Radiology reports came back that his liver is fine. The spots found on the scans were nothing more than congested clusters of veins, but I can’t recall the term they used. The real news is there is no more fear of cancer in his liver.

Regarding the extensive clotting, they have found no reason for it yet. It is highly unusual for a man his age in his overall health. They ran a full blood panel looking for Factor disorders or any reasons why he would be having these issues. So far, nothing out of the ordinary has come back. They began Coumadin, and when his INR (that is something about the clotting time and Coumadin levels in his blood) is stable, he will get to come home. He may even be home this weekend.

I am unable to express the relief I feel. I was flooded with gratitude with the news and continue to give thanks for more time we have together. It may be another 50 years, it may be another 5, but more time is more time. I have no intention of wasting it.

Death comes to all of us. We lose people we love. We lose people we don’t love. We die ourselves. I’ve always felt death breathing over my shoulder. It skulks along behind me, never far away. It’s never here for me. It takes people when I am not looking, and steals away time from the ones I love the most. 

Today, I watched it retreat. Death is not welcome here today. 

Thanks to everybody, those I know and those I am just meeting, for your kind words and thoughts. I wish I could respond to each one, but I need to try to rest tonight – and this is the only time I can get online.

Corey has multiple spots on his liver. They aren’t certain they are cancerous, so we are going to have a biopsy on Monday. Unfortunately, they aren’t able to start him on blood thinners until they know what is going on with the liver. His leg is swollen and deformed now with clots from his groin to his ankle and multiple clots already residing in his lungs. He is in a very precarious position right now. 

It’s been a hell of a few days, but I can’t thank everybody enough for the support we received. He smiled when I told him how many people commented and wished him well, and I am grateful for that smile. He has been in decent spirits and I have been the gatekeeper here at the hospital, making sure there weren’t too many people coming to visit and managing the phone inquiries. He is loved, and everybody is very worried.

I am trying to remain positive, but the certainty I have felt inside that it was cancer hasn’t been shaken, only reinforced. This isn’t my first rodeo.

Thanks for letting us know we are loved and supported, and I will keep everybody posted.

In this hospital room, watching my husband sleep, I wonder what the hell happened? The love of my life is 38 years old, healthy, happy. He isn’t overweight, he isn’t a drinker, smoker, party type. He is physically active, eats his veggies, and steers clear of drugs. Yet here he is, full of blood clots and pulmonary embolisms. He has an abnormality on his liver and cancer is suspected. We plan to be here at least a week for the heparin to manage the clots and the coumadin to start thinning his blood. 

I am sitting here tonight unable to sleep for fear the moment I close my eyes, a clot will shake loose and land in his brain or blow up his heart.

I sit here tonight and remember the stupid fights, the wasted time, the lack of appreciation I sometimes have for him. I am pretty sure he will live a bit longer at least – the clots can be dissolved and medicine can make sure they don’t happen again. But the problem with his liver cannot be a coincidence, and the sad faces of the nurses and the technicians tell a less than hopeful story. 

I sit here tonight hoping that I am being dramatic. That in the morning the CT will show a bruised liver and nothing cancerous about it. That in the morning the clots will be gone and the doctor will be surprised when she hears how worried I was. That she will tell me it’s no big deal at all. That my husband will roll his eyes at me and ask if NOW can he have a damn cheeseburger?

It doesn’t take much to turn our worlds upside down, does it? If you have a chance and are so inclined, please send a prayer for my husband tonight. 

I have 523 days until I am 40. Most of my friends tell me 40 is a piece of cake. Some of my friends are already shaking their heads sadly and suggesting good long term care facilities. 

I am trying not to panic. 

I have a list (don’t we all?) of things that were supposed to be done by 40, and I am falling short. 

1. Run an ultra marathon.

2. Run the R2R2R.

3. Have at least one book completed and published. 

4. Volunteer in Africa (or South America) on a community project.

5. Solve the homeless problems in America.

6. Hike the entirety of the Appalachian Trail.

CRAP! I have 523 days to complete these things! My knee became a problem last spring, and now I doubt my ability to even complete half of these goals, my adventure lust and open mind became more rusty and slow, and I don’t know how well I would fare overseas, and I am no closer to solving homelessness than anybody before me. The book may be the only goal remaining that I haven’t completed that I can still check off my list. 

My sister is really the only one I whine to about getting old, and she posted this on my Facebook page last night:

If you knew her, you would understand what a sweet gesture this really is. 

I know age is a number, but goals without deadlines are just daydreams. Do you have any milestone goals? 

I was fortunate enough that John (@plantinthewindow) allowed me to feature him and his book on my other blog. Google doesn’t like it when I post the same material in two different sites, so I cannot doubly post it here. 

If you have a moment, please swing by and offer your support to John, who we all know and love. 

Click here for John’s Blog on traitor’s site.

However, if you don’t have time to go to another site to read his post, you can still check out his book here. 

None of us are exemplary at marketing our own work. It’s difficult to promote yourself and your art – it feels too much like bragging and begging. We are all lucky to have so much talent among us, and we need to support each other in our efforts to share our work with the rest of the world. Next time you are in the market for new reading material, please support our own artists and buy a copy of their work. Email the link to a friend or relative. Support each other, and keep Xanga as a home for so many talented people.

If you aren’t able to purchase a book now, that’s ok. Swing by his page and let him know how talented he is. Often times encouraging words mean more than money, anyway.

Thank you, John!

I keep a journal. I have for years. I need this book to collect my thoughts, document my life, and sort my emotions.

