sLeEpLeSs iN SaLt LaKe

i couldn't sleep last night/this morning.

my brain won't shut off even when i am very tired.

writing parts for my 'cancer story' made me want to finally look 

at the filming we did.  we recorded most everything and planned to 

make a short documentary about it. 

my intention is to still do this once i find someone who can convert the material to a better format and help edit it.

i haven't opened that box in four years, and never watched

what we filmed once until now.

i only watched 1 and a half of 7 tapes we filmed.

it was weird to see my boys so young, and dan with hair.

painful yet validating to watch him talk to me while i held the camera.  he spoke softly and sweet to me; nothing that he is now.  

i only watched to where my cancer stories are currently. although not surprised that my memory is identical to what was filmed, i am amazed at my ability to recall details of almost any event in my life.  

my memory is a gift and a curse.

i love knowing who i am and the details of my life,  but with the sweet memories also come the painful, sad ones that i would prefer to forget.

i'm not ready to post the details saved for future parts in the story, but the films made me miss my husband.

he is not him anymore.

he is someone else.

i have accepted this.
i have learned to be happy.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

Surviving Cancer, My Story Part 13: Cancer love letters

Part 13: Cancer love letters

 After Dan was hooked up to round 2 of his chemo we got out a deck of cards and began to play a game.  Somehow games had been a great distraction in our marriage when one of us was sick.  At the end of my pregnancy with our first baby, I was in so much pain I was pretty much housebound.  Dan would come home from work and set up a station of games around the bed and we would play for hours.  We were both competitive in nature, which kept us motivated to keep playing until we individually felt we had the upper hand at winning. Games were a good distraction for the hospital stay and kept our minds on superficial subject matter.

He finally looked like he belonged at the hospital. He was bald headed, and 40 pounds thinner.  His clothes hung on him like he was a teenager wearing his dad’s clothes.  His head became shiny, as all cancer patients do, with no stubble to take the glare down a notche.

The room we were assigned this time around was in the back of the hospital.  It was a smaller room, with a view of rocks on the mountainside where the hospital was built against instead of the cityscape like we had before.   It was dark and cold.  I didn’t want to be there, I longed for the comforts and luxuries my own home and bed provided me that the hospital never could.

 A hospital routine soon settled in for us. I would stay with Dan at the hospital with our baby until he was administered his chemotherapy and spend the night on the fold out couch. Depending on how Dan’s system handled the drugs I would leave during his nap the next day to pick up Cole from the various houses he was being passed back and forth between, spend some time with him and then head back up to the hospital for another night or two before bringing him home.

Dan soon gave into the drugs and fell asleep.  I tried to do the same but my mind raced with worry and stress.  ‘Is this chemo working?’ ‘It better be working.’ ‘How can I get the insurance company to pay for Dan’s treatments?’  ‘I miss my Cole.’ ‘I still can’t believe this is real’. My thoughts never settled but my body eventually gave into exhaustion.

One of the rules for cancer patients is that their guests are not allowed to use their private bathroom.  A high risk to infection made it important to keep everything sterile and hospital approved.  When I woke up I walked down to the community bathrooms and showers still in my pajamas. This was common in the morning, to see spouses and caretakers with wild bed hair, wearing pajamas, and bags in hand making their way to their ‘assigned areas’ for bathroom and shower privileges. It reminded me of Holocaust films where the Jews and outcasts were herded into separate sectors.

Caretakers of cancer patients bear so much more burdens than anyone ever realizes.  They also take a backseat to the cancer patient in all areas.  The responsibility of keeping everything together for the cancer patient lies within their hands. All responsibilities’ are turned over to them, emotional, financial, mental, and physical. Ultimately the sense of personal duty to make sure everything does turn out the way you promise and want it to becomes the central focus and an obsession to fulfill.  No one is ready to fail his or her loved one.

Dan was awake when I returned and we talked about the daily plans.  The chemo he was getting made him want to sleep most the time we were there.  Around five o’clock that night he was ready to close his eyes.  I said goodnight and kissed him good-bye. 

In the morning I took both boys up to the hospital to spend with Dan. It was Cole’s first time visiting.  He had gotten used to his dad looking different from all the other dads, and took on the changes as if they were normal.  He behaved as if others should feel that way too.  Broken hands were not weird to him, and he frequently held one hand with the other and confessed a fib to various strangers that he had a broken hand, and could magically pull his hair out. When we first walked in, Cole looked scared to see his dad hooked up to so many machines and colorful bags hooked to tubes filtering under his shirt.  He was aware of the sensitivity his dad felt in his body and was usually careful when around him.  Any worry he had soon abandoned his mind after he was able to sit up in his dad’s bed with him and watch cartoons like he used to at home.

We stayed most of the day.  We had been lacking in family time and although the circumstances were less than ideal it felt comfortable to be together as a family.  Something about being separated during a crisis makes everything seem ten times worse.

I know Dan was happy to have the boys there, but he started feeling sick this time around during his treatment and became irritated at everything.  This in combination with the chemo plus eight other medications for pain, nausea, including a strong steroid made him physically ill, emotionally unstable, and mentally unsound. I packed up the boys to take Cole home and planned to return after my mom came to stay with him to help Dan during the night. He had been snappy in his tone about everything that day toward me and open about his discomfort.  He was mad at me for his being sick.  I tried to ignore it, knowing it was the circumstances making him act this way.  Tension in the room became thicker as the time for me to leave approached.  I knew Dan didn’t want to be left behind, that he prefer to just get up and come with us. Everything in his life was out of his control.  He was tethered to the hospital by machines and would remain a prisoner there for at least another day.

I remember this moment signifying the beginning of Dan subtlety pushing me out of his life.  Keeping me at a distance made it easier to attach the negative feelings from our circumstances and shift blame of the cancer onto a liable person. He began making me the enemy in his mind.

“Why don’t you just stay home tonight since you’re leaving”, he said as he turned his head away from me like a pouting child. 

I was too annoyed to let my hurt feelings control my emotions, “is that what you really want?” I asked him.   Although I knew that wasn’t what he wanted, a crying hungry baby and toddler jumping on me kept me from playing mother to his childish game.

“Yep!” he replied coldly and pursed his lips together.

