Friday, December 31, 2010

Milestones

All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010

Most recently, I counted everything by "when Daddy died". Things that occurred before December 11, 2004 .. and things that came after. Sadly, Dave and I got married only three weeks earlier but it was Daddy's death that became the milestone of 2004.

Before that, it was "the day I got fired". I'd never been let go from any job and, in fact, every employer I ever had always said I could come back if my new job didn't work out. I was proud of that record. So "the day I got fired" in July of 1993 was pretty monumental. (Turns out it was the best thing that could have happened to me!)

I guess we all have milestones in our life: graduations, marriages, births, divorces, the new house .. but now I have another. The day I got cancer. That was November 18, 2010. Of course I had cancer long before that, maybe as long as ten years, but that was the day it became a fact.

Next week, I'll have another: the day I started chemo. It's the beginning of the end for Herschel. Long may he die. Here's what we learned yesterday at the oncologist visit with Dr. M:

Blood work: indicates some liver disfunction. She'll retest and watch. Everything else looked good.

Biopsies of left lymph nodes & right breast mass: Right breast mass is benign. Lymph nodes at first pass are malignant but final pathology report wasn't in. There is an enlarged lymph node in my chest (centrally located) but it's not large enough to biopsy, so it's a watch. Chemo should handle this, if not, we're looking at something other than cancer that's causing it.

Chest X-ray (lungs): was clear.

Echocardiograph (heart health): was clear.

Bone Scan: Clear.

CT Scan: Indicates cysts in my liver, kidneys, thyroid and tiny, tiny spots in my lungs. Doc says no cancer but she'll watch the spots in my lungs. After round one (12 weeks) of chemo, if they don't clear, we'll investigate further.

Herschel is a Stage II (at present, likely to be upgraded to III with final pathology report), Grade 2, ER responsive breast cancer. He tested negative for HER-2 which would have complicated things nicely, so we're happy about that.

I start chemo on Wednesday, Jan. 5, which just happens to be another milestone: Jared's 28th birthday. We'll go weekly for twelve weeks, followed by CT scan and then round two begins immediately for twelve weeks, once every three weeks. At the end of chemo if it's done its job, I'll have surgery to remove the cancer either via lumpectomy or mastectomy depending on the best prognosis for me. Then, the plan is a follow up with radiation. I'm thinking by the end of 2011, I will be cancer free.

And that will be another milestone!

So always remember and never forget: FEEL YOUR BOOBIES!

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Life is a box of 5/16 Phillips head screws ...

If you sense a mood change you're very astute. It's 4 AM and I can't sleep.

Up until now Herschel has been this vague annoyance but after today I can no longer think of him as abstract. Today I see my oncologist who should have all the test results from the past two weeks of long days spent at M. D. Anderson. Today I will learn exactly what I'm facing.

I had a mini-meltdown tonight. It was in the privacy of my own bedroom while snug in Dave's arms and talking about what to expect. Since I've been blindsided a few times in life, (What? No! You too?) I usually try to prepare myself for worst case scenarios. Then, anything less than Armageddon is gravy. It's just how I operate. Know Your Enemy. So I have been reading cancer blogs.

Maybe I shouldn't have.

Tonight, I started enumerating to Dave all the things that could happen with chemo:



  • loss of hearing (oh great, like I needed that one)
  • loss of hair, eyebrows, eyelashes
  • acne
  • loss of nails
  • weight loss (I kinda counted on this one)
  • weight gain (well, shit)
  • nausea
  • diarrhea
  • pain
  • and all manner of suffering ..


  • Well that went over well. Dave was having none of it!

    He stopped me dead in my tracks. A little harshly, I might add.

    Awkward pause.

    So. I laid there, (still in his arms even though I didn't like him any more) and regrouped. Okay, you got me. I really felt sorry for myself. There. I said it.

    He explained that I needed to stop doing that to myself. I tried to explain that I needed to know all the bad things that could happen.

    He wouldn't let me go. And then I realized that was my biggest fear. Being let go of.

    I've sensed some distance in some relationships and I understand that everybody has to do this their own, unique way. I can be sensitive to how uncomfortable this makes people. Especially me, with my annoying habit of unloading everything into word packages that should be marked with hazard labels.
    I know this isn't fun.

    Here we are on the brink of a New Year. One we all hope will be better than the last. Only I am pretty damn sure that mine won't be. (And last year wasn't all that great .. so ...)

    On the other hand: up until now having cancer has been this weird, convoluted gift. Like getting a box of 5/16 Phillips head screws for your birthday. Only, the thing is .. what you really, really, really wanted was a box of 5/16 Phillips head screws!

    Don't we all want to know we're loved and appreciated? Don't we all want to drink life a little more fully and soak up every bit of juicy? Isn't being alive to every sensation, vision, flavor, scent and sound delicious?

    So far, that's what I've gotten out of this. The neatest things have happened to me. I've been showered with premium grade A, perfect, profound love. Please forgive me if I am just a little nervous about what comes next.

    My fingernails suck but I don't want to lose them.

    I would very much like to be skinny just once in my life .. but I'm not sure being sick is how I should attempt that.

    So, yeah. It's all gotten a little real in the last twelve hours. The thing is, I know I am not alone. Even here in the dark (or rather the glow of my computer screen), writing (babbling) all this down for myself (sanity) just to get it out of my head (hornet's nest), I know I am dragging you all with me. I apologize for the bumps and sharp corners. Hopefully, I'll get better at this as time goes on. Meanwhile .. get yourself some knee pads and a good hockey goalie suit or something.

    I don't want anybody to get hurt.

    Tuesday, December 28, 2010

    Barium for EVERYONE!!!!!

    All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010

    It's just my little contribution to the world of medical science. These are my proposed flavors for barium ... and I am sure, with a little thought, I can come up with more.

