Winter has arrived

Colleen, Jay and I will take off from River House in Plain about noon today and head back across Stevens Pass to my little cabin on the South Fork of the Skykomish River.  It has snowed on the pass the past 2 days so the drive back could be interesting.  Colleen and Jay's rental vehicle is a new Ford SUV that is all-wheel-drive so as long as we take it slow and easy we should be fine.  Just goes to show you though that the winter of 2011 is here.
The weekend could not have been any better.  Yesterday we went for a drive around the valley and stopped in at a local joint for some wine tasting.  Never done that before as I am more of a whiskey man than a wine drinker.  However, it was fun and educational all the same.  Ended up buying 2 bottles to take home and share with the family.  We went on a couple of short walks in the woods and 1 short walk in the hamlet of Plain itself.  All good.  My strength is returning but I definitely have a long way to go before I can say I am 100 %.  When we got back to River House I had to go lay down and take a nap. 

We shared a lot of pictures and stories and just generally reconnected after a long period of not seeing each other.  We renewed our commitment to stay in touch via phone, e-mail and text messaging.

Looking forward to getting home and the next 3 days off before going back to work.  Not looking forward to that but I need to get back in the saddle and I think overall it is necessary to complete the healing process.       

  

Riverhouse

My sister Colleen and her husband Jay flew down from Anchorage 2 days ago.  They spent one night at the Dutch Cup Motel in Sultan.  The 3 of us then drove over Steven's Pass to the little community of Plain, WA where Colleen's longtime friend, Mary, has a house on the banks of the Wenatchee River.  There are actually 2 houses on the property, the main house called River House and the guest cottage called Beach House.  Colleen, Jay and I have not spent any quality time together in a very long time so I am relishing each and every moment we have together.  Both of the houses are right on the banks of the Wenatchee River which flows past in its perpetual quest to join Mother Ocean.  We awoke to a light dusting of snow covering the deck and the surrounding grassy yard.  The property is protected by sentinels of cedar, ponderosa pine, hemlock and spruce trees. 

I am still recovering from my prostate surgery so am very limited in what activities I can participate in but I am happy to stay here by the river while Colleen and Jay go on runs.  It gives me quiet time to think of all of the things I have to be thankful for.
 
We talked late into the night sharing stories, looking at old pictures and relating events that have taken place since last we got together.  Jay prepared a great meal of roast pork, root vegetables, broccoli and salad.  Delicious!

We'll be here till Sunday afternoon at which time we'll head back over a snowy Steven's Pass to Gold Bar.  They'll drop me off at the cabin and then will head to the airport for their 9pm flight back to Anchorage.  A whirlwind trip to be sure but I am extremely happy they both were able to make it down.           

A Walk In The Woods

I was able to go for 2 short walks today.  Felt so good to get outside feel the cold Fall air on my face.  I was able to wear jeans for the first time since my surgery.  I almost feel like my old self again.  I am certain that CJ and the kids will be glad to hear that.  I am so grateful to each of them for their total loyalty and support during this time.  Not easy since I am not the best of patients and required a lot of care for awhile.  The importance of family has always been a priority for me but this time period has really hammered that lesson home. 

The Saga of Prostate Cancer Was Far From Over

The day after finding out I had prostate cancer CJ and I went to see my doctor.  The appointment lasted only about 20 minutes but it would be a time that would impact my life forever.  I had three options:  do nothing, radiation therapy or remove the prostate.  After about a week of discussing the issue with several family, friends and my primary care doctor I decided to have my prostate removed.  Why did I choose this route?  At 52 years old I am in decent physical shape and can hold up to the rigors of surgery.  Ten years from now who knows what shape I'll be in, possibly not good enough for surgery which would leave me with: do nothing or radiation therapy.  Opting for the surgery to remove the prostate now gave me the best shot of getting rid of the cancer all together in one fell swoop.  But, if for some reason it did not, I would still be able to follow up with radiation therapy.

On Oct 14, 2011 I checked in to Virginia Mason Hospital in Seattle for the surgery.  I was accompanied by CJ and my daughter Jessica.  At check in CJ was given a device that would allow the doctor to contact her after the surgery.  There was a big flat screen television in the waiting room.  On it were all of the patients scheduled for surgery that morning.  CJ and Jessi would be able to monitor that board throughout the hours of the surgery.  The operating staff update the board at periodic steps throughout the surgery so CJ and Jessi could could follow the progress of the surgery as it happened.  Very cool.

