I added two pictures to the last blog...

...so you could see Bass Lake and some geese with their babies. So you might want to go back to that post and see those pictures, unless you live here, in which case, you already know what they look like! (To go to a previous post, I think you look over in the right-hand column and click on the title of it--"Saturday Nightness"). I mean, the photos aren't worth your going to much trouble, but if you're terribly bored...

Oh, and Bill went to church this morning!

Saturday Nightness

Nothing major, but a little good, a little bad.

Bill was quite excited about the possibility of going to church tomorrow--me tagging along this time--but as of tonight, he isn't sure he can. He is having an odd bleeding situation and a few other things, the telling of which make neither for comedy nor appetite, so I'll just say he isn't perfect tonight, after a few good days. So not sure about church, unfortunately.

Some good news, though! He seized this beautiful day here (it was windy, sunny, cool, with low humidity all day). He fiddled with Sarah's bike for her (he loves fiddling with bikes), he hit a PERFECT pitching wedge in the backyard (his words; I don't know what "PERFECT pitching wedge" means), he played with the puppies, threw Baby Jack's new toy for him (a gorilla as big as Baby Jack that sings "Hunka Hunka Burnin Love" when you squeeze its hand)(which you do about three times before you throw the happily singing gorilla over a cliff--or wish you could), and...you won't believe this: he WALKED ALL THE WAY AROUND BASS LAKE ONE TIME!

Giddyup, cowboy!

During that walk, at sunset, we saw mallards and their tiny babies following them in the clear water, big geese and their babies, with the sunlight making their baby heads glow like fuzzy yellow halos as they swam west beside us. We saw beavers and dams, and a woodchuck, two newborn calves and their parents, and all kinds of dogs being walked. (As I'm typing this, the wind is ROARING outside our lil cabin!)

Oh, and he ate his supper! He had beef stroganoff--big on the noodles, small on the meat--and for dessert, I made him and Sarah home-made zucchini cake. Never tried doing that before. Man, do you realize there are THREE whole zucchinis in one of those things? That has to be kinda good for you, in a not-good-for-you way.

(Just now, Sarah walked in and she was calling us by saying, "Parents?" which made me laugh. "Parents?" Anyhow, she just showed us her brand new music video of herself singing one of her songs, and it's going to be on Fuse.TV. That was kind of a bonus to a great day.)

So yeah. Kind of a wish-I-could-send-some-helium-balloons-skyward-carrying-little-notes-that-said-Thanks, God-for-these-great-days-even-with-the-glitches.

Love,

The Wranglin' Bronco Drennans

Ain't Finished Keeping the Blog...

I didn't really think I could stop writing the blog. So it's coming back.

You MUST read Bill's post, though, from May 5th. It's amazing.

If I can get him to agree, we can both write. He is obviously a thousand times better than I am at writing, but I can at least keep it going between his momentes de inspirazion.

Ready for how good he feels today????? HE IS OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW PAINTING THE FENCE!

Shock theater.

And for dinner last night, he ate chicken parmesan with rotini AND strawberry shortcake for dessert!

And this Sunday, he thinks he can go to church!

Moment of Wow.

OTHER THAN THAT, MRS. LINCOLN...

Hi, folks. Bill here.

Yeah, now that Beth's blog seems to be in a death spiral (gee, I hope that sort of thing isn't catching), the voice of the patient is at last heard in the land.

And true it is that my beloved bride and I do see what went down in Durham yesterday somewhat differently. And it's true that I may be guilty of a "rosiness" born of self-willed ignorance.

But you need to know my starting point. I've been feeling so miserable since the operation that I foresaw my conversation with His Bladderwocky, M.D., going something like this:

His Bladderwocky [HB]: "Mr. Drennan, if you have contemplated purchasing some green bananas, I would heartily seek to dissuade you from an act so rash. As Elin told Tiger, it is time to put your affairs in order."

Me: "You mean, Doc . . . ."

HB: "I mean, realistically, that you enjoy the life expectancy of an off-brand Bulgarian water heater. Eschew, therefore, any investment in long-term junk bonds."

But that's not what happened. Quite. Here's my spin:

Post-operation, I currently harbor no macroscopic (i.e., visible-to-the-eye) cancers, and I take that fact as a plus. True, there's little doubt that now, even now, countless legions of microscopic (i.e., invisible) cancer bugs are coursing their way through my system, the original mass having penetrated the bladder wall and sprouted, inter alia, on a couple of lymph nodes. (Imagine a small child blowing on the dessicated bloom of a long-dead dandelion and the resultant shower of dead-white dandelion dander drifting along the summer zephyrs; metaphorically speaking, I think that's probably what's going on inside me just now. But at least the dandelions themselves are gone. For now.)

Moreover, I'm feeling better and stronger day by day now, something that hadn't been true heretofore. It turns out that all the post-op misery was not caused by either anemia or by my illness itself, but rather by the (predictable) rigors of surviving, at my age, a twelve-hour, open-body procedure.

On the downside, that four months of chemo seems not to have been efficacious in terms of containing my cancer. Rats. His Bladderwocky promises to try a new chemical mix if and when (when, probably) the disease crops up again in a meaningful way.

