tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27112099874508288782024-02-06T20:07:27.215-08:00Little Woman, Big SoulAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-38886756264299898912015-05-26T22:27:00.000-07:002015-05-26T22:27:00.846-07:00Clean<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Victoria got the call today. </div>
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She called to tell me about it: </div>
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The pathology report is back from last week's surgery. The tissue they cut from the breast had completely clean margins. And the 5 sentinel lymph nodes that the surgeon removed are <i>completely clean. </i>No cancer in the lymph nodes means no cancer got out into the rest of her body, and the cancer that was in her breast is cleanly and completely cut out. </div>
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Vicky is clean.</div>
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That was an amazing moment, standing there in an empty conference room, phone to my ear, listening to Vicky tell me this. I couldn't speak for a long time, almost floated away. It was a moment I will never forget, standing there, listening to the electric silence between us, sharing an incredible, sacred realization that she and I had just crossed a threshold; the uncertainty and fear were now in the past; the road ahead is sunny and verdant and it is going to go on for many, many years.</div>
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When I got home, we walked into each other's arms, held each other for a long time. "This lady feels good," I said. "This lady feels healthy."</div>
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Then I asked her: "So -- what are we going to do for the rest of our lives?"</div>
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She looked up at me with a thousand hopes and said, "I don't know. I guess we'll just need to figure that out, won't we?"</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-4254744545920448402015-05-12T21:55:00.004-07:002015-05-12T21:55:51.709-07:00The Next StationWe met with Dr. Rasmussen, Vicky's surgeon today. He was very positive about the results of the exam. No clinical evidence of the tumor on exam. He said he would be shocked if there was lymph node involvement.<br />
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And the best news -- surgery is a week from tomorrow!<br />
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It was an amazing thing to sit with the scheduler and ink a time for her surgery. I didn't get her name, but she was a sweet woman. As she was working out a time, she told us something she'd heard about cancer from another patient. She said it was like going on a journey. They tell you hey, you're going on a journey and so you pack your bags and there's all sorts of anticipation and excitement. Then you get on the train, and it goes faster at times and slower at times and there are beautiful vistas that you want to stop and look at closer, but you soon realize that the train never completely stops. It just keeps moving you on to the next station and the next station after that.<br />
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So now, surgery is the next station. But it is the <i>next station!</i> No more interminable chemo cycles.<br />
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One thing was very disappointing: Dr. Samuelson said that likely if there is no lymph node involvement, there would be no need for radiation. We mentioned that to Dr. Rasmussen, and he was very surprised. He said that for any lumpectomy, the likelihood of recurrence goes way up if you don't do radiation, and he thought that we had possibly mistaken what we heard from Dr. Samuelson.<br />
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Tomorrow we'll be meeting with Dr. Samuelson, so hopefully we'll get his perspective, but looks like Vicky will be going through 6 weeks of radiation post-surgery, 5 days a week. Pretty big blow.<br />
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But. Vicky is beautiful and strong and her pants are creased and she has a beautiful scarf and hat and her head is up and she is looking toward the future with love and optimism and especially hope. We couldn't be more grateful for the blessings we've been given, that the tumor has virtually disappeared with the treatment, and that Vicky is starting to have energy again.<br />
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The Lord is truly miraculous and loving.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-61719407161840483272015-04-22T22:41:00.000-07:002015-04-23T05:46:15.322-07:00Six Down, Zero to Go!Today marks the very last chemo treatment for Victoria.<br />
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We had a nice lunch sharing a Cafe Rio enchilada-style sweet pork burrito while the Perjeta was winding its way into her veins for the last time. Then Vicky slept for a long time, after I fetched her a warm blanket...<br />
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Then, it was done. The nurse brought her a bottle of sparkling cider, compliments of the clinic, and congratulated her for completing her course of chemotherapy...</div>
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And then, the moment she had dreamed about for four months: Vicky and I walked over to the big brass bell on the wall of the clinic. Vicky grasped the clapper and rang it for all to hear. It was a magnificent, satisfying moment...</div>
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As we drove away from the clinic, I said, "It's truly over. Now you can get to the business of growing your hair back and getting yourself healthy again."</div>
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Vicky was so quiet, I had to look over at her. She was weeping. She finally said, "I really didn't believe that this day would ever come."</div>
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When we got home, we found that the Primary Activity Days girls had left some welcome signs...</div>
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Such a sweet surprise to come home to. Such a sweet group of girls. There are so many people in this world who love Vicky. So many wonderful, gracious, loving people. </div>
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We had started a tradition of pre-chemo dinners: gathering all our children and grandchildren together before each of Vicky's treatments. It got difficult for everyone's schedules, so I sadly let it rest a month or so ago. Then, last night, Genevieve texted us, saying: "I know Mom's last chemo is tomorrow and she may not feel up to it, but I don't want to give up on the dinners at the finish line. If you guys want to I could come up."</div>
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That led to a Genevieve-led campaign to get everyone together. And all three of our children who are in Utah showed up. It was a wonderful, relaxing, fun dinner at IHOP. Vicky insisted on the locale, even though I said we should go somewhere more upscale, given the magnitude of the celebration. </div>
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But she was right, as always. We had a wonderful server who, when I told her what was going on, helped find glasses for the sparkling cider, and plates for the pie I sneaked into the restaurant. David and Genevieve and Parker and Hudson and Ellie and Daemian -- so wonderful to have them all there, and all so present for their mother. I was overwhelmed.</div>
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As the dinner was winding down, I gave everyone a little bell to hold up (but not ring yet). Then I said:</div>
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"I saw Vicky take the news of her
diagnosis with grace and determination.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I saw the worry in her eyes as
we searched for the right doctor and the right treatment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve seen her laid low with fatigue
and pain, over and over again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve seen her rise from that
fatigue and build a table, or finish a mantle.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I watched her move forward with
good cheer after she lost one of her prize possessions: her hair. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve seen people double-take at
the beautiful woman in the scarf and hat walking by.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve seen her when she couldn’t
focus her eyes to read, worried that the chemo was ruining her eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I saw the gratitude in her eyes
whenever she got a call from one of her children. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve seen her laugh with delight
at things her children or grandchildren said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve seen her cry at any kind
word. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve seen her forget herself and
reason and talk through problems that her children are having, and hear the
compassion and concern in her voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve seen her stop cold and lay
on the nearest horizontal surface, regardless of its hardness or prickliness,
when she was just too tired to go on.</div>
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I’ve seen her face down her
chemo demons; and this afternoon, I watched her stand at the end of her final session
and ring that big brass bell for all to hear. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">There was never a sweeter sound."</span><!--EndFragment--></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Then everyone rang their bells to seal the reality that Vicky was finished with her chemotherapy, forever and ever, Amen. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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Here's the whole, blessed crowd.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWoiaGuSLwVFOAf4pr9Y_1sW3Xa9JCUsVnkkGBcIVmtjIbdEJNxrar1aPHD76QMvl6mrOMez8E7kIq3DiPfXvlmosxZwUg0pr4oF7Dywlgzp636JMULBcyAJRg7a7nGgiG2zxw66iWeQSI/s1600/IMG_1809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWoiaGuSLwVFOAf4pr9Y_1sW3Xa9JCUsVnkkGBcIVmtjIbdEJNxrar1aPHD76QMvl6mrOMez8E7kIq3DiPfXvlmosxZwUg0pr4oF7Dywlgzp636JMULBcyAJRg7a7nGgiG2zxw66iWeQSI/s1600/IMG_1809.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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There is no such feeling as having your children and grandchildren gathered around you at such a moment. </div>
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And now we turn the page to a brand new chapter. There are things we don't know and are a bit afraid of. We don't know what the surgery will tell us, or whether Vicky will need radiation therapy, or if her lymph nodes are affected. All this is true. But there is so much hope. Dr. Samuelson hasn't been even able to find the tumor on the last several examinations. He said that they have no clinical evidence that that lymph nodes are involved, and if they're not, then likely she will not require radiation therapy. Vicky will soon start perking up from this long twilight of fatigue. Her hair will start growing back, and she's excited to see what color and texture it will be. She can start exercising again, and invite people into our home, and build new things, and visit her grandchildren, and take a calling at the ward, and engage with her life, fully and completely, feel the sun and the rain on her face and thrust her hands into the earth. </div>
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Life will soon catch back up to this dear woman who loves life so completely. I am without words.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-6450730906844292502015-04-09T22:17:00.000-07:002015-04-09T22:17:01.659-07:00When Temporary Seems like an Eternity<br />
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People have been asking where the blog posts are. I was determined to document Vicky's journey each step of the way, and I have fallen down because it has become so hard to witness. This journey she's on is no longer shiny and new, with all those interesting questions of what happens next. It is now often a journey of grinding fatigue and tears. She cries so easily. </div>
