Entry 50

I can breath again.
The results from last week’s CT scan show no signs of cancer activity.
WHEW!.
To say that I am estatic is the understatement of the year. And, I learned today that it will be six months before I have to do this again. Meanwhile, I’ll see my doctor about every two months for blood checks, etc.
I’d like to think that I have kicked cancer in the butt. However, it’s enough just to say that I can really start living again. You know, making plans beyond the next couple of weeks.
Last week I ended my columns, and this will be my last online entry. I like that it’s an even 50.
There are no words to tell you all how much you have meant to me during this most difficult time of my life.
Bless you all. I’ve certainly received my share.

Entry 49
The day after my cancer diagnosis, my youngest son, Joe, brightened my day by telling me that he and his wife, Katy, were going to have a baby.
I was sitting in the hospital talking to Joe on the phone and I think I may have slipped and voiced out loud the fear that I might not be around to see my second grandchild.
Joe didn’t let me get away with that for a minute and as gently as a former football lineman can, he chastised me for the negative thought.
It was a defining moment.
I vowed to set aside thoughts like that, and by golly, not only was I going to be around to see my sons’ babies, but their babies’ babies.
Garrett Joseph Stark was born at 9 p.m. Thursday, Aug. 17. Weighing almost 9 pounds, the little guy came into the world screaming at the top of his lungs, and had his already sizable hands gathered into tight fists.



I truly believe his birth brings me full circle on my cancer journey.
My doctor has told me for months now that aside from the cancer, I’m one of the healthiest people he’s ever met.
“Carol, you’re going to live forever,” he said, mostly to assure me that between desire and great drugs, we’d figure out a way to beat this thing.
In the last few days, I’ve been thinking a lot about my kids, my grandkids and the living forever thing. What I’ve figured out is that Dr. Carter is right, but maybe in a different way.
You want to see me? Just look my oldest son, Craig, in the eyes and there I am staring back at you. You want to hear me? Get my two sisters in the room. Their laugh is my laugh. And since I’m the oldest, I’m claiming that it’s mine. Want my viewpoints on politics? Engage Joe in a debate and you’ll soon know just where I stand. (We both tend to lean the same way.)
Need a laugh? Get my grandson, Austyn, to tell you one of his latest knock-knock jokes. I like to think he inherited both my gift of gab and storytelling. And Joe tells me that little Garrett already appears to have inherited a stubborn streak. Perhaps it’s the same one that has kept me going when times get rough.
The truth of it is that bits and pieces of me — both good and bad — will be on this earth forever.
As a journalist, I’ve always hoped my written words in some way would distinguish me. Now, I know that my legacy lies in my family. I think it is quite enough to simply be famous for being Craig and Joe’s mom.

Entry 48
She’s the catcher on her softball team, a trumpet player and drum major in the band, and she plays basketball, volleyball and soccer.
Saying 12-year-old Caylee Richardson is a busy girl is an understatement. The Webb City student has goals in life and when she told me she wants to be a pediatric surgeon when she grows up, I wasn’t a bit surprised her aim was so high.
Maybe I should start at the beginning and tell you how it came to be that I met Caylee.
On Monday, I got a call from a guy I’ve known for 30 years. For most of that time he was an officer and later an administrator for the Missouri Highway Patrol. Later in life he was the Webb City Police Chief.
But on Monday, Don Richardson, now retired, simply had his granddad hat on when he called me.
Caylee is his granddaughter and he and his wife, Andrea, had just found out that Caylee had a rather major haircut. Their granddaughter decided last March, the day after her birthday, that she was going to let her hair grow long enough so she could donate it to Locks of Love. That’s an organization that makes wigs from real hair for children ages 6 to 18. Not all of the children have cancer, but some do and some suffer long-term hair loss because of radiation treatments performed on brain tumors.
Caylee’s decision was simple. She just wanted to help other kids. She also knew that there had been some cancer in her family and she thought it would be a good thing to do. Her mother, Tricia, and dad, Aaron, both knew about their daughter’s decision, and weren’t surprised. They knew their middle child was a very giving person.
But Granddad and Grandma were in the dark about Caylee’s quest.
“And here I was combing her hair the other day and telling her how beautiful it was,” said Andrea on Tuesday as we all gathered around the dining-room table at their Webb City home.
In order to donate, Caylee tells me you must have at least a 10-inch ponytail. She wasn’t the least bit attached to the long hair.
“I’ve been so hot with it,” she told me. “I was afraid I might get to the beauty shop and it wouldn’t be long enough,” she said.
But her mother cried when the stylist lopped those 10 inches off. Hey, that’s what moms do.
Caylee had her hair neatly gathered in a rubber band in a plastic bag. She will send the hair off to the Florida-based not-for-profit organization now. According to Locks of Love’s Web site, www.locksoflove.org, it takes six to 10 ponytails to make one wig.
Caylee thinks she’ll probably donate again at some point in her life, although on Tuesday she was really enjoying her new short cut.
Knowing as I do how important having hair is, I think what Caylee did is a tremendous thing. I also think the family support this young lady received for her unselfish act will go a long way in decisions she will have to make about life in the future.
We adults often try to shelter our children from some of the bad things in life. But, I learned that kids want to help. And, they have the most beautiful way of going about it.
Caylee saw nothing heroic about giving up some hair. But to some other little girl who has none, Caylee’s gift will be profound.
So, thanks for the call, Don. I got to relive some old times when you were a cop and I was on the beat. Best of all, I got to meet your really neat granddaughter.
And, I learned that sometimes the simplest of acts can make us all feel a little better.

