Ageless Passions by Karen Putz

Tag: cancer

  • Missin Dad, One Year Later

    Hard to believe that a whole year flew by. Today was a great day, bittersweet with memories. I woke up to a beautiful sunrise:

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    In one of the last few conversations with Dad I told him to send me some glass calm water. On the day he passed away and the day of his funeral, the water on Christie Lake remained calm all day long. And this week, The water was rough all week long. But today, it was calm all day long.

    Later in the morning, a red-winged blackbird landed on the bird feeder:

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    We ended the day with a trip to the cemetery and each of us shared a favorite memory. We had some good laughs as we recalled our stories. My own favorite memory was of the one and only time that my Dad waterskied around the lake. My kids were surprised, as that was something they never knew about their grandpa.

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  • Dad’s Cancer Journey

    Cancer is a crappy disease.  Just saying.

    My latest TribLocal article is a story about meeting Pat Becker this summer.  Pat is the sister of Joann O’Connor, the gal that I barefooted with in Wisconsin this summer.  Pat and Joann are tough gals.  Joann can tear up the water on her bare feet and she has me in awe every time I watch her footin’. 

    Pat was diagnosed with cancer and given a few months to live.  Her family prepared for the day that they thought they were going to lose her.  That was sixteen years ago.  Pat endured 132 chemotherapy treatments and she managed to kick the cancer on its rear end.   Pat inspires my Dad to keep going every day.  Everyone needs a “Pat” on their cancer journey.   Thanks, Pat, for reaching out to my Dad.

    Read more:  Finding Support for Cancer

  • Hey, Slow It Down, Girl

    Every once in a while, life hands over a slap upside the head.  This weekend was one of those moments when life said, “Hey, slow it down, girl.”

    I left for Michigan with the boys in tow.  Lauren was down in Texas with Sarah and Joe was still working.  The boys let me enjoy my mellow music on the way up while they buried their heads in the laptop.  There wasn’t much talking on the way up, we were decompressing from a busy week.  Heck, make that a busy summer.  The kids were off in three directions most of the time with Mom on a plane the other half of the time.  I vaguely remembered a husband somewhere in all this.

    On the way up, I thought about my Dad and the ups and downs since his diagnosis of esophageal cancer last summer.  Last November, we celebrated with good news:  Dad had kicked the cancer on its rear end.

    A few weeks ago, he found a new lump.  At first, the doctor wasn’t too concerned, he figured it was benign.  Dad went for a PET scan and he was waiting for the results the morning we arrived.

    Dad was sitting in his chair when we arrived and after a hug, we cut to the chase.  “Well, the results aren’t good,” Dad said.  “The tests show that the cancer is back and one tumor is heading toward the lungs.  But the good news is, it’s still small.”

    So another round of chemo is coming up and Dad is determined to extend another kick into cancer’s rear end.  I’m buoyed by his optimism and his outlook and I know he has the strength to withstand anything.  The other tough blow over the weekend was the news that both of my brother’s have Barrett’s, which means they’re at an increased risk, but with diet, exercise and monitoring, they can kick this too.

    All of this which had me thinking about how life goes by crazy fast– and I thought back to a friend’s recent remark about how I seemed to have it all together and have achieved a balanced life. “You need to teach me how you are able to travel, write a book, go barefooting with the world’s champions, and advocate for causes to change the world for the better,” she wrote.

    After laughing hysterically, I informed her that my life was actually an unbalanced washing machine on a lopsided spin cycle.

    So every now and then, when life slaps us upside the head, that’s when we slow down and pay attention to the stuff that matters:  the relationships we have with those around us and the stuff that brings us joy instead of sorrow.   One friend reminded me to celebrate the fact that we were given a gift of time since Dad’s diagnosis last year.  So I’m thankful that I get to wrap my arms around my parents each time I visit them.

    So, over the weekend, I slowed it down.  I bonded with the boys as we floated in the lake after tubing.  I went shopping with my Mom, sis and a neighbor and we gathered some healthy food for the weekend.  I watched Two and Half Men with Dad and told him about my barefooting and wakeboarding adventures of the day.

    Don’t wait for life to slap you upside the head.

  • Dad Beats Cancer!

    We were standing at the edge of the pier, looking at the water that lapped over the brick wall in front of my parent’s house.   The lake water was at a record high and it threatened to creep into the crawlspace if it rose any higher.  Every day, Dad was climbing down the rickety crates that formed a makeshift staircase into the crawl space to check on the sump pump.  Some of the neighbor’s homes had water in them.  He was doing everything he could to keep the water from coming into the house.

    “It’s been a shitty summer,” my Dad murmured. He gazed at the flagpole, which was surrounded by water.  The brick wall around that area was nowhere to be seen.

    Shitty summer.

    The flooded lake.  The cancer.

    Dad was in the middle of his six-week regime of grueling cancer treatment: five days of radiation followed by chemotherapy inserted into his port.  The rest of us stood by helpless as we watch the pounds slip away.  The tumor that blocked his esophagus made it increasingly harder for him to swallow any food.  By Labor Day weekend, he was sleeping all day and all night.  He could no longer get any food down and was only taking tiny sips of water.

    I fought back the panic all weekend.  I was terrified.  I didn’t want to entertain the possibility that he might not get better.  So I asked him to start thinking about where he wanted to go after he got well.  He looked at me with a little bit of surprise–why the hell was I talking about taking a trip when he was so sick and we didn’t even know what the prognosis was?  I didn’t care if I was being a Pollyanna about the whole thing.  So we talked about Yellowstone and the logistics of getting there and what to see.

    By Labor Day, I tried to convince him to call the doctor and request a feeding tube.  Being the strong, stubborn WWII vet that he is, he insisted that he didn’t want to bother the doctor on a holiday.