I leaned over his bed to hug him good-bye.  I knew he was mad at me, and deep down inside I was mad at him.  He was making things harder on me than they already were.  He loosely threw one arm over my back with his head still turned to the side as if he were being forced to hug his worst enemy as punishment for fighting with them.  When I was younger my dad used to make us hold hands and walk half a mile down the road with the sibling we were at war with.  It was torture.  I knew Dan needed someone or something to blame for the misery he was going through. I hated that he picked me to be that ‘someone’; even though most people blame those they are closest to for things they are unhappy about.

 “Why are you pushing me away?” I whispered as I began to pull away.

He didn’t answer, but wouldn’t let go of me. He pulled me closer to him finally taking me into his arms.  His grip tightened and I felt his sincere embrace as he held me on his chest for a few minutes longer.  I didn’t want him to let go.  Nothing more between us was said before I left, just an exchange of glances that said, ‘I get you’.  I waited until I was in the car before I let myself cry.  I subconsciously felt the inner conflict Dan was adopting between loving me and blaming me for what was going on.

 I fed the kids and put them to sleep.  Before I got ready for bed I got on the computer to check my emails.  One addressed with no subject was from Dan only an hour earlier.

i wanted to send you a quick note.

i love you.

thank you so much for coming up to see me.

 sorry i was being a pain.

  it means the world to me to have you hug me. 
that touch was what my body needed, it was hard to let you go.

 felt like the old days, when we were dating,

 before we got married.

i really love you.

 i cant wait to get home and be apart of the family again.  we can
make it through this.

Dan

My mind flashed back to the time he was referring to.  Our relationship never felt perfect or without problems even then, but I knew he loved me, and it made me love him.  His email confirmed my thoughts and that we felt the same.
Dan wrote me a lot of letters before we got married. Reading the email he sent from the hospital pricked my heart reminding me how I had carefully chosen him as my mate.
My childhood broken home left me with fears about finding the right person to
share my life with.

I printed the note for safekeeping and quick retrieval for future bad days that were sure to come. My self worth was fragile and cracking. The small confirmations that Dan gave that we had each other, and we were in it together were the only things that gave me reason to keep going and act strong.  I needed to feel that same love he had for me in the beginning. I craved it, although I could feel it slowly slipping away the longer he had cancer.

We picked him up from the hospital the next day.  The boys decided to be with daddy, and brought their toys into our room so we could be together. Things felt better for the moment and I dismissed the hospital incident in my mind. 

Love is forgiving the ones you have relationships with, regardless of if they are sorry or not.  I knew by Dan’s ‘cancer love letter’ that he was sorry, that he didn’t want to push me away, and that he loved me.  I believed his letter that ‘we would make it through this’, meaning his cancer. I just didn’t suspect that there would be other things happen that we might not make it through.

Surviving Cancer, My Story Part 12: "I look like a cancer patient"

I look like a cancer patient

After people got the word we were back from the hospital we were called on by several visitors, some scheduled and some unannounced. Details began to blend and blur from that moment on.  Only significant changes and upsets scarred my mind from that point on.  I was in the thick of the maze and my goal was just to make it out and journey to a time where I could look back on what we were going through and be able to say, ‘that was hard, but I came out still standing’.

Meals were brought to our home several nights a week by members of our church congregation accompanied by well wishes and inquiries of the latest cancer updates. I felt overwhelmed but knew going through a public battle was not an easy thing for people to ignore.  Cancer makes everything feel awkward.

Dan’s parents were still in town for one more day and called to say they were coming over.  My home hadn’t been cleaned since the ordeal from our first diagnosis.  As an OCD neat freak it was embarrassing to have anyone, especially my critical in-laws over to see piles of unfolded clothes and toys not put away. They arrived and I had hoped the visit would be short.  Dan had only been home for a few days and was physically unable to leave our bedroom yet.  The combination of non-stop vomiting and zero food consumption left him with no physically ability to get up and walk around.  Sleep was his only method of recovery.  I had taken on protector of that recovery time and made sure any noises in the house were limited to whispers and kept the kids outside playing as much as possible.

“Will and I have decided that we will come out for Dan’s treatments and take him to the hospital.  We will take things over from here and we’ll let you know how things went up at Huntsman when we bring him back”, Marjorie said as she stood on one side of my dining table holding the chair under her hands.  Sitting on the couch trying to remain calm I felt the knot from the center of my chest rising to the top of my throat.  I wanted to reply as casually as I could.  I stood up, faced here, and began to approach the other side of the table.  My father in-law, always a second thought shadow to his wife stood there with a blank stupefied look on his face.  I could tell he didn’t make the decisions in their relationship but that he knew he better support them if he wanted to remain a good rank to the captain.

“Thank you Marjorie, but that won’t work for me”, I replied.  In conversations with my father about her past attempts to bully me he had advised me this simple phrase to get out of every demand she made of me.  It was polite and simple; surely to leave whomever it was being said to without any response at all.  “What will work for me is visiting Dan while he’s at the hospital or in between treatments if you prefer.  It’s been really hard taking care the kids all by myself and I would love to have your help.”

I knew she had no desire to do anything with my kids.  Her nurturing instincts left when her kids had outgrown needing mothering and left her an empty nester.  The very suggestion would give her reason enough to abandon her duel to be in charge.  I knew I would win and we would have less conflict that wasn’t wanted.

“NO!”, she persisted, “there is no need for you to be up there with him, I am his….” I cut her off mid-sentence for the first time asserting my right to feel respected, “I understand what your saying, but this won’t work for me, but thanks for the offer.”  I turned and walked down the hall toward the bedroom where Dan was.  My body was shaking not only from fear of standing up to such a threatening woman in my life but from the anger I felt from her dehumanizing me as someone who was going through something as well.  I was also a girl whose husband was dying from cancer. 

I could hear her getting upset in the other room complaining to Will as I closed the door to the bathroom.  I shrunk onto the floor, just as Dan did when he learned his life was about to change.  Our bathroom had become a place to hide away, not only from scary in-laws but also scary diseases and anything bad.  An innocent child like gesture of hiding gave comfort and space to regroup thoughts and regain courage to face the things that scared us most.

I sat in there for more than 20 minutes before I felt composed to go out and play ‘grown-up’ to people who should have allowed me to cry on their shoulders like a small child.  Dan forced himself awake for a couple minutes to say good-bye to his parents.  It was a difficult time for them and I both.   I wished for things to be different.  I wished to wake up and have this all be a bad dream.

