Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

While though the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth.
And though the darkness ’round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock I’m clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?

I have tears streaming down my face right now & for once, they are such tears of joy, a release of pent-up energy I have ignored this week, for I have a bigger hope, a confirmed hope, such a raucously joyful hope, it feels like my heart will explode from my chest and light the night sky with a thousand raining stars.

My father saw another doctor today, in Madison. I learned that his previous doctor had only seen four cases LIKE his cancer before, none in the past five years (until he showed up.) This doctor? My dad was his fourth patient TODAY with his kind of cancer. It’s very rare, but they have a protocol they follow (Yes, James, protocol, just like CTU on “24”) and it has a 75% success rate in prolonging life. This particular doctor has a patient who presented with identical-to-worse symptoms like my father’s – and is still kickin’ it a year and a half later. And all of this before we even touch the basket called “Alternative Therapies”, like stem cell and whatnot. The doom and gloom is still there, but it has been banished to a corner. They have two kinds of chemo he will take, and he starts next Thursday. He’s still going to Mayo on Monday, because why wouldn’t you, and then if it ever reaches a point he needs to get in there, they have everything, he’s been there, the process accellerates. We all know there is caution, there is no cure, this isn’t a ten-year reprieve. But when you’re staring at two months and it feels like you’ve suddenly been given a task in Hades, to fill a pot with water using a sieve, the notion of a year, the notion of solutions and hope, feels like the desperation has been reduced. (You know, when I was a kid and read about that Hades task, I always imagined I’d line the sieve with moss, to make it retain a little bit of water. Always looking for an end-run, even around death…)

The lyrics above are from an Enya song, and because I have a permanent jukebox in my head that associates songs with how I’m feeling, I kept hearing the line “How can I keep from singing” in my head all night & I decided to look up the lyrics to see if the rest was a fit. I’m just so very, very grateful that today, we were given a rock to cling to, and the storm around us seems to have calmed. I know the waters will churn again, and I recognize the odds, and know we have no guarantees. But if I’ve learned one thing in the past four weeks, which is exactly how long it has been, today, I have learned that the things we think are important and the things that truly are important are often different. The petty bullshit of friends who’ve let me down, who’ve dropped out of my life, all that choppy stuff that consumed the irritated part of my mind, I’ve discovered how quickly I divested those stocks, and put my energy & love into what’s most important to me. I thank you, too, for continuing to read – I noticed a drop once Ye Olde Cancer Story hit here, and those people just want Fun Jen, to be entertained, but that’s not life, or at least not my blog. My blog’s as real as I can be in written form, without getting my ass fired or calling out people by name who piss me off. And tonight, I give you a photo I took when we were at my dad’s two weeks ago, a picture I’ve greedily kept only to myself, for what it represented, for what it signified – he still has his hair, we had spent a wonderful weekend together – and my god, I just love him so much. What the hell, here’s two:

I cannot keep from singing.

All right, so yesterday, I decided to freak out about avian bird flu. I don’t really know how to prevent getting it, apart from living in a bubble (and, by the way, how do you drive a car if you’re in a bubble? Does it un-bubble? Could you FoodSaver yourself instead, with an air source?), and the recommendation in the Reuters story was all the same stuff as preventing a cold – wash your hands a lot (hi, let’s bring on the OCD!), cover your mouth when you sneeze, and the new one, my favorite, maintain a ring of personal space roughly 3 feet in diameter. Yes, that won’t set me apart at work. DON’T TOUCH ME. STAND BACK! NEVER MIND MY GLOVES. OR MY PLASTIC SHEATH.

Then, Kristin told me the good news, that in ferrets, Theraflu cures the bird flu. ROCK ON! I love Theraflu! The hot lemony goodness that puts me to sleep in no time. Of course, there is nothing ferretlike about me, the only thing pointy is my wit, BUT, hey, I feel reassured that the CDC and WHO are on top of this pandemic, testing the ferrets.

