Hi, all! 

It seems like a very long time since I’ve updated these journal pages, and a comment made by my cousin “…since I had not heard from you in so long, I just knew you were in very poor health” brought to mind the realization that I have been neglectful of all of you.  Hopefully, when I explain, you will understand.

^{By the time July rolled around this year I was beginning to feel well.  It was wonderful!  We spent the 4th of July down on the Klamath River in California, with Jim trying out his new dredge, and Missy (our cat) and I lolling around the campsite. On our return, on the 10th of July I had a very, very simple surgery; a matter of no more than taking a very few stitches.  Since it had been nine months since I’d finished Chemotherapy, the doctors (my oncologist and my gynecologist), and Jim and I, all felt this should not be a problem.} 

After the minor surgery, I was told to stay in bed, or on the couch, in a reclining position, to keep pressure off the surgery, and to aid in healing.  I was to see the doctor again in 3 weeks.  At that time she said it would be awhile yet, and to “give it another month…”  That quote was repeated again, and again. Although I was able to prevent any infection, my blood vessels had definitely not recovered from the chemo, and were not working properly, so the recovery period lengthened out until it took almost four months to heal those few stitches!  

You cannot lie around for that long, at my age anyway, without serious repercussions to your body; I can attest to that fact.  The doctor said I had become “somewhat frail.” Ha!  That is really an optimistic opinion.  I could hardly walk.  My muscle tone, never any great shakes, and already compromised from the past two years, was gone.  My skin wrinkled and leathered, and I was as weak as a kitten.  Finally, a couple of weeks before my last appointment, I could not stand it any longer.  

Over the summer months it was necessary to open windows each day.  That allowed the nice summer breezes we get here each afternoon, to circulate through the house.  Unfortunately, they brought a whole lot of Oregon real estate (dirt and dust) with them.  Jim was working long hours renovating another house we bought, and since I couldn’t do anything, it piled up to the point where we tiptoed through the house, trying desperately not to disturb it on any surface.  We tried to keep up, after a fashion, the few rooms we used the most.  The rest became a dust bowl.  We were not able to do any painting on the house, I could not make window treatments with the fabric I’d bought just before the surgery… the house still sits as it was when we plopped into it, almost a year ago.  

We came by a load of river rocks (free) and got a neighbor to bring them here, and put them into the back yard where I directed, to make a streambed.  They still sit out there, all piled up, waiting to be formed into the streambed.  Our soil here (if you call it that) is solid pumice, and has to be heavily amended to plant, so I got nothing planted this summer, other than a couple of native plants.  

I had projects lined up from wall to wall in my sewing/project room, and they still sit there gathering dust.  

I did not hear from anyone, because I could not sit at the computer, so I could not write to anyone.  I remained, as I have for two years now, a recluse, not going into public, because it was obvious my auto-immune system was still hampered by the chemo.  I have done no shopping, and have not been out of the house except for doctor visits.  

When I saw the gynecologist for the last time, she said I had healed, and could resume activity.  And, despite our fears, because of the long recovery, the surgery was a success, and I have been able to sit, stand, and walk around, just like a real human being… what a treat!  You just have no idea.  

And…. I had more than 1,000 emails in my in-box.  Jim was checking it for me about once a week when I was down.  A daunting amount. 

The first order of business was getting some kind of order into the house, especially in the kitchen, and I tackled several things that had not been done properly since moving in (namely organizing the pantry and refrigerator).  It was a busy, mixed-up year, especially with the illness and subsequent death of my mother in the first few months, and traveling back and forth between here and southern California, a full two-day trip each way.  

By that time Jim was finally done with the other house (it looks great!), and could help.  I was on a self-imposed regimen designed to increase strength and stamina, and to accommodate the random problems I was still having.  I am still on this regimen, and vary my activities throughout the day to keep from doing too much (that creates problems in my condition), provide time for all types of activities, and allow for the feeling of accomplishment of getting things that have been really bothering me, taken care of.  This was working pretty well, although I get very frustrated at how slowly things go.  It seems to take me forever to do anything now, but it is getting better.  Each day I try to discipline myself to not go all-out on one thing (which is what I’d like to do), so that there will be improvement in all areas, each day.  

After just a week or so of this, I had a big realization.  It suddenly dawned on me that inside, I felt WELL.  I felt well such as I have not felt for… I don’t know how many years, but it has been a great while.  And, it began to show.  My natural enthusiasm was back, even if I didn’t have the energy to work on it as I wanted.  Everyone I communicated with, commented on it.  At that time it also occurred to me that except for my “writings” done prior to leaving California six years ago, no one that I’ve met in all that time, really knows me, because I have not really been myself.  Something in me retreated when I became ill, way before I knew why I was ill, and whatever held it inside me has just now suddenly disappeared.  