    Yesterday at MDA, was CT scan day. I had no clue what to expect. I was hoping whatever magical chemicals they were going to install in my system were uploaded via a painless, tasteless method. It was not to be.

    But when I made a face to my CT Scan PR person when she explained I would have both an IV and an Oral experience .. she quickly pointed out that at least I wasn't having a barium enema .. also. I was quick to concur. Two out of three when one of the three is an enema is always a good thing.

    So the flavors (yes, FLAVORS!) of barium offered to me were mocha, banana, berry and apple. Seeing as it was not even seven am, I thought the mocha would provide a slight illusion to coffee, so I went there. Don't go there. It wasn't awful .. but it left a lot to be desired. I had forty-five minutes to get down the lotta-mocha-yucko. Mmm. (yeck.)

    I was told the first bottle would be swiftly and efficiently followed by a second bottle that I would have only 15 minutes to consume. Oh joy. I kept my empty bottle for evidence and when I presented it to my nurse, Cindy, she was quick to say we had to establish some level of trust between us .. and that I could throw away my empties.

    Cindy offered me neuro-surgeon green scrubs for my date with the ct scanner and offered my second beverage. I decided to try the berry. Here is where you should applaud my profound wisdom. Berry-flavored barium is berrydelicious. Kinda.

    Now in between all this cocktail consumption was about half an hour of merry-making in the waiting room with Aldine peeps, Connie & Joe, who where also there for a ct scan. Imagine that! Two Aldine girls at one time in a seventh floor waiting room at MDA. It was a recipe for disaster! I'm sure that more than one glance was shot our direction wondering what was REALLY in those barium bottles. We were having way too much fun.

    There was something about me being OBESE .. something about having to grease up the tube to get me in it .. and something about getting me out IF they got me in. Anticipated delays while they searched high and low for crow bars and KY Jelly in industrial sized tubs. I don't know. I can't remember it all. After all, I was high on barium.

    Sunday, December 26, 2010

    Labels

    All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010


    Labels. I'm not a big wine drinker but I admit I've bought more than one bottle on the virtue of the label alone. Come to think of it .. I picked a couple of husbands that way too. In both cases I learned that it might not be the best way to choose ...

    I've had a few dozen labels myself, some were self-inflicted, many of them harsh. It's funny how we define ourselves and how our perspective differs from how others see us.

    I'm a daughter, sister, friend, tall girl, wife, mother, cook, chicken rancher, lover, nature nut, Cheeto-lover, creative-type, ex-river guide, ex-wife, ex-office manager. I think of myself as a warrior woman who wears battle scars proudly. I may not be as pretty as I once was but I've always known that beauty is fleeting so I never put much store in it. It is my character, my strength, my love and my faith that defines me. My wit, my depth of feeling, and my experiences in life that have forged me. The years and experiences have taught me to be strong, as self sufficient as I can be, as resilient as possible and to laugh thru the tears. Today. Who knows who I will be tomorrow?

    I'm still getting used to the idea of having cancer and what that means in my life, to Dave, to my children. I'm having to adjust my vision, toughen my skin, draw on the help and hope of others and remember that this is yet another passage.

    Nothing lasts forever. Even cancer. Soon I will have a new label in my arsenal .. Cancer Survivor.

    Thursday, December 23, 2010

    An Unhealthy Attachment

    Give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair
    Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen
    Give me down to there, hair, shoulder length or longer
    Here baby, there, momma, everywhere, daddy, daddy
    Hair, flow it, show it
    Long as God can grow, my hair!


    All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010


    My mother says I was born with a pony tail of dark brown hair. I guess that's when it started .. this fascination, this definition of me and hair. All my life, (except for a very brief "Sassoon" cut in my pre-teens and another "mommy" cut) I have had shoulder length or longer hair. I didn't give it much thought but it was the way my Daddy preferred me. He loved long hair. Then my kids came along and they loved me with long hair. Enter: David. Ditto. It's not like I even have GREAT hair .. but for some reason, it's an issue. And, being a pleaser, I've complied. So now that I am faced with losing it .. suddenly I am lost in an attempt to visualize myself without it. It won't be pretty.


    The first day at M. D. Anderson was a roller coaster. I met with my medical oncologist, who will be my primary care physician, and I like her very much. Warm, listens well, clearly very capable, and has a sense of humor; I think I got lucky. Her initial assessment, prior to all my tests, was that I would have chemo one day a week for twelve weeks, followed by chemo once every three weeks for twelve weeks. Then perhaps a date with a surgeon, followed by a radiation rendezvous. But nothing is carved in stone. Everything is subject to change.


    Monday, I had bloodwork (and I am participating in research, so extra was taken), a second diagnostic mammogram, chest x-ray and a bone scan. Tuesday, I had an ultrasound which confirmed the presence of enlarged lymph nodes in my left arm pit and *surprise!* a lump in my right breast in the exact place where Herschel is located in my left one. Both were biopsied. The swollen lymph node likely indicates their involvement, meaning Herschel is really wearing out his (un)welcome. And the lump (only about a centimenter) looks to be benign. We'll hope so. Enough of this already!


    I was highly impressed with the efficiency of the staff, medical and support, and the organization of 'going through the process'. MDA is a well-oiled machine. I have nothing but superlatives to spew about my experience there last week. We now know that Herschel is "Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, grade 2" which means he is growing at a mediocre rate of speed. Thankfully, at least he's not an over-achiever ..


    The first few ladies I saw without scarves or blingy hats broke my heart and I had to work hard to blink back my tears. They were selfish tears cried purely out of my fear and grief about losing my own hair. It will happen.


    I just hope that a big, fresh dose of sense of humor kicks in simultaneously. I plan to get a wig and to wear bright, splashy scarves and goofy, rhinestoney hats. And the HUGE brimmed straw hat I bought a couple of months ago will get a workout this summer.