Entry 47
I didn’t get a chance to go to the theater and see the newest “Superman.”
That doesn’t mean that my summer has been without heroes. I meet them every day. They don’t need a cape or a big “S” on their chest to set them apart. They don’t fly, but they have spirits that soar.
Don Beiswanger was such a person. He probably would have laughed and shook his head if I had told him that he was my hero. Now, I wish I had.
Don died last week after battling cancer for the second time around. I opened the paper and saw his obituary, along with his smiling face. It’s always a jolt to me to read the name of a member of my “Chemo Club” in the obits, but I could almost hear Don saying, “Don’t worry, Carol. The C in Christ is much bigger than the C in cancer.”
That was Don’s mantra during his cancer journey and he shared it with all of us who took our chemo together.
Don, even though retired, had gone back to work doing maintenance at the Mark Twain Elementary School in Carthage. He and his wife had lived in Carthage for a long time and he said they were blessed with friends. Students, teachers and other employees at the school brought Don meals and fattening desserts, he said, as he struggled to eat and gain weight.
One day during chemo, Don proudly announced that he had gained three pounds that week. He was so happy and he credited the meals sent from the school kids.
Don’s first round with cancer came when he learned it was in the lymph nodes on the side of his neck. He had to have a special “mask” to wear during radiation.
“When I was done, I took it to school to show the kids. Some people thought that might scare them,” he told me. “But kids are curious. They were fascinated.”
Don thought he was done with doctors until he started having problems with his back. He thought maybe he had just strained it, but the pain wouldn’t go away. That’s when he learned the cancer was back.
We both had chemo on Thursdays and the first thing Don would say was, “Carol, good column today.” He was both a fan and a friend. He was also a favorite at “Chemo Club” because he had a kind word for everyone, especially the nurses. Even though I knew that Don must have been in considerable pain, he never complained. In fact, he rarely talked about his illness. Instead, he told stories about growing up in Kansas, or stories about what his kids were doing.
Don was 68 when he died. He would have told you that he had a wonderful life. Don knew things weren’t good with his health, but he set goals for himself in terms of squeezing a few more good times out of life. He told me one of those goals was to celebrate his wedding anniversary on June 11. He made that one. He had been married for 38 years to his wife, Delores, and they went out to dinner and had a great day.
As heroes go, Don Beiswanger was absolutely fearless.
But it will be his smile and his commitment to live life on his own terms that I will always remember.

Entry 46

When I began this column in January, I wanted it to be for you — the readers. My hope was to help others cope with their own cancer or the diagnosis of a friend or a loved one.
Somewhere along the way, I think the tables turned, and I now rely on those who read this column to keep me strong.
Some of you are so perceptive that you can tell through my column if I’m scared or depressed. That’s when I’ve received the gentle “kick-in-the-butt” cards or phone calls that have made me pull my socks up and get going again.
Opening my mail is a daily inspiration. One of my favorite things has been to share some of the letters. My “birthday” column last week prompted a deluge of cards.
Here are a couple that cheered me on:
My oldest son has your birth date except he will be 68 — Praise God for both of you and the ‘good things’ you give to others. Keep on keepin’ on.
Sincerely,
Pat Turner, an 88-year-ole Mother.
Thank, you Pat. There’s nothing better than a mother’s advice.
Edith Sachetta sent this message, signing it from both herself and her husband, Angelo Sachetta.
I also have cancer, but am doing fine. Thank God and our good doctors and nurses. I want to wish you a Happy Birthday and many, many more healthy ones.
I will be 83 on Jan. 4, 2007. I’ll keep going and you try and catch up. (Ha.)
Love and prayers,
Edith.
I don’t know either of these ladies, but I feel like they must be two of my best friends.
Here’s a another letter I received earlier in July from Connie Brewer, of Joplin.
Unlike you, I’m not ill and have not had to undergo the rigorous cancer treatments you’ve been through.
Reading your columns ... has made me realize how every day is to be treasured and enjoyed.
Thank you, Carol, for sharing your story with those of us who get caught up in our own little ‘pity parties’ and forget to count our blessings.
I’m praying for you and holding good thoughts that Aug. 29 will be one of the most wonderful days of your life.”
Connie, through my columns, knows that’s the day I’ll learn the results of my Aug. 23 scan. Thank you, Connie. I truly am a believer in prayers and good thoughts.
Another touching letter came my way via Beverly Winans, of Joplin. She wrote that my columns always bring a lump to her throat. I will just say that I cried when I read her words.
No, I do not have cancer and as far as I know am pretty healthy. For some reason I just relate to you and your struggle. My mother had breast cancer and was a survivor, and later in life developed liver cancer, was told she had a 50-50 chance to live 6 months, and some 14 years later passed away due to complications of a stroke, but was cancer free.
She went through Hell with the second bout of cancer and chemo treatments, the hair falling out. But, as I say, she was a survivor. When her hair started growing back, my dad would shed tears when she came home from the beauty shop with a new ‘do.
And this chokes me up to this day. They were married 57 years.
Keep up the good work and my thoughts and prayers are with you for a full and complete recovery. I have thought so many times to send you a card or a note, but I let it slide, knowing you had full support from hundreds of friends and readers. Tonight, I decided to say thank you. And, I look forward to your next column with a lump in my throat.
Beverly, I’m crying again as I type your words into this column. But, they are good tears.
And, it’s you and all my readers — those whom I know and those I’ve never met — that I thank. In a perfect world, no one should have to go through cancer, but certainly no one should ever have to go through it alone.