Moving on. At lunch yesterday (pre-avian-flu-freakout) I decided to procure the largest bag of taffy I’ve ever seen, where else but Costco? This taffy is like chewing flavored air, which means after about 12 pieces, you pick up on the fact you’re popping taffy like a junkie, and only then because your desk is littered with little waxy wrappers. GOOD STUFF. I was thinking last night about the candy I would buy as a kid – I never went for chocolate, I went for stuff that lasted a long time. Lik-M-Aid Fun Dip, for instance. And that taffy that was flat, really big, and super stretchy – had the ribbons of color that told you what flavor it was, unsophisticated packaging? They were teeth-pullers, too, very taffy-ish. Fortunately for me, everyone else likes this new taffy, too, so I doubt it will be around very long. (4.5 pound bag! I’m telling you, the Costco values, they are astounding! I can’t wait until they carry Personal Orb-O-Spheres.)

Last, but not least, tonight is our Ad Club’s Ad Wars trivia competition. Just label me “dead weight” – especially for anything before 1990. If it wasn’t in the New Yorker, I hardly knew about it. The brand that was the biggest mystery to me was always Clinique. I never understood what they were sellin’, because I didn’t know what in hell it was. But, as I’ve waxed rhapsodic before, I always wanted to go to the Helmsley Palace, because even though Leona was ugly as sin, she wore a tiara, and she had no time for bad hangers, poor-quality sheets, or sub-par service. So, if there are any questions about Leona Helmsley and the Helmsley Palace? I am ON IT like a ferret on Theraflu.

him: You went to bed early.
me: I’m still awake.
him: You were snoozing when I came down.
me: Nope. I’m awake.
him: You were SNORING.
me: No I wasn’t.

I’m not sure what it is within us, that sometimes denies the truth, and counters with the utmost conviction to the contrary. Obviously I had fallen asleep & awoke when he came to bed, but in my mind, I had been awake the entire time. And I fully believed my version at the time, though this morning I knew if he said I was snoring, I’m sure I was.

As we grow up, as we learn to accept truths and tautologies, things which cannot be denied forever if we want to live a real, honest life, the fight to deny or avoid becomes shorter, for we realize that place gives us nothing but a delusion that we are immune. I have gradually grown to accept that my father has cancer. I even accept that at some point, it will be what takes him from me. I don’t accept that nothing can be done, I don’t accept that one doctor has all the answers; yet, in this not-even-a-month-long journey, I awoke today to realize that I am getting a callous on my heart. Intellectually, I know I have to, otherwise, every day is awash in pain and grief and denial all over again. In order to function, in order to move forward, both with my life & to support his fight, I have to thicken the scar, plaster the cracks, and yet I hate that callous, I footnote it in my mind: because it exists does not mean I don’t care, that the pain isn’t still there, that anything has dissipated, that I love him any less or that I accept anything lying down.

(This experience may change me, but I doubt it will change the core of who I am, and I never accept anything lying down. Except bon bons. Bon Bons are perfectly acceptable, and indeed, preferable, when lying down.)

The three words that floated through my head before I fell asleep last night were:

Impenetrable, inured, indefatigable

I thought of how my father has given me this wonderful vocabulary, how we studied for the spelling bees, how he encouraged me to read so many books, way beyond my age level. How yesterday, on the phone, I thought the word “inured” and two second later, he said it. Nobody will ever, ever take this away from me.

Impenetrable and indefatigable are similar enough. My spirit and drive and force of will yesterday would not be stopped. It was even more rewarding that night, to know how it buoyed my father’s spirits, hearing how I had entered the battlefield, pushing things forward, maneuvering through the medical system and every time an obstacle came into my path, I pushed it aside. It truly is not a system designed around the patient, and the wires and tape and numerous locations and branches and divisions simply fuel the Hydra that it is, every time you lop one head off, two heads grow back in its place. I was absolutely drained & exhausted by 3:30, but I left work early & went home to update JWo, my aunt, and then a closing call to dad, just to make sure he knew everything I knew, and in case he had any other questions.

