Here for the Long Haul

Cancer survivors are here for the long haul, living each day and counting.

At a Relay for Life last weekend, their names were announced and the time they’ve been cancer free – one month, one year, five years, 20 years. The crowd went wild, cheering each survival time. Every moment counts.

One by one they stepped forward to receive a white sash. They each wore a purple T-shirt with “I’m a survivor” in big white letters on the back.

A Relay for Life lasts 24 hours. Relays happen all over the world. Groups commit to walking a route as a way to raise money for cancer research. The walkers bring tents, sleeping bags, folding chairs. The track will never be empty. People walk all through the night.

Relays start in the afternoon. Survivors take the first lap, a victory lap. On this day, at Trinity Catholic High School track in Ocala, the high school honor guard that brought in the flag stepped out in front to lead the victory lap. Families gathered with cameras to snap pictures as survivors walked by, smiling, waving.

It was an emotional moment. I felt there should have been more than an honor guard. Maybe flower girls throwing rose petals in front of their path and a boom box playing “Chariots of Fire”. Being a survivor is a really big deal for them, their families, their caregivers, doctors, nurses, scientists looking for a cure, heck, everybody. They are walking rays of light, radiating hope that someday cancer will be eliminated.

Here’s one survivor story:
“I had a small spot on the back of neck,” said John Bell of Ocala. “My wife Cindy was worried about it, said let’s go see a dermatologist, which we did.”

A biopsy led to surgery, which led to chemotherapy.

“That was 5.8 years ago,” John said. “My last check was two months ago and I’m clear.”

Cindy took pictures as John walked by. Then she turned away and broke down, sobbing. A friend encircled her with a hug.

Cancer rips apart every plan you had for your days. It gives cruel meaning to the words “Life is what happens while you are making other plans.”

Elfriede Harris of Ocala can attest to that.

“I’m an oncology nurse,” Elfriede told me after the victory lap. “About five years ago I kept having a harsh voice, it wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t sore, there was no pain. I went to see a doctor and he said ‘oh, you have a nodule there.’ “

She stops talking and looks at me.

“You know, it is a terrible thing to say to an oncology nurse ‘you have a nodule’.” Being a nurse means you know way too much. Painting worst-case scenarios comes easily.

At first, things seemed to go well. The initial biopsy came back fine. “I was being diligent, I went back for a six-month checkup,” Elfride recalled.

The nodule had gotten bigger. Surgery followed. It was caner. A second surgery ensued, then six weeks of internal radiation.

“I couldn’t even swallow water,” Elfride said.

Consider this – until the cancer came into her life, Elfride had never been off of work except for childbirth.

“I was home for nine weeks,” Elflride said. “What was supposed to be a simple thing turned out to be very long. Thank God for my doctor, my family, my friends.”

That’s the part that numbers don’t tell you. The diagnosis of cancer ripples out and touches the lives of everyone connected to a cancer patient. Moms like Elfride who used to take care of everyone, now find that she is the one receiving care.

There are no shortcuts when facing cancer. The treatments are long and painful.

Brother Andrew, principal at Trinity Catholic, spoke of this during his invocation:
“God, we ask you for the gift of restored health for all people who have cancer. We ask you to be near those who suffer in times of weakness and pain and inspire with your love, those who bring healing and care to cancer patients – family members, loved ones, physicians, nurses, many volunteers, Hospice workers.”

Somehow, we’re all bonded in this cancer fight, we are all in this together, including the scientists looking for better early detection methods and, hopefully, a cure for cancer.

Men and women in North America (that means you and me) have the highest cancer incidence worldwide and lung cancer is the main cancer in the world today. That is sobering.

We may not be the ones to find a cancer cure, but nothing is stopping you and me from getting out there, finding an upcoming Relay for Life, and walking the walk.

Follow in the footsteps of survivors – the ones wearing purple shirts and smiling. They are cancer free, and counting.

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For further reference:
www.americancancersociety.org then click on “getting involved” and under Relay for Life, type in your zip code to find events coming up near you.

Live in the Moment

Annie is an All-American breed. Dog trainer Letty Towles coined that term. Annie is Golden Retriever/terrier/the rest unknown. Adopted from the Humane Society she lounges in the living room one morning with Suzi, another All-American, a Boxer-Golden Retriever mix.

