Thursday, January 6, 2022

Ten years ago today I received a phone call from my doctor confirming my initial diagnosis of cancer—stage 2.  Little did I realize it would metastasize eighteen months later to a terminal disease.  Ten years of living with cancer taking endless pills, all the side effects from chemotherapy and getting zapped from radiation and I’m still here.  No wonder I am bald, out of shape and hanging on to life by my fingertips.  This disease is relentless... and life changing.  

For ten years my devoted husband (BHE) has been by my side managing everything from pill taking to scheduling numerous appointments to cooking me healthy meals and so on and on and on.  I was lucky to find this gem forty-three years ago.

What have I learned after all these years?  Treasure every single day because they are fleeting.  Cherish your family--that's all that needs to be said. Friends are the glue that have kept me together through these years.  Make sure they know. Writing memories has given me a chance to leave a bit of history about what life was like when I was growing up.   

Ten years means there were many good days and bad.  I like to think I am more the uplifting Winnie the Pooh instead of the complaining Eyore, but you should check with BHE because he certainly would tell you.

Yes, ten years is quite the milestone, and thanks to the expert researchers at the UW Carbone Cancer Center, I plan on writing again on my twentieth anniversary!

Friday, September 25, 2020

# 590 The Ride of a Lifetime

Chance, the wonder horse

 I don't necessarily enjoy surprises. In fact I usually manage to solve the mystery on my own given enough time and thought. A master sleuth I like to think of myself. 

Case in point, while having a conversation over the phone with my daughter a few months ago I had the inkling that she was hiding something from me.  After a few questions the nosy mom in me blurted out, "Are you pregnant?"  There was a brief pause and then an exclamation, "How did you know, Mother?"  They had planned on telling us in person that weekend. Chalk up another private detective mission accomplished; and a thrilled Grandma. 

However, this latest surprise on a beautiful fall day had me scratching my head trying to figure out what my BHE had in store for me.  He had entered the word surprise on the calendar for a Monday afternoon and that is when my master detective work sprung into action. Could it be a visit from my both sons flying home to see their dear old mom?  It didn't make sense knowing their busy schedule and, quite frankly, I'm not at death's doorstep quite yet (sorry about the morbid cancer humor). We had briefly discussed bucket lists and I racked my brain thinking what I had mentioned.  Catching a pass from Aaron Rodgers was one but that seemed out of the realm of possibilities even he could muster.

That morning, he advised me to wear jeans and an old shirt that could get dirty.  Jeans and a shirt? Still no clue.  I'd like to think all this chemo has dulled my brain but he is sure he had stumped me once and for all.

As we drove into the beautiful countryside I imagined a hike into the woods would be a lovely distraction.  Reflecting back through the previous weeks I hadn't been too whiny or demanding so leaving me by the side of the road didn't appear to be a possibility; and doesn't quite fit his moniker as the Best Husband Ever.  I was completely baffled.

Finally we turned into a farm set upon a hill and with a sign signaling my Aha! moment—I finally figured it out.  Gibson Training Center.  I was going to hang out with horses.  Me-- who loves the smell, their huge understanding eyes, the unconditional love they share fills me with awe every time I've been around these creatures. Good old Rob hit it out of the ballpark and he knew it.

Little did I know that not only would I be able to breathe in their delicious scent and groom them but I would actually get back into the saddle again.  Needless to say I was hesitant due to my creaky old cancer  bones and the fact that I hadn't ridden a horse in a number of years.  Gary Gibson, the owner of this wonderful facility, always has been a kind and understanding teacher. He refreshed my memory on horsemanship and before I knew it, I was riding around the arena with a big old smile on my face. 

Sure enough after getting up on this calm, steady horse I felt like this is where I should have been all along.  We walked, trotted and got to know each other in the short time I was on Chance's back.

So that was the story of my surprise day from the best husband ever.  He never ceases to amaze me with his ability to make every day count as special.  Love, love that man of mine.

Thanks for reading #590 of 7777+

Sunday, August 30, 2020

#589 Poems and Beyond

 I have discovered chemo brain and blog writing tend not to go hand in hand.  Since I started a new treatment (a nasty drug from hell which may prolong my life so can't complain),  I've had either debilitating side effects or space brain waves that have not permitted time to sit and create a blog.  

However, today is the day I told myself this morning to sit down and write. A little history about today's entry.  About ten weeks ago I sent out an email to friends asking if anyone would be interested in getting together on Zoom for poetry readings.  Much to my surprise, nine women came armed that night with their very own creations along with a poem or two from the "real" poets. We were all pleasantly surprised how much we missed sharing and creating while living in a pandemic.  Many reflected our feelings of isolation or how we have found joy during this time in our lives. 

I have decided to share some of my poetry with you.  Some were written over the course of the years dealing with cancer representing hope or despair, depending on my mood for the day.  Others show my frustration at seeing the world in 2020 during covid. 