The surgery was supposed to last 3-4 hours.  It took 6+ hours which caused CJ some tense moments.  In the end the surgery was a success.  My prostate and 12 lymph nodes were taken.  The lymph nodes were to be biopsied to ensure the cancer had not spread.  I was eventually reunited with CJ and Jessica in my room on the 6th floor.  I was supposed to spend a single night in the hospital.  That evening a couple of nurses tried to get me on my feet and to possibly walk a bit.  After a short time I collapsed onto the floor.  Both of my shins, from knee to ankle were completely numb.  Both my calves were fine as were my feet.  Puzzled looks were shared all around.  The next morning after I had broke my fast I tried again to stand and walk though my shins remained numb.  I was given a walker to help support me.  I walked out into the hall and walked up and down the hall three times.  On the 4th trip I collapsed again.  Same problem.  More puzzled looks.

As it turned out the numbness was caused during the surgery.  My legs were supported by constraints at both knees.  There are nerves on the inside of the legs, at the knee.  The tightness of the constraints coupled with the extended time of the surgery caused excess pressure on those nerves which resulted in my shins being rendered numb.

I was kept a second night in the hospital.  The following morning I could feel the pressure of the sheets on my shins.  I had a feeling of relief that I can't adequately explain.  I was able to walk, with the aid of a walker, without falling.  This allowed me to escape the hospital at about noon.

At my follow up appointment with Dr. Han the following Monday I found out that the cancer had not spread to the lymph nodes.  Hugh sigh of relief!  I also had my staples removed.  Time to go home and heal.

    

The SKEIN of my life!!

One of my favorite quotes from a movie comes from "The 13th Warrior".  An Arab poet is in the company of 12 Viking warriors and the Arab is visibly nervous about an impending battle and can not find sleep.  The seasoned Viking warrior next to him laughs at him and says:  "The All-Father wove the skein of your life a long time ago. Go and hide in a hole if you wish, but you won't live one instant longer. Your fate is fixed. Fear profits a man nothing."

It has been 4 days now since I found out that I have a small amount of cancer on the right side of my prostate.  My father was diagnosed with the same thing over a year ago so I had some insight into the disease even before being diagnosed myself.  Its a very different animal though when the sights are aimed at you.  My mother was diagnosed with melanoma cancer twice and ultimately died of lung cancer.  I remember wondering what it must have been like to be the involved person in that room with the doctor when advised that you have cancer.  Well, I don't have to wonder about that anymore do I.

Let me start at the beginning.  My primary care physician (PCP) became concerned in July 2011 after 2 consecutive blood tests returned with PSA (prostate specific antigen) levels of 4.5.  The normal results for a healthy male should be under 4.0.  My PCP sent me to see an expert in the field, a urologist.  After reviewing my chart, family history and a bit of a finger waggle, he sat down and gave me a very good, but brief, history of PSA and what that number really means.  He also told me in no uncertain terms what that number meant to me.  With my dad's prostate history and my current numbers, he advised me to consider a biopsy of my prostate.  He said at the least it would give me some baseline numbers that could be valuable in the future.  I concurred with the doctor's assessment and agreed that it could wait until I returned from my upcoming trip to Alaska. 

We returned from Alaska on August 17th and my biopsy was scheduled for 0830 on September 14th.  I contracted an infection and went down hard with flu-like symptoms.  I had to leave work early on Sunday, September 18th.  I got home at about 1500, went straight to bed and stayed there for the next 17 hours.  The only time I was up was to go to the bathroom to urinate.  I had to go frequently but could only go a small amount, less that a cupful.  Urinating was being accompanied by an intense burning sensation that was very very uncomfortable.  I called my urologist on Monday to advise him of the infection and he had me go in to give a urine sample and to get some wide spectrum antibiotics.  By Tuesday morning I was feeling better and was able to be up and about for short periods.  My urologist called me late in the afternoon on Tuesday and inquired as to whether the antibiotics were having an effect.  This is when he also broke the news that the results of my biopsy were back and that I did have "a small amount of cancer on the right side of my prostate".