“I like having Mom home all the time now,” said Annie. “It is such a change.”

“Friends keep calling and congratulating her on retiring, whatever that means,” said Suzi.

“I think it means you don’t have to put on nice shoes and clothes every day, and the car stays in the garage past 9 a.m.” Annie said.

“Yes, she used to get in the car and go to a building full of computers and write stories,” Suzi said.

“Now she takes morning coffee out to the porch and gets out her laptop,” Annie said. “But she’s been retired a month now. Time to get her off the porch and go away for some trips.”

“Trips? Like to the beach? Oh boy!” Suzi’s eyes got wide. She started thinking. “It isn’t going to be easy. She’s been inside a company for so long, 23 years, it is like being institutionalized. Now she’s out and doesn’t know how to live for the moment, like we do. She’s in a rut and needs to find her groove.”

“Well, let’s tell her the surf’s up,” “Annie said, raising her head, looking at Mom sitting on the porch, reading.

“I’ve got a better idea,” said Suzi, rising up on one paw. “We need to make that book about traveling with your dogs fall out of the bookcase and onto the floor, then she’d have to pick it up.”

“But if we knock over a bunch of books she’ll be unhappy,” Annie said, thinking ahead.” One of the cats could do it easier, just walk on the top of the books and knock out the right one. They do that all the time already.”

The dogs are outnumbered in this house – five cats to two dogs. The cats know they are in charge. The dogs know they are bigger. It is a standoff.

Just at that moment, Little Bit, a grey-striped tabby, sauntered by, ignoring the dogs.

“Hey, kid,” Suzi called.

“I’m no kid, I’m an alpha cat, it’s just nobody knows it yet,” whined Little Bit. She whined about everything, Little Bit was 14 years old. She should be flattered to be called a kid. Go figure.

“How would you like to do us a BIG favor?” asked Annie, “We need one book knocked off the bookcase.”

Little Bit picked up one paw and examined it carefully.
“It is going to cost you,” she purred.

“Name it,” Suzi said, sitting upright.
“One week of being off the bed so I get the best spot next to Mom instead of you two,” Little Bit said.

Annie jumped up. “One week off the bed, no way,” she snarled, showing her canines.

Little Bit didn’t blink. It was a bluff, she hoped.

”Four days tops,” Suzi said.

“Make it six,” Little Bit countered.

“Done,” Suzi said, extending her paw. Little Bit touched it then drew away quickly. Yuk. Touching a dog. Annie whimpered. “Not the floor, no, not the floor, you should have bargained more.”

“Forget the floor, think sand in your paws,” Suzi said.

Little Bit, tail held high, walked towards Mom’s chair. She jumped on the arm, then the back, and examined the bookcase behind the chair.

Florida titles took up the first two rows. She scanned titles and finally saw it “The Florida Dog Lovers Companion: the inside scoop on where to take your dog”.

Who would want to take a dog anywhere? Little Bit wondered.
She squeezed into the space between books and the top of that row, and began pushing the book. It moved slowly forward. Both Annie and Suzi were sitting up now, watching intently, Mom kept on reading, unaware of the unfolding drama.

The book tipped and fell on the floor. Mom jumped up from the chair saying, “Whoa, what was that?” Little Bit backpedaled and started whining, trying to blame it on the book, the bookcase, anything but her.

Annie and Suzi rushed forward and Mom picked up the book. She looked to see if Little Bit was all right then glanced at the book.

”Ah, traveling with dogs, it would be nice to do that if I had time,” Mom thought and started to put the book back.
Annie and Suzi were dumbstruck. They’d failed! And lost sleeping rights for six nights,

Then Mom hesitated.

”Wait a minute,” She said, “What am I saying? I’m in my bonus years. I do have the time.”

She sat down with the book. Suzi and Annie lay down next to her chair. Both crossed their front paws, just for luck,

“The beach,” Mom said, as she turned pages, reading about St. Augustine. “Salt air, playing in the surf, running on the sand.” Her eyes got dreamy. She reached down and petted each dog.

