Missouri

A 5-year-old talked me into driving 9 hours to Missouri only minutes after writing that I had no intentions to go.

We told her she had the choice of staying home with me, or going with Daddy, and he'd bring her to the Red Barn Farm in Weston. Joshua announced, "I'm staying with you!" but Gemma was torn:

On the one hand, she really wanted to see the chickens.

On the other hand, she really wanted to be with Mommy.

"Why can't we all just go as a family?" she whined.

Is 5 years old too young to explain, "Look, it doesn't matter if you don't like either of your options. Look at me! I have to choose between chemotherapy and death! And yet I try not to whine. . ."

Bryan did all the driving. We arrived late on Friday and stayed at Helen and David's house. Saturday was supposed to be crisp and sunny. Instead, it was cold and damp. But we still went to the Red Barn Farm and saw the animals, enjoyed a hayride, shivered through the cold.

I spent the afternoon at the house with a hot cup of tea while the other 3 did some little projects with the barn on our land. Sunday morning, we drove the 9 hours back. Found that we missed an ice storm here in the Springs while gone. So there's that.

A few remarks:

1. We listened to Lincoln, on tape. It was hard for me to concentrate, though Bryan liked it. I used a lot of the time to think. And mostly what I thought was this: I am kind of done being a cancer patient.

Seriously.

There's more treatment, of course. But I'm tired of how it feels physically, how there's always a battle to be fought emotionally and mentally, how there is a biochemical oppression raging inside me, and how much sadness creeps around the corner.

Enough. In 2 1/2 months, I hope, the chemo and radiation will be finished, I hope. And that is not too long a time to spend in denial.

Me? Cancer? No. I'm fine.

2. Many of you know that we own a tract of land in Weston, MO. We had plans to spend Bryan's last tour there and then retire in the area. The story of why that didn't happen is for a Sunday. Suffice to say that we had still been planning to get back there, even while detoured through Colorado Springs.

No longer. It really looks like we'll try to settle here in the Springs. Many, many reasons why. But this trip--while it was supposed to be a quick, beautiful visit to lovely Platte County in Autumn--kind of felt like a Farewell Tour. We'll still visit David and Helen, of course. But it doesn't look like we'll try to move there.

3. We don't have television in our home. So when we find it someone else's home, it's a pretty big treat to watch it.

I am already used to seeing pink ribbons everywhere, and on everything. (Coming soon: A post on the most peculiar "pink"--items issued for sale in a special breast edition.)

I was not prepared to see a commercial featuring an artists who made casts of women's breasts before they were removed. The model of one of these--a double-breast removal patient at age 26 (!)--explained to the camera the story behind the making of the cast.

I thought, as I watched her:
1) How many takes did she have to do before she could talk about all that without crying? and
2) What kind of surgery did she have afterwards? Because she's wearing a tank top and she looks great.

4) Also about TV. Bryan and I watched an episode of Dirty Jobs, with that hilarious host. There he was, helping to close up a mine shaft in the California wilderness, shoving debris and other gunk down into the hole that he would later climb into.

"We're going to be standing in this in a few minutes, aren't we?" he asked.

The experienced guy replied, "Either that or you pull it all up and we stand around in it up here."

The host said, "I'm looking for a world with more options."

Amen to that, you hilarious host.

But you'll keep scooping the gunk into your own hole. And I'll drive 18 hours round trip and then rest a day and then get a Herceptin treatment on Tuesday. (But not because I have cancer. . .) Because there is no Option 3. There's only your next dirty job, or whatever it is your life looks like 2 1/2 months from now.