    We're home for a few days to celebrate a much abbreviated version of Christmas and then back to MDA for a very early morning CT scan appointment on Monday. Thursday brings another consult with my Onc and hopefully all my tests will be back. If so, then I can be "staged" which will indicate my prognosis. Once again, I ask for prayers and send mine of gratitude for you.

    What We Know - 12.21.10

    As Joe Friday would say .. "here's the facts ma'am, just the facts.":

  • Type: Invasive Ductal Carcinoma

  • Size: 3+ centimeters (about the size of a quarter)

  • Hormone responsive: Yes to estrogen, jury still out on HER2

  • Grade: 2 (1 being slow growing, 3 being fast growing)

  • Stage: Unknown at this point.

  • Tentative tmt.: 12 weeks of weekly chemo, then 12 weeks of chemo every three weeks, then surgery, then radiation. (I will lose my hair.)

  • Very happy with my oncologist and love MDA. Awesome place! Headed back tomorrow for more test .. then home and then back on Monday for additional tests. I'm grateful that MDA is in Houston and I have the opportunity to be treated there.

    An Anniversary Of Sorts - 12.16.10

    All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010

    It's hard to believe that it was only two months ago that my life took this major detour to Herschel-land. So much has happened! Herschel is still with us but he must know his days are numbered. Surely he feels all the hate we've mustered and he dreads the death ray of whatever chemical/surgical concoction is in his future.

    Yesterday MDA called and my first appointment is Tuesday, 12/21. So much for that being my cookie baking day. No cookies this year, Keemosabe. And likely not much of a Christmas either. Fortunately my family understands my preoccupation with the eradication of this little alien hitchhiker and are all on board with a postponed Christmas holiday here at Dirt Road Heaven.

    I am already looking forward to next Christmas when we can relax, eat pie and remember when Herschel was just a minor pothole on the Darlene Superhighway of Life.

    Herschel: we're comin' fer ya.

    Feeling Good About Herschel's Demise - 12.10.10

    All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010

    I have to give a great big "BRAVO!" to my Patient Navigator at The Rose, Sally. Little more than a week after I submitted my financials to her, she was able to get me approval for a restricted form of Medicare and I couldn't be more grateful.

    And I made the decision this week to seek care at M.D. Anderson in Houston. So, that ball is now in motion and I am hopeful to have at least one appointment for consult and further testing before the end of the year. It seems now they sometimes do chemo before surgery and there are other factors which additional testing will determine and plot my course for treatment. I'm hoping to have surgery (die Hersche, die) after the first of the year.

    In the meantime, there have been so many of you who have offered your homes to us for this away-from-home adventure. I'm in awe of your compassion and generosity.

    Ashley, my daughter, has "Let's Save Mama D's Double D's" going strong with plans for fund raisers, silent auctions, a fun run/walk and more. If you haven't "liked" the LSMDDD page on facebook, please do!

    Thanks again for the wonderful love and support! As much as I hate Herschel .. I LOVE all of you!

    No News is ... EXCRUCIATING! - 12.07.10


    All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010

    Well, I thought I'd better check in and let you know that Herschel and I are still here. By the phone. Waiting. I positively detest the idea of him residing all warm and snuggly where he shouldn't be.
    The process of getting Medicaid is about the most unfun I've had lately. I'm sure that my aversion to asking for any kind of help only compounds the natural dose of irritation that comes with filling out paperwork and waiting for a state employee to do their job.
    Thus far, the most asinine response came last week when I was told I had been denied because the name on my birth certificate (Lillie Darlene Meader) and the name on my driver's license (Darlene Meader Riggs) didn't match. Well .. DUH! Gee .. would tracking my social security number really be that difficult to determine that I am who I say I am? What do you do for all those folks who wear hipboots with their somberos and smell of refried beans? Anyway. UGH! Don't even get me started.
    I'm not feeling very Christian about all this.
    And so, in my impatience, I tried to start the ball rolling with M. D. Anderson but was told to wait until Tuesday to see if we had a positive outcome from the State of Texas. So today is Tuesday. Cross your fingers. And hope with all your might that I don't have to open a big 'ole can of whoop-ass.
    That's not very Christian either, is it?
    Well, it is, without question, very TEXAN. Let's get this party started!!!!!!
    Insert Mood Swing Here.
    On a happier note ... (cleansing breath) ... Miss Ashley Belinda has been working her little mama fingers to the bone with her "Let's Save Mama D's Double D's" projects. She has fund raising parties planned, a fun run/walk in April, t-shirt sales in the works and is working on a silent auction. Her organizational skills and level of energy have just been amazing. I would be in awe even if she weren't my own baby girl but because she is, well .. you can just imagine how proud and grateful I am. If you want to talk to this little dynamo of a daughter, you can email her here. or send to letssavemamadsdoubleds (at) suddenlink.net.
    Additionally, there have been so many acts of kindness thrown in my general direction lately. More than a few folks have sprouted wings and taken to sporting a halo in my unbiased observations. I don't know why God chose me to shower all this good stuff on but I want you to know that nary a single sweet gesture has gone unnoticed.
    So .. here's the deal: sometime today, if it's not too much to ask, and even if you aren't a real praying person (WHAT?), please just lift your eyes to Heaven and ask God to provide the means to kick Herschel's ugly ass to the curb. Okay?
    Thank you. I owe you a pie. Mwah!

    Cancer, Chickens & Coyotes - 11.21.10

    All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010


    I had to sit with this a while before I could talk to you about Thursday's news.


    To bring you up to speed, Dave and I traveled to Houston on Monday to overnight with Dave's gracious aunt who happens (Thank You, God) to live about fifteen minutes from The Rose. I rarely sleep well away from home .. and certainly under the circumstances, I was surprised that I slept like a log.


    The Rose is housed in a large, non-descript office building that has dentists and other medical type offices. I don't know what I expected but I was pleasantly surprised that the office and staff were not strictly utilitarian. There was color, there were smiles .. it was a nice, comforting place.