“I feel a trip coming on,” Mom said. “Tomorrow morning, let’s do it.”

Both dogs jumped up, bumped rumps and high-fived each other with their paws.

Mom looked at them, puzzled. Had she just been set up? She looked at Little Bit, quite content, cleaning her paw.
“No, they wouldn’t do that.” Mom shook her head. Still, of all the books to fall on the floor . . .

Suzi and Annie danced around the living room.
Mom smiled. She felt light-headed. She was her own boss now, making her own choices. The beach. What a blessing.
“We’re going to the beach!” Annie panted.
“Yes, it worked,” Suzi said. “Next time let’s get a cat to knock down a book about the Carolina mountains.”

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for further reading

The Florida Dog Lovers Companion : the inside scoop on where to take your dog by Sally Deneen and Robert McClure. There are a number of other dog lover companion books for various areas.

Down and Dirty with Earthworms

Dear Mother Earth,
Sorry I haven’t written sooner. It is a little nuts around here trying to keep up with everything, but you understand that.

I added another title to my job descriptions: worm rescuer.

Some days I step out the front door and there, on the walkway, is one of your relatives, writhing around, acting crazy. Yes, a relative, even carries your name with its name – earthworm.

Why do they do this? Are earthworms suicidal? They are going to die if they stay exposed in the sunshine. They’ll dry up or be easy prey for birds and any fishermen passing by who need live bait. Why did they leave the cool dirt? Why leave a safe place? It is one of life’s mysteries.

When I try to pick up an earthworm (yuk) they are not the least bit pleased. I’m not happy about doing this either. They writhe in my hand, often falling to the ground. But as soon as I can get them back in a dirt/leave area, they burrow right in.

Speaking of dirt, your dirt, Mother Earth, I want to thank you for dirt and well, you should know I’m into it recently. Dirt is wonderful stuff. Dark, rich dirt from the compost pile is now in a 4×4 foot box labeled “Lucy’s garden”. Scattered lettuce seeds. Planted some tomatoes. Put mint right under where the hose hangs down, and water drips. Mint loves water.

Even though I don’t write often, I try to think about you in the things I do. I’ve replaced all the incandescent light bulbs with long-lasting florescent bulbs. The compost pile gets all the vegetable and fruit peelings, and the mowed grass. The vegetable garden is organic, no pesticides, because I know that what goes into your dirt sinks down and 20 years later, we’re drinking it out of the tap, in Florida anyway, where water percolates through the ground and seeps down into the Floridan Aquifer.
But, I have to confess a failing. I failed the Earth Day Footprint Quiz.

Failed big-time. It must have gone to my head when the Chamber of Commerce named me Environmentalist of the Year. Not hardly.

The foot print quiz measures how many acres you use altogether for food, mobility, shelter, goods/services. My footprint is 22 acres. That’s huge. Big Foot wears smaller shoes. Worldwide, there are just 4.5 biologically productive acres per person.

The quiz result concluded by saying: “If everyone lived like you, we would need five planets.” Five planets! I’m a living breathing walking earth hog!

I am so sorry to fail you. It puts me, just one person, right up there with the big baddies, the ones who keep you so busy trying to repair the damage from ripping down the Amazon forests, paving over water recharge areas to make yet another parking lot, filling the air with toxic wastes from cars and smokestacks.

My failings in the test came in driving a car every day without carrying passengers, never using public transportation, living in a large house, using lots of resources. Sounds pretty American. But that’s no excuse.

I thought being a worm rescuer and planting an organic garden are little things that made it all right for you, but no, there’s so much more to do, every day.

Taking care of you is a lifelong commitment, not just a one-time pledge. The decisions I make – to buy locally made things, or buy from far away (much more wasteful), all count.

Instead of presents on your birthday, Friday, April 22, Earth Day, presents that consume wrapping paper, transportation, money, I’ll make a promise I can keep. I promise not to drive my car all day on your birthday. That should clean the air a little bit.

I’m hoping you will get letters from lots of other people with their promises of things they can do to make you happy. It is a step towards total commitment.

When you have a moment, could you please write back and explain why earthworms writhe on the sidewalks? Thanks. And can I get bonus points for picking them up and putting them back in the dirt? Just wondering . . .