My in-laws left town and Dan started to feel better. Food was still far from his mind but he had stopped throwing up every hour.  He tried to eat but after one bite of anything he quickly rejected whatever he thought he could handle.  His appetite gave us no concerns, as we were just grateful he was feeling better.  I was relieved to have him awake and wanting to rejoin any area of the house besides our bedroom.  Things were starting to feel as though he just had a really bad flu bug and it was now over.  We had been home for a week and a half by that point and color was coming back to his face. 

He wanted to take a shower and maybe get out of the house.  We talked about a small walk.  My mother had arranged for us to take Cole to Heber City to ride Thomas the Train, his obsession at the time.  Our planned outing was for the next day and Dan wanted to test out his sea legs and make sure he would be able to make the long trek up there.  Someone from church had come over to sign our weekly food voucher and to check on us while he was getting clean.  I don’t remember the subject matter of the conversation we were having, only what happened right before he left.  Dan came out from the back bedroom.  He seemed aloof, not looking at anyone in the eye.  He barely said hello as he entered the room and promptly sat himself on the furthest edge of the couch looking down to his lap. He was fully dressed, but his face was a bead of sweat and his hair dripping wet from the shower.  It was the oddest behavior.  I acted natural as if I didn’t notice that something was wrong and ushered our guest out with a ‘thanks for stopping by’. 

“What is wrong”, I asked turning his direction. It took me asking him several times, coming to the couch, and sitting right next to him before I could get him to look up.  He had panic on his face. “What is it?”, I pleaded for him to tell me.

“Look!”, he said as he lifted his arm up and ran his fingers through his locks of blonde hair.  From the top of his forehead down the back of his neck his hand fell to his lap with a fist full of hair.  I sat looking at it in disbelief for a few minutes.  He opened his hand and the hair fell to the ground.  Tears strolled down his face as he sobbed, “I don’t want to look like a cancer patient!”

I moved closer and held him while he cried.  I reassured him it was all right because he ‘was’ a cancer patient, even though I felt the same as he did inside.  It’s one thing for your family and friends to know you’ve got a nasty disease, but it’s another to have every stranger who sees you on the street know as well.

A plan was devised to keep him looking normal until we came home from Heber the next day.  We wouldn’t touch a hair on Dan’s head, not comb it, nor wash it, nothing.  Dan needed to feel normal just one more day. 

When I opened my eyes and rolled over to wake up Dan the next morning I saw clumps of hair everywhere.  As he lay sleeping I gathered up as much hair as I could and ran to the bathroom to dispose of the upsetting evidence.  He was still shocked at how much he saw on his pillow when he woke up, despite my efforts. My husband would soon be bald.  He complained of how badly his head hurt.  No one told us losing his hair would be painful as well.  The roots of the hair had been severed leaving the hairs in his scalp disconnected poking through the scalp with no inner support.  Any touching he did to his head moved the strands in and out of their individual placement stinging like needles entering the skin at every point.

The train ride began and Cole sat next to his dad.  I watched the breeze from the open cabin blow through Dan’s hair.  Strands easily blew away like a dandelion from a gentle breeze.  We didn’t talk about cancer and pretended to have fun with our kids.  All the other families were genuinely carefree and happy; enjoying a relaxing outing.  

We arrived home just before nap-time and had prepared a sit down talk with our young son.  We sat on the couch and told him that something was going to happen.  The extent of his knowledge was that his dad was sick. “You know how daddy goes to the hospital to get special medicine?”, we asked him as if we were teachers at a school.  He nodded his head looking directly at Dan.  He still didn’t talk very much but we knew by his eyes when he understood what we were talking about.  “Well that special medicine is going to make daddy better, but it also is going to make daddy’s hair fall out.”  We knew he was seeing his dad with hair before nap-time and after he woke up he would look different.  Our effort was to prevent scaring the poor kid or giving him cause for upset. “See look!”, I said as Dan grabbed as much hair as he could and yanked it out.

Cole looked shocked.  He tugged as his own hair to see if he’d get the same result.  “No”, I said grabbing his hand and leading it to his dad’s scalp, “only daddy’s hair, because of daddy’s special medicine.”  I helped him make a fist around a clump of hair and pull it gently out. I felt sick inside, as I played it casual for the sake of Dan and my son.  “When you wake up daddy won’t have any more hair, but he will still be daddy”, I said in my best somber calm like voice. Cole seemed to understand enough of what we were trying to tell him.  Dan walked him down the hall and put him in his bed.  I retrieved my clippers and sheers from my old work bag.  I knew from being a professional hairstylist that I was capable to rid the remaining hairs from his head though emotionally I didn’t feel ready at all. I started with a number 2 buzz.  Without a ‘cancer patient losing his hair guide’ I had no idea how short to take it before letting nature take over the rest.  “Shorter!”, Dan commanded.  Reluctantly I  snapped on the number 1 clip and buzzed it away.  It didn’t even look like there was anything left.  I was strictly his hairstylist now and I stood behind him with the clippers waiting for more directions.  If I were to switch to being his wife I would have to walk around and look him over from the front.  I sat in disbelief that I just cut off all his hair while he looked in the hand mirror and touched his head.  “Take it to the scalp”, he said. “I don’t want to”, was the first thing that blurted out of my mouth in response. “Do it!”, he commanded.  I was mad he was being so tense to me, but I was clearly more affected by the anxiety of the situation.  I shaved his head to the scalp, with no guard on the blade. I turned off the clippers, set them down on the counter, and swiftly walked to the back bedroom without looking back at him.  My heart was racing and I didn’t want to act upset.  I let the natural rhythm of my heart return and chocked the lump in my throat back down before I went back to the kitchen.  There would be no crying from me I decided.  He was still sitting in the chair, the same as when I left.

 The hairs in his scalp were like needles imbedded in the skin, burning at every touch.  “They have to come out!” he said, as he put both his hands around each side of his head in pain.  I reacted on autopilot in devising a plan to get the stubble out.  I retrieved a sticky roller and began rolling it back and forth across his head.  It was working, trapping the hairs to the paper and pulling them out quickly.  We used up two refills to get them all.  It was done.

He went to the bathroom to inspect the newness in his look.  I swept up the last of his hairs and threw them in the trash.  We met back on the couch and sat numb by what we just did.  ‘What next!?’, was all my mind could rehearse over and over again.

Cole emerged from his room with a wondering look in his eye.  They widened when they spotted Dan sitting there on the couch next to me.  He walked over to me with his arms reaching up asking me to pick him up in my lap while never averting his eyes away from his dad.  He sat staring at him until I said, “that’s daddy.”

