Help Hope Live Update, May 24, 2017

Waiting. It's hard on your nerves. First we were waiting to hear if I was going to be a viable candidate for Duke's Lung Transplant Program. A week of rigorous medical testing in January, and I received a letter telling me I had made the grade. Yay, Kate. It felt good to be accepted.

Next came the wait to actually be placed on UNOS's list. That kept me busy for a while. I desperately wanted to be on that list, because until I was, my condition would worsen, but there could be no hope for relief. But first there were a lot of loose ends that we needed to tie together. More medical appointments to be made, caregiver classes to attend, fitness goals to be met and maintained and, perhaps most importantly, fundraising. We needed to raise at least $10,000 prior to listing. That goal was met fairly early in the process, thanks to you, my wonderful, generous friends. With your support and your prayers, I was finally listed. I felt like I had won the coveted Mirror Ball Trophy.

What next? More waiting. Now I am waiting for a phone call. There are still loose ends, but it has gotten to the point that if they called me now, this minute, and said "We think we have a lung for you," I would drop everything and run, knowing the details would somehow work themselves out. I have a wonderful bag, but there's nothing in it yet. I won't need anything--just a ride to the hospital. And my caregivers. And prayers--lots of those!

Waiting is getting harder. Breathing is getting harder, and my oxygen needs are increasing. Doing everything is getting harder, including sleeping through the night. I constantly remind myself to trust God, to envision the positive outcome I desire, and to stay focused on that. I try, but sometimes I fail. That's gotten harder, too.

I have no idea how long I will wait. I just know I have to do it. And I know that prayers are helping, so please continue to mention me in yours? Thank for you that, and for all that you have already done.

Love,

Kate

Help Hope Live Update,May 14, 2017

May 09, 2017

Kate's husband, Greg here this time. After seven + years knowing she was working faithfully towards today, in the 11a hour, May 9, 2017, Kate was "listed" for lung transplant at Duke University Hospital. Now the anxiousness begins in earnest. A bag with necessities will be prepped and ready to go with an hour or so notice to get to Duke when they call. It could be days, weeks or even a few months, but my Kate will stay ready to handle the surgical trauma and she'll recover to an extended, more vibrant life without supplemental oxygen. We pray and thank you all for your continued support. Stay healthy family and friends.
Happy Mother's Day!

It's been an eventful week and my emotions have been all over the board, but as I sit down to write this, I feel happy and full.

If you read my husband's update (above), you know that I am now listed! That happened last Tuesday, and it feels like a huge hurdle has been crossed. I had just returned from my rehab session in Greensboro, and opened my e-mail to find a message from my coordinator telling me it was official. She was still in the conference, but she knew I'd want to know right away. She was right. If she'd told me in person, I would have hugged the oxygen out of her!

It seems like it's been a long wait to get to this point, but it may very well be that we "ain't seen nothin' yet."

How long will I have to wait until an organ match is found for me? No one can say. The average wait time at Duke is about a month after listing. About half of the people that started rehab with me already have new lungs. But I have a high number of antibodies. When I try to explain that, it becomes ridiculously complicated. What it means is that about 70 percent of the population would be unsuitable donors for me. So I can expect a longer wait than average. The good news is that, now that I'm listed, I am ready when the call comes.

As always, I end by saying thank you, and asking for your continued prayers. Your prayers have brought me this far, and your financial assistance and other support is something we could not do without. Please continue to pray for patience and peace as we wait, and maybe include some prayers for my donor family, whoever they may be. Thank you. I love you all.

Help Hope Live Update, May 5, 2017

I keep reminding myself that something could still come up--something they just haven't thought of yet. I'm almost afraid to hope. Since January, when I made it through an entire week of evaluations at Duke in the hopes of being accepted into their lung transplant program, I have been waiting for the news that I have been officially placed on "The List." Today will live in my memory as the day it started happening.

Of course I will continue having tests, right up to and beyond my transplant. But for now, the results are all in, my health insurance has given approval, and today I met with my coordinator and signed all the consent forms. I will be recommended at the team meeting next Tuesday, and could very well be listed that same day.