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For more information:
www.earthday.net – take the ecological footprint test.
Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring is a classic look at how everything we do matters to the environment.

The Story of Grace

I’d rather eat ten penny nails than go to a victim’s impact panel and listen to a lineup of broken people tell the story of how their life was forever changed by a drunk driver.

But a friend of mine asked me to go for support as she told her story, an ordeal she goes through every month the panel meets.

After promising to go, I put it off for months. Finally, I could put it off no longer. I went. Her story and the others broke my heart. These are tales of dreams destroyed. Get a tissue before you start reading one story, the story of Grace. You are going to need it.

In a photo taken just two hours before she died, Grace is smiling an angel’s smile, gurgling as only a toddler can do, her eyes full of love as she looks at her mom.

Her name is Grace Latimer Redgate. It is New Year’s Day, 2000, somewhere in South Florida. Grace is nine months old. She just had her first peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She had not yet taken her first step. In a stroller built for two, she goes for a walk, strapped in with her brother, Whitaker, 2 ½ years old. Mom is pushing the carriage.

“It is such a beautiful day, we went across a bridge to a park,” said Grace’s mom, Anna Redgate. On the way back over the bridge a drunk driver slammed into the 18-inch high guardrail, and hurtled over it.

“The stroller was ripped out of my hands,” Anna said. “I had just nursed her one half hour before. Now my baby was broken in two.” Miraculously, Whitaker survived, although Grace was severed and half of her body lay in his lap.

The drunk driver had a history of drunk driving arrests. He was a bitter, middle-aged man, estranged from his family, a man who could care less that he had been drinking and was driving.

“You can forgive the weakness in a person, but not the selfishness,” Anna said. As she talked, Anna stands at a table used by attorneys. This is a courtroom, turned over tonight to the victim’s impact panel. She held up pictures of Grace, and the same pictures filled a screen behind her.

The courtroom full of people is dead silent. You could hear a pin drop. All 63 people, from all walks of life, had to be here. It was mandatory. Part of their court-ordered sentence for being arrested for drunk driving. The whole point of listening to victims – to get the very clear message across not to drink and drive.

The victims do not preach. They simply describe their lives before, during and after.

“I’m still her mother,” Anna tells them. “I still want to take care of her but I don’t have that privilege. I never got to hear her say ‘mama’. I never got to see her take her first step.”

The Salvation Army’s Corrections Department in Marion County puts on these victim impact panels and has for 13 years.

Drunk driving is no accident. It is 100 percent preventable. Anna and the other speakers say telling the stories are therapy for them. I say it is an act of uncommon courage to bare their pain to total strangers.

But they hope for gain, for at least one person listening to change their lives. All people in the audience are required to fill out an evaluation form. Later, the victims sit in a jury conference room, reading them, looking for hope, for answers, for redemption.

To my surprise, a number of writers say they wonder why kids are not required to hear these victims, why not get to the teenage drivers, get to drivers when they are just starting out.

Great idea. High schools, are you listening? Forget the video in driver’s education class about not drinking and driving. Pack the class up and bring them to a victim’s impact panel. If that doesn’t drive home the message DON’T DRINK AND DRIVE, nothing will.

And do you drink? Lots of you are nodding. Look around at your friends. Do you know a designated driver, someone who doesn’t drink? Do you have friends who will tell you not to drive after drinking? If ‘yes’, you are blessed. If ‘no’, get new friends.

Grace would have been five years old this year. Anna planted a flowering tree in her memory. And she will be back next month, to tell Grace’s story again.

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To know more:

www.madd.org – Mothers Against Drunk Driving
www.saddonline.com – Students Against Drunk Driving
www.dui.com – state by state outline of DUI regulations and facts

These are Good Dogs

James has a problem. Well, actually, he’s got lots of problems but at the moment he’s fighting the leash, big time, a dog acting like a bucking bronco, throwing one leg over the lead, rearing up, forcing the trainer to stop walking and untangle him. That’s a problem.

“James knew nothing about a leash when he came here, his owner never trained him, James was doing very well with training, I don’t know what is wrong with him today,” says Lillian Pollice, a registered nurse with a mission to save dogs on her day off.