A lot of people have asked me if my mother knows about this whole situation. (My parents have been divorced about 6 years or so, and my father re-married 4 years ago.) I haven’t actually spoken with my mother in nearly 3 years. The topline is that we don’t have a relationship because I’m fat, which always shocks people, because even the most physique-obsessed people can’t comprehend severing ties with your offspring over weight. Believe me. I know it’s nuts, it’s taken a lifetime to get used to, and while I spent many hours and years fighting the reality of the situation, I have decided to put more energy into living my life than lamenting what could or should have been. I cannot control another human being, only myself. It may sound like a skin-deep problem, but with most everything, there is always more beyond the surface, and who knows, maybe someday I’ll finally write that book, “Fat Like Me” and give the whole subject the time & space it’s occupied in my world. This is a long-about way, but important background, of bringing us to the last word, inured. (Dictionary.com: “To habituate to something undesirable, especially by prolonged subjection; accustom”)

When I spoke to my father yesterday, he let me know that his friends alerted my mother to his condition, I think he wanted her to know so if she wanted to try & make peace with him, or in her own heart, she would have the opportunity. I of course indulged in 10 seconds of bone-cutting sarcasm, because she knows that for me, my father hung the stars in the sky, and she would know how all of this is ripping me in half, and someone capable of being a mother would set aside her own anger, her own problems, to support her child. My father, who hates the notion of me steeping my heart in anger for even a minute, chided me gently for it, and I reassured him, that 15 years ago, all of this would have hurt me so much more, but that I have gotten used to the mantra of not caring. And the word “inured” floated by in my mind. Always paranoid I might use a word incorrectly, I didn’t say it. But then he came back and said, “Yes, you’ve become inured,” and it was like we were hanging the stars together.

Boy. I am going to eventually become a patient advocate, and while I’m sure the pay won’t be great, I will be excellent at it. I am already struggling with not feeling guilty for not having done all of this for my father before today. I won’t say I’ve been perfect; in fact, all of the nurses I’ve spoken with today have gotten to hear the quaver and high voice that comes before the tears. Hey, at least I’m not being a total cold-hearted bitch.

I have pushed ahead the process of getting him to Mayo. In fact, the referred doctor called me back, twice, and we had long discussions about his condition, what else he needed before an appointment could be made, etc. As I said later to Kristin & our boss, they don’t fuck around at Mayo.

It is going to require two more courier deliveries before all the necessary films, slides & x-rays have all gotten to the desk of this doctor. He has to have everything before he makes the appointment. But given my dad’s condition, they will get him in quickly. And as we’ve all said, even if they don’t suggest doing anything differently, we’ll know we’ve tried. And I can’t imagine they haven’t got a more sophisticated process for managing his pain, which has been enormous. So many unknowns, but today, I feel like I can at least see the road under my feet. Called I-35 to Rochester, MN.

Oh, and the whole thing about Mayo not fucking around? Neither do I. Even in great sorrow. My new rap name will be Tenacious J. I’ll still record under P. Nuggy, but for some independent projects, Tenacious J it is.

Both of my parents gave me strength of spirit, stubbornness and an iron-clad grip on what is right. Most of this came from my father, but I would be remiss to not acknowledge my mother’s own determination and inability to let go of things, since I see that within me.

The appointment at Mayo has not yet been made. My father is in pain and on so much medicine. I was raised without television, and I never saw the incredible Hulk cartoon? But today, I felt like that cartoon, if I just gripped my fists tightly enough, I would explode out of my own skin, and I would carry him on my back to that clinic and put him in the hands of someone who might be able to fix him. I already know and see the rage inside me, peeking out, slipping through at a bad driver, an easy target, a stupid salesperson. And so tomorrow, I will be on the phone. To his doctors, to the Mayo clinic, whatever it takes. I am so used to getting things done, moving plans into place, resolving crises or problems, and I have hit my limit. I cannot allow myself to care if this upsets anyone, anymore. I have waited for three weeks and in that short span, I have hit abject despair and felt the relief of a joyful hope. I am a forceful, driven person with great inner strength and a tenacity that I have always felt I have kept in check, hidden away, lest it keep people away from me; I have always felt that part of me to be frightening, like the intensity and roar of a lion. I also know I can be very, very weak. I can be consumed with pain and grief and negativity. But the chips are down, I can be strong, my mind is clear, my heart is filled with such love, such great, great love, and I cannot be the child any longer.

Right now I feel like the rage and the passion and the strength are swirling, so much I could bend a spoon just by looking at it. I imagine the phone lines are going to bend a little tomorrow. Wish me luck & hope; I have the fortitude to launch an army, I just want, NEED, require that things get done – and fast.