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The other day she said, "This is temporary, right?" I said Oh, most definitely, but she is having a hard time believing me. </div>
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But there are bright spots. Especially today. Vicky texted me at work, wondering if she had her doctor's permission to go swimming at the rec center. I about fell off my chair. A little later, she texted that she had gone swimming, and that it was good.</div>
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I was so very proud.</div>
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Here's a little photo collage of her over the last few weeks:</div>
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Vicky looking so pretty with her apron and pink scarf...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YnI_29XyfIjbGrm6NkPWoyUrOkap9B-As1hTSzG1PJVY-ifaDTMWaemTMxizgTzUKjm4-2skObnZAZd1rgT85ZfUQiSorpkumK4OF-P2G_yA9_aV58CIK3IjcWxfVCthZUAWeUyWrsct/s1600/IMG_1698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YnI_29XyfIjbGrm6NkPWoyUrOkap9B-As1hTSzG1PJVY-ifaDTMWaemTMxizgTzUKjm4-2skObnZAZd1rgT85ZfUQiSorpkumK4OF-P2G_yA9_aV58CIK3IjcWxfVCthZUAWeUyWrsct/s1600/IMG_1698.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Vicky trying to be up and about, but oh, so droopy...</div>
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Vicky clapping at our little visitor squirrel we found in our living room the other morning...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OEA3kYps0Zla2tnokc5jLZwlWXsTC1ZD4zCcK4cHzrfQh9bRpVT1IphiBWTaUSKarDGQJWY11sTMWTa0SibUJLrjQ6r-q4Zveg8UZqI7KrkTF_5yRlKF5ZhbXoekh1XJWEL2X4HHDhkt/s1600/IMG_1716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0OEA3kYps0Zla2tnokc5jLZwlWXsTC1ZD4zCcK4cHzrfQh9bRpVT1IphiBWTaUSKarDGQJWY11sTMWTa0SibUJLrjQ6r-q4Zveg8UZqI7KrkTF_5yRlKF5ZhbXoekh1XJWEL2X4HHDhkt/s1600/IMG_1716.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Vicky resting during her 5th (out of 6!) chemo treatment...</div>
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Sometimes she just needs to lay down on the nearest horizontal surface...</div>
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Vicky and me out on a short Forced March a couple of days ago. She's the one that requested it!</div>
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She's got one more treatment to go, and then after a recovery period, surgery. To her, this feels like it's always been this way, and it always will. But the time is coming close that she will be done with her chemo treatments, and this overwhelming fatigue will come to an end. </div>
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It is so hard to see such a self-sufficient, cheerful woman become so frail. But she is strong, and that strength cannot help but peek out, like today, when she just up and went swimming. A more courageous, persistent, resilient woman I have never seen. </div>
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This weekend, we're heading to Moab for a few days. I expect it to be quiet, with perhaps a few outings. But I get to be exclusively with her for a few days, and she gets to completely relax in a beautiful place. It doesn't get much better than that.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-4038681247334519532015-03-15T14:57:00.000-07:002015-03-15T14:57:18.307-07:00The New NormalLast Wednesday, Vicky received her fourth treatment. Fourth out of six. Two-thirds done.<br />
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That night, I expected her to crash. Instead, I came into the kitchen to see this...</div>
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Hard to keep a good woman down. </div>
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But then, the expected and inevitable crash came the next day...</div>
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Then, I started hearing things from her that she had never said before. When I came into the bedroom to check up on her, she said, "David, is this ever going to end?"</div>
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Then yesterday: "I'm really afraid that this is the new normal, that I'm always going to be tired." This after a Saturday in and out of bed, trying to start projects, but just not having the fortitude to get very far on them. </div>
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Finally, yesterday evening around sunset, I said, "I'm taking you for a ride. You've been cooped up in this house too long."</div>
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"But..."</div>
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"And all you have to do is sit in the front seat and look out at the beautiful world."</div>
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"But..."</div>
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I shepherded her out the door.</div>
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We drove up Skyline drive high up onto the mountain, then parked at an overlook with a spectacular view of the sun setting over the Great Salt Lake and the mountains beyond. And then, when she finally realized that she had someone there who loved her and was listening, she began to talk...</div>
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She said that she was really starting to wonder if this was the new normal, that this time of pain and nausea and dashed ambitions and aborted attempts at getting something done was really her new reality, and that maybe she just needed to get used to the notion.</div>
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I said, "You're already past the half-way mark. Two more treatments, then your surgery, and you'll be on the upslope."</div>
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"That's just it," she said, tears dripping off her cheeks. "I'm just not that sure anymore that maybe it won't be back."</div>
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We sat in silence, watching the Westering sun.</div>
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"Look at the people we know who've been through this," she said. "They're not the same. Some are gone, others are diminished, not many are completely whole, the cancer forever behind them."</div>
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She said that she lays there, worrying about the yard and the trees that need spraying and the broken swamp cooler on the roof and the weeds coming up in the garden and the porch steps that need pouring and, if it was last year, she would have just gotten busy and knocked down all those problems one at a time until they were gone, but now, she tries and finds that's she's too tired. And the problems loom larger.</div>
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I said, "Well guess what? That's why you married me. I get to take care of the problems while you can't."</div>
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Then I told her about something that my Mom said. She had just been through a several years of struggle with arrhythmias, being tired and drawn and out of breath. Then the doctor discovered the problem with her pacemaker, and suddenly her heart was strong and beating when it should, and she could walk and breathe and stride out into the world and be a part of it again. She said, "I realized that I had come to believe that being sick and tired was the new normal for me, and it was like being reborn when I realized that it wasn't, that I still had some vitality in me, and that life could still be bright and energetic and beautiful."</div>
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I said, "That's going to be the way with you, too, Vicky."</div>
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By now the sun was down, and we drove slowly home, making plans for next Wednesday, when she'd be out of the worst of the the chemo crash, and we could stroll around the yard and categorize what needed to be done. She said, "It is so nice to have somebody to talk to."</div>
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At the end of the night I showed her a TED talk I love by Guy Winch called, "Why we all need to practice emotional first aid." He is an identical twin, and has always been close to his brother. A while back, his brother contracted Hodgkin's Lymphoma, and had visible tumors all over his body. Here's a picture of him in the middle of his chemotherapy:</div>
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Dr. Winch said that, rather than play doleful scenarios over and over in his mind about his brother's future, he decided to practice emotional first aid on himself, to interrupt that sad recording and think of happy things, of a happy future. </div>
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Within a week, his outlook completely changed, he was more resourceful, and a better encouragement to his brother. </div>
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His brother completely recovered. The chemo eradicated all traces of the cancer from his body. Here is a recent picture of the two of them.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUju0snroi2Kcj5EKl-vUEq7O3t-6H8dmBf6lCpiYJjoOyVwuGQCRrMbKfzmbgra552M1ADn9Lq0xYa9gazE92QUZMFv-yoGVw7Sda8OeduMCJddJER6ZU6EKvo02A5ndV-XAM47HGeDas/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-15+at+3.20.52+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUju0snroi2Kcj5EKl-vUEq7O3t-6H8dmBf6lCpiYJjoOyVwuGQCRrMbKfzmbgra552M1ADn9Lq0xYa9gazE92QUZMFv-yoGVw7Sda8OeduMCJddJER6ZU6EKvo02A5ndV-XAM47HGeDas/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-03-15+at+3.20.52+PM.png" height="111" width="200" /></a></div>
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When the video was over, Vicky was awash in tears. </div>
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Sometimes things start knocking around in your own head, start reverberating around in there in unnatural ways. And sometimes all it takes is taking a drive to see the sunset, having a talk with someone who loves you and having a really good cry. </div>
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And then you realize that the world will take a few more turns, and then you'll be back out in the sunshine once again.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-70434558979282504572015-03-08T23:47:00.002-07:002015-03-09T07:16:05.825-07:00Two HatsRight before church today, Julie, one of Vicky's friends from the ward called. She wanted Vicky to bring an extra hat to church.<br />
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It was the sweetest show of solidarity. They sat together in Sacrament meeting with those hats cocked at jaunty angles, and I'm simply positive that all the other women in that meeting were jealous.<br />
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Here are some pictures of them...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8THg3PdKhaW_jymErL-PCT2sfJrvSzkR1MWsRMAhcG7e0Q5UZzhqX_hV7glpiCoWJM4IcKd_QsGmYTbImCjErmrSwgARt5SbRkZLgSqoLJe_whZpnnaEW2kpRomqY4h_RRiP4hDluxp9/s1600/IMG_1640.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz8THg3PdKhaW_jymErL-PCT2sfJrvSzkR1MWsRMAhcG7e0Q5UZzhqX_hV7glpiCoWJM4IcKd_QsGmYTbImCjErmrSwgARt5SbRkZLgSqoLJe_whZpnnaEW2kpRomqY4h_RRiP4hDluxp9/s1600/IMG_1640.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvNlgIB932QMwHzj0v-ZXbg_fvR8MRwiG1MwgAeFIlKBmmFBHsrPff8mXDs5JLun8fzaY8EW7rlRmPMT5rN8Gyt7wVCHzv9RCpBfMvPCdp0fTlgghnwpUPCaP6dRB4ZMlT5DgWCdM5NuRn/s1600/IMG_1661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvNlgIB932QMwHzj0v-ZXbg_fvR8MRwiG1MwgAeFIlKBmmFBHsrPff8mXDs5JLun8fzaY8EW7rlRmPMT5rN8Gyt7wVCHzv9RCpBfMvPCdp0fTlgghnwpUPCaP6dRB4ZMlT5DgWCdM5NuRn/s1600/IMG_1661.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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This chemo cycle has been by far the hardest for Vicky. Only the last two or three days has she felt much up to anything. But today, the sun came out and melted the last of the snow, and there was a warm breeze, and we went for a lovely Forced March with the dogs. We went over to the church and threw Mobi's ball for him for a long time, sitting on the warm grass and watching the sun set over the Great Salt Lake.</div>