    My lack of hearing immediately posed problems when the lady called me up to pay. Hispanic mouths don't move like caucasian ones and I couldn't even lip read. She repeated herself three times, tears welled up and I called for Dave to help me. That rattled me sufficiently that the tears refused to go back where they came from for the next ten minutes. I didn't allow them to breach the rim of my eyes .. but they pooled there for a while. Dave's arm around me, rubbing my back finally forced them to the subterranean pool where they belonged.


    They called all the ladies in ahead of me. Even the ones that arrived after me were escorted thru the pretty glass doors while I waited, wondering. Questions formed in my eyes but Dave's eye's answered, "It's okay."


    Finally a pretty, young girl called for me and away we went. Thankfully, I could hear her and she assured me that she would scream at me if it was required. Yay. She had a personality and a sense of humor AND would scream at me. I was in good hands.


    She told me that her daughter and I shared the same birthdate: April 17th. So I immediately began extolling all the marvelous things about people born on that date, since I have personal experience. They are creative, solitary souls who think too much, react slowly but with a vengence if you piss them off. She nodded in agreement.


    Despite being topless on a skinny table with gel on my girls and her gentle ultrasounding gadget sweeping to and fro, I was at ease. We talked about Dr. Melillo, the founder of The Rose and the doctor who would perform my biopsy. I expected a youngish, of Italian descent dark haired, studious beauty who might be a little aloof but thorough and accomplished.


    I was so pleasantly surprised when Dr. Melillo entered the room. Older, with gray hair like mine, blue eyes like mine, skin that, like mine, has recorded all the sunny days spent outside. I trusted her immediately. She was warm, personable and her eyes twinkled confidence that mine absorbed with quick gratitude. I was feeling very at ease. Our conversation turned to where I lived and I explained that no one knew where my little traffic-light-free town was. (Caution lights don't count and we only have one by the railroad.)


    "Grapeland? I know where that is. I've been on a trail ride there."


    I think my response was a classy, "Get out of town!"


    Sure enough, our paths have already crossed surprisingly close together and her horse has, no doubt, pooped on my dirt road in an bi-annual trail ride that departs from a nearby ranch. I was astounded. Then she asked about my local visitors .. coyotes. And when I explained that coyotes and bobcats were not my friends because they chowed down on my chickens .. she immediately told me about chasing a coyote in her nightgown that had her prized Rhode Island Red rooster in his mouth.


    There. Is. A. God.


    What are the chances of finding a country girl who has experienced all the struggles of being a single mom, loves critters AND is a puny boob doctor? I can't say that I often question the existence of God .. hardly ever .. mostly I question what He's THINKING but I know he's there. Still this whole conversation was making my head swim and it had nothing to do with needles or tumors or biopsies.


    The biopsy was painless. I hardly felt the lidocaine injection at Herschel's front door. And the rest of the process was fascinating. I watched it all on the monitor opposite the doc's busy hands. She shot some kind of sheath into Herschel's gut and then sent two core samplers in after pieces. Later, I got to see those pieces in a jar. They looked harmless enough.


    The doctor told me my pathology report should be back by (hopefully) Friday but, for sure, by Tuesday. I thanked her, and my ultra sound angel for a pleasant experience. Dave couldn't believe I was smiling when I was returned to him. I felt pure relief to have it behind me and profound, boundless joy that my doctor loves chickens.


    The phone call the next day rattled me because my results came in only a day after my biopsy. The doc would call me on Thursday morning. I woke at six and started foolishly listening for the call. The Call. Five hours later I heard the voice. Friendly, comforting and grounding despite the fact she told me that, yes, I do have breast cancer.


    I already knew that. I probably knew that before we started this whole journey. I'd been praying for months to God for Him to fix whatever was making me feel so tired, so useless and to restore my energy and my strength. As it is, I think this was a lesson in faith, a road to becoming humble. A forced lesson in accepting help and to lose the big yellow "S" I think I should wear 24/7/365.


    The love and support I've had since broadcasting this whole experience has been nothing short of miraculous to me. I'm really good at giving love and not so well practiced in receiving it. But, I'll be danged, it feels pretty good and I am soaking it all up like a sponge.


    Herschel will be excavated as soon as the glorious State of Texas decides I am worthy of a few bucks to provide his removal (most likely a lumpectomy). I have a very hard time asking but, I guess, that's part of this lesson too.


    So, for now, Herschel's story is on the back burner. There may be nothing to tell for weeks but, rest assured, you'll be the first to know.


    Till then, know that I'm thanking God for you and your prayerful support.


    Love,


    Darlene (and ugly Herschel)

    Herschel's Little Prick - 11.16.10

    All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010
    Herschel,10.25.10

    Finally, finally, finally it was biopsy day. And the biopsy was absolutely painless, the ultra sound technologist awesome and the Doctor (the founder of TheRose.org) so warm, friendly and gentle I wanted to follow her home.

    Not only did Dr. Melillo know where Grapeland was .. she's probably ridden down THE Dirt Road in a trail ride that meets and departs from a ranch just around the corner (on the paved road!) from us. Add to that her professed love of chickens, dislike of coyotes and bobcats and it's love at first sight.

    The procedure was painless and I got to watch the whole thing. Herschel was hit with a scud missile core sampler a couple of times and I swear I think I heard him scream like a little girl. Later, I saw his bits and pieces in a jar. HA! Take that, Herschel.

    I just don't think it could get any better!

    No news until Friday (at best) or Tuesday of next week (at worst). Thanks so much for all your love and support. I truly have the best peeps in the Universe and God is good.



    Herschel Humor (Does it never stop?) - 11.15.10



    Last night, sitting on the sofa, watching TV.
    Me: "I'm getting a little nervous about this." 
    Dave: "It's okay to be scared but, you know, you're just going to feel a little prick." 
    I don't remember what I said after that .. snicker.