    “Promise you’ll call him tomorrow?” I asked before I got in the car to head home.

    “Yea, I’ll call him.”

    He finally obtained the feeding tube toward the end of the week.  Rather than getting better, he continued to decline as the effects of the chemo still barreled on.  He still could not eat and that worried me.

    “Don’t you think he would be able to eat by now if the chemo and radiation worked?” I speculated with my sister.  Naturally, we feared the worse.  Sixty seven pounds had melted off my Dad’s frame and he hardly moved from the living room chair.

    Dad was scheduled for a PET scan last week to determine if the tumor was still growing or if it had responded to treatment.

    We all held our breath.

    My mother sent an email.

    “Good News!!!” was in the subject line.  I just looked at the subject line and started to cry.

    “Just got back from the doctor,” Mom wrote. “The cancer cells are dead. He goes back for a checkup in three months.  This is such great news!”

    So, Dad, where did you say you wanted to travel to again?

  • Life Takes a Crazy Turn

    My dad was diagnosed with cancer while I was out in Vegas– this time it’s a lot more serious.  He battled cancer a few years back and knocked it out.  This time it’s back, in the esophagus.  We were sitting around on Memorial Day weekend and he mentioned that he couldn’t swallow too well and didn’t have much of an appetite.  My first thought of course, was cancer and I told him so– I wanted to make sure that he went to the doctor and got it checked out.

    Dad starts radiation on Monday to shrink the son-of-a-%$#*.

    Send some shrinking prayers our way.

  • Uncovering Written Memories

    I was going through a pile of papers and the hand-written essay caught my eye.  It was an essay written during my freshmen year at a local community college.   I sat down to read it and was instantly transported back in time.  I received an “A” on this essay, probably not so much for how it was written (because I see many mistakes and ways it could be written differently) but more for the story it shared:

    Even now, seven years later, I can still remember the first time I met Mike.  I was eleven years old when we drove up to our newly bought cottage.  As we settled down, a slightly balding man walked over and introduced himself as Mike.  That was the beginning of a special friendship that was rather slow in forming [at first].

    I cannot remember much of the first four years.  I was a very shy girl then, but Mike’s friendliness won me me over.  I was like a turtle, coming out of my shell when Mike was around.

    The shell really broke when I began to show a serious interest in [water]skiing.  Mike’s son used to waterski competitevely and Mike used his knowledge to encourage me.  He gave me the encouragement that I wanted so much from my own parents.

    He taught me a card game called “Casino” and we spent many a time together winning and losing to each other.  He was dubbed “The Champ,” and whenever I would win a game, I would  [strut around and] call myself, “The Champ.”  But never for long, because he would win back the title in the next game.

    Mike had a great sense of humor.  I always remember summers full of laughter around him.  He would put on airs of a big-time gambler, strutting around wearing his favorite hat from Las Vegas.  The expressions he used, his movements, never failed to bring out a laugh.

    There was a serious side to him.   Family bickerings always clouded his face.  He never let anyone know what he was thinking or how he really felt during those days.

    This summer, Mike got sick.  I hardly saw him during the summer.  No one knew it was serious until his son-in-law told us that Mike had cancer.  I was stunned.

    A few weeks after I found out, I went to see Mike in his office.  I was shocked, for he had grown thin and pale.  It was the first time that I realized he was not going to get better.  It was the last time I saw him.

    Mike died last week and I lost a very special friend.  As I sat in the church at his funeral, I thought of the good times and the bad times.   I replayed his smile, his laugh, and all the scenes of summer that came to my mind.  One particular scene stands out:

    I remember him standing under the maple tree and telling me that I was going to be the first girl to barefoot (waterski on my bare feet) on Christie Lake.  I laughed at him then.  Early this summer, I did it–but Mike was not around to share the glory [that first time].  When he finally came to the lake for a short visit, he sat in the boat and saw me barefoot.  I’ll never forget the proud look on his face.  That was the best memory Mike could have given me.

    Karen and Mike
    Karen barefooting

                       

  • A Mother’s Journey, And a Final Goodbye

    It was one of those evenings. 

    Ants had gotten into the kitchen and were serving themselves dinner on the crumbs of food that the kids had left on the counter earlier in the day.   I was filling out the school registration forms in triplicate and trying to figure out the best pay period to submit the check to cover the cost of the fees and still have enough money left over to cover the license plate fees.  The kids were complaining that they had nothing to do.  I sat there frustrated, because there was so much to do and I didn’t know which item to tackle first. 

    I went into the den to sit down and submit an article that was due and discovered that the computer wouldn’t turn on.  I unplugged it, fiddled with all the wires and plugged it back in. 

    Nothing. 

    Out of frustration, I slammed my hand down on the on/off switch.

    Nothing.

    I unplugged every wire, grabbed the computer and headed over to Geek Squad.  The technician plugged it in and it worked just fine over there.  I came home and hooked it back up– it worked.

    With a sigh, I signed into Twitter and decided to catch up with some conversations. I wasn’t ready to face the work that I needed to do.  I came across this Tweet by Guy Kawasaki:

    The link is to a slideshow of a mother and her son and a journey with cancer. Take a moment to experience it (it is captioned):

    A Mother’s Journey.

    I sat there and I cried.

    What I had been feeling tonight was little stuff; what this mother has gone through is huge.

    And sadly, this brought back memories of Tod Morris, a friend who passed away from cancer very suddenly. You can read Tod’s story here: In Memory of Tod Morris.

    So I’m taking a moment to feel that mother’s pain in losing her child and then I’m going to reach out and embrace my kids. 

    The little stuff can wait.