Dan reached over for his son and took him out of my lap and into his own.  Cole squirmed and reached my direction, looking desperate for me to rescue him. “No”, Dan said and grabbed him desperately trying to make him look up his face. Cole’s only reaction was to assume fetal position and bury his face into his own arms. “It’s me buddy, it’s daddy”, Dan whispered trying to sound convincing. Cole never looked up.  He was in shock as we all were.

 Dan looked disappointed at the rejection.  I knew Cole’s feelings were temporary, but were still hard for me to watch. I turned on a movie about Thomas the train to alleviate the stress.  Dan and I escaped away to our room where we lay down on the bed and look at the ceiling.  Our brains were running serious thoughts through them non-stop for over a month now and there were no amount of words to accommodate all that could have been said. “My son doesn’t know me”, Dan whispered softly to the sky, staring out the window next to our bed.  “Yes he does”, I disagreed, “this is just hard on him, hard on all of us”.  So many changes that meant so many things never left anyone feeling certain or secure about potential outcomes to those changes.  Dan wasn’t the only one who had cancer.  We all carried the burden of the disease and the harm it threatened to cause us.  I began to realize that none of us would walk away from this unscarred.  I would have to take things one day at a time and hope that our young family would have the best possible outcome to things I could never have imagined would be factors in this game of Russian Roulette. 

GiRLs NiGhT OuT

having good friends to be silly with is a must.

tara was my date to see 'dream house'.

i have a unhealthy obsession with scary movies

but never want to see them alone.

wouldn't have been as fun with anyone else.

SkeLeToNs On ThE LoOsE

sprouts on too much ipod

Surviving Cancer, My Story Part 11: One down, five to go...

Part 11: One down, five to go…

I walked into the hospital room and said good morning to my in-laws who were shocked to see me back. My husband on the other hand seemed relieved I was there. A scowl darted across the face of my mother in law as she let out an exaggerated sigh.  I was used to her abrupt expressions of unhappiness by now.  She was an older mother by regular standards as Dan was her youngest child. She had behaved this way before, like the time Dan told her we were getting married.  It became standard for me to envision her with hands upon her hips and stomping her foot while saying, “Well I never…!”, like a scene from a black and white movie from her time.

I chose to ignore her pouting.  I knew it only worked on the men in her life. The baby needed to be held and I took him out of his car seat and handed him her direction.  She refused to take him, leaving me with only a second option to pass him to his grandfather.  Although both of Dan’s parents were as equally difficult as each other, his dad was somewhat softer when it came to his grandchildren.  He would always hold them when asked.  I don’t remember Marjorie ever holding either of my children, during the year we had cancer, or before.  She possessed such a disapproving attitude all the time.  I had never seen this woman smile, and after each short visit over the years it left my husband feeling disappointment. His own mother showed such little excitement or happiness for any of his real achievements or proud moments as an adult.  It was a huge let down to him, which gave me little hopes to have the relationship I’d so desired to have with a mother in-law once I got married.

I suggested they take the baby on a walk.  I wanted to ask Dan how the treatment went with his parents through the night while I was away.

“My dad tried to give me a sponge bath”…..he groaned and rolled his eyes at the same time….

A huge smile crept upon my face.  When he glanced over and saw my expression we both started laughing until we settled upon just looking at each other with only smiles on our faces remaining.  Earlier in our marriage it was impossible for one of us to look directly at the other and keep a straight face.  We shared a bond that needed no words to say ‘I love you’ when a smile was all that was required. During an argument or a fight I knew it was impossible for him to look at me even when he was mad and keep a straight face if my lips were grinning from ear to ear. “If you smile, it’s over”, would be my frequent phrase, when a cold war was in outbreak between us. I knew I had him every time as he desperately tried to keep his lips from turning up.  Most fights between us ended this way and my ignorance couldn’t allow me to appreciate how simple the love between two people could be.

“Why would you let your dad do that?” I asked while still laughing at his confession…..

“He just started doing it”, he explained, “ I told him to stop, that you would help me shower when you came back, but of course he wouldn’t listen.” We both knew a sponge shower was probably the last thing any man would want from his dad.

Since the Hickman was inserted taking a shower was a tedious chore. We had practiced the sterile routine several times in the week before we went to the hospital.  His Hickman would get a ‘dressing’ change.  The large stick pad would be removed and the area cleaned with alcohol.  Orange surgical soap was applied to the skin surrounding the opening, and a new clear stick pad would be replaced with no air or water trapped between it and the skin.  Hepron shots would be administered to the tubes twice a day and for showers Dan would get a ‘press n seal’ wrap 4 or 5 times around his chest to seal off the area from getting any water within a 12 inch proximity to the open wound.  He would need help whisking the water off the plastic before cutting it down the back and peeling it away from his body.  The doctors had scared us enough about ever getting it wet that we took all necessary precautions to avoid irreversible infection.

I asked him if he felt sick yet from the drugs, and wondered if he had started throwing up.  I listened to him tell me it started in the middle of the night, how horrible it had been. After being done with one session he still felt sick and knew he’d be back in the bathroom within hours for more.  The visions of sitting on the edge of the tub at home, holding my hair back with one hand came to my mind from when I was pregnant the year before.  Throwing up for nine months gave me some sympathy for the anticipation of knowing your going to be sick for a while and not being able to do anything about it.

We could hear his parents talking loudly in the hall and knew they were coming back.  I prepared myself to be nice but firm, as I knew they would try to continue controlling the situation.  Sitting on the end of Dan’s bed I watched his mom walk to the only seat next to the bedside.  I tried to avoid conflict, where they were concerned, and took the baby and sat on the couch and played with him while he was awake.  Dan’s mother started to force feed her son, shoving a peanut butter and jelly sandwich into his face, “here, eat this!”, she demanded as she let out a chuckle and watch her son move his head out of the way.  “Mom, stop!”, he pleaded.  She continued to chuckle and pursue her efforts while her husband looked up from his computer to also let out a low below in support of her comical behavior.

Dan was annoyed even though he tolerated her abusive joking.  I knew how condescending they were and it made my blood boil inside.  The nurse came in to check Dan’s vitals and told him he would probably go home in the late afternoon when his treatment was over.  As I spoke with the nurse my in-laws could see I planned to retain my position of ‘cancer patient’s wife’ and that meant I wouldn’t just pack up my intentions, go home, and give into their desires for me to disappear.