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Vicky said, "You know, this warm weather gives me hope."</div>
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I said, "How so?"</div>
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"You know -- that spring will come, and that everything will be okay."</div>
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Truly and simply said.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-26321615984632901352015-03-01T22:42:00.000-08:002015-03-02T09:09:56.822-08:00The Prodigal Dog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwLfzNoLkXH0SGZ_S48KzKJ88bCzPlcNM-AvYSjqsX6exyEoOe2WFwZkSpqNs2L7Ew78RM8HGiU5xAY0GWhfdsggXOIHuOZzrztd69JgsKh7-hLs_vAY-e4c0lMXDvmVbJyaqcZ6K5GGV8/s1600/IMG_0057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwLfzNoLkXH0SGZ_S48KzKJ88bCzPlcNM-AvYSjqsX6exyEoOe2WFwZkSpqNs2L7Ew78RM8HGiU5xAY0GWhfdsggXOIHuOZzrztd69JgsKh7-hLs_vAY-e4c0lMXDvmVbJyaqcZ6K5GGV8/s1600/IMG_0057.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
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Last night, I took our two beagles Lexi and Mobi for a hike up on the mountain above our house. I've taken Mobi on these hikes for years and enjoy his company very, very much. He is the perfect companion: he wanders free and happy across those hills, yet, when I stop to rest, he comes close and lets me know that he is happy we're there together.<br />
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Lexi is entirely a different matter. When she's on the leash, she's pulling on it like the minotaur on a mission, and when we're up on the mountain and she's off leash, I have the dickens of a time catching her when we get back to the road. With Lexi in tow, I come back from those hikes quite the opposite of refreshed.<br />
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But I take her for one reason. Vicky loves that little dog, and has since the moment she brought Lexi home from the pound six months ago. And she wants that little dog to be healthy and happy.<br />
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So -- up the mountain we go.<br />
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Last night was a dark one. I love wandering free beneath the dark sky, off trail and without constraints, listening to the wind whistling through the grasses and the slight jingling of the dog's collars. We were quite far up on the mountain when I realized that I only heard one dog jingling. I figure I'd learned how to manage Lexi: sit and wait until she comes around, then wait patiently for a good deal longer until she comes close enough for me to snag her collar.<br />
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So Mobi and I waited. And waited. For much longer than we are accustomed. No Lexi. I whistled, and shouted, peering out over the mountain from whence we came, squinting to try to make out a tiny brown and white form skipping between the sagebrush. Nothing.<br />
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It was clear that even Mobi didn't know her whereabouts. Retrieving is not his strong suit, but even he made little forays out into the darkness as if trying to look for her.<br />
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I tried to put out of my mind the possibility that she was truly lost, wandering across the grasses, calling, whistling, but in truth, I was beside myself. How could I go home again with one beagle and one empty leash? How could I stand before Victoria and tell her that I'd lost that little dog? How could I break her heart like that, with all that she is trying so bravely to deal with?<br />
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But in the end, that's what we did, Mobi and I; we walked home, calling and whistling and straining to look. I had a tiny hope that Lexi maybe had preceded us, and would be waiting at home with a befuddled Vicky with many questions. As we started down the mountain though, I looked out over the valley with its hundreds and thousands of homes, and saw how very far away and insignificant our home was, and couldn't muster much hope that a little beagle could navigate the maze.<br />
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And sure enough, when we got home -- no Lexi.<br />
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Vicky has such grace. Even after the awful, terrible week of sickness and fatigue she's had, she took the news with equanimity. She started when I told her, and asked a few clarifying questions, then, without a trace of recrimination, she simply started making plans for how we would look for Lexi. We got in the truck, and began retracing our steps -- down the long road to the trailhead, stop and yell and whistle up the dark trail, then backtrack along to the dirt rugged pipeline road, driving slowly with the windows down and the cold streaming into the cab, calling and whistling until our voices were sore and mouths tired from whistling.<br />
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And no dog.<br />
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We found ourselves back at the house, sitting in the darkened living room with the front porch light on, watching out the front window, hoping beyond hope that our little dog hadn't been found by a coyote, and that she would have the intelligence and presence of mind to find her way back.<br />
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We sat and watched and talked quietly for an eternity. We talked about all those stories when pets made long journeys to find their masters. We wondered if The Incredible Journey had any basis in truth, but again, we found great comfort in the fact that my father's dog Putter came all the way from Logan Canyon to find his home again.<br />
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"But then again," Vicky said, "Maybe she won't make it back." And her lip trembled.<br />
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Then Vicky started from her seat. "Look!" She pointed out the window.<br />
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There, wandering from the street into the pool of light was a little brown and white dog. Our little prodigal dog. We threw the door open and there never was such a welcome.<br />
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Turns out -- they do come back.<br />
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We lost our daughter Genny when she was 14 years old. It wasn't really all at once, but friends and life choices slowly took her away from us, and for years we were beside ourselves, praying and hoping and thinking about how we could bring her back. She would dip back into our lives, like Forrest Gump's Jenny, but then she would be gone again, and the gnawing uncertainty would begin afresh.<br />
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What parent hasn't waited in that darkened living room, looking out the window, hoping their child will step into that pool of light?<br />
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Last week, I sat with my 31-year-old daughter Genny in her sacrament meeting, surrounded by her two boys, and watched the way she smiled and loved those children, and thought about the wonderful way she has been with Vicky, calling her and giving her thoughtful gifts, being there completely for her. Our prodigal daughter, now a beautiful, poised, accomplished woman.<br />
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Turns out -- they do come back.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-50884184627203218062015-02-18T22:54:00.003-08:002015-02-18T22:54:51.323-08:00The Best News<br />
Vicky had her third treatment today.<br />
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Here is the good news:<br />
* She is half-way done with her treatments before surgery.<br />
* She is handling the therapy with grace and health.<br />
* And the best news of all: Her doctor said that her tumor is significantly smaller. In fact, he had a difficult time finding it.<br />
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We've had prayers of gratitude constantly in our hearts from the moment we heard that. It is as if the heavens have opened and the sun is streaming upon us for the first time since her diagnosis was confirmed.<br />
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She is my day, my night, my everything. I feel as if I'm walking on air.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif8X1ue1H35SepG-10iNMlx_ZBGdR1N13mBHAunYvQfjNAItH7njsFBtT3BCX_Mcfu4FBqEOv8LGrHu4IbTpgID-DC3YSl9W3_aToACTIMsN1NPNcHzJpk1fBRmnRf-OMTCC_OJqA_WV5f/s1600/Closeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif8X1ue1H35SepG-10iNMlx_ZBGdR1N13mBHAunYvQfjNAItH7njsFBtT3BCX_Mcfu4FBqEOv8LGrHu4IbTpgID-DC3YSl9W3_aToACTIMsN1NPNcHzJpk1fBRmnRf-OMTCC_OJqA_WV5f/s1600/Closeup.jpg" height="200" width="190" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-62113481801782954762015-02-15T23:01:00.000-08:002015-02-15T23:01:26.119-08:00Valentine's DayFor Valentines day, we went to a fancy dinner at USU with a bunch of our brothers and sisters and their spouses. First time in a long time that Vicky had really been on a trip, and she looked <i>gorgeous</i>...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVbGTP1M36dVYTXbzb_aWxfr7znbR5kQiOyilFF6rwh7QhtC6t8XsJt_6RbGYUVKAxF3_MuZY_YJzlfbOWd3DkZEbyF_LK4X3LNCPan4y4fB3DePC6TqsLAGEZ7C3ApD8RCM3ZPXxXJgQ/s1600/IMG_1467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOVbGTP1M36dVYTXbzb_aWxfr7znbR5kQiOyilFF6rwh7QhtC6t8XsJt_6RbGYUVKAxF3_MuZY_YJzlfbOWd3DkZEbyF_LK4X3LNCPan4y4fB3DePC6TqsLAGEZ7C3ApD8RCM3ZPXxXJgQ/s1600/IMG_1467.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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My mom said: "We loved seeing you both last night. What a supremely handsome couple!"</div>
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We went to visit our daughter Genevieve after the dinner and had a wonderful talk. She said, "Isn't it funny that you have to get cancer in order to truly look stylish. Something about it makes you step up and start really paying attention to how you look."</div>
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I believe there might be something to that. My wife has never looked more beautiful. The way she uses scarves and hats are truly stunning, and she's got it going on with the rest of the clothes she wears, too. </div>
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As we were talking with Genevieve, I looked over at Vicky, who had the little baby in her lap, as contented as a woman could be...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskPOasTHKj3iH7n7TtNeCNHydcbe098NFzCoRQr8JVF8EsUOANH1vbbxa_nMhmv9uYkg4bG_g89vw2tdOP2BGKu1O5yQn7OLoaJiaQpSRd1cT3drBs0aI-Z6xrhIOb4fPFu9Y99S3iwDa/s1600/IMG_1496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskPOasTHKj3iH7n7TtNeCNHydcbe098NFzCoRQr8JVF8EsUOANH1vbbxa_nMhmv9uYkg4bG_g89vw2tdOP2BGKu1O5yQn7OLoaJiaQpSRd1cT3drBs0aI-Z6xrhIOb4fPFu9Y99S3iwDa/s1600/IMG_1496.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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To top things off, Vicky gave me the coolest Valentine's Day present: a giant pack of Twizzlers. When she handed them to me, she said, "I'm giving you these so you can remember that you've got me Twizzled around your little finger."</div>
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How sweet. :-)</div>
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I think people are a little jealous when I start talking about my wife, how she just built a new kitchen table for us last week, and how she has projects going because that's what makes life <i>fun.</i> How lucky am I, to be married to a woman that loves spiffing up the world around her?</div>
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The luckiest guy in the world, that's who.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-53991739086745091492015-02-12T19:34:00.002-08:002015-02-12T20:00:10.807-08:00Rosie the RiveterThe dreaded day has come: Vicky has resurrected the Honey-Do list.<br />