Finally, there's this: Is it possible, after eight or nine months of periodic suffering (not to go into self-serving detail), that the mere act of breathing in and out is a less precious enterprise to me than it once was? Yeah, that's possible. I read just the other day that there's a new treatment for prostate cancer; it costs millions of dollars, features a boatload of horrendous side effects, and increases life expectancy, on average, four-point-three *months*. Medicare is all set to approve this procedure, as are most insurance companies. Me, I wanted to laugh out loud. I can't tell you how much more I'd rather be holding the hand of Jesus for those four-point-three months than lingering around this shooting match we call life, sweet as it often is . . . .

Last word: Beth's blog has harbored many virtues, many of them reflective of the woman herself. But selfishly speaking, its greatest value to me has been to reveal the depth and breadth of how much (and how many) people out there--I mean you, dear reader--have chosen, unaccountably, to care about our recent trials. O God, my God, I have learned much in my illness (Flannery O'Connor points out that a lingering malady is a great blessing from the Almighty), and one of the things is this: y'all are amazing. I am overcome by your kindness, by your love.

That's all for now. Whether or not the blog continues (and whether or not *I* do), we'll see. In the meantime, know that I love you all, however inadequately. In the off chance that I see Jesus before you do, I'll definitely be putting in a good word for you. Promise.

Love,
Bill

Warning: ascerbic-ness levels too high in below post

Bill has lovingly advised me that the level of ascerbic-ness in the below post might POSSIBLY exceed the recommended daily requirement.

Oops.

So, knowing that some people find ascerbic-ness humorous and some offensive, figger out which camp yer pony's in and do or don't read that post down there.

I meant it to be funny, so really, I DO apologize if it's too astringent.

The Possibly Bad Cowgirl

Possible/probable end of Beth's blogging...

Hey all,

Beth, here. This isn't the update. That will come this afternoon from Bill.

This is just me saying that...at least for now...I won't be writing this blog any more. [Caveat: I often say I'm not going to talk any more, only to start back up within mere hours, so unless there is new kind of duct tape that works on my mouth, don't entirely believe that my silence is forever.]

It's just because...and I'm sure this is common....when two partners/old married codgers are going through a Big Experience, and they have polar opposite ways of dealing with it...only one of them should be publicly reporting the story line. And that should be the one who wants to see things "in a light most favorable to the plaintiff." hahah Had to bust out that stupid lawyer language--even though, actually, that line didn't really make my point. I just wrote it because it popped into my head. Wait, maybe it DID make my point. Must drink more coffee and think.

What I mean is: the partner (podnuh in cowboy parlance, I guess) who see things rosiest should write the blog.

Okay, here's an illustrative maxim invented by me on the spot just now: Tis better to preserve a rosy view by silence, than to air a poopy view by kvetching.

As for emails: If anyone has an email inquiry about Bill's condition, please direct it to Bill. Unless you want to hear the negative version. In that case, direct it to me.

Allrighty, then.

Bill's debut into the blog-arena will occur sometime today. Blogutante Ball.

"My blog report is not going to be as optimistic as you think it's going to be," he told me.

Then he added, "But compared to what I thought I was facing, it's a wonderful outcome."

And I'm thankful to God he feels optimistic. Optimism alone can be healing. I know that!

There there's this:

Hours spent by Bill learning about his status and treatment options: Zero.

Hours spent by Beth learning about Bill's status and treatment options: Five hundred million thousand billion.

Alllllllllllllllllllllllllrighty, then.......

Hmmmm....

It was a 12-hour day for us, and even longer for the angel friend who drove here from Jefferson to pick us up and take us to Duke, then return us!

The results were far from clear. In fact, Bill and our friend heard it one way, and I heard it another way. And never the twain opinions shall meet.

So.

What to do about reporting it here.....

I guess that tomorrow morning, I will get out my nearly verbatim notes that I always take when the doctor talks, and I will tell you what he said, and you can draw your own conclusions.

One thing is for sure: it was either great news or terrible news!

Sorry to make you wait, but no way can I get it into writing tonight. We are exhausted, and, frankly, I need about 12 hours to think of how to present what the doctor said, given the weirdness of interpreting it.

Sweet dreams, love, and thanks for your prayers.

Tuesday: Duke Day

We're leaving very early. Bill will have some tests at Duke, then we talk to the doctor at 1:30. (Which translates to 3 pm for Dr. Blad. Here I go griping again, but he has made us wait in the exam room--not the waiting room, but the exam room--for 90 minutes--twice--with no explanation or apology either time. Gripe, gripe, gripe.)

Thereafter...I don't think there's any way I can post an update till we get home.

So till tonight!

Love and blessings.

HE DROVE. . .

. . . HIS CAR!

To the post office!

Is this progress, or what!?!??!?!?!?!

Cowboy Dinner

He ate!

Alright, he didn't eat what's shown in that photo, exactly, but he ate an actual meal for the first time last night!

HOORAY!

He had home-made BBQ chicken (see? we're TRYING here!) and baked beans and brown rice (brown rice = we sneaked in some health food) and he even ate a piece of home-made carrot cake (even the cake involved subterfuge, as it was loaded with shredded carrots).

Milestone.