I am NOT cured of cancer.  There is no cure of cancer unless they can surgically remove it.  When I first saw my oncologist again, here in Oregon (I was under treatment with him twice in the past two years), he took x-rays.  This was in early March of this year.  He compared them to the ones he’d taken before, and it was amazing.  All that was left was a small “shadow” or light imprint of the central location of my former tumor.  He did not know if what we were seeing was scar tissue, or live cells; repeat film is used to confirm this.  I did have two more x-rays in the spring, but the last was done in May.  There was no visible change.  

I saw my oncologist yesterday for the first time since May.  I really should have been going once a month, but delayed because of the bed rest.  Consequently, Jim and I had a little concern about what we’d see. And, the doctor was a little concerned, also.  Lung cancer is well known for returning.  The doctor listened to my chest and lungs for so long yesterday that I began growing apprehensive about what he was listening to.  But when he finished, he announced that my lungs sounded absolutely wonderful!  

When we saw the x-rays a little later we were jubilant, and very, very thankful.  The Lord has been soooo good to us!  There was a marked improvement in the “shadow,” that could only mean that there are no active cancer cells in that area.   

Now, before you get all excited, that does not mean that I do not have cancer elsewhere in my body; it also does not mean that cancer could not begin again today, or tomorrow, or whenever.  Lung cancer is well known for all that.  

I believe the most important one thing (well, two actually) I’ve become aware of, through this ordeal, is that we have no guarantees. Each of us (not only me) has no more than this moment, guaranteed.  That’s why it is so important that we live each day not only as if it were our last, but perhaps more importantly, that we look at the way we’ve been doing things, and address the things we’d want to leave “done” if something happened to us.  I, for one, have put many things off that are emotionally difficult to do, or not pleasant to think of, or whatever.  If you once begin to think of what it would be like for your spouse, your children, or whoever it would be in your family to take charge if you were suddenly incapacitated, or not there, and what they’d have to go through to straighten out your affairs, it would give you a different perspective, and I can guarantee that.  

And what are you leaving your family with?  Have you thought of that?  I don’t mean in terms of money (probably because I have none to leave), but there are many legacies we can leave with our children.  With my mother and grandmother, it was the antiques they spent years collecting, and wanted them to stay in the family.  For me, as the “family record keeper, storyteller and family member repository, I feel obligated to make our family records as thorough as I can, and to leave them with the best legacy of that kind that I can.  An important part of being a family is to preserve the family, as well as you can, through memories, tributes and memorabilia.  

Ooops, there is a third thing that just came to mind; that was a hard lesson for me to learn, and I still have some problems with it from time to time.  

The second important thing, of course, is that we do not have any ultimate control over our lives, they are in the hands of the Lord, and it is He who deserves our thanks for that, every day.  

Jim and I can no longer take each day that we arise for granted, and we are very aware of all the things we should be (and are) thankful for, and we do thank the Lord daily for as many as we can remember; beginning with being thankful for waking up alive, first.  The power of prayer has been brought home to me time after time after time, and all this, as bad as it has been, has made me aware that I have been tremendously blessed.  All I have to do is to look around me to see how much better off than many, many others I have been, to know this, and to be thankful for it.  

So, for today I feel wonderful.  I feel thankful, and I feel happy.  It is such a pleasure to be able to do things again!  All my life I have kept very busy, working on many projects at the same time, and to have it all come to a halt was another blow that made things difficult for me.  I am so grateful to be able to do things again, and wish I could work on them all, all at once.   

The third most important thing I’ve learned?  That is patience, and there is nothing like being deathly ill to help you learn patience.  I used to be a very impatient person at times.  I felt, many times, after I became a Christian, that the Lord must surely have felt like doing as my grandmother did when I was a child, and was naughty.  

Although people “spanked” their children to discipline them in those days (and you were felt to be remiss in your duties as a parent if you did not… how were children to learn, otherwise?), she never spanked her grandchildren, but she cared for us a lot of the time when we were very small.  Although I was not a disobedient child, there were times…  She always wore a large apron, and in the voluminous pockets that covered the front of them resided a silver thimble, always, since she did a lot of sewing and mending.  If she were very disapproving or disappointed, the thimble would magically (it seemed at the time) appear on her finger, and she would “tap-tap-tap” you on the head to signify her displeasure and disappointment.  

