TenaF's Xanga

Another Loss

Fri, 07 Mar 2008 16:39:33 GMT

Last Sunday, I wrote about the troubled times my family was experiencing. I had two uncles and a cousin in three separate hospitals in three separate states, all with serious medical conditions.

I spent a good deal of time last week talking about my Uncle Tom, who we were losing to cancer. The doctors had told us he had four to six weeks.

By Friday, that time frame had been moved up to perhaps a week. It changed later to three to five days. His multiple cancers were literally doubling in size every 24 hours.

We lost him last Sunday night shortly after 6:00 p.m. His last words were to my aunt, who had told him that she loved him. He mouthed "I love you too," and was gone.

We, his family, are exceedingly grateful that there was so little pain, so little turmoil, and that he was able to go gently and surrounded by love.

I lost both my grandmother and my grandfather to cancer. It was agonizing to watch my grandmother cry out in pain, even from what they said was a coma. She lasted six weeks in that horrible place between death and life, not conscious, not aware, but still hurting.

My grandfather spent the last six days of his life also in that horrible place of not here but not there. Some of his last words were "Hurry up, Jesus!"

This man who had been a minister of the gospel for more than fifty years was ready to go, and tired of waiting.

Because I watched my grandparents suffer, I am so glad my uncle did not have to. His family is in shock because he died so quickly. They thought he was fine, and had no idea that cancer was ravaging his body. They were able to travel extensively. The cancer was there, eating away at him, but they had no idea.

Perhaps, had they known sooner, they could have started treatment, although it’s doubtful that it would have helped in the long run. The cancers were just too many and too aggressive. It may have prolonged his life, but it probably would not have prevented his death.

Three weeks ago, my uncle was on vacation, happy and whole. Two weeks ago, he was in the hospital. He died last week.

Life doesn’t come with a guarantee, nor does it come with an expiration date. We don’t get to know the day that our world will come to a crashing halt because the doctor has discovered devastating news. We can’t keep the police from knocking at our door, telling us there has been a horrible accident and our loved one is never coming home.

It’s not something I choose to worry about, but it is something I choose to be aware of. I have a friend that lost his wife to an accident. He was haunted for years because his last words to her were harsh ones. She was going to be late for work, and he scolded her for still being in bed. If he had left her sleeping, she would not have gone to work. She would not have been killed that day. He wishes he would have told her he loved her, instead of fussing at her for being a sleepyhead.

I don’t know the time or the date of my death or any one else’s. None of us do. It’s why we have to do our very best job, love to our utmost, laugh at every opportunity; make the opportunity to laugh if we have none, and do our best to be our best.

Or, in the words of the country song, we need to "live like we were dying."

Troubled Times

Fri, 07 Mar 2008 16:37:57 GMT

They say misery loves company. I’m thinking trouble doesn’t like being lonely either. Trouble has come to my family, and has brought grief and turmoil with it.

Last Monday was a long day for us. We spent part of it at a hospital in Memphis. My Uncle Harold, my mother’s brother-in-law, is there with heart problems. Despite procedures and medications, nothing seems to be working. My aunt, the woman we have called "Sister" all of our lives, was by his side. But her mind was also on her son, who was in a hospital in Hot Springs. My cousin Bobby was in Intensive Care, from complications after brain surgery.

Sister came from the hospital in Hot Springs to the hospital in Memphis when Harold started having chest pains. They are still there, weeks later.

We also spent some time in Tupelo, Mississippi. My dad’s brother-in-law, my Uncle Tom, was in the hospital there. He has cancer. In his liver, his spleen, his spine, his lungs, and his brain. He has eight tumors in his brain. There is no hope.

Three weeks ago, my Uncle Tom and my Aunt Linda were on vacation at the Grand Canyon. All was well, and they had no idea he was sick. Then he spilled his coffee, and his balance seemed a little off. He got lost at the airport. My aunt was mildly concerned, so she scheduled a doctor’s appointment. The bottom of their world simply dropped out from beneath them.

A month ago he was fine, or so we thought. And in a month or so, he will no longer be with us.