Pollice comes to Humane Society of Marion County shelter voluntarily, to train dogs abandoned at the shelter and also to teach other volunteers how to be trainers.

A few simple skills like sit, come and stay on command and walking nicely on lead could save a dog’s life.

“Training gives them a chance,” Pollice says. “A lot of these dogs have issues and problems. Their background includes being abused, hurt, and scared. Training helps reduce the problems. If they are adopted, hopefully the training will help keep them from being returned.”

Yes, it is true. People return dogs they adopt, shedding them like merchandise bought at a store and returned. Dogs and clothes are often returned for the same reason:

“It doesn’t fit.”

We don’t think about it but at some point Mom, in order to make us “fit”, taught us some basic social skills like saying “thank you” and the magic word “please” and not to throw your food on the floor during dinner and ESPECIALLY not when Cousin Martha comes to visit.

For dogs, comparable social skills are walking on lead, being able to sit, come, down, stay on command.

Would you rather walk around the block with a dog who is rude, crude, tugs at the lead, barks at all the dogs and won’t sit when you get to a Stop sign or a dog whose tail is wagging, walks nicely beside you with the lead loose and who sits at both a hand or voice signal?

Ummm, yes, well, that was a no brainer. I’ll take the dog that is trained, thank you. It is a good fit. We could have fun together.

By the way, an estimated five million dogs are turned into shelters each year and 90 percent of the owners say they (the dogs, or is it the humans?) have behavioral problems.

At this shelter the current crop of trainees have pink clothespins on their kennel door, meaning they are in the program. They include James, whom you have already met. James is a Pit Bull mix, about one year old, white with black spots. He’s not trained and plays in his poop. His owner signed him over to the shelter.

There is Haynes, eight months old, a Catahoula hound with lovely mottled colors of black, brown and gray. He was adopted, then returned, his sheet says, “because of family problems” whatever that means.

Zomis, a one-year old Akita mix, is in the program. He digs, chews, and has never been housebroken. Lots of issues here.

Shep is a one-year old hound mix. He’s doing very well with training, getting high marks, even an “excellent” for his come, down and stay. Things are looking up for Shep.

Two Shih tzus that just came into the shelter are Bobo and Missy. Bobo can’t see, he depends on Missy to get around. They’re in quarantine right now because Bobo has an eye infection. The hope is they’ll go into training soon.

Being little and cute should help a lot in getting adopted. The social cruelty of who gets picked to dance based on looks is alive and well in the dog world, just like the human world. But these two are not spring chickens and they must be together, both minuses.

James is not having a good day. He continues to fight the lead, as though he’s never seen it before. Lillian takes him into a fenced area and lets him loose to run off some energy. His brightest moment comes when he throws himself down on a dirt patch and spreads out, clearly happy to be outside, in sun and dirt. It’s a dog thing.

Lillian reluctantly takes him back to his concrete kennel. She is clearly worried he is not doing well with training.

And with good reason. If killing numbers disturb you, don’t read the rest of this paragraph. In the United States six to eight million dogs and cats end up in shelters every year and of that number, three to four million are put to death each year.

Purebred dogs, mixed breeds, turned in by owners, turned back in by adoptive owners, abandoned dogs scooped up by officials or left on shelter doorsteps for employees to find when they arrive at work.

How can you help? Training programs for shelter dogs are an excellent start. Call your local shelters, ask if they have them. Get involved.

No programs in your area? No problem. You are hereby hired to be the lead trainer. Start a program. You don’t have to be a registered dog trainer. Lillian isn’t. Get local dog trainers involved. Get service clubs in schools involved. Get your family involved.

“These are good dogs,” Lillian says “They don’t deserve to die.”

Amen.

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For more reading/viewing:

www.cbrrescue.org is the Chesapeake Bay Retriever Relief and Rescue site. Look under volunteering, they have a good article on why shelter dogs should be trained and how owners are often clueless because they themselves haven’t been trained.
www.Petfinder.org has a lot of links to resources. www.humanesocietyofmarioncounty.com is the shelter where all the dogs in this article currently live. They are up for adoption, with pictures on the Web site of James, Haynes, Zomis, Shep, Bobo and Missy.