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She's been busy all day making our new keeping room shine, and thinking and tinkering around with the chimney and mantle. When I got home, she said, "You have to do just one favor for me tonight."<br />
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I held my breath.<br />
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"Hang the two pictures on the chimney. The temple picture over the mantle, and the First Vision picture on the chimney in the keeping room."<br />
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I prepared myself mentally and physically for the task during dinner. Not so bad as tasks go, but it didn't look good for future Honey-Do lists, which tend to blossom in scope.<br />
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While we were eating, Vicky looked so cute in her beanie cap, I had to snap a picture...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUUo4wW-uYL6jjQIDIO8WXg3ISR5D7ihyC7vz06YZsRVZSd6DRoKZUXigase1kPjuigy42ZmqREhCbKDiPF3K7znXkbO58i3x2mP16TzsxCuxE0fHvVDI0pesj9GonjBd64BtEcw71Ybw/s1600/IMG_1432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUUo4wW-uYL6jjQIDIO8WXg3ISR5D7ihyC7vz06YZsRVZSd6DRoKZUXigase1kPjuigy42ZmqREhCbKDiPF3K7znXkbO58i3x2mP16TzsxCuxE0fHvVDI0pesj9GonjBd64BtEcw71Ybw/s1600/IMG_1432.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Check out the rolled-up sleeves and one arm draped over the vacuum cleaner. Parker dubbed her "Rosie the Riveter."</div>
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Then it was time to hang the pictures. We got a fresh pack of our favorite tool, Wall-Dogs, to do the job with style. Here's the first picture...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0cQgtso7tJ78BfdTrt-BSkEReqIiVOvtoJMjoQJHOqpEc34scFm6VF_gYDF1d_DTqwlbXFc6lyEZNF5YYoq50hL6f0vVH6qz0ED9cGqZ_CNjR3ISDoJmBqhZrMgUuIVYfh5pveEfvvfit/s1600/IMG_1441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0cQgtso7tJ78BfdTrt-BSkEReqIiVOvtoJMjoQJHOqpEc34scFm6VF_gYDF1d_DTqwlbXFc6lyEZNF5YYoq50hL6f0vVH6qz0ED9cGqZ_CNjR3ISDoJmBqhZrMgUuIVYfh5pveEfvvfit/s1600/IMG_1441.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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We love how the light is shining down on the prophet from above.</div>
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The second one was our Al Rounds painting of the Logan Temple. Here's Vicky dusting and adjusting the lights...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6Rh9bxbRd_c6MVJ8eL3ulw4Kq9WqHx8a8jQCSU4Kk4hdxQF-EfSE5uye7-an6OxVWKfY21GgdOzbWvZUb6uQ9i025r6jni06a_0mO_au1DmV6HEuhjxRUgc3FgA-yxIEHKuxmkkyz4q9/s1600/IMG_1452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO6Rh9bxbRd_c6MVJ8eL3ulw4Kq9WqHx8a8jQCSU4Kk4hdxQF-EfSE5uye7-an6OxVWKfY21GgdOzbWvZUb6uQ9i025r6jni06a_0mO_au1DmV6HEuhjxRUgc3FgA-yxIEHKuxmkkyz4q9/s1600/IMG_1452.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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And -- voila!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-wNYvLB6S4-U7FjGz04OC4SuhHAMDQhJ7iGZE_KhdL_CUaZ0xfx6Vu_r0JfWMzaWEAeTIjplzyQ7-O4UBSmaJ8D1gaHbZSAF8dRKsS1FxVfnD7E8A-btxt1jRwbc0vKWRtHJBNyzLRkn/s1600/IMG_1449.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-wNYvLB6S4-U7FjGz04OC4SuhHAMDQhJ7iGZE_KhdL_CUaZ0xfx6Vu_r0JfWMzaWEAeTIjplzyQ7-O4UBSmaJ8D1gaHbZSAF8dRKsS1FxVfnD7E8A-btxt1jRwbc0vKWRtHJBNyzLRkn/s1600/IMG_1449.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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During dinner, Vicky started telling us about a video from the Swedish Ronninge chorus they watched at Sweet Adelines on Tuesday night:</div>
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"They showed this beautiful winter scene with evening sunset, right? And the caption read: 'May in Sweden.' Then they continued showing it as the caption changed to 'June in Sweden,' then 'July in Sweden.'"</div>
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She laughed. "It was so funny! So then, they show a picture of a single flower poking up from the snow and the caption read: 'June 21st to June 24th in Sweden.' You should have seen it!" More laughter. "And they kept sticking in subliminal pictures of Abba. It was so funny."</div>
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I sat there, listening to the delighted ringing chimes of her voice, so musical as she talked and laughed. </div>
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I can't imagine a more beautiful sound; not in Sweden, not in the whole wide world. </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-70931578724829489612015-02-10T21:59:00.002-08:002015-02-10T21:59:42.724-08:00Just Singing a SongVicky went to her Sweet Adelines chorus tonight. First time she's felt up to going since her diagnosis. She dressed up in a gorgeous scarf that flowed half-way down her back, got in the car, and drove herself there.<br />
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The reception she got was something to see. The ladies were so surprised and happy to see her, and there were many exclamations, and hugs and little squeezes of the hand. She sang her heart out. These are her people. They love her and she loves them, and she loves ringing chords with them.<br />
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It was a very happy night.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-80099901153716726162015-02-05T20:17:00.001-08:002015-02-05T20:17:01.949-08:00And then there were four...Last night at 12:38am, I was jolted awake by my phone dinging. It was an incoming text:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnTGMrNukNJUum3FyY8rJPlFWFmpBf2MxObeuYtV2m2Fllx2ULjHvY2lG6cpwTjV5GhePMzevQ2FmM2iP7q6RSdyYAsXcCeBVI8nZgPU5TnlENlsyhnxuHu6AsekpSE1CSDJ9jHH_vq0E/s1600/Conversation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPnTGMrNukNJUum3FyY8rJPlFWFmpBf2MxObeuYtV2m2Fllx2ULjHvY2lG6cpwTjV5GhePMzevQ2FmM2iP7q6RSdyYAsXcCeBVI8nZgPU5TnlENlsyhnxuHu6AsekpSE1CSDJ9jHH_vq0E/s1600/Conversation.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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What ensued was a long phone conversation this afternoon, while I was sitting at a sidewalk table outside the Boulangerie Bakery on Main Street. </div>
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"I don't know what to do," I said. "I didn't expect her to take a stand like this, and I was planning on shaving my head with you."</div>
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We talked about what it would be like if Farrell just went ahead (no pun intended). He said, "You have been prevented / spared from this task, but, like they said in that terrible movie National Treasure: '<i>Somebody's</i> got to go to prison!'"</div>
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We finally struck on a idea. Farrell and his family comes to my house with Walnut Shrimp and a shaving kit, and we put it before Vicky this way: "Farrell is getting his head shaved regardless. You have a small window of time to recant your position on your own husband."</div>
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I called Parker to give him a heads-up (again, no pun intended). He very soon thereafter sent me a text: "Would it be stealing Farrell's thunder if I did it, too?"</div>
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What a sweet kid. </div>
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So it came down, just about as planned. With surprise and great fanfare, Farrell and Laurel and Sarah Jane swept into the house, Chinese food in hand...</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">and we settled before a great spread of walnut shrimp, orange chicken, beef and snow peas and fried rice...</span></div>
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And then, a moment of silence...</div>
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... and Parker tore in:</div>
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...to the great hilarity of the guests. They started making suggestions...</div>
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and egging Parker on...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-AGsYr0bUkFWZYPjgy5t2fva1VIpu84tHtQGw3FdENapDA_YTBdI57_PHGUBOS-qyzPviCLhcZlW0YvIOStqXMDmeKEeILqxGBcY_CL8VHFfBjPf8C1rCpjiGwjdG1RXRSjL4RVltjsbj/s1600/IMG_1264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-AGsYr0bUkFWZYPjgy5t2fva1VIpu84tHtQGw3FdENapDA_YTBdI57_PHGUBOS-qyzPviCLhcZlW0YvIOStqXMDmeKEeILqxGBcY_CL8VHFfBjPf8C1rCpjiGwjdG1RXRSjL4RVltjsbj/s1600/IMG_1264.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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which resulted in some very interesting configurations on Farrell's way to shiny...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnKWgkr5w_BuRtI76TayZngumvK5ejlGmhtNRkGsN4M5BgHWuowK9mj34DyhYKqAkUf-VfRiLAOIlbabMfBHNnL9JK7zqOXgTfTD5C49-8_B_zfaT6CcoLAsTLzJnTYbYBVnwk-6OfYdrd/s1600/IMG_1276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnKWgkr5w_BuRtI76TayZngumvK5ejlGmhtNRkGsN4M5BgHWuowK9mj34DyhYKqAkUf-VfRiLAOIlbabMfBHNnL9JK7zqOXgTfTD5C49-8_B_zfaT6CcoLAsTLzJnTYbYBVnwk-6OfYdrd/s1600/IMG_1276.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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We had some great tunes on the box: Tower of Power, the Coucills, Maceo Parker and the Meters. Parker couldn't help but start dancing...<br />
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...as did the peanut gallery.</div>
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And then the finishing touches...</div>
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... and Farrell was done.</div>
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And then there were two clear heads...</div>
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Parker stepped up to the plate and prepared himself for the worst...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUEMNJh2eCLjTj5RTFOEWX417XQllGghS71hbeR78TberVL_d2Cf6yG2Vm9zWyXG6tDP3dareupSd5n8P1TprWM05HRvKaPFetAfzsG_6f23X892bJjFeNqJuxtxO6uHVIR5g5EGnwWa-_/s1600/IMG_1330.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUEMNJh2eCLjTj5RTFOEWX417XQllGghS71hbeR78TberVL_d2Cf6yG2Vm9zWyXG6tDP3dareupSd5n8P1TprWM05HRvKaPFetAfzsG_6f23X892bJjFeNqJuxtxO6uHVIR5g5EGnwWa-_/s1600/IMG_1330.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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And the maestro did his worst...</div>
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with some help from Farrell...</div>
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And Vicky had a third compadre...</div>
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Now came the moment. We all held our breaths as Vicky deliberated her own husband's fate. Would there be a late-decision reversal in the appellate court? Or would she stand strong? There was now but one furry head left, besides the beagles. </div>
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I will forever believe that the element that finally broke Vicky's resolve was good old competition. Vicky had seen the attempts at artistry taken on the previous two heads, and finally, with a sigh and a roll of her eyes, decided to show us how it was done. </div>
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I was honored to be the canvas upon which she painted...</div>
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Then, when she had proven her point, she graciously let Parker and Farrell finish the job...<br />
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Couldn't be a better looking quartet...</div>
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There aren't words to describe the gratitude we have for Farrell, and his determination to join the fray, even when forces seemed marshaled against him. He kept looking for a path, recruiting Parker and me on the way, until together, we cast off our regard for all things hair in a stupendous evening of fun, music and celebration.</div>
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The two images I'm left with are these:</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-20939475636523889602015-02-04T22:30:00.002-08:002015-02-04T22:30:59.355-08:00Bic NightSome wondrous things are happening to Vicky's skin. All her moles are fading away, getting smaller and smaller and some all but gone. The chemo also targets hair follicles. Since she buzzed her head a couple of weeks ago, her hair was hanging in there...<br />