I have always been a Miracle Whip girl. I enjoy the tangy zip of the Miracle Whip. The “light” is just fine with me, though JWo prefers the original version. Growing up, that’s all we had, no mayo in the house. I think it’s your family of origin that gives you a preference, what you get used to. I have a friend who went through a buffet at a wedding reception & helped himself to a big dollop of vanilla pudding, only to ruefully discover at the end of his meal, with a big spoonful in his mouth, that instead it was mayonnaise. Mmm, mmmm. That is a nightmare.

One summer, when we were building the house, we lived in a room that was roughly 15’x20′, had a sink, and all we ate for dinner were braunschweiger & tomato sandwiches (with Miracle Whip), Chips Ahoy & Ruffles. It was years before we could enjoy a B&T sandwich, but they are still my favorite. (It has to be Oscar Mayer braunschweiger, too. You wouldn’t think I’d be picky about such a processed meat product, but just ask JWo, it can be done and is on a daily basis.)

You might be wondering, what on earth is PlazaJen doing today, blathering on about sandwich spreads? Well, it’s just the natural word association in that crazy mind of mine, because my Dad is going to GO to the Mayo clinic in Rochester MN (hopefully next week), and those people there work miracles. (I don’t know so much about the whips, but if I had to be whipped to create a miracle for my dad, I’d do it in a heartbeat.) And I’ve never been this much in love with the word “Mayo” before, given my prediliction for the Miracle Whip. I’m not saying I’m switching sandwich spreads, but I do have a butter knife’s swipe more hope now, and that, my friends, makes all the difference on a rainy day in what has been, truly, the Cruelest Month.

Or, you might say, bacon in a bucket.

I showed GREAT restraint. (Boy I hate the motorcycle po-po. I got enraged when I was looking at their little containers by the seat, just KNOWING that’s where they store the evil radar guns. HARRUMPH.) Of course I wouldn’t do anything. I’d never last in prison. No blogging!

OK, I put my phone on Do Not Disturb last Thursday? What a lovely feature. I need to use this feature more often. It’s 10 a.m. and guess what? I haven’t gotten a phone call! Because I haven’t turned it off yet. MOOOHAHAHAHAHAHA. I love it.

Also, the Frenetic Twins (Kristin & Jennifer) have started stealing things from a co-worker who moved down by us. It’s going to be amusing when he finally catches on, which at the rate they’re going & the rate he’s not noticing, they’ll have to take his phone and chair before he picks up on it. Good times.

Fear is fast-fingered thief, black-gloved fingers that flutter up and sieze my heart, like a Faberge egg, plucking it from its core, snatching it away, anywhere, anytime.

I hate Fear. It robs me of my strength, it holds my hope as a hostage, it gives me no path but down. Fear shows me the worst possible outcomes, the terror within me, the sadness that seems to know no end or bounds. I hate Fear.

Fear’s cousin, Sadness, sits on top of my stomach and waits to erupt. Sadness bubbles. I am trying to thicken my skin, not be so raw. Do you know how many times a day we are asked, “How are you today?” Do you know how many times that question has made me cry? I’m a terrible liar, but I’m starting to do it. Lie. Say, “Fine.” I even smiled at the checker at Wild Oats. I wondered if she could see my sadness. I wondered if I would ever stop lying, that someday I’ll say “Fine” and mean it. Fear jumps in and shoulders next to Sadness, telling me no, I never will. I know it’s lying, but it’s hard to see when your eyes are brimming.

Then there’s Grief, stony & cold. She sits and stares with accusing eyes, anytime there’s a tinkle of laughter or a glimmer of joy. Grief has no room for laughter or lightness, they are a betrayal. She is icy & sharp, and takes no prisoners.

And then we have Strength. Strength has taken a beating and is wondering, can she last in this long-drawn battle? Can she ass-kick Fear, Sadness & Grief, day after day? She has no choice. She must join forces with Love, who feels responsible for everything. They must find Faith, who has been fleeting. It is a monstrous battle, sometimes waged minute upon minute, with no clear plan and no clear end.

I need brass knuckles. (Good thing I already have the matching balls.) Onward we go, into the day.