We know life has no guarantees. We know people die. Yet it is still a shock, each time. As we drove through Tupelo, we passed the hotel we had stayed in when my grandmother was sick. We went to the same hospital, walked the same halls.

We drove through New Albany, passed the hospital both my grandmother and my grandfather died at. We passed the hotel we stayed in, the restaurant we ate most of our meals at. Although it has been six years since we lost my Mom and not quite two years since we lost my Pop, the grief was still fresh as we retraced some of those same steps.

Now, here we are again, on the brink of losing another that we love. To that murdering beast that has already stolen part of my family. Cancer. I hate that word. It is the filthiest of words, the vilest of all of the curse words in the human language.

My Aunt Linda is devastated, as you would expect. They have been married more than 45 years. They have three children, two grandchildren; a life built together since she was teenager. She simply does not know how she will function alone when she always had her partner by her side.

We, her family, have and will continue to surround her with love. It won’t be enough, of course, but perhaps it will help as much as anything can help in such horrible circumstances.

If you see my mom, my dad, or me around in the next little while, we might be a little distracted. We might be thinking about my cousin Bobby in Hot Springs; my Uncle Harold in Memphis, or my Uncle Tom in Tupelo.

We are a family, and when one part of us has trouble, we all have trouble. Our hearts are hurting, because we can’t be everywhere we need to be each and every time we need to be there.

My Aunt Linda told me she wished I lived in Mississippi, so I could help her get through this. I will help her, in any way I can. We all will, with each of them. It’s what we do, when trouble comes to family.

Bigfooot Finally Found

Fri, 07 Mar 2008 16:36:41 GMT

After years of rumor and speculation and grainy photos, I have proof. Bigfoot is alive. Not only is he alive, he is living in Blytheville. He’s a good bit younger than most experts thought, but he does exist. I know, because he lives with me.

My son’s feet have grown again. At 12, his feet are bigger than his dad’s. We are down to buying him one pair of shoes at a time, because he goes through them so fast that it just doesn’t makes sense to buy more.

Last week, his shoes fit when I dropped him off for school that morning. That afternoon, there was a hole in them. He busted out of that pair in one day, a record for him. It made me think of the Incredible Hulk. At least he didn’t turn green and start throwing things.

I shouldn’t be surprised, because we recently had to go buy all new uniforms for him. He literally outgrew the ones we bought at the start of the year within a week. They fit on Monday. They didn’t fit on Friday. This is getting expensive. At this rate, we are going to have to start a clothing fund along with the college fund.

When he saw his Grandma in Jonesboro a few weeks ago, she looked up at him and said, "you’ve done it again." He had gotten taller on her since she had seen him last. She sees him every few weeks, and he is taller every time she sees him. It’s kind of funny. It’s kind of scary. That’s my little boy, in that body that is taller than I am.

We all have the flu, courtesy of Gary bringing it home from Nucor. He got it at work, brought it home to me, and I gave it to Logan. Thankfully, Logan doesn’t have it as bad as Gary and I do.

I took Logan to the doctor at the first sign of his symptoms, hoping to head off the worst of it. It’s been a while since he has been there. The receptionist did a double-take. So did the nurse. So did the doctor.

They all used to call him "little Logan." because he was so small for so long. Practically every one in the office asked "that’s little Logan?" They wouldn’t have recognized him, this almost teen-ager towering over me.

"He’s not little Logan anymore," is what one of the ladies at the doctor’s office told me. No. Indeed, he is not. He is growing and changing right before our eyes. I don’t really mind it, for though I loved little Logan, it is time for him to be put in the past. It is exciting to see what this Logan is becoming. It’s hard to let go of the boy. But it is going to be easy to embrace the young man.

Not So Super Tuesday

Fri, 07 Mar 2008 16:35:25 GMT

I can hear the buzzing of chainsaws from my office. A crew is next door, getting the tree off the roof of my neighbor’s house. It woke her up Tuesday night as the tree crashed into her home, above the bed she was sleeping in. Talk about a nightmare.

