Jennifers Country

I think the saddest words I ever read

Were written from a solitary room

Of self-imposed withdrawal

She wrote from a room not far from bed

She wrote dear Emily did

Of her own fears and dread

Her own death though still alive

Of hearing flies buzz before her eyes

Before they closed on the world

She had already left behind

Even before her finale breath

I know her fears and feel her tears

We are not so different she and I

I too have left much of the world behind

I know my reasons closing time

Like the changing of the seasons,

Spring to summer, and fall to winter

I close my self that no one may enter

I know not her silent fears

I only know the saddest words I'll ever hear

"This is my letter to the world'

That never wrote to me"

Well dear lonely poet

Out there in the great

Cosmic mysterious whirling mass

Of unknown dreams

I close my rooms were no one can hear

And write to you from my world

Could you feel the words?

Do you know my fears?

Can you feel the warmth of my tears?

If so then at least one small part of this world

Has written to you

And still the saddest words I'll ever hear

Because I know how deep the fear

"This this is my letter to the world that never wrote to me"

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I hear words without faces

Words written not on pages

But in spaces that appear magically on

A screen in front of me

Appearing there to confront me

Right there in front of me

Gently confront me

They ask where Dan Sanders is.

I ask

Who is Dan Sanders?

When you have looked the inevitable directly in the eye

When you have stared at the face of death

And when you have come to terms with having

Seen you own future

And when you know

This is the inevitable for you

That all your dreams and hopes

Will never be realized

Because that’s life happening

As you were hoping and dreaming

And packing your keepsakes away

And the memories kept in a box, the pictures

The rings and jewelry

The manuscripts never published

Will someday

End up being unimportant

Thrown in a box and put out with the rubbish.

Because no one else can live your dreams and have your hopes,

They were yours.

And now gone with the left over sandwich,

Dreams lost

In Land fills

At least you have given back to the earth

So when you ask where have I been?

I guess you could say I’ve been

Crossing the desert and forest,

The summers and winters

Of another’s dreams and hopes,

And while doing that,

I have been dreaming and hoping

That I will leave behind

Very little landfill

I have started parting with the tangible touchable

Objects of dreams

And learning that what really matters is the unbridled freedom

To go out and believe in the now

And leave as little trash behind as possible

So I guess you could also say

I've been avoiding landfills.

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There was a boy I knew him well

who had read that if he used the power of his mind

he could visualize the way he wanted a cloud to break up and disappear

he would lie on his back in a field for hours

staring at the blue bird sky

and the white candy clouds

He would pick a cloud imagining it splitting in half and maybe quarters

and he would picture it dissolving

and it did.

I don't think it ever happened the way he visualized it

But it did disappear.

And of course the point was not at all to make the cloud disappear

but to develop the mind to the point where you could visualize something

and it would be made true.

Tangible, right there in front of you.

I still try to make clouds disappear

and I still try to see you again

and I fall at both just as the boy did.

But I have learned

Clouds go away to stay

in their time

and so did you.

Please make a 5 dollar donation if you can donation button on right column  and  cheaper than a six pack of beer and it makes you feel good.

This is the last post of Jennifer's.  Not too long after this she became to weak to do much of anything. But she kept on fighting and she kept on trying and most of all she kept on smiling. ** a side note a technical issue. If you have donated with PayPal, your donation may not have gone through, PayPal had the wrong email address, the address should be " asearogue3@verizon.net". So check your files to see if your donation was actually processed. some went through and some did not. If you are one of the did not get processed, then it is up to you what you would like to do now.

This site  will remain. It will still be on line. But Jennifer has told  as much of her story as best she could and I have tried to share it as best I could.

AND SO HERE IS JENNIFER'S LAST ATTEMPT TO HELP SOMEONE.

We all know about the '800 pound gorilla' that takes up residence in our living quarters wherever he chooses while we try to ignore that he's there. I have an 'elephant,' and a little research on Google informed me that elephants can weigh more than 15,000 pounds -- the point being that my animal outweighs your animal by several tons, and since our living room is fairly small his presence REALLY cannot be ignored!

'My Name is Jennifer - and I'm an Alcoholic.' It's difficult for me to admit that. It's a whole lot easier to say that 'My Name is Jennifer - and I have Cancer,' and the truth about that is that it is treatable but not curable and will probably take my life. Yea, well, so will alcohol if you can't find a way to stop drinking, and dead is dead and maybe it doesn't make a difference how you get there...

Except that it really does... and there is a special stigma about women who drink. We aren't like "the Ladies who Lunch" and down a few Martinis with their Waldorf Salads - and please hold the dressing... or maybe it's white wine with the salad and you skip all the tempting treats on the dessert cart and go home to a bottle of Scotch.