That was a very surreal moment for me.  We made an appointment for CJ and I to see him the following morning at 0830 at his Madison office.  After I hung up the phone with him I remember just standing there in stunned silence.  I was so very sure that the biopsy results would be negative that I was completely taken off guard.  Rarely in my 52 years on this planet have I been shaken to the very core of my existence.  This was one of those times, and in spades.  A cold feeling settled over me.  Fear and dread.  When I got off the phone, CJ and the "kids" were standing on the other side of the room doing something though I couldn't say for sure exactly what.  I looked at CJ and the situation must have shone clearly on my face because I'm sure she knew what I had to say even before I told her.  When I did quietly tell her she quickly walked outside with me directly behind.  Her eyes were filled with tears and as always that hurt me more that anything.  I told her and she fell into my arms and I almost lost what little control I still had left in my own emotions.  I fought back my own tears because, well, because that is what I do.  I was raised in the American Southwest, a world in which men do not cry and do not let loose with their emotions.  I reassured her (and me) that this was NOT a death sentence (as it had been for my mother) and that we had detected the cancer very early and that I stood a very good chance of a full recovery.  Didn't matter what was said or by who, we were both in shock and not ready to move forward yet.  We just stood there for a few seconds holding each other.  I was afraid to let her go and look at her because I was very close to a complete emotional systems failure.  After several minutes we pulled it together and went back inside to tell the kids what was going on.

The next day would be a day of information gathering.

                            Norse Prayer for Battle and Burial Rites

Lo there do I see my father. Lo there do I see my mother and my sisters and my brothers. Lo there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning. Lo, they do call to me, they bid me take my place among them, in the Halls of Valhalla, where the brave may live...forever.

Family History

I started working on the genealogy of my family a couple of years ago. I started this whole odyssey wanting to learn more about my paternal line of ancestry and immediately hit a stone wall at my great granddad John H Holmes. I could not, and still haven't found any information about the Holmes family before John. Very frustrating! John and his wife Anna (Goff) had six kids, 3 boys and 3 girls. They were living in the area around Brownfield, Texas during the 1920 and 1930 census periods. My granddad Red and grandma Stacy were also living in the same area and can be found on the 1930 census with my great granddad. I grew up hearing my dad tell the story about how one of his aunts, along with one of her two kids, had been murdered during this time. The story was that she had been raped and murdered by a black man in her own house. After killing her, the murderer realized there was a child in the house. Not wanting to leave any witnesses, he picked the young girl up and bashed her head against the stone fire place until she too was dead. Grisly! You would think it would be easy to find mention of such a murder in one of the newspapers of the day. I had looked previously for any evidence of such a murder but had come up empty.

Then I had a break. I was taking a closer look at the 1930 census and noticed that 10 year old Vivian Wadford was a person in my great granddad's household. She was listed on the census as "granddaughter". Curious but still not realizing the consequences, I began digging deeper. The 1920 census made no mention of her in his household. Not unusual since she may not have been born yet. After extensive searching, I found a family named Wadford in the Brownfield area on the 1920 census: Luther, Blanche, 3 year old Mildred and 0 year old Vivian! If this was the same Vivian, then Blanche must be the daughter of John and Anna. I had not previously come across a Blanche though. Brow furrows. I ran a search for Blanche and immediately came across newspaper articles about her murder. Eyebrows raise as eyes widen. Blanche and her 3 year old daughter were murdered by Virgil Sampson, a black man. Blanche was selling paintings outside the front of her home while 3 year old Mildred was playing on the porch. Virgil comes walking by carrying his shotgun and eventually makes advances towards Blanche. Blanche tells Virgil she is going to tell her husband and Virgil asks her not to do such a thing. Blanche stands firm and says that, yes, she will inform her husband of Virgil's advances. (Remember, this in 1920's Texas, it was a hanging offense for a black man to make advances towards a white woman.) Virgil shoots Blanche point blank with his shotgun. She is dead. Virgil then sees Mildred on the porch and shoots and kills her too. Unknown to Virgil, 3 month old Vivian is sleeping soundly inside the house and miraculously does not wake up to all the shooting. Virgil departs the scene. Luther comes home that evening and finds 2/3 of his family gunned down. Luther is eventually arrested for the murders and ironically, Virgil is a witness for the prosecution against him. Luther goes to jail, awaiting trial, for 18 months. Meanwhile, Virgil is arrested for assaulting a 14 year old white girl and sentenced to hang. Virgil never admits to this assault but he does come clean and confesses to killing Blanche and her daughter. Virgil is the last black man ever hanged in Lamar County Texas. Luther is set free and eventually remarries and lives out his life in Brownfield. Evidently, he gave up Vivian for John and Anna to raise.