    Herschelvision - 11.13.10


    All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010




    I have learned that if there are chinks in your armor, things like Herschel only reveal them.

    Spots worn thin by wear and tear give way. Flaws are illuminated. Misunderstandings grow like mold in shady places.

    Though I accept that it's part and parcel of the lessons I'm supposed to learn, it doesn't mean I have to like it.

    Whoever said labor pain stops with the baby's birth was an idiot.

    And growth is everlasting and often painful but resistance is futile.

    (I learned that from The Borg. Well,somebody had to lighten this thing up ...)

    Relaxing with Herschel - 11.11.10


    All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010




    Lordy, talk about mood swings! I think in the last ten days I have run the gamut. A smorgasboard of fear, anger, disgust, resignation, acceptance, revulsion and calm have kept my limbic system busy. (Yes, I have a limbic system and so do you!)

    Emotional flavor of the day is: What Herschel?

    I made a comment in an earlier post that I don't trust medical professionals. I should clarify. I don't trust MOST medical professionals. There are some that I trust implicity: The doctor who delivered me (now passed on), my new doc, my new dentist and the doctor who delivered Ashley almost 27 years ago. I talked with him yesterday and he underscored my new found confidence with big, bold lines. While Herschel is real and present and likely malignant, chances are he's no big deal in the scheme of life. Chances are he's just a nuisance and a temporary one. Chances are he'll complicate things short term and soon be a tiny speck on the horizon in my real view mirror.

    I have only one thing to say to that.

    "Herschel, eat my dust."

    Now I have to go. I have the strangest desire to listen to Johnny Mathis music .....

    Twiddling Thumbs - 11.10.10


    All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010




    So. There's really nothing to tell. Less than a week to go till "B" Day (biopsy). But that event only marks the beginning of more waiting.

    I'm not good at waiting.

    I thought David had taught me patience .. it took him two years to fall in love with me beyond friendship. (I know - I have a hard time imagining that myself!) Then another year to say the magic three words, "I love you", and then took another four or five to produce a ring and then I think it was at least two before we got married. If that's not patience, I don't know what is!

    But I am not enamored with Herschel. I don't like Herschel. He is an interloper, a cad, an invader and I want him gone. Yesterday.

    If you have ever had your home broken into then you know that sense of shock that someone, uninvited, has been in your space. Shock turns to anger especially when you realize that, not only did they take your stuff, they went into your refrigerator, took out your lunchmeat, cheese and mustard and made themselves a sandwich!

    Of all the _____ - ________ nerve!

    I think Herschel has made himself quite at home and is frying chicken .. and I hope he chokes on it.

    Do not be alarmed by these last two posts. I'm not really crazier than I was before .. it's just revealing itself in an alarming, new fashion.

    Herschel and Sir Paul - 11.08.10





    I can't believe how many emails I've gotten from near and far (New Zealand!!!) to tell me that hearing my Herschel story has made making an appointment for a mammogram a priority to some of you. And I think that's awesome. Despite what you've heard it isn't painful and not knowing is NOT bliss.

    In fact, it's the not knowing that's a recipe for crazy making! This time next week I'll be heading to Houston for my biopsy on Tuesday morning. I'm really not too worried about the procedure but my lack of hearing makes me insecure in any situation that's unfamiliar.

    And then there is that week of waiting. Of course, it's the week before Thanksgiving so I will be busy baking and getting things ready for our annual Riggs Food-o-rama at Dave's sister's house near Austin.

    I just hate this feeling of sharing my body with an alien being. I've taken to thinking of him as "Slimer" from Ghostbusters. You know the little green, disgusting, farty, obnoxious ghost? Not scary or dangerous .. just UNWELCOME.

    Go back home Slimer. Your mama's waiting for you. Wearing high heeled boots .. and a low necked sweater .. get back home Loretta .. er, Slimer.

    Sorry. Had a Beatle moment.  Told ya. Crazy.

    Hating Herschel - 11.07.10




    When I was six, I got hit by a car in August and the hot tar from the pavement burned me pretty bad.

    I once fell off my skateboard and bruised my butt really, really bad.

    My horse fell on me once and screwed up my ankle and sometimes it still affects me.

    While playing basketball in junior high, I broke my left pinky finger.

    After 12 hours of labor with Jared, I had to a C-section delivery.

    I don't remember being mad at my skin, my ass, my ankle, my pinky,  or even my uterus but I am mad at my boobs.  Both of them.

    Guilt by association.



    Herschel Invades My Dreams - 11.06.10




    This one will be hard to write because it exposes just how vulnerable I am. No one likes to show their white underbelly.

    Last night, lying in bed while watching TV, I posed the question to a sleepy Dave.

    "What if ..", I started. He stopped me in mid-sentence.

    "Be positive, think happy, positive thoughts."

    "I know. But what IF this is bad. I'm worried what your reaction would be to me without breasts. Have you thought about it?"

    "Yes. I have."

    Tears, mine.

    "And it doesn't matter. I will love you no matter what, okay?"

    (Now this is funny.)

    "Even if I look like a boy?"

    (See, I get stupid when I cry.)

    I don't remember what Dave said to that. I just remember the love in his eyes. He's not going anywhere. Even if I look like a boy.

    I know it's all conjecture, unreasonable fear. But, like I said to him, our bedroom is the only place I can really get that out. Every other place I walk, I walk with confidence and a smile. He held me and said he understood. And then he went to sleep and I watched Animal Planet's Fatal Attractions.

    And then I dreamed he took a second wife. A young, pretty, blonde (what?) wife.

    We also had a maid.

    AND granite countertops. 

    That's when I knew it was just a dream.

