" and drove over to the Captain's Quarters and sure enough, it is a 2 bedroom double wide.  

The lights don't work in most of the rooms, perhaps fortunately, and it was cold so I turned up the furnace which strangely made no difference, and we unpacked our stuff for the night.  The worst thing about it is the odd smell.  Yuk.  Well, a few minutes later there's a knock on the door.  No peep hole in this door, I told Mom to get the gun and back me up (it's late and this little beauty is parked near what appears to be a biker bar--did I say that?), and I opened the door.  Outside is --surprise--a biker looking guy in a black leather vest, a very nice smile, and big tattoo on his arm (it was too dark to tell what creature specifically was decorating his large left bicep), and he is holding a small space heater.  Did I mention he looks very happy--glazed eyes, big beautiful smile, nice laugh (sort of like a serial killer I would imagine).  He said, "You're propane tank is almost empty and I don't think your heat will run for very long so I brought you this."  I have no idea who this guy is (not the maid, that's for sure) don't know where Rodney is, and Mom's getting tired of standing behind the door holding the gun, so I take the heater, say "thanks," shut and lock the door.

Oh my gosh, we laughed like we had good sense.  The front door locked, even so, I pulled the end table in front of it.  Mr. Tattoo Guy looked like he might have trouble navigating obstacles and I figured if the door opened, I've have time to grab the gun next to me and shoot (I got the front bedroom).  But unfortunately, the slide locks on the back door were a quarter of an inch below the holes they belonged in, so we couldn't really secure the back door except with the door knob lock.  That's okay, we did bring our watch dog.  Oh wait a minute, she's blind and small, but she's fierce and will make a terrible welt on your ankle if you piss her off.

It is morning now, and we woke up laughing.  What a wonderful way to start the day.  And guess what? The light in the bathroom and bedroom were on.  They are the energy saving florescent lights and it takes 4 hours for these beauties to warm up and turn on.  We won't have to shower in the dark.  Hooray!

We are packing up and heading north today in search of more adventures.  It's so fun to travel with someone who has a sense of humor.

Keeping in mind we're in the middle of the desert, this is the sight that greeted us this morning as we were packing the car (it's decorating the back of the biker bar):

Here's to fair skies and friendly winds.

Mayo

Dad and I went to the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale, Arizona today.  Unfortunately, the records that were faxed over yesterday didn't get into his file, so we had to recount what we could remember of the progression of Dad's illness.  This doctor was impressed with how well Dad is doing and said as long as he is doing so well, she wouldn't recommend he do anything medically.  However, if he starts to have symptoms, pain, or scans show the cancer growing, then there is the possibility of future chemo treatments.  She needs to see his records, go over his scans and possibly compare them to a new scan, and wants to see the pathology slides so she can confirm the type of cancer cell he is fighting.  This information may also give her an idea of a different kind of chemo to try.  She is the first doctor who said there are still treatment options.  Which makes me very happy.  And somewhat suspicious.  She did say any treatment option needs to be balanced against potential side effects and Dad's quality of life.   

Good doctors have told Dad there's not much more they can do other than keep him comfortable--his own doctor, two doctors at Fred Hutcheson Cancer Center in Seattle, and a highly recommended cancer specialist who is also a cancer researcher in California.  Can all these medical professionals have made a mistake?  Is this Mayo doctor just blowing smoke up our collective rear ends?  Or is there something she knows that the other doctors do not know?  The Mayo doctor did concur with all the other doctors in defining the eventual outcome: this disease is terminal, nothing she can do will "cure" him.  Now why doesn't that make me feel all warm and fuzzy?

This medical maze we live in and are experiencing even now is a real challenge.  We want hope.  Hope makes Dad happy.  Me too.  All of us really.  But are we giving up anything to have this hope?  If it just costs money, then that's ok.  But what if he is spending precious time away from home...away from his family and friends who love him, away from his orchard...the dirt and trees and sun that runs through his body as surely as this cancer does?  Is that a good thing?

We do not know what she will recommend after she has a chance to review all the records.  She may completely concur with the other doctors.  And if she doesn't, if she offers alternatives, I guess Dad will consider his options and make a decision.  The decision isn't mine, that's for sure.  Nor can anyone else make this decision.  He has to.

She said this is not typical esophageal cancer, it is slow moving, so the pathology may be different, meaning a different chemo may be effective in holding at bay for a longer period of time.  She also said any chemo regime she recommends, his own doctor can administer it so he can be home.

No, I don't completely trust this doctor.  But at this moment, I am enjoying the glimmer of hope she has presented.  The rest, we'll deal with later. 

Phoenix-Glendale

We were in Blythe, California yesterday speaking with a cancer specialist and researcher.  He is the first doctor who said dad wouldn't qualify for a clinical trial because of his heart.  Since his heart surgery, his function has been lower than normal, but more than it was before surgery but not good enough to participate in a clinical trial.  Why hasn't any other doctor told him this after he has expressed over and over a desire to get into a clinical trial?  He's tried about all the chemo he can take.  It's why he wants to go to Mayo.  This is so wrong.  And the doctor, when reading dad's chart notes, said to himself as much as to us..."why do doctors give people a time frame?  How do they know?"  Obviously not much.  The first doctor gave him 3 to 6 months in September 2008.  Duh.  When I said, "the tumor in his esophagus is gone.  The lymph nodes in his chest are clear.  There are some small encapsulated tumors in his liver.  So he's getting better, right?" The docter said, "His numbers are going up.  The cancer is growing.  It's going to get him eventually."  Not what I wanted to hear.