It was a nightmare for others, too. My aunt’s son is a police officer in the outskirts of Memphis. He was out in that chaos trying to help and protect others instead of trying to protect himself. His daughter was in Jackson, Tennessee at a small Christian college, huddled up for safety. My Aunt Ruth was worried both for her son and her granddaughter, and more than worried when she knew Jackson had taken a direct hit.

Mike and Marnie are both okay. Marnie’s college is very much not okay. She’s supposed to graduate in May, but it will be without about 80 percent of her campus looking like it looked Tuesday afternoon before the storms.

It’s horrible, all over. My favorite run away spot is damaged, over near Mountain Home. We love the Bull Shoals /White River area around Gassville and Lake View and Cotter. We camp and fish and canoe over there. If we can’t get that far away from home, we sometimes run over to the Spring River around Hardy and Highland and Ash Flat.

The beauty of the mountains and the rivers may surround them, but their people have been devastated. It’s so sad, every time. There is no rhyme or reason. One home is destroyed, one home is perfect. One life is gone, one life is spared.

At Marnie’s college, dorm rooms were completely torn apart, yet clothes hung neatly in a closet, not touched at all. That closet was now outdoors, but it was in perfect order while rubble was piled up just inches away from it.

It doesn’t make sense. It never has. I guess it never will. One of the things I was grateful for last Tuesday night, other than the fact that our community was mostly spared, was our own hard working men and women of our police and fire departments and emergency squad.

They were out in force with their eyes to the sky. They saw a good bit of rotation, and made sure our community was safe by having the tornado sirens activated when appropriate. Several of them had damage to their vehicles in the course of their duties. They very well could have been harmed while trying to protect us from harm.

It was the thing my Aunt Ruth was the most worried about. Her son might have had a job to do, but more important to her was that he was her son and he was in danger. She didn’t want him to be. She wanted him inside somewhere, safe and sound.

Mike knew his job was outside, so others would be safe and sound. So did our guys and gals of our police departments and sheriff’s office, of our fire departments and emergency squad, our trained spotters and our ham radio operators.

We have emergency services for a reason, and Tuesday night made that very clear to me. Super Tuesday took on a whole new meaning for those of us in Arkansas and Tennessee and other states in the Mid-South. It was more like Super Cell Tuesday. All in all, I wish that kind of weather never happened. But since it does, I’m glad we have people that are willing to stand for me, to watch for me, to make sure me and mine will be well warned and well protected when the nightmare comes to my house.

Being well served by those who have vowed to protect and serve. It’s just one part of being from Around Here.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 14:20:53 GMT

Boyz being boyz

2008. It doesn’t even sound right yet, does it? It promises to be an interesting year. Or perhaps, a frustrating one, considering there is a presidential election coming up. By summer, we may be watching all cable all the time at our house just to avoid the political ads.

This year also brings another monumental event. Logan turns 13. God help us all. He is already counting the days. It doesn’t happen for eight months, but he has big plans for being a teenager. That blessed, magical word "teen" will apparently transform his life.

I’ve told him all of his supposed freedoms he believes he will have aren’t going to count for much, because that magic word, while it may change his life, doesn’t impress me or his dad at all. We aren’t going to suddenly wake up August 13 and throw off all of the rules and guidelines he lives by now.

He’s an optimistic child, though, and hope springs eternal. He’s thinking life will change for the better, and his strict mom and by-the-book dad might cut him a little slack. He doesn’t know what I know though. I’ve been a teenager. Worse, his dad has been a teenager. We know what we were back in the day.

Logan doesn’t stand a chance, because there’s pretty much not a thing that child can do that me or his dad (especially his dad) hasn’t already done or thought about doing, probably bigger, longer, louder, harder, or faster.

In fact, when Logan was born, I made Gary promise me something. He had to promise me when Logan got older and got in trouble, that Gary would stick by me when it came time to hand down punishment. I had to get Gary’s word on that. Otherwise, Gary would have pulled Logan aside and said, "Now, son, in my day, I did it like this..." Without Gary’s prior promise, Logan would have been getting ideas and instructions of an entirely different sort.

We have a secret that Logan doesn’t know. We present a united front. But fairly often, one of us, silently, is quietly encouraging the boy to be, well, a boy. Sometimes, men just don’t get it. Of course, my man would say that sometimes, women just don’t get it.

