The last time I saw my father was in 1950

The last time I saw my father was in 1950. Papa waved at us kids from the back of an ambulance and said, "If I don't see you again, I'll see you over there." Mom climbed in beside him and they headed for the hospital. He was hurting so bad, the doctors opened him up and found cancer. He died on the operating table.

I've thought of him often these past few days. If he'd lived today, chemotherapy or radiation might have been an option.

My friend Nancy told me I needed to journal all I'm going through, since the test where they drained fluid from my stomach tested positive for cancer. I told her I didn't feel anything; journaling is usually writing about your feelings concerning events.

"Then start by writing, 'I don't feel anything,'" she said.

When my oncologist surgeon, Dr. Ivy, told me the results of the test, I told him I would be gone to my sisters reunion the next week.

To his credit, and my undying devotion to him, he didn't say, "What is more important, your health or being with your sisters?" He knew how imperative their support was to me.

My sisters and I had a wonderful week together and I won at Mexican Train two times. My sisters said they let me win, but I know they didn't. It was my skill. There were six of us together at Gay's in Independence, Mo. My sisters were solicitous, but didn't hover. I hate hovering.

It wasn't until I began to share my news with others that I got emotional. Maybe I'd kept it in all week because I didn't want to see my sisters crying over me. When I broke down at the doctor's office, where my daughter Teresa took me, she and I were both crying. I knew that would happen.

I really like this doctor who is in charge of my chemotherapy, which started Monday. It's not that easy for me to relate to new doctors, but I love both my oncologists. Dr. Bradford was so upbeat. He told me I probably wouldn't get sick from the chemo, but I will lose my hair. Oh, well, I needed a new hair-do. This will save me a trip to the beauty shop. I'll buy a wig instead.

So many are praying -- Baptists, Catholics, Unitarians, Pentecostals, Holiness. I don't care what religion they are, just so they pray to Jesus, the great Physician. I'm so not worried. If I don't make it, that means I'm with my Lord. That is settled! But I hate that my family will grieve, and I hate that they have to take care of me. I know they want to, but that doesn't make it easier.

How many times I've heard others talk of taking chemo, but I had no idea of all they had to go through to get ready. Did you know you have to go to the hospital and have a port surgically implanted? I guess it's sort of like putting in a pacemaker. An incision in my left shoulder allows the port to be placed under my skin so chemo can be injected. I hate needles. I asked Dr. Bradford if we could do everything without needles. He just hugged me and laughed. I guess that's my answer.

Then there are all those trips to the doctors. I had a Pet Scan and two CT scans. And all the medicine! There are meds for pain, for acid reflux, for nausea, antibiotics, and pills I take the night before and the morning of. I told Teresa she would have to help me remember. Lucky for me, but not for her, that she was off this week for vacation. I've already had offers from others to take me for treatments. The love and concern makes me cry. So, I'll have to save the rest till later.

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Editor's note: Marie Wiggin Putman, lives in Little Flock. A native of Benton County, she writes a monthly column for the Westside Eagle Observer. She and her late husband, Jerry Putman, were members of the Pea Ridge Historical Society.

Editorial on 07/16/2014