So, there you have it. A family tragedy verified to be true, though the facts had been altered through the years somewhat. Very cool and exactly why I am doing this genealogy gig. I have found many more fascinating things about my family. More on that later perhaps.

The quest continues however for information on the Holmes family prior to great granddad John. Stay tuned.

First Date

I just sent out a friend request on Facebook to a lady who was my very first girlfriend. I was living in the Georgia Pacific company town of Samoa, CA and she was living in Fairhaven, a town just down highway 255 at the end of the Samoa Peninsula. The Pacific Ocean lay to the west, Humboldt Bay and Eureka, CA to the east and Arcata, CA to the north. The year was 1971 and we were in 6th grade together at Peninsula Grade School. Her father owned a lime green 71 Dodge Charger. Very cool! Her name was Sandra and she had long blond hair that surrounded the face of an angel.

Our first "date", you inquire with all requisite eagerness? I took her to a movie. My mother drove us to the theatre and picked us up when the movie was over. Everything was very romantic as you would expect. I didn't even know what romance was. I included all of the ruffles and flourishes a 6th grader could afford. I didn't know one ruffle from a flourish and I had all of about $0.75 in my pocket which was probable given to me by my father as I was leaving the house. What movie did we see? Why, what else, "The Night of the Living Dead".

I don't remember much about the movie. I spent a lot of time trying to get the nerve to put my arm around her and when I finally did, I spent a lot of time chastising myself for not doing so earlier because she felt so nice. She was soft and warm and her perfume was intoxicating. I think I bought us popcorn and sodas, maybe even went all out and got us a box of Milk Duds. I really don't remember, I was too busy drinking in all of her essence. I never wanted this time to end.

In the subsequent days we spent a lot of time just walking together while holding hands. Her hands were soooo soft and she could bring me to my knees with just the slightest squeeze of her fingers.

I never looked at girls the same. Thanks Sandra.

Deer Hunting - Part 1

It is early morning on the first day of deer season and it is black, pitch black, and raining lightly. The kind of rain romantics and film directors like. The kind of rain that lures you outside and then, before you know it, you're soaked to the skin and on your way to pneumonia and an extended stay in the hospital. I park next to the curb outside The Palms Apartments and kill the engine. The first kill of the season? I turn my headlights off and take a quick look at my illuminated Timex watch, complete with the optional camouflaged wrist band. It is just past 3am.

Mike, my hunting partner, is supposed to be in his truck, ready to go. His truck is here, just three spaces in front of me, but I see neither hide nor hair of Mike. Now, being the experienced hunter and tracker that I am, I am confident that I would notice if either Mike's hide or hair was anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Mike is most definitely not in his truck. I briefly contemplate sounding one long loud blast on my horn, the universal sign of irritation at being kept waiting, but I have a vision of a several angry faces glaring out at me from behind the cold rain slick windows of the apartments. All the faces have sleep filled eyes and gun filled hands. All are glaring in the direction of their own irritation, namely me. My horn remains as silent as a grave. With the vision fading, I take a sip of what was once hot coffee but is now just a cold coffee like substance. I stroke my beard and thoughtfully ponder the situation for about 5 minutes. This is an age old stalling technique employed by all the best hunters and trackers while waiting for their partners to show up. I am still clinging to the hope that, at any second, Mike will walk outside and I will not have to leave the warmth of my '70 Ford Bronco. What in the name of all that is holy is keeping him.