That's my drink of choice, and four ounces at 4:30 in the morning and as many as twelve ounces after I got home and before I went to bed could have taken my life because I was drinking on top of some of the most potent Chemo drugs there are.

Call it the Grace of God or the intervention of a very caring Clinical Social Worker who made a point of inquiring about my drinking patterns one day, and then walked down the hall and told my Oncologist. I didn't know the risk that I was taking. No one prior to Barbara had ever thought to ask me about alcohol consumption and since it was such a 'normal' part of my daily life, I never ventured to volunteer something I considered to be relatively unimportant.

Three alcoholic children from two alcoholic parents and still it took years before I realized or admitted I had a problem. When Barbara finished speaking with my Oncologist she told me they had agreed that I needed in-house detox treatment as soon as I could be admitted.

Looking back, I find it curious that it never occurred to me that my daily consumption of alcohol was excessive. My favorite Nurse told me that it was fine to drink with Chemo -- she thought I knew she meant a glass of wine with dinner.

I hate the label "alcoholic," not so much because of the stigma for a woman as because of the truth it forces you to confront. You can't accept the truth of what you are without also accepting the truth of needing to do something about it -- especially if you have Cancer! Or NOT doing something about it and facing the reality of an endless procession of glasses or bottles filled with amber liquid you haven't the will to resist.

Barbara made me make a promise. I did spend 5 days in detox, and I did come home to an alcohol-free home... my husband had poured everything down the drain. Barbara said I could make decisions about the rest of my life later -- as long as I swore to her by whoever or whatever I held Holy that I wouldn't drink as long as I was on Chemo.

There is another Doctor I made a promise to -- and this one is my best friend. He has literally saved my life when Cancer was on the verge of breaking my neck, and years later he found a way to radiate twin tumors without breaking the surrounding bones. He didn't demand a promise, but quietly asked only that I give it one year before I decided whether or not to drink again. He has the most beautiful brown eyes...'drowning in eyes with flecks of gold..." and his voice is gentle and he makes no judgments -- he only made a promise: "You may have Cancer, but whatever happens, WE will face it together." How could I refuse him one single year? How could I remember his beautiful eyes and his gentle voice and the care with which he treated me, and the time he spends maintaining a special friendship, and then turn around and pick up a glass of ANYTHING ALCOHOLIC!

He said to me once "this is a disease -- it's not a human failing." He meant to comfort me, but I HATE IT - WHATEVER IT IS! Isn't Cancer enough to cope with?....at least it's more socially acceptable!

I care what people think of me...maybe not strangers as much as those who are close to me, like my Husband, and my Daughter, and my Granddaughter, and the wonderful medical professionals who have gone above and beyond what I had any right to expect to do everything in their power to help me fight TWO deadly diseases that may take my life.

When I started writing blogs, each one was meant to be a chapter in what I hope someday will be a book I'm calling "Reluctant Host," because that's what I am to the Cancer that has invaded me. And I've taken a cue from Robert B. Parker who is one of my favorite authors. His chapters are short and to the point. I can deal with that. I can write about one subject at a time and eventually put them in order like stringing pearls. I can't deal with the enormity of a 'BOOK!' But I want my life to count for something, and I want my death to have meaning. I want to "Write a Letter to the World that Never Wrote to Me," because I recognize the oneness in our humanity, and even in our faults and our addictions, and if writing about my Journey with Cancer and battle with a bottle can help a stranger I will never meet then baring my soul in my writing serves a purpose. "If I can keep one heart from breaking - I shall not have lived in vain."

THERE WAS ALWAYS A SMILE, WITH LOVE DAN

We took shelter in each others arms

She had been told

She would die

And so we built a fence, a fortress

To cuddle ourselves in safety

To spend whatever days were left

In the safety of each others arms

Close out the world

And it would make it all easier

Or would it

If the world doesn't get in

Then it can’t hurt us

We imagined

We pretended and played

And pushed such thoughts as

Death

Into the deepest parts of our reality

Death was not real

Life Was real

Life and good people win

We can’t lose

I like to feel my love won

That the comfort of those dreams we made

Those moments of lost reality

Made her finale years softer

As for me

I need a new reality

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I believe there is one more for next week and then Jennifer's story will not end but hopefully bring some hope to anyone that may have ever thought of giving up the fight. MY wife fought and gave us 14 years more than we would have had if it were not for her courage and determination.