My overriding concern is for Logan’s safety. Gary’s overriding concern is for Logan’s ability to have fun. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem that boys are capable of having fun and being safe at the same time. They can have fun, or they can be safe, but apparently, they can’t do both.

I win when it comes to school work and household chores and learning the social graces. Logan must do those things and do them well, and if Logan dares to question my word, Gary will enforce it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

But when it comes to riding four wheelers or go carts or target practice, his dad wins every time. He is a safe as he can be...a concession to me. He wears a helmet and safety glasses and hearing protection. But he does do them, all the same.

I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to get any better the older Logan gets. Gary just had a birthday too, but mentally, when it comes to the boys-doing-boy things, I’m pretty sure both of them are about the same age..

Christmas eve, we were going to have a party. The house was spotless, and everything was ready to go. Gary and Logan went out for a few hours. When they came back, an hour before the party, both of them were literally covered in mud from head to toe. They both tracked mud through the house, both had to have showers, both had to change clothes, and both contributed to messing up the spotless, party ready home that guests were going to be arriving at within minutes.

They also both had grins on their faces from ear to ear. They had a fabulous time going four wheeling with a friend through a mud covered field. The friend also had a marvelous time flipping his four wheeler over and hurting his leg to the point of probably needing medical attention.

When I was concerned, they just laughed. Yeah, someone got hurt, but they sure had fun doing it. When I called to check on our friend, he laughed too. His wife wasn’t thrilled, but he had a great time. Boys. God help us all.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 14:18:42 GMT

The Brain Drain Thang, Phase II

Here we go again. While you are going about the routine of your Sunday, I am going about what I wish wasn’t becoming routine for me. Once again, I am at the Mayo Clinic, getting ready for Phase II of the Great Brain Drain Experiment.

The testing and procedures we began last fall will continue this week. The hoped for outcome is eventual brain surgery, but even with the very best outcomes that may still be several more visits away.

If all goes well this time, and next time, and next time, we will know more. But the best hope for surgery may well be late summer or early fall. My brain just isn’t that easy to figure out. Every time the doctors do something new, they want to wait at least eight weeks to watch and document the reaction.

I am so tired of all the testing, all the watching, and all the waiting. I’ve been at the end of my patience for some time now. I know I am incredibly lucky to have the quality of life that I do and to have the support that I do. This makes no sense at all; but it is harder somehow to wait now, knowing that there might be some hope on the horizon, than it was when there was no hope.

While I have been dealing with this for almost six years, the team of doctors that are deciding if this will work has only been dealing with my case since October. That’s not a lot of time in this particular situation, especially since I am by no means their only case or their only patient.

It has been pointed out to me that they only get one chance to get it right when they get inside my brain, so it is wise to let them take all the time they need now to decide what is and what isn’t right.

So, here we go again. Monday and Tuesday I have appointments from 8 a.m to after 4 p.m. When you are up here, the Clinic believes in making the most of your time. Wednesday is my birthday. The good news is that I have no needles scheduled for that day. The bad news is that when someone figures that out, it will probably change.

Thursday, I have scads of needles. The most telling will be a procedure that morning where needles guided by ultrasound will go into my brain and try to pinpoint the best locations for placement of nerve blocking leads. The best part of this procedure is that those needles will have anesthetic in them, so even though I will be awake for the procedure, I will be completely pain free (after the first twenty seconds or so...that first few seconds will be torture) for hours afterward. Since I am rarely pain free, the trade off is worth the needles.

That afternoon, I get more needles. But then, I will be done, unless someone dreams up some other form of torture-designed-as-testing for me.

Several years ago, Gary and I made a pact to avoid Minnesota in January, no matter what. We vowed we had learned our lesson, and would never come up here again in January. We have been in every month of the year. December is bad, February is bad, but January is just brutal. Ice, snow, and fog that freezes. The cold is unbelievable, although to be fair, once it gets past a certain temperature, it’s just cold. It doesn’t really matter any more if it is 10 below or 25 below. It’s just cold.