But generally, Dad is, as always, optomistic and positive.  He says he probably has another 5 or 10 years in  him before the cancer gets him.  And he believes it.

We're sitting here in a hotel in Glendale, Arizona in the midst of massive traffic, bunches of people, motion and comotion.  It was much quieter and more peaceful when we camped on the desert near Quartzsite.  From here the plan is to visit family in Ajo near the Mexican border.  Then we'll head  home.  We'll be home Sunday, February 28 or before.

His Mayo Clinic appointment is this afternoon at 4:00.  We may just eat dinner somewhere near the clinic and give the rush hour traffic a chance to subside.  Driving a monster motor home around in this traffic with the parents giving advice...not a pretty picture. 

I think Dad feels good about what he's finding out.  He's curious if the docs at Mayo have anything new to offer.  And then the question becomes, how long will the treatment take, how long does he want to be away from home, and what's the projected outcome?

This is an odd nomadic life we've been living the last couple weeks.  It's been wonderful to see such new landscapes, meet interesting people, and not have any deadlines.  Just wake up in the morning and ask, "well, what should we do today?  Wanna stay on the desert one more night?"

Every day is a new adventure.  My blessing cup is running over.

In The Desert

Here's Dad enjoying himself.

 Me and Mom with a plethora of cacti and other desert plant life around.

 Note the wonderful hat I'm wearing.  What do you think?  Really.  

Tell me the truth now...do you love it as much as I do (the hat I mean)?

Here's my back up hat that I wear when we go out because they won't go anywhere with me when I wear the other hat or if they do, they pretend they don't know me.  Now isn't that just rude?











Hats aside, we're having a wonderful time.  It hasn't been without its challenges however. Mostly mechanical.  Not serious, just irritating.  Lake Havasau City was a cliche of how I pictured Arizona--pink stucco everywhere, palm trees, cactus, wide streets, rocky, sandy desert,
hot sun...and to make it really interesting (not part of the cliche) the London Bridge.  No kidding.

We stopped into a little place called Palo Verde for lunch.  You'd think a place called Palo Verde would have Mexican food, right.  Nope.  Had a great Ruben sandwich.  With sweet potato fries.  Num. 

We're in a beautiful park tonight.  Charging up the batteries and phones and computer, filling the tank with water, and all that kind of thing.

So that's what's up for now.  Let me know about the hat thing.  Hideous or wonderful?  Either or both of them....  Dad's hat is great.  What about mine?

Oh and next time, I'll tell you about the book store we went into.  The owner is famous for being the naked book store owner.  I thought he was a statue but my gosh he started moving and I realized, goodness I haven't seen anything like that in a LONG time!!! Not everything mind you. He had a little crochet triangle...very little, covering the guy parts in the front.  From the back, nothing but bottom.

On the road

Well if it's not one adventure after another, I'll put in with you.  We made it to Oregon okay and when we got to Jackpot, Nevada we stayed at Cactus Pete's RV Park and Casino (I know, weird, huh).  We got there Saturday and stayed Sunday so Dad could see the Superbowl, which he missed most of because of some card game....  But, on Saturday night the heater went out.  Then on Sunday night the space heater I bought went out.  Crap it was cold.  And mom talks in her sleep and flops around like a fish on the bank praying for rain.  It was awful the first couple nights.  So I'm cold.  I'm laying next to mom who is talking and flailing about and around 2 in the morning...that's it.  I got up, got some clothes on, and we headed south.  Dad woke up.  Mom was up.  She felt bad because, who knows what they do in their sleep unless someone is rude enough to tell them (that would be tired, cold, cranky me).  We stayed in Ash Springs.  Which I don't know why it's called Ash Springs because there are no springs and no fires or ashes as far as I could see.  It was high mountain desert, lots of sagebrush, some cactus (kinda cool), and a lot of nothin else.  There was a gas station with a killer bakery.  And it wasn't as cold as Cactus Pete's RV Park.  A plus as far as I am concerned.  So Dad wants to make it to Bullhead City, Arizona, past Las Vegas, through Laughlin, Nevada and just across the river where he once had some service done at an RV repair shop that he doesn't remember the name of and can't remember exactly where it is and not only that but we got there at 4:30 but in Arizona time it was 5:30 so everything was closed anyway even if he could remember which he didn't.  So we stayed at the Golden Nugget Casino and Hotel.  They have a great parking lot for motor homes, camp trailers, and semi trucks.  No backing up monster motor homes.  Which still isn't my strong suit although I haven't hit anything of consequence yet, but I haven't really backed up yet so there's still time. 