His mother scoffed loudly to draw attention to her announcement that she and her husband were leaving.  “Good”, I thought. The comforting words took on double meaning for me and would have been more appropriate if she would have just said, “at ease, soldier”, even if not followed by a salute.

With his parents gone for the day and his first treatment completed Dan was ready to be released from the hospital. We both knew the next couple of days and weeks would be another hurdle we would need to overcome.  We were prescribed half a dozen new drugs and instructions to come back the next day for a Neulasta shot.  So many of his white blood cells were killed from the chemotherapy that any infection could be life threatening.  The required shot would serve the purpose of reducing that risk by boosting the remaining white blood cells that survived the harsh treatment. 

We lived about a 45-minute drive away from the hospital and knowing we’d have to come back the next day made us anxious to get in the car and head home.  I called the neighbor watching Cole and told her we were finally leaving.  She seemed annoyed that picking my husband up from the hospital was taking so long.  I apologized and felt panicked to get back in order to not damage our friendship by inconveniencing her schedule.   As we made our way down the road toward the freeway, Dan held the pink bucket gifted to him from Huntsman close to his face.  He was already pail from the weekend of getting drugged, but he looked ghostly white and I knew it would be a difficult ride home.  He began heaving after the car started moving.  I drove slowly in the right hand lane unsure if I should keep going or try and find somewhere to stop the car.  The violence and noise he was making startled the baby who was now awake in the back and crying.   The only thing keeping this from being a terribly written sit-com on television was that it wasn’t pretend, it was really happening.

“Pull over”, he gasped. I desperately look for somewhere to stop.  We were on a main road with no turn offs and I knew he’d have to wait.  The first street we came to I found a spot large enough for us to pull over the car. He opened the door and finished the ‘session’ and emptied his bucket before he pulled himself back inside and permitted me to continue driving.  I felt horrible, helpless knowing there wasn’t anything I could do to make it stop.  He would have to ride this out until the sick feeling abandoned his body.  We only made it about 5 miles more down the road before he was begging me to pull over the car again, burying his face in his bucket.  This routine continued all the way to the freeway pushing our 45-minute drive to close to 2 hours before we made it home. 

My neighbor watching Cole had called us 3 times expressing her upset that we had not been there to pick up our son and that she wouldn’t watch him for us again.  I’m sure she could hear Dan throwing up in the background as I explained what was taking so long in addition to more apologies.  By the time we made it to her house my gratitude had turned to bitterness and Dan voiced my feelings for me as I was about to open my door to retrieve our son, “We are never talking to her again, she’s not a real friend.” 

I pulled into the garage and began unloading all three boys out of the car one at a time, first the baby, then our older son, and finally my weak husband.  My arm wrapped around his waist while his draped across my shoulders.  I helped him into our room and set up a station of drugs, throw up bins, and wet wash towels to aid his discomfort. My two sons in the other room could hear their dad being sick but thankfully couldn’t process the severity of what was really happening. I made them dinner and gave them the needed attention they deserved while my emotions kept me thinking of my poor husband alone in our room.  I had shut the door to keep the noise down and hoped he’d fall asleep.  Exhaustion was taking me over, I knew we all needed rest.

The next day we had several visitors.  My grandmother and aunt came to check on us while they were passing through town.  Dan hadn’t left our room once.  He only left the bed to hang his head over the toilet and even then sometimes he just couldn’t make it that far thus enlisted me to exchange him new bucket for old. Taking care of a cancer patient was far worse than the movies made it appear. He was sleeping when our guests came over and I allowed them to peer in at him from the door so as not to wake him up. It was interested to see the reactions on their faces when they would come over to visit and see Dan for the first time. It was like they were getting a close look at something that people rarely saw up close, perhaps the changes that occurred within a cocoon, or when something starts out one way and then ends up something completely different. They were getting a glimpse of the rare process between the two, and I the first hand experience of what he started out as and the different person he would end up.  I was blind to this process, frozen to what was really happening around me, only allowing myself to grasp things day by day. I allowed myself only thoughts of good times, of the sweet moments of our young lives and short time together. I remembered the butterflies he gave me at our wedding and the way he held our two sons.  I couldn’t imagine a man who might one day be unrecognizable to his own wife and two small children.

Dan got his $8,000.00 Neulasta shot that day and I felt as if round 1 was finally over.  If we could survive the remaining 5 treatments, we could get on with the amputation and put this all behind us.

 Our son had turned three in the previous weeks following up to chemo day, and commemorating his birthday had been placed on hold as less of a priority.   We held an intimate ceremony of mom, dad, and brother singing our well wishes to a boy with a humble heart and happiness to get only one present and a cupcake sized cake not traditionally home-made.

Dan’s affected finger and hand became a nuisance  after we had accepted it as a soon discarded part without use.  It was hard to wait to have it rid from the equation.  Lifeless and in the way it was still connected to Dan’s body and a painful reminder that we had a long journey still ahead.

Surviving Cancer, My Story Part 10: Babies DO NOT belong in hospitals

 Part 10 :   Babies DO NOT belong in hospitals

Dan’s rare cancer qualified him for a case study with the hospital.  Students, residents, and interns were constantly pouring themselves into our room. Clipboards and questionnaires in hand, they would perform pretend exams on Dan, taking his temperature, and feeling his pulse.  Huntsman was a learning hospital and being a patient there meant you belonged to the science of cancer.  As a new mom for the second time around, it was more than frustrating to try and nurse my infant and settle him quietly down for a nap with young ambitious ‘wannabe’ doctors bounding in every 45 minutes while we were there.   Still I was grateful for the doctors who were trying to better the industry and their eagerness to get their hands dirty with knowledge. 

The wait for Dan’s injection took so long that we had time to order lunch from the upstairs restaurant, play card games which we frequently did in our marriage, watch two full movies and then order dinner before we were told the prescription was almost ready and chemo time would be underway soon.  Why in the world did they require us to be at the hospital at noon if we weren’t going to get poisoned until 8 pm at night? I missed my other son and wanted to go give him a kiss good night, but was committed to being with my husband.  We were a team, and I was loyal to being his support.  I didn’t want to be away from him.  I needed to feel needed in order to avoid being left alone with my thoughts and their ability to run away with panic and worry.