    Finding Herschel, Part II - 11.05.10




    First of all, thank you for the peanut butter sandwich. I love that you cut it diagonally and put it in a little waxed paper sack. I think waxed paper is highly under-rated these days.

    So, I'm sitting in the waiting room. I've been assigned a number to protect my privacy. While I wait, nos. 7, 8 and 9 go before me. An attractive woman in a hospital uniform keeps walking up and down the hallway outside the waiting room pushing some kind of cart. Every time she passes, she looks in, coming and going .. and our eyes meet. Paranoia sets in: "She knows something."

    "No. 10."

    I rise, clipboard in hand, and walk to the desk around the corner. I answer questions and fork over $310.00. The lady tells me that because I have a lump it is likely that "they" will ask for an ultrasound and since I am self pay, she will need $900.00 before the test is done.

    Gulp. "Well, we'll see what happens. I might need to sleep on that."

    I return to my seat until the mammogram tech arrives to escort me to the big boobie blaster machine. She asks me if I am cold .. which I thought was very kind considering I was half naked. She explains to me about the mammogram, the number of pictures and that I should not be surprised if I require an ultrasound.

    She puts a little foil sticker on Herschel.

    And she takes two shots and leaves the room "to check my orders".

    RED FLAG.

    While she's moving the machine for a 360 view of my pancaked boobies .. I ask questions. "Will my film be seen in house or by some radiologist in some faraway locale?" (I asked this because I have a customer in Hawaii who is a radiologist and she reads all manner of digital imaging from her home office.)

    "Oh no, we have two in-house dedicated radiologists who read nothing but mammograms."

    That's a good thing, I think.

    "How soon after my film is taken will it be seen?"

    She tells me that because this is my first mammogram and there are no other films to compare it to, my images will hit the radiologists desk very soon. By days' end she says.

    Okay. That's a good thing, I think. But it sounded fishy.

    We finish up, she tells me to dress. Before I'm completely dressed, she's back.

    "I have some news for you. Because you are self-pay, anything we do from this moment forward we would need prepayment."

    "Okay." (Big question mark on my face.)

    "And you're going to need a biopsy."

    Silence.

    Okay .. we've skipped the ultrasound and are going straight for a biopsy. Interesting. Blinking back tears ..

    She continues. "And since you are self pay we are referring you to an organization called The Rose."
    Okay. Still trying to absorb the last few minutes and their implications.

    She provides me with the information about The Rose, we chat briefly about their services and I hug her neck for being so kind.

    And then I fight tears all the way to the parking lot, eventually losing the battle. In the car I reach for my phone and I call my best friend in the world. She answers and I share my frightening news.
    I cry, she listens and offers her shoulder, her sofa, her chauffeuring services, anything I need.

    Her love and kindness makes Herschel's birth a whole lot easier. Since then many of you have shared your near misses and battles won with me. Every email, phone call and card has truly reassured me and given me confidence.

    It's been a week of waiting and now we wait some more. I have an appointment on Nov. 16th for a biopsy and then another week before we know the results. I'm not so good at the waiting game.

    I might need more peanut butter. With a side order of chocolate. HELLOOOOO Reese's peanut butter cups!

    Thanks for listening.

    Finding Herschel, Part I - 11.03.10


    I'm writing this for me. But feel free to tag along. It's just that I don't want to forget how this happened. But it will be long and tedious, so make yourself a peanut butter sandwich to bring along on the trip.

    I don't like admitting that for far too long I haven't really taken care of myself. When you're a single mom and there are wolves at the door, it's easy to forget to take care of yourself. There are just so many bases to cover .. and then, it becomes a habit I guess and, after all, if nothing is broken, don't fix it. Right? Wrong. Eventually it catches up with you. Maybe years, maybe decades later.

    In February, my new dentist refused to treat me because my blood pressure was so high. He was oh-so-kind about it but the fact was it was dangerously high and he was concerned and referred me to a local doctor. I adore my dentist and, if you know me, you know it's hard for me to love any dentist after a very special dentist who was my long time friend and eventually my employer.

    So I go to the doctor and he wins points right away by laughing at my jokes and cracking a really good one of his own. I asked him:

    "Okay. So I'm 53, overweight and live with my mother. What is a normal blood pressure for me?"

    He grimaced and said, "You live with your mother? I don't know if you can be treated!"

    Love at first giggle.

    After a series of visits and medication, he's got my blood pressure normal. NORMAL! And I've lost eight lbs. (Yes, it's water but eight lbs. is eight lbs!) So now he starts harping at me about a gyno visit and a mammogram. October is breast cancer awareness month so the second lecture takes and I make a mammo appointment but (downside of living in the country) it's a month away. I've waited this long though, so no big deal.

    A few days later it became a big deal.

    I was in the shower and suddenly I was not alone. Suddenly I bumped into something. There, on the left side of my left breast. Hm. What's THAT? I fiddled with it for a bit and finished my shower. I called Dave in the bathroom.

    "Here, feel this."

    When he found it his eyes met mine. "What the hell?"

    "I know."

    We agreed not to say anything to anyone but a few days later I shared the news with Ashley and she insisted I find another place to get a mammogram. In fact, she got on the phone.

    I called my doctor and talked with his nurse (who just happens to be the dentist's wife) whom I also adore. My dentist, his wife, my doctor, his nurse. You with me? FABULOUS people. Love, love, love them and this is from someone who basically mistrusts medical professionals. (It's a character flaw.)

    So, the nurse agrees I shouldn't wait and orders me a full serving of diagnostic mammogram (which is different apparently from a routine one) at the imaging center of Conroe hospital.

    That happened on Monday, October 25th.

    It was the experience (not the boobie squishing but the human interactions) that really gave me the willies.

    More about that tomorrow. Bring another sandwich, okay? One for me.

    I like crunchy peanut butter and white bread.

    Lots of peanut butter.

    Thanks.