Sooooo, this morning I got up early and went in search of a motor home repair place, which I found one, thank the Good Lord, and they seemed quite busy but the lady at the front desk said...maybe you flipped a fuse.  Like I haven't checked all the switches and pulled all the fuses out to make sure the little metal z part was all in one piece.  Which I had.  So Justin, a very nice young man pulled the motor home into their "fix motor home" space and plugged the monster in and guess what.  The lights went on.  Just like that.  When Justin came in with a little deal he stuck in the outlets to see if they were working...they were, I said, "Justin, you're awesome."  He said, "Wow, this is the first time anyone ever thought I was awesome for plugging a motor home in."  Apparently, I had too many things running and flipped the fuse at the plug in thing in the RV park (who knew those things had a breaker thingy that flipped if you tried to run lights, a heater, and a computer?).  Now I know.  So then, he looked at the furnace gauges and moves one little piece of metal that got misaligned and he aligned it and, bam, just like magic the furnace comes on.  I tell you what, it was a great day in hat rock for this mechanically challenged woman.  So then I go in to pay the bill and guess what.  No charge.  What a kick.

We're staying one more night in Laughlin and heading for Quartzsite, Arizona tomorrow.  I'm waiting to hear from Mayo Clinic.  I have requested an appointment for Dad.  He was thinking he would just wait till after he visited friends in Quartzsite, but I said, "Dad, what if it takes them a week to get you in.  If you wait another week, we'll have a real problem because I'm scheduled to work on March 1."  This is a fact he has been aware of since we left home.  At least that little detail is finally taken care of.

So as far as gambling goes, I'm a terrible gambler.  I've lost money on the slot machines, the crap table, and playing cards.  I was seriously considering going to church on Superbowl Sunday but Jackpot doesn't have a church, any church as far as I could tell and the nearest one was 30 miles or so away.  Can't take everyone's house and leave for 3 hours to go to church, now can I?  Nope.  So I lost money.  I should have gone to church.  It would have been better for my soul and my pocket book.  My sister said it was a lesson from God.  If I would have won, I would have wanted to gamble more, but as it is, I've been pretty much hanging out.  Bought myself a hat.  Mom almost barfed when she saw it.  I think it looks Arizona-y.  Blue feather.  Beaded turquoise medallion.  Black kinda bolero thing with a chin strap.  I'll post a picture of it if I can get one of them to take it.  They threatened to make me go to dinner by myself if I wore it.  Didn't. 

Other than that, we all seem to be managing.  Whipped them at rummy the other night.  That was good.  No one is sick.  That is good.  We're heading south to visit with friends and family, and that is good.  So all in all, everything is good.

It's been a fun adventure so far, and I expect it to be even funner coming up.

Here's to fun!

I forgot

Sometimes I forget that there is magic.  Perhaps "magic" is the wrong term in this instance.  I forget that the Lord in his tender mercies helps me find the way through the confusion and darkness and into the sunshine.  Always.

Dad is better.  The oncology nurse figured out what was going on.  Meds change, no longer any Tylenol in his combinations, terrible inflammation from other problems he has, and extreme pain.  Different new meds, and he is recovering. We're packing the motor home and planning to launch tomorrow.  Dad wants to go to town first, which I almost got irritated about, but then I thought to myself, "hey self, this isn't really about the destination, it's about the company and the journey.  It's about the experience and opportunity to be together.  This is an emotional archeological exploration.  Once I remembered that, everything was fine.  My blood pressure returned to normal, I smiled and said, "OK Dad, whatever you want is fine with me."  And I meant it.

Life is good.  I'm trained on the monster motor home.  Sam has told me at least a dozen times "wide turns, wide turns."

Lord, don't let me hit anything with the tail end of the monster or pop a rear tire on a high curb, or something awful like that.  I just want the trip to be peaceful and enjoyable.

I'M STINKIN EXCITED!

So if I don't write for awhile, it's because the folks aren't into internet cafes.  But I'll post when I can.

so where's the magic?

I hate this dying thing.  It's a family process and I feel honored to be able to serve my dad during this time.  But...come on already.  I just want him to get better, be better.  Darn it.  I want MAGIC.

Dad's pain meds were changed and he's a royal mess. He's spacey and flat.  His pain is 10 out of 10.  Rob talked to his doc and got some ideas how to manage it better.  We're not on hold forever for the trip, I don't think. I think it's just a meds mess.  We're packing the monster motor home in preparation for take off.  Once we get the pain problem handled, we're on the gone plan.

Sam came over this morning and I got Motor Home 101 training.  I know how to hook up the grey water and black water hose thingy (Yuk), turn on the interior power, level the thing (sort of), hook the water and power up, and was told to take WIDE turns.  Oh boy, this is going to be interesting.  I'm a wreck (no pun intended) driving in big city traffic in my car.  Where's my sign "student driver" to stick on the back?  Do you think other drivers will be nicer to me if they know I'm a newbie?  Probably not.

Look out Arizona.  I'm hitting the road soon.  In a monster motor home, no less.  I think I'll be the ninja monster motor home driver.  Flow through traffic and no one will even know I've been there.

We're all excited to get out of Dodge.