To make matters worse, I am not wearing my insulated camouflaged rain gear. Wearing that stuff inside a truck gets hot very quickly. Besides, I was expecting to just drive up, wave good morning to Mike sitting in his truck, and then continue on to our happy hunting grounds. Then and only then was I going to don my gear. But here I am and no Mike. I have to go in and get him. Exasperated, I open the door and step out into the cold, wet morning and onto the slick wet asphalt. I pull my camouflaged rubberized rain slicker and rain pants from where I stow them behind the driver's seat. I decide to put the rain pants on over my laced up waterproof Danner hunting boots. Why risk getting my camouflaged wool socks wet. Wet socks combined with a long day of beating brush is best avoided. I also decide I can't lean against the Bronco while pulling the rain pants on without getting my jeans wet. A man can get chafed hiking in wet jeans and chafed does not make for a happy hunting experience, I always say. If you have never attempted putting rain pants on while you are wearing wet leather boots, I can assure you that its not as easy as it sounds. It is like trying to pull the wool over your wife's eyes when a boys night out ends up with the cops hauling you out of a strip club, naked and in hand cuffs. I still maintain my innocence in that. On this morning, I end up in the middle of the road, under a street light, hopping around in little clockwise circles like a one legged man in an ass kicking contest. I wonder, if I were down under in Australia, would my hopping circles be counter-clockwise? After several minutes, and considerable effort, I succeed where a lesser man would fail. A lesser man would have just jogged over to the front door of the apartments and gotten wet in the process, or at least dampened. I was still panting from the effort as I put my matching camouflaged rain jacket on and zip it up to my chin. I pull my black, non-camouflaged, stetson down a little tighter on my head, take another sip of the tepid coffee, spit it out in disgust, and then start through the rain for the front door of the apartments.

My new plan, conceived just this minute, is to go inside and knock on Mike's door. Once he opens the door I will burst into the apartment while dripping water everywhere. I will rant and rave and throw in some wild hand gestures just to ensure maximum water displacement. This was going to be fun. Make it worth the effort of having to put all this stuff on before I was ready. I am smiling with anticipation as I reach the main door to the apartment building and my hand is just reaching for the cold brass door handle when Mike opens the door from the inside.

He sees me standing there dripping with rain and says "Hey, mornin'!" Then without pause he continues "Looks like we lucked out with this weather. Rain will keep the deer bedded down till after sunrise and give us plenty of time to get up into the woods."

I remain conspicuously silent.

Mike looks at me with concern and says "You shouldn't grind your teeth like that man. Can't be good for you." As he shoulders past me he continues "Come on, don't just stand there, we're late as it is." With his backpack and rifle in hand, sans rain gear, Mike leaves me standing of the stoop and jogs over to his truck.

I walk slowly over to join Mike making a conscious effort to relax and stop grinding my teeth. He's right, can't be good for me.

"I need to fill up with gas and get some coffee." Mike said over his shoulder as he was stowing his rifle in the gun rack mounted inside the cab of his truck.

"Of course you do." I said, my teeth suddenly grinding again.

By the time we get to Uncle Walter's Mini-Mart-N-Gas my mood has recovered and I am once again excited about the hunt. While Mike fills up with gas, I take the opportunity to top off my own fuel tank. It is raining harder now and in the time it takes us to walk from the pumps to the market we are both dripping wet. We go inside and shake off the rain. The young girl behind the counter does not appear amused and tosses daggers at us with her eyes. We both fill our travel mugs with hot black coffee and I pick up a beef and bean burrito that has probably been sitting under the heat lamp since yesterday. Mike gives me a look of disgust but I really like these little morsels of deep fried goodness. The clerk just glares at us, unspeaking, when we pay for the gas, coffee and burrito. We are walking back to our rigs when I suddenly turn around and run back inside, again dripping water. The clerk hasn't moved and seems to have an endless supply of eye daggers. I duck and weave my way to the back of the store where I grab several packets of hot sauce. Can't eat deep fried mini-mart burritos without hot sauce, it just isn't done.

Once I am back outside Mike casually brushes the daggers off my back. As I munch on my impromptu breakfast, we confirm which CB radio channel we will be monitoring. It is 0325 hours. We are late and while it is not the start I anticipated we are here and we are finally ready to head off into the woods. I can not keep the smile off my greasy face. Until I burn my lip and tongue on the scalding hot coffee. Oh well, it will cool on the ride out.