As I struggled with impatience, and neglected to turn to the Lord for help in times of need, I felt He must have grown very exasperated with me.  In the end, however, I have learned a measure of patience I never had in my life before, and it has surprised me that I am now able to be so patient.  It is all a matter of “giving.”  Giving all my problems to the Lord in my mind and in my heart.  After all, He is in control, and it is His wish that we give all our problems to Him and lean on Him as needed.  It brings a great feeling of peace to me when I can successfully do this.  I know that whatever it is, He will take care of it in His way, in His time, and all I have to do is to have faith.  Who could not have faith when they have faced what seemed like a death sentence, and he has brought them through the valley of the shadow of death?  If I died today, or tomorrow, or whenever, I have already had two years… more than 700 days of life since I received that sentence, and I owe every single one of those days to the Lord.  

I feel so good right now, it is difficult to think of the way I have felt this past two years, and the four previous years when we did not know what was wrong, but I don’t want to forget it.  At that time I could hardly remember what it felt like to be well.  I was very ashamed and sorry I had always taken my health for granted.  And, I had been very healthy all my life, until seven years ago.  

For five long years I suffered worsening health.  I had no symptoms of cancer, but my immune system was affected, causing very bizarre reactions to allergies I had never had before.  When I was eventually tested by an allergy doctor, results showed only mild allergies to things that were making me very ill.  The answer I was given was one I’ve received from other doctors, and still hate hearing it.  The answer was “This happens sometimes with women of ‘your age’ without reason, and nothing can be done about it.”  And with that he washed his hands of me.  I think that if I run into one more doctor who tells me that, he might rue the day.  

Those allergy tests were done approximately four years ago, after I finally found a doctor who was recommended to me by a nursing friend in Alaska.  I had stayed with Jim’s family doctor prior to that (supposedly he’s an internal medicine specialist), even though I was very disappointed in him.  He never touched me with his hands the entire four years I went to him, meaning he never examined me, at all.  He did not order a physical, he did not do anything to discover the cause of my problems, preferring to think that “hormones” were my main problem.  The newly recommended doctor is now in private practice in Fairbanks, or was a year ago, and his name is Dr. Nick Sarrimanolis. He is an excellent diagnostician, and he will relentlessly track down the cause of a problem.  He’s a good doctor, and they are not too common in that area, from what I hear.   

Dr. Nick is the doctor who discovered I had cancer.  He talked to me a lot and he listened a lot.  He would then act, trying to discover the cause of the problems, not just treating the symptoms manifested by the cause.  

Another important thing I discovered during this trial.  As I said, I have always been a healthy person, except for some allergy problems (normal ones).  And, when I went to the doctor for some reason, I left it up to the doctor to decide what should be done, and that’s what we did.  Of course, that was in a rural area, in a rapidly changing world, for the most part.  

Shortly after I began cancer treatment I was told by my oncologists (here and in Alaska) that it was important for me to understand that my health, and what happened to my body, was MY responsibility, not anyone else’s, and if something got pushed aside, forgotten, or whatever, it was up to me to see that things were taken care of correctly.  I, and I alone, was responsible for seeing that I received the best care.  

Each of them made it clear that they would do all they could, but that they operated under long hours, too many patients and too much to do, and although they both had hand-picked staff that were good, sometimes things happened.  I needed to let them know, in this case. It was not their responsibility to find the discrepancy, they were not able to perform that function.  

What they did do, and both of them were and are, excellent physicians, was to go over my illness with me, speaking plainly and telling me what they considered “all” that there was to tell.  They carefully and thoroughly described my condition and all of my options, in every instance, and while they might venture an opinion if they felt strongly about something, there was not one time when they did not leave the decision-making entirely up to Jim and I.  On the one hand, this was very good, and we appreciated it; on the other, it was an extremely scary proposition; after all, they are the ones with all the training, and all the information… you do not know what they are not telling you, either on purpose, or because they don’t communicate that well, or because there are some things that they know because of their training and experience that they simply don’t consciously think of.  The first few times we were faced with this decision-making, we really felt pressured.  

What if we made a mistake?  This was my very life we were talking about, here.  However, we learned to face it more easily with further questioning of them to help us with that decision.  We’d ask them for their opinion, and after they gave it, we would question them further as to their reasons for that decision, which would then bring forward information that we had not previously known.  Most of the time we concurred with their decisions; however, there were times we did not, and they accepted that.  