Two ports hanging from his chest soon became five as technology of medical devises allowed ‘T’ ports to hook in allowing for more drug access at one time.  The button was pushed and the drugs began filtering down the tubes.  There would be no going back; we were stuck in the ‘wait phase’ of the great race.  Only time would tell who would win the gruesome battle. The room fell silent as we ran out of things to talk about.  Only so much can be said to distract from obvious.  Neither of us wanted to address the big elephant in the room. The emotional exhaustion and chemo made Dan drowsy.  I was tired too. He complained about the burning he was feeling as the drugs were pushed at full force through the tubes. I encouraged him to fall asleep.  I knew I’d get a chance to step out for a short break as soon as he did.  Within minutes his eyes were shut and his rhythmic breathing confirmed his body finally was at rest. 

Realizing I was off duty for a couple hours I wandered into the hallway. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and I subconsciously tiptoed my way around. Each floor had a computer room and visiting quarters that was not only beautiful, but also open and inviting. It resembled an art gallery, clean and quite, a place to sit and reflect. I had regularly been sending out emails to update our family and friends. Feeling compelled to sit and write while my thoughts were fresh I went to the computer room first. The presidential suite we were lucky to have was right next door to this room and made it easy for me to go back and check on Dan and the baby.  They were both still sleeping.  I left Ethan in his car seat and sat by Dan in the recliner. His good hand was closet to me and I reached onto the bedside where it was and slip mine underneath his.  His wedding ring caught my attention and it made me think about the same finger on his opposite hand that was the cause for all this trouble.

 Stupid finger! It was almost an embarrassing story to tell people. “I almost died once from a broken finger”, didn’t nearly sound as dramatic as “I fell off a mountain and lived to tell about it”. There was no comparison to the two. My mind wandered into pointless thoughts like this the more I sat watching Dan, waiting for something to happen accompanied by the annoying sound waves from the machines pounding into my head.  I got up for another break.

It became a ritual of mine to go sit in the large visiting room, sit in different chairs, and zone out.  Often I would lie on my back across three of the chairs without arms and star at the ceiling as if I were trying to make out shapes from passing clouds.  People were always coming and going through this open area to gain access to the back hallway and a short cut to the patient rooms on the east floor from the elevators.  I became a habitual people watcher while I pretended to read a book or doing something else.  Several of us were on the same chemo schedule of 3 weeks off, and 1 week on, although most patients spent more time at the hospital because of complications during their off weeks than the ones on.  A middle aged woman with black hair sat by me a couple times and told me the progress of her teenage son who was in a neighboring room. He was an athlete before he got cancer.  Now he was so weak from his treatments he could hardly walk.  I felt bad for her of course, but never as bad as I felt for myself.  The timing of my trial couldn’t have been worse.  I was sure no one could compare. 

Babies don’t belong in cancer hospitals, and toting my 2 months old around the hospital gave me first place rights to complain.  During one my ‘hide-out’ breaks in this room I began to notice the same man coming to visit everyday.  He couldn’t be more than 5 years older than me.  He always brought a toddler with him and would disappear around the corner with her to the back rooms.  I could only imagine he was visiting a parent or an older relative. One of his visits, after he routinely disappeared around the corner, he reemerged chasing his toddler toward the room I adopted for alone time. A woman, young, bald and thin, followed him.  He continued to chase the baby girl with sparse blonde curls bounding from her head while the woman obviously tired sat down in the first chair she came to.  She was beautiful and wore a long skirt to hide her thin legs, and a smile on her face as she watched the grown baby stagger away from her father.  The man caught up to the baby and swooped her up in his arms.  He brought the little girl to the woman and set her in her lap and sat down in the chair next to them.  The baby was hers.  I couldn’t take my eyes away from watching them.  It was obvious the woman had been stricken with cancer for a while now, maybe shortly after her baby was born. The amount of weight loss and thick dark circles around the eyes always gave people away.  She was so thin there would be no way for her to lift that baby, let alone carry her anywhere by herself. My thoughts shifted to my own baby, who was back in our room still asleep in his car seat.  I felt guilt for being thankful our situation wasn’t reversed. I humbly turned over the first place complaint voucher to this mother in my mind and made my way back to our room.  I wanted to be with my baby.

Dan was still peacefully sleeping.  Preparing for sleep myself, I began the process of folding down the couch to a bed.  Although the hospital was nice, nothing replaced sleeping at home, and the make shift bed was stiff and uncomfortable.  I didn’t complain, realizing it could be worse, and I wanted to be with my husband even at a few discomforts along the way. I picked up my son from his car seat and lay him in a bed of pillows where he would be safe and close to me.  I was not used to sleeping solo and from that point on at all hospital stays I employed Ethan to sleep next to me and help me not feel alone.

The nights were restless as two-hour intervals would be checkpoints for the nurses to chart Dan’s progress and reactions to the drugs. Between feeding an infant and the hospital staff I was becoming accustomed to living without sleep.

Morning soon came and I was nervous to see what would happen.  I didn’t know what I should expect. Dan wouldn’t wake up on his own, the drugs were hard at work keeping his body in war with itself.  His energy was gone and sleep was all he wanted.  The nurses required him to wake up and try to eat something.  He hadn’t felt sick yet and tried to joke a little and be jovial about nothing bad happening yet. Everyone knows the classic side effects of chemo; losing your hair and a lot of throwing up.

He hardly ate anything and complained about the bad taste in his mouth.  The chemo was permeating his entire body by now and food was the last thing on his mind.

My in-laws had been staying the weekend with Dan’s aunt and came to visit in the late afternoon. I was grateful I would get in a longer break and knew the visit would lift my husband’s spirits.  I planned to go visit my older son and ground myself to a normal activity with him; like going to the park.  The door opened and Dan’s parents entered the room hold suitcases.  Although confused, I wasn’t surprised. It was obvious they were attempting to take over.  For as long as I knew them they were consistent and devoted to controlling any amount of their children’s adult lives as they could. As a result their children had married and moved out of state far away from them. They considered me an annoyance in their conquest and someone they could easily bully into submission. 

Early in our marriage Dan had a lot of conflict with his parents for the amount of disrespect they gave me not only as a person, but also as his wife.  We vowed to tolerate their antics for the sake of peace since we only saw them a couple of days a year at most.

