I complain a lot. I mean, I’m generally a happy person. I wouldn’t say I’m crabby or overly contrary. But I do complain more than I should.

One of the things I complain about too much is the weather. I grew up in Amarillo with, very likely the worst weather in the world. In Amarillo you get scorching Texas summers; well above 100 with hot, dry, hair-dryer-in-your-face wind. You get bone-chilling winters; wind chills well below zero with dry, stinging, blowing snow drifting in feet, not inches. And in between you don’t get spring or fall. You get tornadoes and hail. Oh yeah, and wind. Seriously, the trees grow leaning north east. Honest.

From Amarillo, I moved to Colorado Springs. Now, the Springs has unusual weather for Colorado. It’s tucked right up against the mountains, so it doesn’t get all that much snow. Actually the weather in the Springs is very much like Amarillo. The big difference is the scenery!

Colorado Springs does at least have Spring. Spring is when you scrape the ice off your windows before you drive to work, and turn your A/C on high on your way home. When the spring rains come to Colorado Springs you can see them coming down the slopes of Pike’s Peak. It’s gorgeous!

Now I live in “North Texas” which, if you look at a map, is actually East Texas, but  you can’t call it that for some reason. *shrug* The weather here is really not as bad as I make it out to be. It’s hot, yes. Ugly hot. Nasty, sticky hot. From April through September. I could survive in Amarillo driving without A/C because it was so dry. I never really sweat in Amarillo, even toiling on the horse ranch, shoveling mountains of poo in the hot sun. But here, I sweat sitting in the car. Blech!

And North Texas doesn’t really get winter as I know it. I complain (too much) about not getting real snow. Yes, it gets kind of cold, but it just doesn’t snow. So you get all the misery with none of the fun.

If we do get anything, it’s ice. Ice is no fun. You can’t go out and play in the ice. But even when we get an ice storm here, it’s over in a couple of days. The sun comes out and it’s gone.

But then, last year, we got real snow! Eleven inches of perfect snow. Just wet enough to make massive snowmen. And in a couple of days it was gone, the streets were clear and it was back to life as usual. It was great!

Now, in 2011, it seemed like the whole country was getting snow except us. So much snow that they were all sick of it, a notion that is very foreign to me. I love snow!! I love to play in it. I love to drive in it. (Driving in good, wet snow is a lot like racing dirt track, which I also loved.)

Then, it happened. The big one. THE storm. We got our usual, big, nasty ice storm. Freezing rain and sleet that packed down into a deadly ice pack. But this time it’s different. It iced late Monday night. And Tuesday afternoon the sun came out and melted it all, right? WRONG!! Tuesday: highs in the 20’s, single-digit lows. Wednesday: highs in the 20’s, single-digit lows. Thursday: highs in the 20’s, single-digit lows. Friday… Finally something different. Friday: high in the 20’s and snow! Wait, what? Snow?! Yes! Lovely, fluffy, beautify snow. Great! Let’s go play!! Noooo. Because that lovely snow is covering that same inch of deadly ice, only now, you can’t see the dry spots. You can’t weave your way through and avoid the slips and slides. BAH!!

Four days. Four days with no school, no work, just sit in the house watching TV and trying to stay warm. And the big warm up, the promised 50 degree, sunny weekend to clear away the ice and snow? LIES! ALL LIES!! Now they’re saying we’ll finally get above freezing, but only a little and only in the afternoons, for the next several days, maybe a week. Will this madness ever end?!

So, remember all those times I scoffed at the North Texas weather? Remember all those times I said, “I miss real winter. I miss real snow.” I take it back. I take it all back. Please please let me get out of this house!!

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Once again, things have changed for my mom. Remember last time that there was blood in her brain and that the consensus among the doctors was that this mysterious blood clot was 1) shrinking and 2) hiding a small tumor that couldn’t be seen in CAT scans. Unfortunately, due to her previous car accident, she’s got too much metal in her body to do an MRI, which would show much more detail.

Since then, mom’s symptoms (slurred speech, lack of dexterity, physical weakness and lethargy) have gotten better and then worse again. A new doctor with a new CAT scan now says that this blood clot is not a blood clot, but, in fact, a type of tumor and it is growing.

Today (1/11/11), Mom goes in for her first of five focused radiation treatments to try and kill this tumor. The prognosis is that, if the radiation works, the tumor will shrink over the next few months or few years and Mom will gradually improve. However, the treatment is not a cure. The tumor could resist, reform, or more tumors could form later in other parts of her brain.  In other words, the radiation will buy us time, but not change the end of the story.

The best news is that, while there are frustrations a plenty, mom is not in any pain.

