As for most everybody, it’s been a weird seesaw year. There we were, innocently lving our lives, working, playing a bit mnding our own beeswax when the economy took a big dump on us all. Okay, it’s not like I was planning to retire next week or anything, but now next month is also out of the question. *sigh*

Then just about the time we rallied back from all of that, we get a notice from the IRS that we’re being audited. Yeehaw! And just about the time we wrapped our heads around THAT particular piece of news, Chuck gets diagnosed with cancer.

All in all it could have been worse, I suppose. We survived and as the year whimpers to a close, we’re still standing, still employed, still, well, here.

So as I thumb my nose to the year that was and bid a far from fond farewell to the pile of crap year that was 2008, I have to give thanks for all of the good things in our lives: good friends, a loving family and the certainty that life does, in fact, go on.

Here’s to 2009, and all of the possibilities the new year brings!

I really do heart my iPhone!

All can be had for a mere 99 cents each! If this doesn’t totally justify buying an iPhone or iPod touch, I don’t know what does!

He’s tolerated all of the drugs really well. He felt pretty wiped out for the first two days but is pretty much back in action. Next week we are going for a pre-surgical consult for a port, which we hear is the way to get the chemo drugs over time (versus many, many needles). No more chemo until the new year.

So life really does go on. As does my snot, but that’s a different story.

We kept it quiet that first day, cried a lot, had diarrhea - you know, the usual. We went to see an ear nose throat doc that the oral surgeon who performed the biopsy recommended because, well, because we didn’t know what else to do. He was okay, and lined up a lot of tests, but didn’t explain anything. That was when we called our friend Kyra, or as we think of her, our very own Florence Nightingale. She took charge and got us on to see an expert at City of Hope within days of the diagnosis. We jumped through a whole lot of red tape and bypassed all official paths. After a CT scan, blood tests, an MRI, and a PET scan, the doctor now knows the stage and grade of the lymphoma and has determined an aggressive treatment plan that will involve immunotherapy and chemo. Lymphoma falls into a category of cancers that are treatable and manageable but not curable (yet). Given the alternatives, we can deal with that just fine, thanks.

Chemo starts on Dec 15 and it will be an all day affair. He gets the immunotherapy first, then the chemo, then he takes prednisone for 5 days after (to combat the compromise to the immune system caused by the chemo). The treatments will take place once every three weeks for a total of six treatments. Phew! We decided last night to quit reading crap on the Internet about cancer unless it’s specific information. Reading online diaries of people with advanced pancreatic cancer is really not helping and mostly leaves us feeling depressed and/or anxious. Each person’s reaction to chemo is different, so the smartest thing to do, we’ve decided, is to wait and see how Chuck feels - and we won’t know that until he actually starts getting the drugs. One day at a time - that’s my new mantra (well, I’m trying anyway).

My sister (who is a cancer survivor) told us to think of this as a journey, and we are at the beginning and need to pace ourselves. Three weeks down the line, I now really know what she meant. Family and friends have been so supportive, it’s made us both cry. And Chuck, after almost eight years of silence is talking to his brother again. It’s funny how good things can come out of bad.

I’m glad we’re marathoners. We know about the long run and endurance. And if I might add a personal note to my husband of now six years, I love you more than words, Charlie O’Shea, and don’t you forget it!

Meanwhile, life goes on and so do we.