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... until 3 or 4 days ago. Then her head decided it had basically had enough and started sending her hair on its way. Vicky got very tired of it, and so tonight became...<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">night!</span></div>
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This is Vicky 2 weeks ago with her buzz...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK4TQL4v8wInrYTexNzDo54HX7aSuqGN50fzNhVT2OcjH3E5a6-EeoVVMrWLRDSKIr-rgyW6FpIQng8HtScf-rFq86bCDWRsfbS7bO41yfijJQzM_qnyS8635f7Z2H5D8SCEQM9-msX8Sy/s1600/IMG_0661.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK4TQL4v8wInrYTexNzDo54HX7aSuqGN50fzNhVT2OcjH3E5a6-EeoVVMrWLRDSKIr-rgyW6FpIQng8HtScf-rFq86bCDWRsfbS7bO41yfijJQzM_qnyS8635f7Z2H5D8SCEQM9-msX8Sy/s1600/IMG_0661.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Here she is tonight getting the treatment...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigp9Eu8mtK9oFEvC-F9dXuHRv507fGMI14wRwSfFUFFHD4Okf7MCyrIprPs3eK99mv41CpCfiNXHVJg23kk9Np9LiXyXv_DNjIpVcVe0r054M5qRQOg_fMosjg2lsWjl4x0nvLklpkVy2H/s1600/IMG_1187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigp9Eu8mtK9oFEvC-F9dXuHRv507fGMI14wRwSfFUFFHD4Okf7MCyrIprPs3eK99mv41CpCfiNXHVJg23kk9Np9LiXyXv_DNjIpVcVe0r054M5qRQOg_fMosjg2lsWjl4x0nvLklpkVy2H/s1600/IMG_1187.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Parker ran to Wal-Mart to get some Edge shaving cream. It was a cool menthol blue, and Vicky looks very sheik in it, don't you think?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgLv_64ZzpGu-jjzJB6w00IyAqfgXoI3WqRaqVzOyJmHga5W74dLeetKKWbSVU_gkT_62v-BqJ7ajuyIhmQtt7EZllxNwXn4lMedX0GkC08sv4suOuYKD-sAf0sOfBGDfrOvJdSbcZacb/s1600/IMG_1201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgLv_64ZzpGu-jjzJB6w00IyAqfgXoI3WqRaqVzOyJmHga5W74dLeetKKWbSVU_gkT_62v-BqJ7ajuyIhmQtt7EZllxNwXn4lMedX0GkC08sv4suOuYKD-sAf0sOfBGDfrOvJdSbcZacb/s1600/IMG_1201.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Better than the spa. Her hair dresser was a true artist, and you can tell from the pictures that he considered this his coup de grace.</div>
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While I was working, she said, "It's funny how I'm not really upset about this."</div>
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"It's been a while coming, and you've been so tired of your hair coming out, it's got to be a relief."</div>
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"I guess it is."</div>
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And now</div>
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(fanfare trumpets and french horns....)</div>
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Vicky's Brand New Look! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsO88Ln-2F93vh_PofE7F27BU-9hykEuyoKm3JPWHN_jvB0P1UwfujDIQeL37d0JyJOunl3WCZ_bbOyeEFgt9n2uYNnr2fFbO_uPBBqdRK4om393yWM5BlfgjA75oFpisgm0y8UORgqdaF/s1600/IMG_1217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsO88Ln-2F93vh_PofE7F27BU-9hykEuyoKm3JPWHN_jvB0P1UwfujDIQeL37d0JyJOunl3WCZ_bbOyeEFgt9n2uYNnr2fFbO_uPBBqdRK4om393yWM5BlfgjA75oFpisgm0y8UORgqdaF/s1600/IMG_1217.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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If she rocked the buzz cut, then this definitely brings down the house.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-74926742674024784842015-01-31T09:25:00.000-08:002015-01-31T09:28:07.664-08:00Beagles and Bluebirds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is a picture of our back yard.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGs_Omm3NSl47NihfqcfQK6dA96sqB_hhjEaHQqoSS_LTvnfkAgfpRrWqMrjQ7cVYd_H9Ni_HnJ5CJN53_UA8CN4DZxrtBtQmkAZ7XktLljuj_MtaHpj6zXA8uWMYRbZ7sg7tZkfyrvKJ/s1600/IMG_1069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJGs_Omm3NSl47NihfqcfQK6dA96sqB_hhjEaHQqoSS_LTvnfkAgfpRrWqMrjQ7cVYd_H9Ni_HnJ5CJN53_UA8CN4DZxrtBtQmkAZ7XktLljuj_MtaHpj6zXA8uWMYRbZ7sg7tZkfyrvKJ/s1600/IMG_1069.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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See the gazebo back there in our neighbor's yard? This morning, Vicky came rushing out into the kitchen: "David, come quick!" she said.</div>
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I rushed back to the bedroom with her and she pointed out the window with a big secret smile on her face. Look out there at the gazebo!</div>
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I looked. There were three deer trying to squeeze their way under the gazebo, for some unfathomable reason. Beautiful day with the sun shining down, and they're trying to get into the shade.</div>
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I'm glad I've got the wife who, when she sees such a thing, doesn't just say, 'Huh,' to herself and go on with her day. I'm glad I've got the wife that thinks it's a big deal, enough to call people over to see: "Can you believe it? Deer under the gazebo! And look at all the bluebirds flying around the yard. Things are really hopping out there!"</div>
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As I was writing this, she tiptoed back into the kitchen, put her finger to her lips and said, "David, come -- hurry!"</div>
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This time she laughed under her breath as she pointed up at the rain gutter. I looked, and there was a bluebird tail poking into view. The rest of the bird was obscured by the gutter, which the bluebird was very diligently trying to clean out. Leaves and dried pine needles were flying off the edge of the gutter with abandon. I said, "Good little bird. Just keep moving around the house. That way I won't have to get up there and clean the gutters myself."</div>
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Vicky smiled again and posed with balled up fists and flexed arms: "They're just such husky birds. No flitting about for them."</div>
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The other day I was walking home from the bus and passed a house with two beagles in the backyard. They saw me and started setting it up, one in particular was howling to break your heart. I wished so badly that Vicky was there with me at that moment. Because then I would have been able to look over at her and see her face beaming with pleasure as she watched those two little dogs.</div>
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In parting, may I offer a two-second video I took Wednesday night when she came back from chemo:</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-33063118611628935372015-01-28T00:00:00.000-08:002015-01-28T00:00:17.113-08:00Celebrations Potpourri<div>
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Last night was our first tri-weekly Pre-Chemo Dinner!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh12irWm5RixF_qTlLuuWpDT9NskVV553sQLSEKxAyM6Ei7YEu_iO8zUiWq2Quqo-8f53o3r8ehYdK_Vr0cfucODGu4WIrtkix-na7CgngxBTOxcWHAaHjtqYFezW-PxP92fe26lqmfuUly/s1600/IMG_1011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh12irWm5RixF_qTlLuuWpDT9NskVV553sQLSEKxAyM6Ei7YEu_iO8zUiWq2Quqo-8f53o3r8ehYdK_Vr0cfucODGu4WIrtkix-na7CgngxBTOxcWHAaHjtqYFezW-PxP92fe26lqmfuUly/s1600/IMG_1011.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Everyone was there except our distant son far away in the land of New York, whom we missed very much. The food was fantastic: fruit bowl extraordinaire from the G and D, honey cake from D and B, a lovely salad from Parker, and teriyaki chicken cooked on the grille.</div>
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Vicky loved it all. She kept raving about how good it tasted.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXVWOejer3iI0LS2rqNrgK1yjSTG6AJrq5Jn6WnGc0ifzInQHwebEkHv7zv6dq4Sxz_RPpbj9gYD9k8jfvO1pbW1qClYstduaj6M9B50YDW7LLLmRFThe7arcmKEFjjbuZ79-M4yKcMxCV/s1600/Music.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXVWOejer3iI0LS2rqNrgK1yjSTG6AJrq5Jn6WnGc0ifzInQHwebEkHv7zv6dq4Sxz_RPpbj9gYD9k8jfvO1pbW1qClYstduaj6M9B50YDW7LLLmRFThe7arcmKEFjjbuZ79-M4yKcMxCV/s1600/Music.jpg" height="206" width="320" /></a></div>
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Here we are listening to Parker's latest tracks he's mixed and composed. Sterling stuff. B compared his voice and musical sensibility to Brandon Flowers, and everyone else said, "Of course! That's what it reminds me of!"</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Two</b></span></div>
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When Vicky went to church on Sunday in her new fire engine red dress, long black knit sweater, lovely scarf, red hat and black shoes, one of the ladies said, "Why, you look like you stepped right out of a fashion magazine!"</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Three</span></b></div>
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The other day, a lady at Intermountain Healthcare spent a lovely time with Vicky helping her try on wigs and showing her various ways to do up her head. Here's a montage.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqJLFNI4dEdn7pc3aWFQsUZJguz_myVfCthwNCfTrddMFqNwWKEkTszAqIxJYEE0411zaY52aQ0Vct_1tMLK1_Kq1FBiKByQZliXQy1o9J73KwwnTVt6MgvjUT40zQuKCuMbmfrytOTMI/s1600/Wigs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuqJLFNI4dEdn7pc3aWFQsUZJguz_myVfCthwNCfTrddMFqNwWKEkTszAqIxJYEE0411zaY52aQ0Vct_1tMLK1_Kq1FBiKByQZliXQy1o9J73KwwnTVt6MgvjUT40zQuKCuMbmfrytOTMI/s1600/Wigs.jpg" height="272" width="400" /></a></div>
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My favorite is the one that makes her look like Billy Idol.</div>
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Funny thing. She took three wigs home to try out, and she hasn't worn any of them out in public. She likes the clean look that a scarf/hat combination gives, and I'll have to admit -- while the wigs are very beautiful and fun on her, she looks especially sharp with the scarves and hats.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Four</span></b></div>
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It is really funny to hear Vicky go on about food. Very rarely does she have anything that tastes good, so she eats very little, which makes her hungry, so food is constantly on her mind. She ponders how a bowl of oatmeal with raisins might taste, or wonders if she should try eggs again, or philosophizes on the reasons other chemo patients like chocolate and she doesn't or bemoans the fact that ice cream just doesn't have the same zing that it used to.</div>
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But most of all, she fantasizes about...</div>
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<a href="http://www.cookstr.com/photos/recipes/19903/medium/recipe-19903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.cookstr.com/photos/recipes/19903/medium/recipe-19903.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Walnut Shrimp!</div>
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When I call every day to check up on her, she often will bring it up. And this afternoon, she actually called me, and told me I was meeting her at China Platter for... ta da da dah! Walnut Shrimp!</div>
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It was a wonderful evening and she enjoyed it oh, so much. </div>
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Two fortunes this time:</div>
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Vicky's: Good fortune is coming your way.</div>
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Mine: A previous misfortune will soon turn to your good luck. </div>
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They're going up on the fridge.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-11670902191788912622015-01-27T22:14:00.000-08:002015-01-27T22:14:06.098-08:00Treatment Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI-z7Z47TTzPXzmQRvO5ZwvUe9AyUD26kQLGJWFH4a3bXmHRGBBSJwH49IzUJ2aOeEfcpZtUWzcMBHXt2Iy2RsQD8r4S-spEe5IixyqDFUwyEm4vWEnq0WiBUY7LB5j8q6Pa8KByxF-tQ-/s1600/Red+Hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI-z7Z47TTzPXzmQRvO5ZwvUe9AyUD26kQLGJWFH4a3bXmHRGBBSJwH49IzUJ2aOeEfcpZtUWzcMBHXt2Iy2RsQD8r4S-spEe5IixyqDFUwyEm4vWEnq0WiBUY7LB5j8q6Pa8KByxF-tQ-/s1600/Red+Hat.jpg" height="317" width="320" /></a></div>