As usual, please pray for my mom (healing and comfort), dad and sister (peace and rest) as well as the doctors involved (wisdom and accuracy).

I just want to extend my thanks to all the folks who’ve been asking about my mom. The short answer is, “She’s doing great.” For the long answer… the very long answer, here is my sister’s latest blog post.

 “I’m so confused. Should I keep crying?” — Kendra Kay Spaw (granddaughter on Monday 12/6)

That’s how many of us felt when Sandra (Mom) kept waking up each morning after her prediction of imminent death by brain bleed. It’s been ten grateful mornings now.

Mom had a CAT scan done in La Grange on Monday. Today, Wednesday, Dad, Mom, and I (Sabra) met with Dr. Melear in Smithville. The news is good.

The blood in her cerebellum (lower brain near the spinal cord) appears on the scan like it did before, though about a centimeter smaller. That means 1) it is reducing, probably being absorbed slowly (yeah!) and 2) it is still hiding the cause of the bleed (boo!).

Because a tumor generally absorbs the contrast used during the scan, it can be seen more readily. Since the doctor didn’t see that, 1) it might not be there at all (yeah!) or 2) it is there (boo!) but so small that it couldn’t hold enough contrast to be seen (yeah!). If it is that small, it is too small for radiation treatment (yeah!). In addition, Dr. Melear thinks that a brain tumor would be odd since colon cancer does not usually lead to cancer in the brain, particularly in the cerebellum (yeah!).

Since this head experience began, Mom has been on a strong dose of steroids. Dr. Melear is ready to get Mom off of them to avoid related symptoms. Mom’s face is getting plumper, and she has a voracious appetite now–a total 180 on appetite. Jokes are abounding at the house between Aunt Debbie, Grandma, and Dad about, for example, Mom having a fork in hand ready for a meal and all the chocolate Kisses wrappers that fall out of the van when I open the door. In my opinion, she’s getting spoiled with everyone meeting her demands. “Leave my chocolate alone! I’m only 117 pounds–I can eat!” Unfortunately for her, Mom will be spending a day or so at my house–and we both know spoiling won’t happen. “Say please” and “Here’s some carrot juice,” Sabra says. (I’m kidding here–a little.)

Regarding the steroids, Dr. Melear has told Mom to reduce and eventually stop taking the steroids and Nexium over this next week. The steroids did a good job of reducing brain inflammation, and she doesn’t seem to need them anymore unless inflammation comes back, indicated by a headache. If she gets a headache, we need to call the doctor quickly.

Mr. Melear confirmed that Mom had a mild stroke due to the bleed. A stroke can happen 1) from a clot stopping blood flow, causing a part of the brain to die or 2) a bleed (aneurysm) prohibiting the brain from getting its necessary blood, causing a part of the brain to die. Mom’s case was probably the second. This accounts for Mom’s mild struggle with her right side’s balance and motor skills, forming words or using the right words, and dizziness (boo!) (although she can now look right and left with no problem–yeah!). Yet, those problems can be overcome with neural rehab (yeah!).

So the doc and Dad are researching where that rehab could happen, Reliant in Round Rock where she did in-patient rehab after the car accident or Regency in Schulenberg where she did her out-patient rehab. Dr. Melear said that initially professional rehab would be good, but eventually Dad and I could learn it and help her at home.

The next step is to continuing to live and improve since nothing is proven to be wrong (yeah!). Another CAT scan has been scheduled in La Grange for January 3 of brain, chest, and abdomen as preventative health check. The follow-up consult will be January 12 with Dr. Melear. On January 8-9, Mom and Dad are hosting at their horse ranch a Texas Trail Challenge (TCC–competitive horse trail riding) judges’ clinic (yeah!).

Mom’s response: “Positive! I don’t mind to reduce medication and wait to see if I get strong.” She hopes to get back to using the walker.  Dad says, “Sandra is optimistic and looking forward to getting better and stronger. We are thankful for all the prayers and concerns. We are living day by day.”

Sometime on Sunday, we all came out and laughed about the feelings we had all been secretly having. What if Mom gets better? What if all this pain and anguish, emotional outpouring, tears and goodbyes are misplaced and premature? Shouldn’t we be happy? Shouldn’t we rejoice in God’s miraculous healing?

But somehow, the pain was too much for that. I honestly can’t wrap my brain around the fact that I’m a little bit miffed that my mom is alive. How stupid is that?! Even just typing it out makes me feel like the world’s biggest jerk.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing my mom smirk and shrug when the nurse told her how great it was that God had given her more time to live. She said, “I guess. But, I was ready to go.”

It’s just so surreal. Like I’m living in a bad Shirley MacLaine movie.

To quote my parents’ pastor, “What’s wrong with you? This is a gift from God! It’s terrific!” What’s wrong with me indeed!