JENNIFER'S STORY First published March 19th, 2009

I wondered where the 'walls' would come...and now I know. My white cell count is down for the second week in a row and I can't have Chemo. Anyone going through Cancer treatment knows the sense of frustration when white cell counts are down because of the very medications which are supposed to be helping to eradicate the Cancer to begin with. Chemo is driving my counts down and there is nothing to do but wait and trust they will come up again. That's a lot of trust!

Usually I have I.V. Treatment over two days -- Wednesdays and Thursdays now...it used to be Thursday and Friday with the weekend to recover, but I am no longer working -- I am out on Long Term Disability, and on top of everything else, my job has been eliminated because there isn't enough work to justify the number of people employed. Doesn't matter how well-educated I am or how dependable I was, or how REALLY GOOD at what I did...it's just a small part of what's been happening with our economy.

When I first began treatment, it was done on a single day, and shortly after I returned home I suffered through hours of projectile vomiting so severe it went clear across the room and hit our floor to ceiling windows! Compound this with constant diarrhea that made it impossible to keep the pills down that were meant to prevent the vomiting. Eventually, my Pharacist had to custom design a suppository that would attempt to deal with both and allow me to begin with sips of water to see if my stomach would retain it.

The lesson for my caring and patient Oncologist from all of this was that they changed my treatment to two days rather than one and flooded me with saline and Ativan and a host of other medications designed to sedate me and allow my body to tolerate highly toxic drugs which would attack the growing Cancer cells inside me.

Have any of you seen Michael Moore's movie "SiCKO?" If you haven't, it should be near the top of your "Things To Do List." He is brutally frank in his attempt to portray the deplorable state of health care in this Country. Years ago, when my red cell counts dropped to a dangerous level and I needed injections of Procrit - which were hundreds of dollars per shot - it took many long hours of searching before I was able to find and contact the company that manufactured it. After telling them my life depended upon this medication I couldn't afford, and they could verify this with my Doctor, they offered me a lifetime supply - free of charge! That doesn't happen very often.

Now I am waging war to get help with my white cells. I spend uncounted hours on the telephone -- exhausted, weak, and sick to my stomach -- fully aware that I have no alternative but to be my own advocate. I got a phone call yesterday from the mail order company from which I order most of my prescriptions over the telephone. John wanted me to know that my Doctor had ordered 10 shots of Neupogen (3 times a day for 3 days - and with 3 refills) at a total cost of $533.00 - FOR JUST THREE DAYS!!!

We can't afford that! I am out of work on Long Term Disability -- my employer pays 66 & 2/3rds of my salary every two weeks, and I am on Social Security which I applied for when I turned 65 -- giving up additional income I would have received for the rest of my life had I waited and applied at 66 which was the retirement age they had calculated for me. I simply couldn't wait.

My Husband's story is the same. He is my full-time Care Giver, and he applied for Social Security at 62 - receiving only a fraction of what he would have earned had he been able to wait four years until he was 66.

What do ordinary people do who are suffering with life-threatening illnesses and can't afford the medication they need to prolong their lives or cure them? I'll tell you -- because my Husband spoke with a top Research Doctor at the Dana Farber Cancer Institute. In answer to my Husband's question there was silence. My Husband's next question was: "They die - don't they?" And the sad and quiet soft response was "Yes."

I am trying very hard not to die. After many phone calls and a lot of time, I found an organization who will be able to help me obtain Neupogen because I am lucky enough to meet the income specific and diagnosis specific criteria for assistance. It will still take time... and the Chemo I had before will continue to drive my counts down until I can get help.

I don't feel sorry for myself. I don't have time. I am fighting to save my life and every time I have treatment I encounter many other patients from all walks of life who are doing the exact same thing. Moral to the story: SOMETHING NEEDS TO BE DONE ABOUT THE HEALTH CARE SYSTEM IN THE RICHEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD!!!

In the light of yesterday

nightmare

no waking hour

and again today

no bell

to end the night

and bring the light

to close

the pain

the night did bring

to end this bad dream

tomorrow will come

I paray it so

But yet it brings

another day on sadness row

against the curse of time

no matter the defenses

the consequences

death  is the unavoidable nemesis

I sat today in a church

not my church

staring at the  life size cross

of wood

with cracks in seams

it seems the cracks are the same

as in my dreams

sacrifice the blood

give up the body

lose the life

the heart breaks

splits like the wood

yet life goes on

it has no choice

Just as the cross does not fall

It has no choice

It hangs by it's strings

tethered to the ceiling

away from the fool

but reaching neither

so it hangs instead

as if trapped between heaven an hell

It never fell

its cracks showing the assault of time

like the body as it gives in

too many days too many nights

to long the fight

to small the hope

life cracks and splits like wood

the cracks

healing not

left in heart

hang on

no place to go

But the journey continues

left hopeless to begin or end

only to hold on and wait

the waves of time

until the finale lonely minute

takes me under

then I too  will  know

The secret of the cracks

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The following is story #3 in my wife's attempt to help people with cancer . Again this was not easy for Jennifer and at times I'm sure embarrassing, but her hope was to help someone else cope with cancer. My wife was one amazing woman

