Here’s the update.  We have been in a “holding pattern” since January 12.  A few days after our appointment at Shands, Steven got a call booking him the next available appointment with the Bone Marrow Transplant Specialist.   Unfortunately, the “next available” is February 2.  Happy Groundhog Day!  I pleaded with Steven to call back to see if he could get in sooner but he just kept telling me to have patience.  Luckily, the letter with the forms that came for this appointment were intercepted by Lucy Mae Harp, the counter surfing puppy who will chew up anything she sees a human deem as important.  So when Steven called to request that the forms be sent again, he gently reminded them that he would be willing to arrive on a moment’s notice if someone canceled an appointment.  The less than enthusiastic person on the other end of the phone told him she already had that noted, however no one really makes an appointment with this guy just for shits and giggles. (My words, not hers).  The end game is that everybody is in dire straits when their on this guy’s calendar, so cancellations are highly unlikely.

Which brings me to our holding pattern.  My life feels like prison, where each day is just an “X” on the calendar while we wait. And it is torture.  I’m trying my best to remain calm but I’m pretty sure I’m not fooling anyone!  I’m exhausted.

I wake up in the middle of the night and I swear I can hear the cancer growing in Steven’s body.  Not for nuthin’ but for me, I hear those freakin’ “Scrubbing Bubbles” sounds from that bathroom cleaner commercial.  I have no idea where that came from, but I swear to you, I hear that sound in the dark of night!  And then in the morning, his neck looks bigger each day.  I hate to admit that my pretty boy husband looks like Jabba the Hut, so let’s just pretend I didn’t add that to this post!

TIME LAPSE – 2 MONTHS

HE’S STILL TRYING TO SMILE BUT IN 2 MONTHS HE’S TAKEN A LOT OF ABUSE FROM THE INSIDE OF HIS BODY TO THE OUT.

Which brings me to the “cancer stinks” part of my rant.  While we were in our meeting with Dr. Lynch on January 12, we talked about many things.  One little theory which I mentioned to him was a subject for which I want credit.  I told him that I figured out that I could monitor Steven’s cancer by paying attention to our pets’ dog lick habits.  When his cancer starts becoming a problem, meaning growing, the dogs start constantly licking his pillows.  There has got to be something in cancer cranial juice!

When Steven was diagnosed 10 years ago, we had 2 Cocker Spaniels who would lick his pillow like it was a ham bone.  I even documented in in my post back in 2011 called HEAD GRAVY.  Zoey and Maritza have been pillow licking constantly since the summer, and when we got the puppy, she just went right for his head.  So even though I told Dr. Lynch he should get a few of his grad students on the job of researching this theory, I want to go on record as being the one to get the ball rolling.  I guess I still need applause!

So with all that being said, I can now tell what the dogs are going after.  Cancer STINKS!  And now even I can smell it.  We are changing the sheets and pillowcases more frequently than a 5 star hotel.  And it’s scaring the crap out of me.  If my husband needed chemo in a big way when the dogs were sensing it, WTF must it be like and how bad must it be if I can smell it?  I’m not trying to be gross, really!  It’s not that Steven isn’t clean, because even though he doesn’t have the energy to stand in the shower, we’ve put one of those pathetic nursing home seats in there so he can just sit under the pounding water like he’s a jalopy in a car wash.  So he’s clean.  And if his energy is so low that he can’t even stand in the shower, you’ve got to know that he’s not working up a sweat doing home improvement projects.  As a matter of fact, his only exercise is walking to the refrigerator to get more ice water.  And if he’s feeling particularly energetic, he’ll grab something for lunch.

But at night he sweats.  Mostly just his head.  It’s like the cancer is trying to let off steam through his hair follicles.  And in the morning, his whole side of the be smells like a yuk I can’t even describe.  It’s like a metallic-y, polyester-y formaldehyde, subway grate steamed sauerkraut burp smell that just overtakes the atmosphere.  And I suppose that’s quite yummy to the creatures of God’s earth who like to lick their own butts.  But to me, in every way possible, CANCER STINKS!

Is there anyone one else out there who smells it too?