I know that it sounds so old school – writing things down with a pen, sacrificing spell check and the delete button – but I need the act of pen to paper to really get things out of my system. This book rides in my purse with me (yes, I carry a very large purse) and never gets far out of reach. I used to keep it in my purse because I was paranoid somebody would read it when it was out of my sight; I believed that what I wrote was so valuable, people couldn’t wait to get their hands on it to use it against me. Now that I have matured enough to realize that people don’t have any sinister desire to read my most personal thoughts, I still carry it with me. I just can’t seem to leave it at home, it’s my constant companion and documentary of what happens every day in my life.

When my daughters were young I pushed them to journal, too. Knowing the clarity it brings to me to write things down, I encouraged them to do the same. One of my daughters is a daily writer now, the other could care less. My writing child  finds the same value I do in writing things out. 

Things rattle around in our heads sometimes – these things take on a life of their own and can grow more daunting and distressing each minute. When something like this gets stuck in my mind, I write it out. The simple act of putting things on paper clears out the clutter, puts things back in perspective, and gives me permission to quit obsessing over it. It’s almost as if I captured the “stressor” on paper, so my mind doesn’t need to cling so tightly to it anymore. Seeing things written out also helps me see the absurdity in some of my thinking. The world really ISN’T going to end if I do {insert obsessive thought here}. I give full credit to the shred of sanity I cling to, to my journal. Without it I am a wreck.

Here are some reasons why I think everybody should journal.

1. Introspection – It’s easier to explore our own thoughts when we use a tool to do so. I have surprised myself with some of the ideas that spew from my fingers when I let myself go. I learn a lot about myself when I reread my entries, almost like reading somebody else’s. 

2. Honesty is easier when you aren’t writing for an audience – When you are the only person who will be reading your thoughts, your thoughts are safer to be real. I don’t have to be positive all the time – in my journal I can talk about what a big, fat meanie head Corey can be without worry of him reading it or anybody else thinking poorly of him (or me) as a result. Writing out what a meanie I think he is gives me permission to let go of that feeling or thought. It’s not like I haven’t captured it somewhere, so now that I don’t have to worry about losing it, I can let it slip from my mind.

3. Documentation – I have the world’s worst memory. If I didn’t document what was happening in my life, I would have no idea a week from now. Countless times I have pulled out old writings just to figure things out. What did we do for his birthday last year? Oh yeah. What did I really think of this job when I started? Did I always hate it? If I didn’t have a trail of bread crumbs to guide me back to where I have been, I would be lost in the present forever.

4. Creativity – Some of my best ideas have come when I was journaling. The act of putting a pen to paper engages my brain and allows free thought to flow. I don’t have the restrictive “Focus, you must focus!” hat on which allows creativity to run rampant. Most days nothing brilliant slips out of me, but occasionally it’s as if a ghost writer slips into my fingers and ideas spring onto my page before they had a chance to enter my mind.

5. Emotional dumping grounds – The final reason I think everybody should keep a journal is that it is also used as an emotional toilet. Corey is a big fat meanie and my sister didn’t even mention my hair. That lady passed me on the trail and wasn’t even out of breath and I wish I could have kicked her. I hate my job my life my work I am a big fat loser and nobody loves me. Once all those bad thoughts are spent on a page, I can close the book – flush the toilet, per se. Everybody has negative thoughts and feelings once in awhile, and ignoring them does no good. Rarely does expressing them do any good. So what do people do with this garbage if they don’t have a toilet to flush it down? That has always been a mystery to me.

Whether you do or don’t keep a journal, I hope you have another form of therapy to keep you sane. Well, at least a little bit sane. 

What is your emotional toilet?

“What is a beggar’s job, exactly? The beggar is a living illustration, for everyone in our society, of the fact that the American Dream has fallen short for many citizens for a variety of reasons; physical disability or mental illness, lack of education or training, poor life skills, job loss and the economic downturn, racism or sexism, etc.”

Boulder is a mecca for transient people. Since the original hippie days in the 60s and 70s, Boulder is renown for being the city of “Peace and Love”. Even today, people refer to Boulder as the People’s Republic of Boulder. Despite its reputation, Boulder today is not Boulder 50 years ago, and the hippies who live here are not offering anything for free. 

I would like to introduce you to Max, a homeless blogger in Boulder. Max writes for the local paper, The Daily Camera, without pay as a community blogger. His blog is about being homeless in Boulder. Max is a white collar criminal, and a poor one at that. He was caught frauding the government and lost everything. Max states exactly what happened and how he became homeless without  regret or blaming any part of society. He is a beggar on the corner of Broadway and Highway 36 and speaks with gratitude about having the most beautiful corner in Boulder. He shares details of homelessness that few ever get an inside look into. He talks about territory wars, complains about the drunks and druggies, and bemoans the Denver homeless people (he refers to as bums) coming over for a free ride. 

Max is part of the homeless community, really a  big part of it. When he earns extra money pan handling, he donates some of it to the shelter he stays. He doesn’t drink or do drugs. He follows politics and is a staunch conservative. He complains about his peers with cell phones, calling them Obama Phones. He doesn’t offer a reason he is still homeless, only how he became homeless.

And, you know what else?

This man has better command over the written word than 99 percent of the people (blogs, newspaper articles, books) I have ever read – including me.

I am reeling from this discovery – the discovery of this man who I can’t understand in the slightest. He has won my heart with his intelligent, well written prose, his involvement in the community (politics, current events, etc), and his complete lack of self pity. At the same time, I don’t think I share a single opinion he has, I don’t think it’s nice to hear him make fun of Denver bums -Seriously? They are really that wretchedly different that Boulder bums?- and I don’t know why he doesn’t look for a job using his obvious intelligence rather than panhandling??

Normally when I post something like this, it’s to get my own message and agenda out. Normally, I am trying to eek my way into some of your hearts so you will be more involved in your community, or else I have some other agenda. But today, I am seriously, honestly floored by my discovery. If you get a chance, look at his blog.

What the hell is going on here?

Click HERE for Max’s blog.