“Hello dear!”, his mother said with disdain as she passed me and went to her son’s bedside.  She leaned down to kiss him on his forehead.  His father also said hi and then plunked himself down on the only couch in the room and set up an office of computers and telephones to keep himself busy with work, as he clearly planned on being there several days. After looking over her son for the first time in a year his mother sat in the chair next to the bed and grabbed his hand.  The wedding ring I was gazing at the night before was now engulfed by his mothers grasp. She looked at me and snidely said, “ok dear, we are here, and you can go now, goodbye!” Dan and I looked at each other at the same time.  We both waited for the telepathic message to come from the other to know what we should say or how we should react.

“Ok….”, I said with gritted teeth and a forced smile, “I’ll be back in about 5 hours”, I continued.  I already knew what they were going to say, but I refused to let them feel like what they were about to do was okay or going to be easy.  Somehow they never thought to talk to me about their plans before carrying them out.  I knew I was of little consequence to them, a thorn in their side. I hated feeling like a ‘nobody’ to them, even though I had bore two of their grandchildren.  If only they knew the difference it would have made in my feelings toward to hear them say, ‘thank you’, ‘we are glad our son has you’, or merely “how are you holding up?” These simple words would carry kindness into my heart and motivation to want them more a part of our lives.

“No, you can say goodnight to Dan now, we have brought our bags and are staying the night.  There is no need for you to come back, we’ll bring him home in a few days.” She rambled on without looking directly at me, as if she were looking for the remote to the TV.  I didn’t want a fight and although Dan had a worried look on his face that said ‘Don’t leave me alone with them for that long’, I knew I didn’t need their permission to be there.  If anything they would need mine if a challenge of guardianship arose. I walked over to Dan’s beside and gave him as good a hug as possible.  I knew every part of his body ached and anything touching him hurt.  Every part of my spirit ached, and anything threatening to dampen it hurt just the same.  I whispered that I would come back tomorrow and when I pulled away he had a reassured smile on his face.  We were like two kids who were keeping a secret from our parents.

I picked up my bags and the car seat carrying our son.  My shoulders were overloaded with weight, physically resembling the way they felt for several weeks without carrying anything at all. I walked to the elevator and pushed the button. As I walk to my car I felt the warm breeze on a spring night and noticed the sunset settling over the valley.  My mind was blank as I drove home.  I called my mother and asked her to bring Cole home. Although I disliked my mother in law a great deal, I knew it would be important for her to spend alone time with her son.  I needed alone time with my son too, and he needed that from me.  It would be the first time in months that I would get to snuggle his small body. I put the baby down in his crib and curled up next to Cole in his toddler bed.  He had no idea what I had been doing for two days, all he knew was that I had been gone and he missed me. He turned his body to mine and wrapped his arms around me as best he could.  He closed his eyes and instantly fell asleep.  I watched him sleep for a few minutes before I allowed myself to close my own eyes.  I still saw my three year old as a baby, and probably always would.  As much as I disliked Dan’s mother, I knew she felt the same way about her son as I did about mine.

Surviving Cancer: My Story, Part 9 'Envelopes from angels, and waivers of death'

 Part 9: envelopes from angels…..and waivers of death.

I went to the mailbox and found three envelopes.  One was from the hospital and two were from my aunts.  I opened the hospital envelope first. I knew it was a bill, which I considered ‘the bad news’.  The first thing that jumped off the page was the amount in big bold print, $24,000.  ‘Please pay this amount’ it read with a big black arrow pointing to it.  It was the first bill of many we would receive daily for his tests and treatments. This one was for a ‘PET’ scan, one of the most expensive tests done for cancer. Shooting radiation into your arm and scanning allows for seeing everything that is going on in the body from the cellular level, where malfunctions, mutations, and disease first begin, from heart problems, to brain disorders, to our affectionate cancer. Almost every curable disease could be detected before beginning with one simple test. When I found this out my mind reeled at how messed up the health care system really was. The last stitch effort to save people from their fates was more important than preventing tragedies before they occur. Preventative medicine was apparently still in the stone ages in concept and development. Not all patience with cancer got a PET scan due to the astronomical cost.  Insurance companies rarely agree to pay for it, however Dan got PET scans all the time.  I was half jealous he knew everything that was going on in his body at all times during this process where I was left to wonder if there was anything scary going on inside me I was unaware of. I still dream of getting my fortune told from a PET scan one day. Our health insurance was very good during this time, with the exception of ‘out of network’ doctors.  Huntsman hospital and our specialized team were not in the network.  This presented a problem since our doctor was one of very few who would even take him as a patient and who was qualified to treat his type of cancer.

I hastily threw the envelope and it’s contents onto the counter and pulled several other papers already lying there over it.  I had no desire to look at it anymore since I knew there would be several more to come.  I’d have plenty of time to address it later.

The other two envelopes each contained a handwritten note and a check.  Ironically the amounts were identical, $1000.00.  I looked at them twice to confirm that it wasn’t just $10.00.  When I realized what I was looking at I set the checks on the counter next to each other.  A grateful tear fell down my cheek as I closed my eyes to say a silent prayer of thanks.  I had been holding in so much for the sake of being strong for everyone.  Any gesture of kindness, help, or true understanding for what I was going through would break my fragile emotions, although I didn’t let anyone see me cry, I saved that for when I was alone. This happened several times over the following four months.  I would get envelopes, mostly bills, occasionally mixed in with notes containing kind words, and almost always accompanied by a check.  It was very humbling to see our less financially fortunate family members and friends digging in their pockets to send us money to help cover our bills when they were probably in need of extra money themselves.  I can recount the families these envelopes were from. They were good people, lived Christ-centered lives, or had gone through their own personal Gethsemane sometime before.   One friend of mine had lost a baby followed by several miscarriages, an aunt who had gone through cancer twice, another aunt whose young husband had suddenly died because of an unkown heart defect, leaving her alone with five children.  Why do these humbling experiences make us more empathetic to others, when without them we probably would not be?  I knew the envelopes were sent from angels….the help I sought for in my prayers.  I had no idea how we were going to survive each month and pay to rid the cancer from Dan’s body. The burden on my shoulders to make everything work was heavy and hard to maintain balance. Between these envelopes and help from our community and church we were able to manage our finances and the worry moved it’s way down to the bottom of the list. 

I had also started my campaign to the insurance company applying for a GAP acceptance.  If there were no doctors in our network who could treat Dan then the chances for partial coverage of one out of network were higher.