Here are a random two I selected to share with you. 

                                                                     The New Course 

By Mary Gooze 

Rig up the sails

as we cruise through life.

Wait—what happened?

The sails have failed.

My body no longer a flying fleet

but a dilapidated worn out wreck of a ship.

“No worries”, says my beloved,

we will make this boat work.

Readjust the mast,

reconfigure our life,

fashion the new vessel to perform.

Even though it is not the voyage we foresaw, 

cancer will not guide our ride—

Simply readjust and reset.

Life sails on.

The Daunting 2020

Difficult times have been witnessed.

The morning news awakens me

to the horror and the chaos 

our nation is going through.

Hurricanes in the south, 

derecho in the midwest,

 fires in the west, 

unrest and covid across the continent.

Can we say, “ ENOUGH!”?

Can we reset this year


 devise a plan to become triumphant?

Begin today


A quick added note.  I will be swimming my fiftieth swim this week in northern Wisconsin.  Join me on facebook as I make my plunge and "swim" next to me in your pool, lake or your bathtub!


Thanks for reading #589 of 7777+.

Sunday, July 5, 2020

7777+ Days: #588 Post From My BHE

7777+ Days: #588 Post From My BHE: Dear Friends and Supporters, Rob has been at it again with blog writing.  He just finished watching a three part series on U.S. Grant...

#588 Post From My BHE

Dear Friends and Supporters,

Rob has been at it again with blog writing.  He just finished watching a three part series on U.S. Grant and is in his "war mindset". Bear with me--I have had to endure his endless history lessons.  Still love this man although somedays it is easier than others!

Mary and I were never fans of the term, “fighting or battling cancer”. The doctors, nurses, and researchers are the real warriors in such a fight.

Those that know me know of my passion for history especially war history. But after managing this disease for eight and a half years, my mindset has changed.

A war is not fought in one battle but is a series of engagements without ever knowing the outcomes. One goes from treatment to treatment as the enemy (cancer) evolves and fights back. You must change tactics midstream if necessary as reports (scans) come in.

On a good day you attack the enemy and live life to the fullest. On a bad day you set up defensive positions and hold on to your situation as best you can.

And, like going into war, the objective is the same. You just want to get back home to enjoy your family and have some semblance of normalcy in your life. As we celebrate our nation’s fight for freedom may all those “fighting” cancer eventually “win their war”.


Thanks for reading #588.

Thursday, July 2, 2020

7777+ Days: #587 Life Jackets=Life Savers

7777+ Days: #587 Life Jackets=Life Savers: Enjoying the campfire with Rosie We just spent a few days up north breathing in the aromatic smells of the trees and surrounding ourse...

#587 Life Jackets=Life Savers

Enjoying the campfire with Rosie
We just spent a few days up north breathing in the aromatic smells of the trees and surrounding ourselves with nature at its best.  Actually it qualifies as the second best remedy for the present situation after the greatest medicine of all--grandchildren hugs from our recent Seattle trip.  With cancer and covid ever present on our minds, a break from both of these maladies has significantly improved our mental health.

Rob, my BHE, found a rustic (it was clean and had a bathroom) cabin which was  compatible with our drive to get away from it all. Rosie, the dog, escaped with us and enjoyed the romps through the woods and the chases after the chipmunks (although none were caught).  My plan to swim was achieved without any fear of drowning although between a tippy kayak and a wiggly dog, Rob was at risk for a dunk in the water.  It was my forty-seventh swim since our plunge into advocacy work and my goal to reach the fifty mark appears to be right around the corner.

On another note, I saw my oncologist (BOE-best oncologist ever) last week after my MRI.  The news, unfortunately, wasn’t good.  Party time has continued in my liver where the lesions have increased in number and in size.  Although this felt like a gut punch, it will not stop me from advocating and swimming and living the best way I know how. Quoting from one of Mary Oliver's poems, "I don't want to end up simply having visited this world" continues to be my mantra. 

As I advocate for more research funding for stage IV to ensure my daughter and granddaughters will never face a cancer diagnosis, I continue to explain to others that a cure may not be in my future. However, I’m still rooting for the brilliant researchers to discover another miracle drug and throw current metsters like me a lifejacket of more time.

June 20th was my sixth metastatic cancerversary and I want more years to hang out with my BHE and the BFE (best family ever). Although I’m now facing tougher side effects in the next few months with more scans and an array of worries, I am confident there is a shining light of hope on the horizon but need your help.  

Please consider a donation to my More For Stage IV fund at the UW Carbone Cancer Center.

Not only will my children and grandchildren benefit but hopefully, optimistically, fingers crossed and with “a touch on wood”; a new treatment is lurking in my future to keep me around for many more years.

Thanks for reading #587 of 7777+.