We never know if we are going to make it up on time, we never know if we are going to make it home in one piece. While we are careful, the folks that drive on this stuff all the time tend to drive on the ice like it is a balmy 65 and the roads are clear out. They drive 70 miles per hour, even though the roads are icy. Sometimes it seems like there are more cars in ditches than there are on the roads, especially through some of the cities.

But here we are, and this was the only time the doctors had and I had that was the right amount of time since the last time I was here. So here we go again, in Minnesota in January. All in all, I would rather be just about anywhere but here.

Just like every other time for the past five and a half years, though, we will get through this week, and I can get done and come back home. Home, where a southern drawl is the norm, where restaurants know applesauce is not a side dish, cottage cheese was not meant to be fried, and sweet tea doesn’t require a definition.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 14:17:22 GMT

Doing The Santa Shuffle

It’s Christmas Day! I bet you didn’t know that, did you? Christmas is coming early at my house this year, to accommodate my mom and dad. They need to have Christmas in several different cities. Actually, they need to have Christmas in several different states. It’s already been Christmas day a few times in my extended family.

This may seem strange to you, but it is perfectly normal to me. I only remember one time growing up that we actually opened presents at our home on Christmas day. That was a fluke. We always opened our gifts early because we traveled to be with the rest of our family. We never lived close to our extended families. We would be at my mom’s side of the family Christmas Eve, then get up early Christmas day and go another two hours to my dad’s side of the family.

As a child, I hated all of the traveling, although I certainly enjoyed not having to wait for Christmas to open my gifts. The one time Teresa and I complained enough to stay home at Christmas, we were bored senseless by noon.

Now I’m the adult, and we still very rarely open our gifts on Christmas day. We still travel, although we only have to go across town or to Jonesboro. One of things that is very important to me is having my child grow up close to his grandparents, something I was not able to do.

Between my mother-in-law; a nurse that works nights, and my husband, the work schedules are always bizarre. Figuring out a time everyone is off and we can all get together feels like coordinating a major event, not a simple family affair.

This year, my sister has everyone coming to her house in Little Rock, because she has more people there. My nephew got married, my niece has a significant other, and so the family has expanded from the original five to seven with in-laws, friends and relatives of the in-laws and friends. It was just easier all around for Mom and Dad to go there than for the whole Little Rock bunch to try and come here.

Which is why it is Christmas day at my house. They leave soon for Little Rock. We leave soon for Jonesboro, and today was the only day that worked. Yesterday was my husband’s birthday, which he celebrated by being all by himself in the deer woods. Yes, it is a sad and serious addiction. So we are kind of doing the two-for-one special in his case, something that happens a lot when you are born three days before Christmas.

For purists, it just wouldn’t work. But my family has always been a little different, and it works for us. Christmas isn’t necessarily just one day, especially in our family. We know how to extend the celebration, especially if there is food involved. And if me, my mom or my sister are anywhere around, there will be food involved.

My son, who admittedly has never known anything different, likes it this way. He has Christmas three or four times over instead of one time and it’s done. He visits different homes and gets different treats and sees different decorations and spends time with different branches of the family.

So it’s Christmas day at the Furnish home today. We will have another in a few more days, and then one more. We must have been very, very good this year.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 14:16:30 GMT

Santa Claus Is Coming To Frown

Bless his heart. The poor man is incredibly busy right now. He’s making lists and checking them twice. He’s overseeing the massive production of millions of toys. He’s getting the reindeer in shape, filing flight plans, pouring over the most efficient way to cover the entire world in one night. And now he also has to fend off criticism about his appearance?

It’s tough to be Santa Claus. Last week the Surgeon General of the United States said that Santa needed to go on a diet. Santa is a bad role model for all the children he comes in contact with. What we need is not a jolly, roly-poly Santa, but a thin, healthier, weight conscious Santa.

I suppose if you are the Surgeon General, you would take your job of being very serious about health issues; well, very seriously. And overweight children are no joke. But let’s just leave Santa out of this issue, shall we?

The man does a lot of good. He’s a little heavy, yes. But depending on whose research you believe, he is anywhere from more than two hundred to more than two centuries old. Maybe Santa should be giving us some healthy living tips.