Insurance companies historically don’t give in easily and I spent a large amount of my time on the phone with United Health Care being passed from one supervisor to another.  I was usually good at getting my way, especially if I needed a good deal on shoes I couldn’t live without, or to get my cell phone bill reduces from huge overages. With the perfect blend of ‘sweet’ and ‘annoyance’ I believed I would win what I was after.

We were all set to go to the hospital a few days after Dan’s Hickman surgery. They had reserved a bed under his name. In my prior ignorance I used to think that cancers were all the same, just named differently, therefore chemotherapy was a standard drug to treat them all. Little did I realize that cancer hospitals play host to a lab of mad scientist creating experimental potions and theoretical mixtures to poison their subjects with and see what the outcome will be…..to live or to die.    

  The fourth floor would become our hotel for 3-4 days a month.  The potion prescribed to Dan would be a mixture of cisplatin and doxorubicin, both as nasty as they sound.  Cisplatin named for platinum, the substance being pumped into the body, was reserved for the more rare and deadly cancers due to its harsh nature.  The clear liquid carried high risks of permanent side effect such as nerve damage, kidney damage, hearing loss, and ironically cancer. Dan signed the waiver signifying he understood that the treatment to kill his cancer could cause him more cancer.  Doxorubicin carried the nickname of ‘red devil’, or ‘red death’ because of its bright red color and risk of life threatening heart damage. Most patients who fit into the risk category for doxorubicin would not survive any complications. Both drugs would continuously drip into the tube that fed directly into my husband’s heart over a two-day period each time we would be scheduled for chemo.  The pre and post treatment to the chemo kept us between a scheduled 4-7 days total at the hospital.  Vitamins and potassium bags were required for several hours before and after the chemo would be administered. 

Because we had an infant and were first timers to ‘Huntsman chemo camp’ we were given the best room on the floor. A double ‘celebrity’ suite with full amenities, including two full rooms, refrigerators, two televisions, and two double fold out couches.  Cherry hard wood floors, along with crown molding made it feel nicer than our own home. I knew the luxury and beauty of these rooms were meant to offset the horror being experienced in them. We were still rookies in this game and had no idea what to expect.

We decided a tour was in order because we would be waiting almost 6 hours until the prescriptions came through and all appropriate tests were taken before injection time. I had arranged for a relative to take our older son for the weekend to spare him any inkling that something terrible was going to happen to his daddy.  Although grateful I found someone to take him, it was hard for me to turn my non-talking, still potty-training, not yet three year old baby over to someone else.  I wanted him to be with me, and the rest of our little family. I can only imagine what was happening to our little boy that year as he experienced so much change and upheaval in his small little world. From days spent with his mom, to a new baby replacing that time, to having no dad around, to rarely seeing his mom, and practically living as a foster care child, it broke my heart that I couldn’t do anything to change it for him, and knew he would be forced to grow up faster than he should have to.  Because I was sensitive to this I tried to shelter him from as much as I possibly could. 

We left the baby asleep in our secluded room and took a stroll down the large carpeted hallway, holding each other’s hand.  Nothing seemed real yet, it felt like a stroll through an upscale air conditioned park.  It was quiet and a peaceful feeling was there.  All the rooms were oversized and came with a view of the valley.  Several patients had left their door open exposing a preview of what would surely come for us.  They looked tired, scruffy, and faces full of distress. There were no balloons, laughter or smiles at this hospital, people didn’t come here for a one-time visit or fix, they came here to stay, they came to call it a home away from their home.  After passing a couple more doors we both turned around and walked back toward our room.

Dr. Chen was there.  She came to greet us.  “Come”, she said, “I think they need your help.”  Huh? What was she talking about? Who could possibly need our help?  No one here knew us. She ushered us into the wrong room.  A middle aged man and a woman were sitting on a loveseat facing the view through their window.  They had moved the couch away from the wall and had their backs toward the doorway and us.  “Here they are”, she announced.  Dan and I watched them turn around as the woman stood up to come meet us.  Her husband was tethered to a machine and tubes. He didn’t move.  She introduced herself and welcomed us into the room and over to meet her husband.  Feeling awkward now I wondered if this was hospital initiation.  Do we pass if we aren’t freaked out about how horrible he looks and keep our reactions normal?  What would be the prize…… free chemo at happy hour?  We said hello to the man.  His facial hairs were overgrown yet patchy.  He looked old, even though his wife seemed young.  She pulled out some papers while I tried to avoid eye contact.  I was more focused on the bags of his chemo, one thick and milky white, like gel.  How could that be filtering into a vein? It seemed painful. The machine pump made a low rocking noise every few seconds as it pushed the drug into the tube feeding into a port in the man’s arm. This rocking noise would soon be a metronome haunting me every time we would visit the hospital.  I wondered what type of cancer he had; he hadn’t lost his hair and had a port in his arm underneath the skin instead an external one coming out of his chest like Dan.  Dr. Chen left the room and we were alone with these strangers. The woman explained that they needed a witness signature for a ‘Living Will’ they were drawing up. Oh no, I thought, why would they ask us for that.  Couldn’t she see that we were scared, and this was our first time here?  This WAS initiation…..’sign here to play God please’.

We watched them each sign the papers and turn them over to us. We signed our names to the witness line, shook their hands and walked for the door. I looked back as we kept walking to see her sit down next to him and wrap one arm around the back of his shoulder and resume peering at the view through the window.

My body gave a shutter after we were safely back in our own room.  

“That was creepy”, Dan said to me with his eyes widening as he plunk himself down on his over-sized bed.  I agreed and went to lay down with him while we waited for our turn, we were now in no hurry.  We didn’t say much to each other, but just lay there side by side, our hands clasped together between us and my head resting upon his shoulder. I was careful to not put pressure on his chest near the painful tubes cascading down his ribcage. He turned his head to mine and kissed me on my forehead.  I snuggled closer to him with my eyes shut trying to imagine we were back at home. Visions of Dorthy and her red shoes danced in my head convincing me that if I just clicked my heels together this would all be a bad dream and I’d wake up, releasing me from this hell. Dan continued to give me small kisses of reassurance on my head and face while his eyes scanned the room and his thoughts busy contemplating life.  I felt the peace a wife needs from her husband; protection from her fears and worries.  That would be the last time he would hold me, the last time I would feel we belonged to just each other.  The cancer would soon grow within our marriage and eat away at us just like it did to the bone in Dan’s hand. We had contracted ‘the small grade cells’ that travel slowly, undetected, and ultimately destroy everything in its path.