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There is distant music, just out of earshot, that's been thrumming on the wind since the grandfather clock in the dining room gave over its last happy Saturday second into a more somber Sunday morning. It is now the week of Vicky's next treatment, and that carries with it hope and not a little melancholy.<div>
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She has been so bright and active, starting innumerable projects last week, shiny and thankful and so present and loving to everyone she sees. Yet she knows what's next, what needs to be done. There is something deeply heroic about the clear-eyed way she faces this. There is a determined set to her shoulders and steel in her step that awakens the most tender feelings. It's not just a visit to the clinic: it is a primal, important, vast part of life, and I find myself catching my breath to see the grace she carries to it.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-52257017790540248642015-01-24T17:54:00.000-08:002015-01-25T08:09:23.855-08:00Shopping SpreeI'm sitting here listening to First Aid Kit playing Simon and Garfunkel's <i>America</i>. Our beagle Lexi is sprawled sleeping on the day bed beside the desk. It's cold outside and the sky is darkening with the end of the day, but here in the office it is warm, the shades are drawn, and a single lamp casts a warm light on my desk.<br />
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In the next room, Vicky is sleeping, blankets mounded high over her. Thirty minutes ago, we returned from a day out on the town. This is Vicky walking to the car...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAB5zoJjV13E1e1C4IxNcp5_tk3kGRFiR6BXTQ9x2RfPeyQiXCiAZDmUQlWfoyUSXOOigYq8etr7-qtQuAk90Wx5Fcz88ePmm4vC3dJVEy2Qfoe4KRjRIlJJiOMmFb4M5QCQk-_BfeSStp/s1600/IMG_0874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAB5zoJjV13E1e1C4IxNcp5_tk3kGRFiR6BXTQ9x2RfPeyQiXCiAZDmUQlWfoyUSXOOigYq8etr7-qtQuAk90Wx5Fcz88ePmm4vC3dJVEy2Qfoe4KRjRIlJJiOMmFb4M5QCQk-_BfeSStp/s1600/IMG_0874.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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We set out to buy her a single nice dress, one that she could feel pretty in as she went out into the world. But the prices were good, and I kept seeing dresses that might look nice. Each time I held one up, she looked at me shyly and said, "Really? We've already got one." But I was serious, and we walked out with four absolutely stunning dresses that Vicky loves.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5ujWDe8lSq7Jh19MgtJ_q2T6Rm7cjWMknXcQcKk-drpgvl6eYy-jmmEqUdQeKMAAvG40zWn9RMF_2WoYLt1eq1KjXUWIQdFyQP9p44yf-DnKNzxOvu86_Ft4OlUOb7bbY3YKeScwXgzy/s1600/Dresses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ5ujWDe8lSq7Jh19MgtJ_q2T6Rm7cjWMknXcQcKk-drpgvl6eYy-jmmEqUdQeKMAAvG40zWn9RMF_2WoYLt1eq1KjXUWIQdFyQP9p44yf-DnKNzxOvu86_Ft4OlUOb7bbY3YKeScwXgzy/s1600/Dresses.jpg" height="180" width="400" /></a></div>
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"Now, shoes," I said. Vicky peered at me as if to decipher whether I had taken leave of my senses. </div>
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"Shoes," I said again. </div>
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"But I have shoes."</div>
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"To go with these new dresses? Look at the ones on your feet. They're bedraggled. You can't wear a new dress with bedraggled shoes."</div>
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She peered at me again, a curious smile on her face. "I've just never seen you this way before. You're usually so - I don't know - careful."</div>
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"Some men buy their wives convertibles when they're going through something like this. The least you can let me do is buy you a few dresses and some shoes."</div>
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At the shoe store, just for fun, we pulled down some boots and Vicky tried them on...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqka6EOZnVOkfd3cDDtj4E3Os6sASzW14cZaZGmGoVf2qHd66T2WjdNL4kSDyfLZKZI9hoQNLgaIk7b2WUVC2mf9qeP4vuJ_9pqDxCWUtlYx2F8I5oxZGrUk8QtKTcQkhaI07qUmog8IZM/s1600/IMG_0924.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqka6EOZnVOkfd3cDDtj4E3Os6sASzW14cZaZGmGoVf2qHd66T2WjdNL4kSDyfLZKZI9hoQNLgaIk7b2WUVC2mf9qeP4vuJ_9pqDxCWUtlYx2F8I5oxZGrUk8QtKTcQkhaI07qUmog8IZM/s1600/IMG_0924.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
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Fun to try, but she settled on some really cute dress shoes she knew she would wear. </div>
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On the way home, Vicky was tired, but talkative:</div>
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"I don't think I've done such a thing ever in my life."</div>
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"Such what thing?"</div>
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"Buying so many clothes all at the same time, just for me."</div>
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Wow, that hit me. What have I been doing all these years that I've never done that for her? Granted, I have a veritable allergic reaction to even stepping foot into a clothing store, but look what I have missed: That look of unbelieving pleasure on her face, that dawning realization that she is worth enough to spend money on, that she has someone there who wants her to feel beautiful.</div>
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The last few weeks I've been feeling like a dizzy teenager that finds himself unbelievably holding hands with the prettiest girl in the school. This terrible thing she is fighting, instead of casting a pall over us, has made the air sharp and clear: Here's a lady that has stood at my side for over three decades, and I'm only now realizing what a lucky chump I am. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-20105676606057180522015-01-22T00:24:00.000-08:002015-01-22T00:24:05.819-08:00A Perfect Head<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Got a text at noon from Vicky. I thought it was an autocorrect problem, so I asked for clarification...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWRHYVkW4ZwI5trcbZ81tcveC0l0_JEqhi2UoBSRPnSoHRkI_5s7GUm5ZOVZ2zur7VSnU70p1d3Mo_nXJS5gmqn5pTUdZgH6-PT4xmyb3ZWUfxcg4f-fAW1fr20NDquegtiCuSuW2on75B/s1600/IMG_0668.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWRHYVkW4ZwI5trcbZ81tcveC0l0_JEqhi2UoBSRPnSoHRkI_5s7GUm5ZOVZ2zur7VSnU70p1d3Mo_nXJS5gmqn5pTUdZgH6-PT4xmyb3ZWUfxcg4f-fAW1fr20NDquegtiCuSuW2on75B/s1600/IMG_0668.PNG" height="400" width="223" /></a></div>
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That is so like her. Just a matter-of-fact statement: "Hair falling out today."</div>
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I thought to myself: If there ever is a day that needs to be marked, celebrated -- <i>acknowledged -- </i>it is today. This woman is losing one of her great marks of beauty -- her natural blonde hair. Not a trace of gray in it, just rich brushstrokes of gold and flax, brilliant in the sun, soft in the lamplight. </div>
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I wandered around City Creek, looking for something to mark the occasion. I read somewhere, and it rang true, that these milestones should come with prizes. Found myself in Nordstrom, wandering cluelessly through the women's department, completely out of my depth, but determined and desperate to buy her something nice and finding myself crying as I walked past the dresses and the purses and the perfume and the sales associates. </div>
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So silly.</div>
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I finally found a couple of gifts, then headed over to Harmon's to buy a cake, then jumped on the bus.</div>
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When I got home, Parker was busy making dinner...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7isHNoDSF13wWPX6N0gJiE_oVLf-6aznnzBbxfuwCGTapOeNCgyif_SFYq_iU2R5u6odHlRW7egNsqQkGP0vimAFFQfHeSnRkp6m2FdOROIYSu-NWu7_zSDUM84lUwep6k5mX3-OWatCK/s1600/ParkerWithMess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7isHNoDSF13wWPX6N0gJiE_oVLf-6aznnzBbxfuwCGTapOeNCgyif_SFYq_iU2R5u6odHlRW7egNsqQkGP0vimAFFQfHeSnRkp6m2FdOROIYSu-NWu7_zSDUM84lUwep6k5mX3-OWatCK/s1600/ParkerWithMess.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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It was a lavish and decadent spread...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBYEN-81PKCfgqMc-McoqWignmmuZ7-5x-cQ3vbf19a2n7HkU3IqSa8SJxRrwTtnqhJgOx5sGY3pX6gL1Yj3Rgr_2pHhq9HtZqfTt0RHqxqDHbBAH7G2xqJSm_Owh-b_Gp1h1nVRjjhhAD/s1600/Dinner2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBYEN-81PKCfgqMc-McoqWignmmuZ7-5x-cQ3vbf19a2n7HkU3IqSa8SJxRrwTtnqhJgOx5sGY3pX6gL1Yj3Rgr_2pHhq9HtZqfTt0RHqxqDHbBAH7G2xqJSm_Owh-b_Gp1h1nVRjjhhAD/s1600/Dinner2.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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And we all were in heaven...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0O3PY5coRtZSwbYsFkxSPDlRzvdYybpw3M2zHVfh8eHdiqbwNHN1d3NDhjVqwfZEu7eQblUrfGrfg9_KmuGRiUULgNK3vpdf3ZNae4dtNOXs-lRkknYNO0XzCi4e4DhR1ffmXJrYoM2Er/s1600/Dessert.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0O3PY5coRtZSwbYsFkxSPDlRzvdYybpw3M2zHVfh8eHdiqbwNHN1d3NDhjVqwfZEu7eQblUrfGrfg9_KmuGRiUULgNK3vpdf3ZNae4dtNOXs-lRkknYNO0XzCi4e4DhR1ffmXJrYoM2Er/s1600/Dessert.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">We were so honored to have Parker there. This whole occasion only came up this afternoon, and Parker immediately sensed the magnitude of it. He had a very important appointment with a fellow musician to do some song co-writing in the basement. He'd already had one appointment with the guy fall through, so this was a big deal. When he found out about Mom, he promptly canceled the appointment and spent the whole evening with her. Even cooked her dinner. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And that was probably the happiest time of the day for her, eating the superb food that her son put before her, hearing his cheerful talk about the adventures he'd had acquiring the ingredients and his near-miss cooking the beans. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In the meantime, members of the family from far and wide sent emails about Vicky and her great hair adventure. Here are just a few:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">From Jane:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"As Grandpa used to say, "God only made a few perfect heads. On the rest he put hair." Vicky must have a perfect head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">From Sarah Jane:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Make sure to save a few strands for Mr. Ollivander. I'm sure he could make good use of them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">(Parker had to remind me that Mr. Ollivander was the wand-maker in Harry Potter. I had to agree with Sarah Jane that Vicky's hair certainly does have potent magic in it)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">From David:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Ellie and Brooke are excited to wear pink wigs in solidarity."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">From Farrell:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Stars will fall from the sky"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">From Laura:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: start;">Vicky has such a wonderful nucleus of support, and this, we're sure, will make all the difference in the world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">From Laurel:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Now?? Tonight?? I think I need more time to adjust!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">From Mom:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Instead of women the world over imitating the beauty and style of Vicky’s hair, they will find, since Vicky’s head is bald and she is the golden standard for hair, they will shave their heads also and then try, unsuccessfully, to compete with her on the way to dress them fashionably.