He is environmentally conscious. He doesn’t use gasoline or diesel to get around. You never hear about a chemical spill or fire caused by Santa or his workers. The news isn’t full of toy recalls coming out of Santa’s workshop. Elves don’t go on strike because of bad working conditions at the North Pole, a minor miracle considering that it is at the North Pole.

The Humane Society doesn’t have to investigate complaints of animal abuse. There was that one time when the other reindeers were being mean to Rudolph, calling him names and not letting him play with them; but Santa put a stop to that pretty quickly.

Santa enforces good behavior among our children. He gets them into bed early on those frantic nights right before Christmas, when it is the most important that they behave the best. Let’s face it. We are all exhausted right before Christmas. Our kids get treats they normally wouldn’t, and are around all the relatives and friends they don’t usually see. The kids are hyper from treats and excitement and exhaustion. But when they normally would be at their worst, just a reminder about Santa settles them into well behaved little ladies and gentlemen.

Santa seems like a pretty smart guy to me. He manages to handle a multi-dimensional empire all year long and only makes the news once a year. Not one reindeer has come forward with a scandal. Not one elf. Mrs. Claus hasn’t asked Dr. Phil for help with her marriage, or cried on Oprah’s couch.

I think we ought to just leave Santa’s waist line alone. With all the good he accomplishes, the man deserves his milk and cookies.

Friday, January 18, 2008

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 14:14:57 GMT

Rollin on the River

It’s just not safe when we get together. My husband has suggested that we should come with a warning label. That might have been helpful this past weekend, when I celebrated a little early with my sister in Little Rock.

The only day Gary and his Mom both have off is Christmas Day. That happens to be the day the rest of my family are going to be down in Little Rock with everyone else. So we are going to celebrate with the Jonesboro side Christmas Day, and the Little Rock side....well, we haven’t quite figured that part out yet.

They are a fluid bunch, spreading out in all directions. I can’t seem to keep all of them in one place at one time long enough for all of us to get with all of them. Throw in my husband’s unusual work schedule, and, of course, the almighty, not-to-be-messed-with deer season; and things get complicated.

Since I knew I wouldn’t see my sister again before Christmas, I bummed a ride with my Mom and Dad when they had to go to Little Rock. We planned on a little quiet conversation, very subdued. Not.

We planned on eating as much as possible, as often as possible. We planned on shopping until the credit cards melted. We planned on staying up and staying out and playing and laughing as much as we could in the 24 or so hours we had.

The only problem with that on-the-go scenario is that I had to be in a wheelchair. My mom has a brace on her knee, after injuring herself cleaning house. She’s pretty serious about a clean house. That’s another column entirely. I will say that, after knowing she was hurt, she continued to clean for several more hours. Like any good southern lady, she knows any injury short of death is no excuse for a less than spotless home.

So here we are, my mom limping along with a brace on her leg, me rolling along in a wheelchair, and my sister. Oh, and my son. The wheelchair driver. The 12- year-old wanna be Nascar driver wheelchair navigator. Did I mention it has been suggested that we should come with a warning label?

Logan had to continually reminded to slow down. He wanted to help by pushing me, but his version of slow was our version of very fast. The only threat that seemed to work was for Aunt Teresa to offer to push. Teresa was darting in and out and over and around, trying to take care of all of us.

My idea of looking at something is to read everything on the box, read everything on the other boxes of other brands around it, and then to look at the other items near it and compare them. Logan’s idea of me looking at something was for me to be able to glance at the box and possibly speed read it as he drove me by that particular section. Shopping is not his thing.

We made it through. Little Rock survived, and so did we. We ate as much as possible, as often as possible. I drank really excellent coffee, something that always makes me very happy. I met my niece’s new significant other, and we all stayed up talking so late that my Dad fell asleep on us and Teresa was about asleep between sentences.

