kvetching up

Today in my Gmail arrived a new academic article on pancreatic adenocarcinoma. It announced there is, as I already knew (but hate to think about), no effective screening to detect the disease early. I worry so much for my girls and hate they have this fearsome disease to be afraid of for their whole lives and the lives of their kids. Jenny used to curse my genes for the depression (which, quelled surprise we later learned she had too) I carry and have gifted to my kids. She loved these girls so very much I know she would have done (had to change it to the past tense, I hate this) anything to prevent them from carrying the gene. 

 Entry 1    3:48 a.m. Why am I awake?

 Entry 1     10:18 a.m. Inter A week from the MRI, and my knees aren't quite so bad. Albeit, my walk remains more Charlie Chaplin than Long John Silver like.  Still, I can move a bit better, but pay for it with aching knees.  It could be worse. I could have terminal cancer. I installed a motion sensor, a glass break detector a camera with alarm and motion sensors, and a motion sensor light around the outside of the downstairs yesterday. I also affixed stickers to the windows. I have two more lights and one more camera to install.  The camera and light I installed during the deluge; a real old-fashioned PNW experience.  I slept in my bed last night for the first time in two weeks.  I woke repeatedly. I don' think I will be able to do that peacefully until I have the downstairs sliding glass door replaced with security doors and bars placed on the 2 huge windows. My love hate relationship with Seattle does have a lot to do with the years...

 Entry 1     5:28 p.m. CA 19-9 Jenny looked at her CA 19-9 level today while out. I was working. She began texting me. She asked me why her tumor marker, over 37k, is so high. She told me she doesn't want to die. I don't really know how to respond. I say, lamely, I don't want you to die, either.  But she has receded, since we moved, back to believing completely that she is going to beat this terminal disease, through sheer will.  I must say, she is well exceeding her life expectancy.  This disease kills almost everyone with her precise diagnosis.  The only way it would not kill her sooner rather than later, is if the mets on her liver went away, she got no new metastases elsewhere, and the tumor and any cancerous lymph nodes were then removed. That would, more likely than not, only extend her life a couple years, and the surgery is brutal--they remove, resection and redirect many of the organs of the digestive tract. It is fraught with risk, and she is...

  Entry 1     10:31 a.m. Woke this morning at 6:00 a.m.  with today squarely on my mind.  I am sitting outside the procedure room in the Jones Pavilion at Virginia Mason, almost exactly 13 months from the first time Jenny had a procedure done.  She is in with the health care professionals for a tumor biopsy of her liver. The women at the admitting desk tried to chase me away almost immediately. VM would prefer no one be in the building, save the workers and patients. I can't stand the idea of being farther away than necessary. They suggested I not come in at the entrance, but there is no bar, and Jenny needed  me to be with her. Largely empty corridor waiting room. Jenny had  blood work done, got some preliminary pictures taken (both done in the Buck Pavilion). We then walked or hobbled over here to Jones Pavilion.  She told me one of her mets on her liver is the distance between, bending her forefinger and thumb to show the size, about...