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And this funny thing from Claire:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">O' my darlin', O' my darlin'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">O' my darlin' , Alopecia.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You are lost and gone forever,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Dreadful sorrow, Alopecia.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And then it was time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I will not lie. Vicky cried as if her heart would burst as I readied and clicked on the clippers. I thought my own heart would break.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And then, after the clippers made their first clean swath through her hair, she was ok. And when I was done, she was dying of curiosity to see it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">She indeed has a perfect head. And two adorable cow-licks right at her hairline. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The other day, Farrell told me that Vicky was a classy lady. And looking at her with that chic buzz cut, I thought: That class had nothing to do with her hair. In fact, she's even classier than before.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I have never seen a more beautiful woman...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmHTCzmnjr5nny0hHxJT3jhrlObQD3b-lKEHryOBsJcxfA6U0Vy7wn_xg_CToXltJBfDhUxEsbgLJGNYb0ATzKA9u-fDh9WPn8QdfPuBFvy-t_iOGUgcNXUCL5chpQ7UCSAwQw_ypSsz79/s1600/IMG_0658.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmHTCzmnjr5nny0hHxJT3jhrlObQD3b-lKEHryOBsJcxfA6U0Vy7wn_xg_CToXltJBfDhUxEsbgLJGNYb0ATzKA9u-fDh9WPn8QdfPuBFvy-t_iOGUgcNXUCL5chpQ7UCSAwQw_ypSsz79/s1600/IMG_0658.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-76348315041692202682015-01-19T21:28:00.001-08:002015-01-19T21:29:26.182-08:00Butcher, Baker...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Baker...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLa5Z89DuJzR9Da0m-IaOkkAZTNcYo59WnEfmPRLoRbnrLDlBV3S771QONvDoEX2fFIH2KnsX8nm-dKdskkR3ENcUQw2USIGppc6IfbMldYkXGTV53WAlN0Jn3gnh1SV6RDpS6p3zROllJ/s1600/IMG_0339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLa5Z89DuJzR9Da0m-IaOkkAZTNcYo59WnEfmPRLoRbnrLDlBV3S771QONvDoEX2fFIH2KnsX8nm-dKdskkR3ENcUQw2USIGppc6IfbMldYkXGTV53WAlN0Jn3gnh1SV6RDpS6p3zROllJ/s1600/IMG_0339.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
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Baked...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKo606hQ_1lFDXU39dGIBcAb0Wg3mW5XSvsC6GdBEJjBepqMyxnqUsOnqYkP8mscKjKpeHrAqQx5GKBHYbzfUULuU70AcC3kdO8rLAJzYjbQKPirA8ZjC77nkuIY_yfmoOx3HWu90P1_8/s1600/IMG_0335.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTKo606hQ_1lFDXU39dGIBcAb0Wg3mW5XSvsC6GdBEJjBepqMyxnqUsOnqYkP8mscKjKpeHrAqQx5GKBHYbzfUULuU70AcC3kdO8rLAJzYjbQKPirA8ZjC77nkuIY_yfmoOx3HWu90P1_8/s1600/IMG_0335.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Carpenter...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLa5Z89DuJzR9Da0m-IaOkkAZTNcYo59WnEfmPRLoRbnrLDlBV3S771QONvDoEX2fFIH2KnsX8nm-dKdskkR3ENcUQw2USIGppc6IfbMldYkXGTV53WAlN0Jn3gnh1SV6RDpS6p3zROllJ/s1600/IMG_0339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLa5Z89DuJzR9Da0m-IaOkkAZTNcYo59WnEfmPRLoRbnrLDlBV3S771QONvDoEX2fFIH2KnsX8nm-dKdskkR3ENcUQw2USIGppc6IfbMldYkXGTV53WAlN0Jn3gnh1SV6RDpS6p3zROllJ/s1600/IMG_0339.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
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Carpented...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBoYigUDkn6NBnxrNeYTEbXW1widTaag7UDqDySb_zkPdIXWRaLX6TM_ABSPo2u74pjQpB221EVoHNGZ8_OROps5Vf-6amZCDVu_2sN8MWXuL7MQQP-o_hi0ZxZuQP090tN2xdeM4ak1_/s1600/IMG_0341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBoYigUDkn6NBnxrNeYTEbXW1widTaag7UDqDySb_zkPdIXWRaLX6TM_ABSPo2u74pjQpB221EVoHNGZ8_OROps5Vf-6amZCDVu_2sN8MWXuL7MQQP-o_hi0ZxZuQP090tN2xdeM4ak1_/s1600/IMG_0341.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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She's also a...</div>
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Diplomat</div>
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Medical Consultant</div>
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Electrician</div>
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Best Friend.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-74480152198538644962015-01-17T20:29:00.001-08:002015-01-17T20:29:44.653-08:00Freeze FrameI got home this afternoon and found Vicky, screwdriver in hand, taking apart the cabinets in the dining room.<br />
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What!????<br />
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She just shrugged and smiled.<br />
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By the end of the day, she had sawn a foot and a half off the bottoms and had them put back together...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXG2nOwoNk2PJktSJPjMgOkH0S5koja6SQD0zAVwT-15o0Ne7fRyXhicUYbmsGiAyGBchCAnZgFbV4mxMkbN-ze0rIaVRSEgbfhPjjWxT_AVAa672mDGdUW2JIYfsYS5XHGGTzY81lmBNB/s1600/IMG_0333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXG2nOwoNk2PJktSJPjMgOkH0S5koja6SQD0zAVwT-15o0Ne7fRyXhicUYbmsGiAyGBchCAnZgFbV4mxMkbN-ze0rIaVRSEgbfhPjjWxT_AVAa672mDGdUW2JIYfsYS5XHGGTzY81lmBNB/s1600/IMG_0333.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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This afternoon we sat on the living room couch. I was telling her about my day. Before I got very far, she told me to stop for a moment. She pushed me a couple of feet farther away from her, fluffed up a pillow, lay back, rested her crossed legs over my lap, sighed deeply, then said, with an innocent little smile: "OK. Continue."</div>
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We talked for quite a while, warm sun shining in the window, spilling out onto the floor and washing the new mantle with a brilliant white. Outside the Eastern windows, we could see the sunlight on our fence, bringing into sharp relief the crags and texture of the surface. Dust motes dipped and bobbed in the air. It was warm and quiet, except for Vicky's soft voice, asking questions, making observations.<br />
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Sometimes you wish you could freeze a moment in time, hold it there forever. This was one of them.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-34269526221526885062015-01-16T19:37:00.000-08:002015-01-16T20:08:35.896-08:00The Forced MarchWhat a great day.<br />
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Vicky popped her head up this morning and has been loving the whole day. She got to talk on the phone to her mom and her daughter. She got a lovely visit and some wonderful bread from John and Angie...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRm33J-qvc9wpAQJbCl8eGpVvQ0wUZEOPwHHuGXvsrUeD-3raxjYZmv4IGkcKPAl1Sn3xY8zjMnwCkDnKoAu-XhrhSd04o7WeeuT3JHCn9vm1QPDkfQ7LXSYzpYZGgpE4gnScWXgghMBS/s1600/IMG_0295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRm33J-qvc9wpAQJbCl8eGpVvQ0wUZEOPwHHuGXvsrUeD-3raxjYZmv4IGkcKPAl1Sn3xY8zjMnwCkDnKoAu-XhrhSd04o7WeeuT3JHCn9vm1QPDkfQ7LXSYzpYZGgpE4gnScWXgghMBS/s1600/IMG_0295.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Laurel also stopped by. When I was taking their picture, Laurel said, "Wait a minute!" She leaned in toward Vicky, and said: "You need to get us looking like we're having a party!"</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2P1CfM7AdNKD0rOrfluvyhaiOw2jAWc31z5qDkrwKtqz5xHGEsMuMYgQQwkJNutBAfAmdgAwQ3a4wvoet7lqKqTBNBXKFuAbjL-2Zz_Ui2DIRhJ_dx0xgpKnpQR_gQcLKqvGbxFsSx4wE/s1600/IMG_0308.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2P1CfM7AdNKD0rOrfluvyhaiOw2jAWc31z5qDkrwKtqz5xHGEsMuMYgQQwkJNutBAfAmdgAwQ3a4wvoet7lqKqTBNBXKFuAbjL-2Zz_Ui2DIRhJ_dx0xgpKnpQR_gQcLKqvGbxFsSx4wE/s1600/IMG_0308.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Laurel left Vicky with two gifts...</div>
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A little more about her Chemo Reminder Pad: As Laurel put it, "If you're in the living room and you need to go into the bedroom to check your phone, you write it down in the pad. Then, when you get to the bedroom, and you've forgotten what it was you went there to do, you simply open up your pad, and then you know!"</div>
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She also got a visit from the Howes. They whisked in and filled the house with laughter and the latest news from the ward (and even a couple of secret stories!) I'm sad I forgot to get a picture of them, but here is the lovely lasagna they brought...</div>
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At about 3:00 today, Vicky was really hungry. First she wanted Indian food, but then thought better of it and wanted Chinese. I told her I would take her to China Platter, on one condition.</div>
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"What's that?" she asked.</div>
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"You must first come with me outside and go for a walk."</div>
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<Groan> "Do I have to?"</div>
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"Yes. You must at least walk across the street and back to qualify for Chinese food."</div>
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There was a lot of grumbling, and dawdling. </div>
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"Are you ready?" I asked through the bathroom door.</div>
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"You mean am I ready for the Forced March?"</div>
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She went quite a bit farther than just across the street. We wound up walking all the way to the church on 4th North. Forced March was an apt description, the way the dogs were dragging her along. Here are Vicky, Mobi and Lexi on the Trail of Tears...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWgTjSgoKl8lmocgEWNJJZY7j7jm1RfwkfsBrKUvH8LM_bnXc21hAWd8LXOqfi4GT3zUZmLcZwaUxytI3twR5oW1fFHfq0objcDPVs7lwQfQNEvdWtUssPbHawPNMScbFuzSUMpQOIfux/s1600/IMG_0314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWgTjSgoKl8lmocgEWNJJZY7j7jm1RfwkfsBrKUvH8LM_bnXc21hAWd8LXOqfi4GT3zUZmLcZwaUxytI3twR5oW1fFHfq0objcDPVs7lwQfQNEvdWtUssPbHawPNMScbFuzSUMpQOIfux/s1600/IMG_0314.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Then, after the Howe's lovely visit, it was time for China Platter! From the first bite of walnut shrimp to the last bite of her fortune cookie, Vicky was transported. When she finished, she said: "This was the best meal and the most I've eaten since I started chemo."</div>
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This is her reading her fortune cookie...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpzyY8sCfVX6rJhII8BkYy9WrAT4JW6KJEYUAw_IwQcagyz2FV2jYcN02dA9bqC9Celbv0DYlGRgiTLyTcu-F2YnaswFL5N1ZZRYaPDVB7MLmi-YyJbNLzg75n7mjRZsJflULiksSbn9cs/s1600/IMG_0325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpzyY8sCfVX6rJhII8BkYy9WrAT4JW6KJEYUAw_IwQcagyz2FV2jYcN02dA9bqC9Celbv0DYlGRgiTLyTcu-F2YnaswFL5N1ZZRYaPDVB7MLmi-YyJbNLzg75n7mjRZsJflULiksSbn9cs/s1600/IMG_0325.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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"'You have good taste,'" she read.</div>
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"In men," I added.</div>
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That's a picture of a happy woman. Friends, a nice walk, and good food. Sometimes it doesn't take any more than just that.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-83841062714583760942015-01-15T18:56:00.000-08:002015-01-15T18:56:13.458-08:00A Slice of HamI have a confession to make. Let's see if I can explain this...<br />
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We've heard all through our lives -- look on the bright side. Optimism chases darkness away. There's a lot of hokum out there about "If you send your wish out to the universe, it will come true" and other such nonsense. But there is also a concept, rooted deeply in my beliefs, in Vicky's beliefs, of "Faith Precedes the Miracle." It was by faith that Moses and the children of Israel walked across the Red Sea on dry ground. It was by faith that Joseph Smith translated the Book of Mormon. It was by faith that the Mormon pioneers made the Salt Lake desert blossom as a rose.<br />