    Mammary Glands 101 - 11.03.10

    All text & photographs on Dirt Road Heaven © by Darlene Meader Riggs, 2010
    Me (on the left),
    Topless. 8.1959


    There are so many things I love about this photo. I was 28 mos. old. I'm in a washtub with two other cousins, both slightly older. Three babies in a washtub. Isn't that grand? Apparently, Frankie, the fourth (and the outsider) was still in diapers so he wasn't allowed.


    I love that we are all completely innocent of our (almost) nakedness. I'm not sure when you become aware of your body .. or it's differences with the opposite sex, but that little window of innocence is precious.

    I do remember when I first became aware of my breasts and that they were changing. I was in my grandmother's bed. It was summer, it was HOT and I was sleeping in as little as possible with a box fan blowing on me. My hands brushed my boobies and it was like, "WHOA! .. what was that?" Not long after I started having passionate battles with my mother over wearing my cousin's (the other little girl in the tub, in fact!) hand-me-down bras. So intense were these exchanges I even tried to enlist the help of my older brother. For the record, he wasn't much help at all.

    Growing boobies conjures a plethora of mixed emotions. It hurts, for one thing. It separates you from the boys for another. They show through your school dresses which is HIGHLY embarassing .. Those early experiences with boobies were NOT pleasant.

    Even later .. I wasn't pleased about their arrival. I thought they were too perky. Yes, you read that right. I snuck looks at my Daddy's Playboy magazines and all the boobies in there looked completely different. And perfect. Mine were .. too new.

    Frankly, I never did get what all the hoopla was about regarding the male fascination with boobies. I only thought they were truly wonderful when they provided nutrition for my babies. But, by then, their function was utilitarian and their form .. well .. not-so-perky any more.

    Perhaps my best, most favorite experience with my boobies (and the rest of me) was when I was 38. I was on a guide-only canoe trip on the Pecos river as it flows in west Texas. ("Guide only" meaning no cow-towing to clients and everybody pulled their own weight.)

    It was a ten day trip which afforded us layovers in some of the most picturesque (blue water, limestone bluffs) places. All but Dave and I had taken a long hike. Dave was up at the kitchen spot napping under an overhang in the shade. I took myself downstream and got naked. The sun was burning and the water freezing so I alternated between sitting in swift water and baking on an adjacent boulder. Buck-assed naked. I only wonder why it took me so long in life to do that. It was the first time my boobies had seen the sun. They liked it.

    I loved it.

    Mostly I loved that I was skinny-dipping and no one knew it but me.

    Later, the others returned and almost everyone else went skinny dipping but I held my solitary dip to myself and just WATCHED.

    Thank you, Pecos river, for giving me (and my boobies) that experience.

    Stages

    11.2.10

    Last week I was prone to tears and scared. This week I've accepted that I have an issue and I'll deal with it. Hopefully, prayerfully, it will be nothing serious and a short chapter in the life of me. Revealing Herschel's presence, here on DRH, made him real and brought loads of love and support from friends and family and even strangers. Powerful stuff, love. I highly recommend it.

    Today I got a phone call from The Rose. My film has been received and, after a short telephone interview, I am now in their system. My case will go before their staff radiologist this week and he will make his recommendations for how we proceed. I hope to have an appt. on the calendar by the week's end although I don't know how long I'll have to wait to be seen. The sooner the better. Let's get this party started.

    Herschel, your days are numbered, dude.


    Herschel Encounters of the First Kind - 10.25.10

    What you're about to read is a true story. The names of the innocent have not been changed. What has changed in the last few weeks is, well, ... everything. My life is not about caterpillar whiskers or chicken poo on the deck any more. Well, it is, but it is also about Herschel. You'll read more about him in a bit.
    What you're about to read is intensely personal and my gut reaction to the roller coaster of emotions I've experienced in the last five days. I can't apologize or make excuses .. I can only say that I am remaining true to who I am: a open book. Sometimes I will over react. And I am definitely going to cuss and snort and sprinkle all that snorting and cussing with feeble attempts at sarcastic humor. Because it's who I am.
    I promise not to make Dirt Road Heaven all about Herschel. In fact, I refuse to allow him that much exposure. In the scheme of things, he doesn't deserve that much of your rapt attention. But forgive me while I obsess over him for just a little while?
    I really did break my camera. And it really is traveling (as I type) to California for surgery. But I know that I am irritatingly transparent and I couldn't keep this from you .. but I needed a little time before I shared it. Then I felt as if I would explode if I didn't.
    Dirt Road Heaven is my release valve. You know how the folks who go to see Gallegher wear rain coats and don plastic drop cloths in the first few rows? Well .. you might want to think about getting yourself a plastic drop cloth. It might get messy and I really don't want to get any on you. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Peace out, hermits. God bless us, every one.


    More about this image



    10.25.10

    I've never been much of a girlie girl. I played with BB guns and rode horses and played Tarzan. I had dolls but they didn't mean much to me. And I've never really enjoyed the kinds of female gatherings that most women do. The jewelry parties and such that left me wishing I was home in my jammies and out of my shoes watching "Hatari" or something.


    Don't get me wrong - I have a circle of female friends I deeply cherish. But they are the friends who accept me as I am with all my weirdness and ungirly behavior. I love to sleep on the ground. I love the smell of cordite. I love the sound of engines. I'm not afraid of the things most women fear. Except for spiders. I hate spiders.


    But today I experienced a level of kinship with women who were complete strangers that bordered on spiritual.


    Today I had my first mammogram.


    When I walked into the waiting area there were two couples and two ladies there. One lady was Oriental. One was Black. One was Hispanic. And one was Caucasian. The ages ranged from mid-thirties to probably seventy. No one spoke. All seemed tense.


    Because I am deaf I avoid having conversations in waiting rooms. Most people in waiting rooms whisper and I can't hear whispers. So, in an effort to make myself invisible, I don't usually make eye contact. But yesterday I looked at each of these women and silently posed these questions to each one:


    "Do you have a lump?"