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2015 is here and I’m not taking any chances.  As I type, there is a huge pot of Hoppin’ John simmering on my range.  For all my Yankee friends, I don’t expect you to know what Hoppin’ John is.  I learned how to make it a few years back after a conversation with an old southern lady who sold Real Estate out of the same office as Steven.  She and Steven had and in-depth conversation about all things collard, and grits and pork-ish.  I was intrigued.  In an effort to be a good sport, I decided to try a few recipes for my Kentucky-bred spouse.

Turns out I’m a pretty good Southern Living cook!  After my Hoppin’ John venture was determined a success, I used to cook it occasionally in the cooler months.  And then about 5 or 6 years ago, someone told me that in the south, eating black-eyed peas (the main ingredient in this recipe) on New Year’s Day, would bring luck throughout the coming year.  So then it became a once a year treat for January 1.  Until last year…when I was too busy and too stressed out to plan ahead and have the ingredients on hand.  So I skipped it.

In the beginning of last year, I had a bat-crap-crazy manager whose main focus was to get me fired.  She almost broke me and I almost quit.  Luckily, I sucked up the humiliation for the sole reason of maintaining our health insurance.  It was miserable for me until spring when her managers, who had been planning on moving her out of power for almost a year, finally dropped the bomb.  She was gone to another department where she couldn’t torment me daily, but it’s taken until just recently where I feel normal again.

There were lots of other unpleasant situations in 2014 which included Zoey’s little benign doggy tumor, the breaks going out in Steven’s car while he was driving home on the interstate from a PET scan, and of course culminating in the recent chemotherapy that didn’t work and the inability to get scheduled for the beginning steps of this bone marrow transplant fiasco.  Can I chalk this all up to a lack of Hoppin’ John last January 1?  Hell no…or probably not…or maybe not all of it.  But whatever, the fact is that this meal tastes great and it doesn’t hurt to eat a little insurance!

So if you have the calories to spare, and want the extra luck, here is the recipe.  And don’t forget the corn bread!

HOPPIN’ JOHN

1 POUND DRIED BLACK-EYED PEAS
5 STRIPS BACON, CHOPPED
1 LARGE ONION, CHOPPED
2 CLOVES GARLIC, MINCED
1 POUND COOKED HAM, CUBED SMALL
1 HAM BONE OR HAM HOCKS (EWWW, GROSS. BUT NECESSARY)
BLACK PEPPER TO TASTE
1/4 TSP. RED PEPPER FLAKES
2 – 5 SHOTS TABASCO SAUCE (I USE 5 FOR THE KICK)

Pick over peas for stones, rinse and cover peas with cold water. Bring to a boil, boil 1 minute, remove and cover peas. Let sit for 1 hour. Drain & rinse. Let sit in colander.

In a large pot, saute bacon until golden brown to release fat, add onions and garlic, and saute until onion is softened.

Add the peas to pork and onion mix along with the ham, ham bone and seasonings, adding enough water to cover. Bring to a simmer, cover and simmer gently until peas are tender but not mushy. (1 – 2 hours) Taste for seasoning and adjust.

Cook rice separately. Mound rice in bowl and cover with peas and serve with warm corn bread. Serves 6-8 on NEW YEAR’S DAY TO BRING GOOD LUCK.

There is a lot I’m not sure about these days.  But there are a few things that I still know to be true.  First, Steven and I are a great team.  We’re both a little scared about the bone marrow transplant.  But we know we’re going to get through it because we’re incredibly strong when we work together.  And that was reinforced too clearly just a few hours ago.  While we were watching a TV Steven loudly blurted, “Oh, God!” for no apparent reason.  When I asked him what was wrong he said, “feel this.”  And he put my hand on his neck.  He has a walnut sized lump there.  I asked, “Is that a tumor?”  He said, “Yes.  I always wondered what the doctor was feeling around for at exams.”  Surprisingly to both of us, he wasn’t phased, and neither was I.  We accept tumors as part of our life.  And the reality that we could take it in stride, go back to watching TV and not flip out just proves to me that just the aroma of the Hoppin’ John is making feel like it’s all going to be fine!

HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALL.

XOXO ALEXANDRA & TUMOR BOY

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