Jennifer's Story # 3

I used to believe it would take tremendous force to rupture a dam. I was wrong. It only took a few short words. Thing is, the words were written by someone I have never met, and they were very simple: "I am looking for a friend."

Her name is 'Tanya,' and just like me, she is an Anal Cancer Survivor. I discovered her story one day when I was searching the Internet. It brought tears to my eyes, because her experiences with Anal Cancer were virtually a mirror image of my own.

I think I thought I was unique. My prior experience with Cancer seemed to have been at a distance despite it happening to people I loved and was close to. My Grandmother, who I lived with when I was very young and loved more than anyone else in my life - EVER - had Breast Cancer. Eventually it tore through her body and my last memory was of a huge open wound in her side and all of this blackness oozing from her stomach. Her beautiful, waist-length red hair was unkempt, and she was too weak to utter a word. My Mother said I caused her Cancer by kicking her in her breast with my first pair of baby shoes. I was a teenager before I learned the truth - that what my Mother had seared into my soul was impossible. My Grandmother, R.T., had a double mastectomy, but still it took her life.

My Uncle, my Mother's Brother, died of Brain Cancer. My Mother never told me who my Father was, so I don't know his fate. My Mother died of Lung Cancer that went to bone, and my own Cancer - which began with an enormous tumor extruding from my rectum, metastasized - first to the outside of my lung, (part of which was removed) and then to bone...first to my neck, which nearly broke from how quickly it spread, and then to my ribs on the left side and in my back.

When I was originally diagnosed, a very unfriendly Doctor told me I had about six months to live and said I should get my affairs in order. I have now survived for eleven years. I was at my daughter's wedding and watched the birth of my granddaughter with awe and wonder. Her name is Arianna Raquel, but I have always called her 'Raquet" because she had the loudest and lustiest newborn cry I had ever heard.

Until recently, when my Cancer returned, I deliberately put as much distance as possible between my treatment and the time it took to pick up the pieces of my life once more. The truth of Anal Cancer for me was that the horrors were unspeakable -- the pain of 30 radiation treatments in a row so searingly painful that I was in bed for a year with 3rd degree burns. I completely stopped eating and lost more than 60 pounds. Everything you put in your mouth must be eliminated eventually and my pain was so horrific that any kind of food, even ginger ale and jello, became nothing more than a bowel movement on a plate!

I had forgotten much of this experience until I read what Tanya had written about what she had lived through. Even thinking about it casually was like scorching my hands in the flame of a bunson burner. I screamed in agony every time I went to the bathroom, and needed to sit in a tub of water as hot as I could bear it to get even the slightest relief.

The Radiation atrophied my vagina and I am totally closed. It takes a speculum small enough for a Barbie Doll in order for me to have a Pelvic Exam. I was fortunate enough to remarry in my 40's to a man my daughter thinks looks like a Movie Star. Both of us have spent much of our lives in radio, and short and simple, he hung the moon for me! It breaks my heart that we can't make love. He holds me at night and is incredibly tender, but that intimate part of our marriage is over with forever.

No one talks about this...not at The Wellness Community, which was a wonderful, nurturing place to go for support... not in Therapy Groups I've been to, because women are inherently shy about the private details of their lives, so each of us is left to deal with the pain and the loss by ourselves.

Tanya wrote about it, and I was amazed! I wanted to reach out and hug her! How can you explain what it's like to carry these memories locked somewhere deep inside, and believe you can't share them with anyone? Every Cancer is different, and each of them leaves their own scars. Mine are deep -- and so are Tanya's. She was so BRAVE to say she only wanted a friend... and I was so joyfully willing to be one...

I CAN'T FIND TANYA...the address she left to write to doesn't work. I don't know where she lives, or her last name, or anything more than she had the courage to reach out -- which gave me the courage to respond. She gave me an incredible gift, because her simple gesture is helping me to heal. I desperately wish I could find her again.

Jennifer lost her battle on September 25,2011,perhaps she has now found Tanya.

And I wish more people could find the donations button in the right had column. I really want and some day will get Jennifer's Brick ,I'm a dreamer but it will happen.