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I believe that. I believe that God works miracles -- in ages past and in our lifetimes. I believe that he loves his children and wants them to grow into the beings he envisions them to be. I believe that he can heal our hearts, our souls, and our bodies.<br />
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So now comes the complicated part. When people ask me how Vicky is doing, one side of my brain says that my reply should be like so: "Oh, she's doing so great! There have been some extremely promising studies showing that her type of cancer is often completely eradicated by the chemo drug she's taking. We and our doctors expect that, once they actually perform the surgery, the cancer won't even be there."<br />
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And that is true.<br />
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And it is also true that Vicky will have to go through hell first to realize that happy end. And there is also a chance that the therapy will not work. There is a mist of uncertainty over our eyes -- we agreed to live by faith on this earth, and to do our best to discern the will of God. To do that, we must live without perfect clarity. It's part of the gift of mortality. It's part of the deal.<br />
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So here's my confession: I have a hard time giving that bright, happy answer when people ask how Vicky is. I don't want them walking away from that conversation thinking: "Great! She's going to be fine. There's nothing to worry about." I <i>want</i> people to worry about her, to share their strength with her, even if it is in a very small way -- like a text, or bringing over a bowl of soup.<br />
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I don't want her to be forgotten.<br />
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I'm resolving today to be more balanced. Even on the bad days, there are bright moments. Moments when her smile fills the room. Moments when she points out the window to show me blue jays strutting in the sunshine. Moments when she comes and sits by me, not necessarily to talk, but just to be close. Moments when I can hear her laughing with a neighbor on the phone, laughter that runs through the house like music.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXgeVfH9dbAUzaVf1iadZ4gCxfJuwqIH1HAQdGefKV-PKyabVdIpaYe0jzTQP5IPf6ImhZjtvmDarmBFRZ5Id_T6DmhkLV_2qq8lVc6solv2FBr3XTkwfKonNnNJ4hZCtDdVHwfyvdc8Y/s1600/IMG_0274.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQXgeVfH9dbAUzaVf1iadZ4gCxfJuwqIH1HAQdGefKV-PKyabVdIpaYe0jzTQP5IPf6ImhZjtvmDarmBFRZ5Id_T6DmhkLV_2qq8lVc6solv2FBr3XTkwfKonNnNJ4hZCtDdVHwfyvdc8Y/s1600/IMG_0274.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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And there's the moment when I brought her a slice of ham to eat when she was feeling terribly lightheaded, and she texted me a few minutes later from the bedroom:<br />
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What a generous lady, to let her husband think that he had come riding in with that crucial slice of ham, just in time to save her life.</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-34210006013216546872015-01-14T18:51:00.002-08:002015-01-14T19:05:12.299-08:00One Week, and the Roads are Construction-FreeIt's a big day. One week since Vicky's first chemotherapy session. 5.6 percent of the way to when her heavy chemo is over and she can have her surgery. That's 1/18th of the way there.<br />
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Way to go!<br />
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I asked Vicky to rate today from 1-10. She gave it a 3. But, she said, it's not all bad: I get as much done in a week as I used to in a day.</div>
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I did a double take when I heard that. </div>
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But listen to this. Here's her analysis: </div>
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"I think that maybe I'm learning something with all this. For so long, I've had to have a huge project going. And now, I'm being forced to let off the gas. And I've found something out: Everything goes on just fine if I don't have a huge home improvement project going. The house does just fine, my husband and children do just fine. In fact, the house actually stays cleaner when I'm not digging in and improving it."</div>
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"Makes sense," I said. "It's like road construction. The road may need some improving, but when there's no construction to actually <i>do</i> the improvement, it sure is more pleasant to drive."</div>
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"I'm starting to think that I was a bit too focused on always having something <i>big</i> going on. And I guess I'm realizing that I could be more balanced that way. And for now, I guess I don't have a lot of choice."</div>
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"You know what?" she said. "I worried so much that if this chemo flattened me, I would be lying there in bed, chafing that I couldn't be up and at 'em. But actually, I'm OK with being in bed. I'm so tired, I really don't <i>want</i> to be up and going. It sounds like it would take way too much energy."</div>
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Now there's a blessing. I have no doubt that Vicky will pop out the other end of all this therapy and surgery and all those other -y's. And she'll have her energy back, excited to dive into her next project. But right now, it's such a blessing that she doesn't have to pine for it, that she can just focus on getting better. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIXjrG_urIyNaP2TfFzz7EmEL-jK9jRmpF0ayWej6gCpJXpQLfwLP0mT2S0GgGtpgIlxUYzaPmy-eoSfjOaNqz5kFbL_Bm6fxFP_u4Lrhbq_K9uZvM9Gw4r5kMFeXdVfMIY4tndjMWM8JH/s1600/IMG_0238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIXjrG_urIyNaP2TfFzz7EmEL-jK9jRmpF0ayWej6gCpJXpQLfwLP0mT2S0GgGtpgIlxUYzaPmy-eoSfjOaNqz5kFbL_Bm6fxFP_u4Lrhbq_K9uZvM9Gw4r5kMFeXdVfMIY4tndjMWM8JH/s1600/IMG_0238.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Happy Week Anniversary, my Love.</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-47489923530980879822015-01-12T21:22:00.002-08:002015-01-12T21:22:50.024-08:00Sunshine on a Rainy DayToday the rain has descended nonstop from a grey, brooding sky.<br />
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Here at home, Vicky has perked up.<br />
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I've rarely seen more glorious sunshine.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14060438173296213317noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2711209987450828878.post-90249159577353647612015-01-11T21:21:00.000-08:002015-01-12T00:56:09.348-08:00Frozen Cats and Other Sundry OdditiesThree moments...<br />
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Sister Thomson came by and dropped off some bread and soup for lunch. Just a quick visit -- told Vicky that she put lots of pepper in the soup in hopes that Vicky could taste it better. Here's a picture...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb0Qf_Aggen05T-zZaO90-heQBHe1CZQefXM-wrX9SWO674zHWqGldvcaQuIUwzgUp62vO6kP7B41xt3B9ml8nl9tDV5xD5ipiTg7Ik-icJ6pbhzM7l0XEFC3_nfWdsja9znwprfoe4v3C/s1600/IMG_0183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb0Qf_Aggen05T-zZaO90-heQBHe1CZQefXM-wrX9SWO674zHWqGldvcaQuIUwzgUp62vO6kP7B41xt3B9ml8nl9tDV5xD5ipiTg7Ik-icJ6pbhzM7l0XEFC3_nfWdsja9znwprfoe4v3C/s1600/IMG_0183.JPG" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
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After Sister Thomson left, Vicky and I sat down to a bowl. Vicky kept making happy mmm noises, and finally said, "This tastes so, so good. And I can actually taste it."</div>
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Then she started to cry. </div>
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Such a little thing, and it made Vicky so happy.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Two</span></div>
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Tonight, Laura and Cody came by to bring dinner to us all. Here they are with the feast they laid out on our table...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7f8mrp86Pke2sVoeq8HVhN9DEcnX3E8I0Rdca6gLMH37QXlUhMHS2Yjnj8B-omcbR14IJKyAkGOY61e58ZUXCN_GjZrTl8K6E9G9EI7FDKsd0eChJWN9wC_h7uXNIY0DFouHVUBDIxQY/s1600/IMG_0186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7f8mrp86Pke2sVoeq8HVhN9DEcnX3E8I0Rdca6gLMH37QXlUhMHS2Yjnj8B-omcbR14IJKyAkGOY61e58ZUXCN_GjZrTl8K6E9G9EI7FDKsd0eChJWN9wC_h7uXNIY0DFouHVUBDIxQY/s1600/IMG_0186.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Notice the roast beef right there in the middle? You should know what a remarkable thing it was for Laura to bring that (absolutely delicious) roast beef: She's a vegetarian. :-)</div>
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It was a delightful dinner, and afterwards we had a kick watching little Donovan respond to Laura asking: "What does the happy baby say?" and "What does the grumpy baby say?"</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">Three</span></div>
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We were talking with our son Cameron on the phone tonight. Cameron lives far away in New York City and we miss him terribly. But we get to look forward to regular phone calls every Sunday Night. Here's Cameron with a fake mustache...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWQyr_8ETUqwewqDWXSy0Z8-m1xfSUAZk65gZm6Q6Oy5U09Y7fekO8lv7ICY0qea7T0-fGgM-nYBK0TynNbqgrWRv4hP2Fc3P8jlFFFnx7it463oq29xdfSDcN6P98CUsUAcbTFP99Wc/s220/MusicMan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWQyr_8ETUqwewqDWXSy0Z8-m1xfSUAZk65gZm6Q6Oy5U09Y7fekO8lv7ICY0qea7T0-fGgM-nYBK0TynNbqgrWRv4hP2Fc3P8jlFFFnx7it463oq29xdfSDcN6P98CUsUAcbTFP99Wc/s220/MusicMan.jpg" /></a></div>
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We started talking about how medicine really hasn't advanced all that far from its medieval roots. Take cancer for example. You feel just fine, then your doctor says that you have a tumor in your body, and so you agree to going through chemotherapy to be rid of it. Sounds fine, except, one minute you're feeling perfectly healthy, then you allow the doctor to pump all these drugs into your body, and suddenly you feel like you've been run over by a train. </div>
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Maybe we should start using leeches instead.</div>
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Along those lines, I told Cameron about another treatment that helps prevent hair loss during chemo therapy. What you do is get these caps, you see, and you freeze them in dry ice until they're deep-frozen, and then while your chemo treatment is being administered, you put them on your head. These caps are supposed to freeze your hair follicles so they don't get damaged. But the caps melt, see, so you have to put a fresh frozen cap on your head every half hour.</div>
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There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. It seemed like Cameron was trying not to laugh. "Hey Dad?" he said.</div>
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"What?"</div>
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"Until about halfway through that explanation, I thought you were talking about frozen CATS."</div>
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It took a long time before we could stop laughing.</div>
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<a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/46/23/ce/4623cea6aecc1f0bc17afa2b511a7731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/46/23/ce/4623cea6aecc1f0bc17afa2b511a7731.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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