It was exactly the weekend I had hoped for, although it might have been easier on Teresa if Mom and I had been a little more mobile. We did manage to get around though. The credit cards coming due in a few weeks will be proof. It was too early for Christmas, but it wasn’t too early to get the holiday started. A little fun, a lot of family, some silliness and some saneness. We didn’t blow anything up, we didn’t shut anything down. We were perfectly safe, with no warnings needed. This time.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Thu, 11 Oct 2007 20:35:09 GMT

The Great Brain Drain Experiment

By the time you read this, I will be in Rochester, Minnesota, preparing for what will be a grueling week of tests and procedures at the Mayo Clinic. I often mention that I go to the Clinic, but I very rarely talk about in depth. If you know me, you already know about it. If you don’t know me, you probably don’t care.

Since this week may very well determine my future, I’m changing my policy of not talking about it. For one thing, this may be the last column you read from me for a few weeks. Depending on what happens, I may not be able to write for a little while. I love writing my columns, and I didn’t want to disappear without an explanation.

It’s a good bit more in-depth, but we are basically going to determine whether or not I am a candidate for brain surgery this week. In the five years I have been sick, surgery has never been an option for me. We were told it couldn’t be done, that it would cause more harm than good. But new technologies have emerged, and now it might be possible. It might not be.

If one surgery is not an option, another surgical procedure might be. So I will spend three days at the Clinic, literally running new tests every few hours, to see what is possible. On Monday, I start at 8 a.m., and have a procedure at 9 a.m. , at 10 a.m. , at 12 p.m., at 2 p.m., and at 3:15 p.m. On Tuesday, the whole thing starts again at 8 a.m., but at least we will have time to eat.

By Thursday, we will know what can and can not be done. The options are: 1) major surgery can be done to repair the damage from the last five years and fix the problem; 2) surgery can be done to help with the ongoing pain but that will not repair any damage and will not fix the problem; or 3) nothing can be done.

Although the thought of major surgery scares me, I really, really hope something can be done. I’m tired of nothing being done, tired of the pain, tired of the waiting. The funny thing is that as long as we knew nothing could be done, we just accepted it and went on with life. Now that we know there might be hope for, if not a cure, then at least a reprieve, it’s almost worse than before.

If the outcome of all the testing is still that nothing has changed and nothing can be done, I think it will be harder to accept, to have hoped and then have that hope yanked away. Then again, we’ve dealt with it for five years, and we will continue to deal with it. After all, what other choice is there?

We determined long ago this illness would not control us, we would control it. It has gotten a little meaner, a little sneakier. It’s playing rougher here lately. But that’s okay, because I’m a fighter too. And what I’m fighting for here is too precious to lose. I’m fighting for my life, for my family, for my husband and my son and their peace of mind. I’m not going to give up. I’m not going to give in. And I am not going to lose. I am not.

If you’ve got any spare prayers laying around, you can send one up north for me and my Mom, who has the fun job of being with me this week. Gary had the bad luck, or perhaps the good luck, of having a business trip to Virginia scheduled through work at the same time I was scheduled to be at the Clinic. If I end up being here longer than we think, he will get his turn baby sitting me too. Besides, someone has to work to pay the bills for all of this fun. Insurance doesn’t cover everything, and insurance certainly doesn’t pay for gas, food, or lodging.

My Dad has Logan. They get along just fine. However, Logan’s teacher could probably use a spare prayer too. Dad doesn’t have any problem feeding Logan pancakes with ice cream and gummy bears on it, then sending him to school. Or letting him drink Mountain Dew. Or letting him stay up late, or any of those other things that can make a child not do well in school the next day. Dad calls it having fun. I call it a nightmare for the teacher.

Many of you have expressed your concern for me, and I can’t tell you how much my family and I appreciate it. I am going to be fine. I really am, no matter what. I am not looking forward to all the needles and other yucky stuff that goes along with having something wrong with your brain, but that’s just part of it. We will get through this, no matter what "this" turns out to be.

I will try to keep you updated on my blog, or if I can’t do the updating I will get Mom to post something. That may be amusing in and of itself. The blog address is http://tena-aroundhere.blogspot.com

I look forward to coming back to this space soon, hopefully with an improved brain. And if not, well, it will just be the same old leaky brained me. But at least I will be back home, in this space where I belong.