    "Is this your first time?"


    "Are you scared?"


    But I kept to my seat and only smiled. And I hoped that in that smile they realized that I was their sister. That, yes, I do have a lump, this is my first time and I am scared.


    I am scared.


    I'm scared of being sick. I have always been a very healthy, strong person who is independent, not by nature, but first by circumstance and now by choice. My lack of hearing has made me depend on others and I detest it. How on earth will I handle being sick and weak?


    But we won't go there until we have a pretty engraved invitation. Until then, we will trust that this is just an bump in the boobie road. I wasn't going to share any of this until I had an answer. But God may have given me this journey to inspire another to action.


    I believe that everything happens for a reason. And as special and unique (and weird) as I think myself .. I know that I am more like you than I am different.


    I know. You hate spiders too. But please, just because we're sisters on this path together, that does not give you permission to invite me to any tupperware parties.






    10.26.10
    Today is a day of rest. A day to become acquainted with Herschel.


    Herschel is my lump. He is residing in my left breast. The one nobody likes. Both my kids preferred my right one. And the right one is a perfect arm's length away from Dave while riding in the truck. No wonder the left breast is sick. It felt neglected and welcomed the attention of anyone - even Herschel.


    I don't mean to offend anyone -- but I purposely gave the lump a wimpy name. (If you have an uncle Herschel, I am so sorry ...) He's only a temporary resident and I'll be damned if he changes my life in significant ways.


    He made me cry yesterday and I am not a crier. I've known of his existence for a couple of weeks and, if I am truthful, intuitively for longer than that. But yesterday he became real.


    So, now we are working on a plan of action. It becomes a little (a lot) more complicated because I am uninsured. I have some shame about that even though I know that I am not alone. So, I am pursuing treatment through a group that specializes in women like me: women without insurance or hefty trust funds.


    Truthfully? The idea of having cancer doesn't frighten me nearly as much as having cancer bankrupt my family. I like to think of myself as the female Marlboro Man. Tough, strong, competent. I can deal with having cancer if that is the card I am dealt. But not being tough, strong and competent will be a big, nasty pill to swallow.


    Pioneer women have always been an inspiration to me. How they lived their lives without all the conveniences we take for granted. How they raised babies without antibiotics or baby food or disposable diapers. How they survived blistering summers and winters of blizzards. How they lost husbands and babies along the way and continued putting one foot in front of the other.


    I always liked to think of myself as a pioneer woman who just happened to land in the wrong generation. But I am fortunate that my generation has science and technology and medicine. Whatever Herschel is .. he can be removed, stomped on or shrunk by some means of today's medicine. I'm not afraid of Herschel.


    But I am afraid. It's only Day Two .. I think it will get better as I know more.


    I just wanted you to know.




    10.27.10
    I heard it today. The "M" word.


    My doctor's nurse read the radiologist's report to me over the phone.


    I also know the size and shape.


    I'm sitting with all this information and willing my intellect to rule over my emotions. Damn it.


    I'm an intellgient person who realizes that we still don't have the definitive word .. yet. And even if it is the "M" word, it's not the end of the world or of me.


    So why the hell do i have tears in my eyes when no one is looking?

    I feel such a sense of betrayal.


    My boobie has turned on me.





    10.28.10
    Well it's done. I picked up my mammography films from the hospital yesterday and mailed them to The Rose. But before I put them in the envelope the lady a the hospital so kindly provided, I looked.


    The pictures were on a CD Rom and I just happened to have brought my laptop.


    Wow.


    Ladies .. did you know that your boobie, when smushed between plates of plexiglass and zapped with some magical cosmic ray gun, looks similar in landscape to an orange? (Or maybe if you're a tiny girl .. a fig, a plum, a peach.) I have to admit I'm fascinated by my insides. Even that thing that reminds me of The Milky Way as it appears in a moonless sky over Big Bend. But starlight in your boobies is not a good thing.


    So I copied and saved the images to my computer. And I went to Office Depot and made a copy of the radiologist's report. And I read it about ten times. And then I dropped the CD and the report off at the post office.


    Action.


    I'm on my way. But now we wait. The doctors at The Rose will review my film and then appoint me in a week or so for (probably) a biopsy to confirm the suspected malignancy. Then, we'll take it from there. One day at a time.


    So, I'm off. Buckle up, baby .. it's a new journey!




    10.29.10
    I have so much to do today but, out of nowhere, the urge to cry keeps messing with me. So I decided to stop and write a bit in hopes it will dry that sloppy river that keeps toppling my no-cry zone levees.


    I'm not a crier. Not that I don't - I do - and with gusto when it happens but it doesn't happen much. Weepy women irritate me. Sorry, but it's true.


    I think if something makes you that unhappy, find it, fix it, remove it, divorce it, change it and move on. Life is too short to be anything but happy.


    Not that you can be happy all the time. Life is filled with little snotballs of discontent, boogers of disappointment, phelmwads of anti-happiness but DISPELL the bastards, learn from whatever lessons their arrival imparts and get on with it!


    SO. You can see why I'm so pissed off that I can't seem to shake this waste of saline. Big girls don't cry.


    And I'm so gonna be a big girl about this. It's not the end of the world. Not a death sentence. But in some not-so-small way it is a death sentence of my 'healthy as a horse' persona. I like being a tough girl who has taken life's best shots on the chin, kept smilin' and kept rockin' on down the road. What if, at some point, I'm no longer a tough girl?


    Pfffbt. What am I saying? The damn thing's name is HERSCHEL for God's sake. If he THINKS he's going to get the best of me .. he's seriously delusional!


    I'm going to kick his ugly ass.


    So there.


    Mood swing.


    I feel better now.


    Talk amongst yourselves .. I have work to do.