But as more time passes, I’m beginning to get over the pain and give thanks for the miracle. After all, pain is always temporary. “This too shall pass,” right Mom?

It was comforting to read my sister’s post and realize I wasn’t the only one.

And the Lord heard the cries of the people and granted Sandra Thomas Ladd more time in this world and a return to her home…

And the husband, daughter, and son are…ecstatic…and numb.

…

Sunday night, Trinity, Grandma, and I went home for the night, expecting a midnight phone call. It never came. In the morning, a call did come. It was Mom saying, “I’ll be home by noon.” What? I mean, Great!! She even was bathed and shampooed. No head pain.

So, she’s back on her couch, just like she was before her “Final Trip to the Hospital.” She’s not the same, though. Her speech continues to be slurred, her mind harder to work, her hands unsteady. She’s still waiting. She still thinks her time is imminent, but not determined. Hey, we’ll take every last second of it.

Trinity and I couldn’t blog because we were a little miffed at the doctors. Why in the world did we just go through 72 hours of emotional pain? We can understand that the Lord works in His own way, but hey, doctors…what the heck! … We felt responsible for similar pain we were dishing out across the Internet to friends and family. By Sunday night, everyone had said their good-byes.

That’s good; we understand that. However, a part of our brains and hearts are numb. Dad went to Bible study this morning. Brother Ellis asked him, “What’s wrong with you? This is a gift from God! It’s terrific!” We agree. We ARE happy; we are also at a loss of what to do with the rest of our emotions. Do we put them back in our pockets for a later time? Is this all selfish thinking?

Maybe the gift is that if or when Mom goes, it won’t be so hard as the unexpected 72 hours. I mean, how could we ask more of the Lord than this?

Dad’s doing his chores, I’m grading papers, Trint went back to work in Ft. Worth, and the ladies are chatting and planning meals. Life is good. God is great. We’re a little freaked out.

So, what’s next? Thanks to the wonders of small town health care, Mom can’t get another brain scan until Wednesday (tomorrow) when the “doctor comes through again.” (That would be funny if it weren’t true.) So, tomorrow we might have some answers. Until then, we’ll have to just be content having our mom, and I can do that. Love you, Mom!!

This morning, we all rushed to Mom’s room when we got word she was groggy and not as “with it.” We expected the things we’d been told. But, after a half hour or so, she felt fine.

Mom is feeling unbelievably well. So well, in fact, that it’s kind of weird for the rest of us. My niece Kendra just sent a text, “I’m confused. Should I still be crying?”

There’s been an endless line of visitors, well wishers, friends and family. Nearly all of the cry before they leave. We (Me; my sister, Sabra; my dad, Kenneth; and Grandma Marge) have all come near to the end of our tears, so we are less and less likely to join in. Mom, on the other hand, has not cried at all that I’ve noticed. She just smiles and reminds everyone that this is the best she’s felt in a long time.

She feels so good, in fact, that we are all (including her) starting to wonder if maybe there’s been some kind of mistake. At first whispered but now openly joked about, we think how awkward and embarrassing it would be if Mom pulled through this and went home well.

“Sorry for making you cry and all. I got better. Let’s do lunch.”

It sounds funny, but we are starting to get more serious about it. This has all been based on a single CAT scan. If she continues to feel so good, we may request another scan on Monday. After all, there are a heck of a lot of people praying. We shouldn’t be too surprised if God answers.

I don’t mean this to prop up false hope. We are all still operating under the same assumptions as before, but it’s just so odd that we are not sure how to take it.

On another note, I tried to keep this a secret so as not to add any drama, but Dad ratted me out. The ache in my chest that, on Friday I attributed to the bawling, got worse as I tried to sleep in a very uncomfortable hospital chair last night. Ultimately, I couldn’t stand it and snuck myself into the ER. Quick tests showed that I’m still healthy, nothing to worry about, just anxiety. They gave me some Xanex and sent me home to sleep. I still ache and it hurts to breathe deep, but I’ll just have to cowboy up.

We continue to enjoy the emails, texts and comments. Thanks for all the love.

Ok, time for the long version.

My mom is a tough, old tom-boy. She grew up in a broken home in Illinois and Texas in the post WWII era. Her dad is (still) a tough, WWII vet who could hunt and kill anything (even killing squirrels with a sling shot). Her mom is (still) a cook and caretaker, always offering to fix you some food or wash your sheets.

In the last decade or so, my folks have lived and worked (hard) on this ranch raising and training horses, mending fences and toilets, and raising wild amounts of flowers. (Mom has always marveled how many hundreds of her plants died in Amarillo yet here anything will grow.)