There are terrible anxieties associated with making decisions such as this… what if you are wrong?  And, in one instance, I saw them (doctors) going through the same thing.  When we first evaluated my cancer, they said it had probably been growing about five years in my lung, very slowly.  However, it had grown to be quite large, and they did not want to do surgery until it had been treated first, to shrink it. At the time I didn’t know enough to find out what that was based on, but everyone had that opinion, so it seemed the right thing to do, and now I agree with that.  The cancer had had a good long time to do things to my body, and the effects were clear in the bizarre things that were happening to me.  They did not want to do a surgery I would not live through, and there were other considerations.  They were suspicious of some of the lymph nodes near the heart, located in the center, but stemming from both lungs (this is my purely unprofessional remembrance of what was told to me, and may not be entirely accurate). It is here that it would likely spread from one lung to the other, and without doing a biopsy requiring a fairly complicated surgery (they had to go down right in front of the esophagus, and right behind the heart, or vice versa), a heart specialist was recommended.  The one selected did not want to perform the surgery at that time either, based on tests they did, so we began treatment.  

No two bodies are the same, and the weakened condition of mine probably contributed to the slow response in slowing the growth, and growth reversal, of my tumor.  I had two different rounds of treatment, and the results were still not as hoped by the time surgery was planned.  We did a lot of tests to try to get a better picture of how my body would react to the long surgery required, and went forth with the plans for surgery.  They continued to meet and discuss, test, and discuss further (you can imagine how much fun this was for us), right up to the day of surgery.  We went to the hospital, knowing that they would have some final results that morning of tests, and were meeting, as we went through registration as a patient, and entered the hospital.  They asked me all the questions, they did the paperwork and put a couple of bracelets on my arm, and we were taken to the pre-op ward, when the nurse got a message, and left us waiting in a room.  When she came back she said that my doctors would be in shortly, and we waited, and prayed.  At this point I didn’t know what I wanted, and I’m sure Jim felt the same way, but with all the uncertainty, I was not feeling good about this at all.  

When the doctor (my heart specialist) arrived he talked to us, going over their latest discussions together, and said he regretfully had to recommend against the surgery.  This is perhaps a more important decision for a cancer patient than most, because surgery is the only sure cure for cancer.  It can be treated and perhaps it will go away and stay there.  If they can do surgery, see it and remove it, then they know it is gone, and you can have a sure cure.  

I can only say that at this point we were sure that this was God’s hand, and that He meant it to be, and we accepted it as such.  

I had left Alaska and come to Oregon for the surgery (May 2003), and was here a month.  After their decision we returned home to Alaska and I met with my oncologist to map out a more aggressive attack on my tumor.  While they had treated it aggressively from the first, they had held back some, trying to keep my body in shape to undergo surgery.  Now that surgery was no longer an issue, my doctor wanted to schedule me for a treatment of a specific chemo, and then do a round of 37 radiation treatments, one a day (five days a week), with chemo treatments done concurrently.  We agreed to it.  We wanted to treat it as aggressively as we could, without killing me.  

So, we did that, making the trip 30 miles into town, and 30 miles home again, every day for almost two months, due to a holiday weekend.  When that was through, although radiation effects are delayed, the results from the chemo were still not what they wanted.  They had attacked it quickly, because it was nearing the sidewall of my lung, and according to the doctor, that is when pain worsens, and the nearer it gets to the outer wall, the worse it gets.  Thankfully, that was averted.   

Next, he proposed a very aggressive chemo, one that I’ve heard is the worst (from patients).  I agreed, and we began this, the last round of my treatment.  I had been blessed prior to this, doing much better than they predicted with each round.  This one, however, on top of all the other chemo, and the radiation, really hit me hard.  It was all the horror stories of chemo, and we were trying to get our house ready to sell, Jim was retiring, and plans were to leave Alaska (driving out) just two weeks after I was to finish my final dose.  

Four weeks prior to that I became so ill the doctor told me to take two weeks to give my body a chance to recover some, from the treatments, before taking the final two doses.  After two weeks my symptoms were still very bad, and I had to have some shots to control diarrhea, and I was still having to take medication to control some of the vomiting.  So, the doctor cancelled the last two treatments.  If I had taken them, I’d have finished just two days before we were to leave, and I know now that I would not have been able, physically, to do that.  I’d have been stuck in Alaska throughout winter, and I’d not have had the time I was able to spend with my mother, before her death. For all that I am very thankful to the Lord, and for making the treatment that I did have, strong enough to kill the tumor.  

I have more to tell, but will put it on another page, as this one seems to have “got away” from me.

Marcie Foley
Central Oregon
November 2004

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