Several years ago, mom was diagnosed with colon cancer. She fought through, a hard fight, and got back to normal. Later, cancer showed up in her liver. Again, she fought through.

She got into competitive trail riding. She had great times and made great friends. She even bought a ratty old RV to stay in on the trails which she named Sadie, and fixed up cute as can be. (That must be where I got my need to name my things.) We have lots and lots of pictures of her riding Sassy, just as happy as she could be.

About six months ago, while we were all working to put together Mom and Dad’s 50th anniversary party, a kid on his way to work at the Walmart lost control of his car and hit mom’s little Escort wagon head on. Another fight. Badly broken bones and internal trauma. We all had a feeling that this fight would be the worst.

She did get back home and was working on physical therapy, walking with help, when her liver got plugged up. Back to the hospital. More surgery. More struggles. But again, she fought through.

She was still weak and sick when the whole family came down for Thanksgiving. We had a good time visiting, even though we knew Mom felt so sick.

Now, a week later, Mom is back in the hospital. Her dizziness, nausea, and headaches had gotten so bad that Dad brought her in. A CAT scan found bleeding in her brain, likely a ruptured tumor (although they don’t know for sure). The doctors’ plan was to fly her to Austin for brain surgery, likely removing enough brain tissue that she would not be able to walk or speak. This time, mom’s fighting spirit was in the other direction. She told the doctors, “No.” And, as usual, she won the fight.

The prognosis is that in the next few days (could be a day, could be a week), that the pressure on her brain will push her into a coma, and then stop her breathing. Not a bad way to go, if you think about the alternatives.

So, family and friends are here, saying their goodbyes. We all cry and blubber, but Mom just smiles and says kind words. Mostly it includes, “I’m not hurting. I feel good. Don’t cry for me. Cry for yourself, but not for me.”

Sabra reads all the blog comments and emails to her, fighting through tears. (I thought I could do better, but I can’t. Turns out I really am a wuss.) Mom loves hearing all the nice things people say about her, recounting memories and wisdom that she passed on. She says, “This is great! It’s like being at my own funeral.”

Last night she told me, “It’s amazing how much stuff you can not care about. My house. My things. I don’t have to worry about what Obama’s going to do!”

Thanks to everyone for the well wish and prayers. We are all good here. At peace and making the most of the time.

Now, go call your mother!

Clicky clicky for Mom’s blog.

I’m packing up to head to the ranch again. I don’t have time for details. Just please pray for my parents, both. Mom is going to hospice. Pray for controlled pain. And pray for Dad.

[Cross posting my sister’s post from my mom’s blog.]

Dad just called. Mom made it through the procedure [to remove the external drain tube from her liver]. The stint is working. The docs are looking into getting her some other meds for the nausea.

However, Mom was crying from being so, so tired as she went into the procedure. She came out still tired. The nurse told Dad that Mom is ready to go, as in ready to see Jesus. Dad couldn’t talk after saying that, so I don’t know how that assessment was made. Mom is just very tired, that I know.

Mom does have cancer in the area of her liver again. She opts for no treatment, and they wouldn’t give it to her now anyway since she is so weak. There you have it. The brutal truth.

Maybe we are just all very tired and emotional. I hope so.

[Reposed from 11/8/2008]

Several years ago, we put together a tribute for Memorial Day at our church. The script was actually written for Veteran’s Day, so I thought I’d offer it up again.

(These files are pretty big, so you may want to right click on the link and choose “Save Target As.”)
MemorialDayTribute.mp3
MemorialDayTribute.wma (Windows Media)

And the script can be found here: WhatIsAVeteran.doc

P.S. The speaker gives me credit for the script, but I’m pretty sure I just adapted some else’s. I can’t find it, or I would give credit were it’s due.

If you don’t know what the chocolate drive is all about click here and here and here and here.

In the four years since the chocolate drive began, we have shipped about 500 pounds of chocolate to U.S. Air Force medical units in Iraq.

You can bring chocolate to my house, office, or church. If you are too far away, or would just rather, you can give monetarily using the Donate link on the bottom of the side bar on my blog. Any money collected will be used to buy candy bars in bulk. Shipping has been graciously covered by an anonymous donor.

We are looking for chocolate, specifically, as other non-perishable candies are plentiful. Full sized bars are a favorite, but anything will do. I encourage you to look for deals. There will be big price cuts on chocolate items late on Halloween night, and early Nov 1st. Similar sales come up after Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and Easter. Just after Easter, we will send our final shipment for the year.

For full disclosure, I have not yet received confirmation from a contact in Iraq this year. It’s possible the unit I’ve been sending to has been recalled. Regardless, I will see to it that all donations find their way to U.S. troops, either in Iraq or Afghanistan.