I am ready, yet I can't quite imagine how it will actually feel to get the phone call confirming that it's official. I get goosebumps thinking about it. Will it be a rehearsal for when I get the call telling me they've found a lung match for me? It seems like I've been waiting such a long time already. I hope it won't be too much longer. But as I wait, I am going to continue to enjoy this life I have now, because I know it will be different afterwards. Still good. Just different.

I am so grateful for all of your prayers, for your love and support. They are the only explanation I can think of for the calm I feel. I hope I will never again be unconscious of the blessings that our friends have been in our lives. Thank you from my heart--our hearts--for everything.

Help Hope Live Update, April 22, 2017

Hi. Still some questions, but we're moving in the right direction! Necessary appointments have been made, a plan for getting everyone to the appropriate classes is in the works and, thanks to your generous donations, we're halfway to our fundraising goal! I can't thank you enough!

Yesterday I had my paralyzed vocal cord injected with collagen. It was not exactly what I expected--to walk out of the clinic singing "Total Eclipse of the Heart" at the top of my lungs. It actually hurt a lot more than I thought it would, and my voice, while definitely stronger and louder, is...well, my daughter said I sounded like "an articulate frog." I'm assured this is temporary.

Next week I will have another swallowing (FEES) test to see if the injection did all we hoped it would.

I need to get a tetanus booster and be cleared by Psyche--it could happen--and if all goes well, I'll soon have a coveted place on that list!

Again, thank you all so much for all of your prayers and your kind words of love and offers of help. I definitely feel that I have lots of companionship on this journey. I pray for all of you in return!










The three video clips, taken by my daughter, Meagan, are me in the doctor's office, just before my vocal cord injection, an hour later in the car on the way home, and one week later, almost back to normal. Now, six weeks later (June 2017), my voice has returned one hundred percent.

Help Hope Live Update, April 28, 2017

This is not really the kind of update where I give you new information that you don't already know. It's just me sitting here with a grateful heart on a Friday afternoon, feeling like I want to share something with you. How about if I let you in on what we're thinking is going to happen in the next week or so?

The collagen injection into my vocal cord last week appears to have been a success, at least as far as my voice is concerned. Everyone who knows me is thrilled, because the fact that I literally had no voice for about six months did not in anyway stop me from saying words. Now it's just much easier to hear them, so yeah, success.

Next Tuesday will be the real test--my FEES test. I don't know what the initials stand for, but the test involves a small camera inserted into my throat through my nose, which will then record what happens as I swallow various things dyed with green food coloring. If the injection did everything we hoped for, my newly plumped vocal cord will act like a GPS in my throat, making sure nothing makes a wrong turn and ends up in a windpipe or a lung.

I also have three other appointments on Thursday; there's always something else that needs to be checked and cleared. Once those results are in, assuming all goes well, I will be recommended for listing the following week!

This is starting to feel like it's really happening. I have already received so much from you, yet I ask you to continue to keep me in your prayers. Thank you with all of my heart.

Help Hope Live Update, April 14, 2017

Hi, it's me, Kate. Wow. I am overwhelmed by the way this is going. So many people are helping us on this journey with prayers and positive thoughts, rides back and forth to Durham and, of course, generous donations. When we set this up, I felt like we had an unattainable goal, but here we are, almost at the $10,000 mark we need to reach before I can be listed.

I would love to be able to give you a definitive answer as to exactly when my name will officially be added to the UNOS list, but for now, there are still more questions than answers. What I can do is try to explain where we are now...

In addition to the financial goals, there are some other standards that need to be met. I began having trouble swallowing a couple of years ago. I attended speech therapy, where I learned exercises to strengthen those muscles. Recently, it was discovered that I have a paralyzed vocal cord. I had a CT scan last week, and am waiting to see what the next step will be. It's likely that the scar tissue in my lungs has pressed into the cord, causing it to stretch. It can temporarily be fixed prior to transplant by injecting collagen into the vocal cord. It's imperative that nothing be aspirated into new lungs, so if there is a way to make things work better before surgery, it will be done.

There are also several classes that my caregivers and I still need to attend. Those are a bit of a scheduling challenge, but we're working it out. Knowing all the things that might happen can be overwhelming, but it's better than being blindsided. The classes also make you realize that you're not alone in your doubts and fears.

So those are a couple of the obstacles I'm immediately facing. I hope there won't be many more. Every clinic appointment brings a little hope and a little more worry. It's difficult to keep my balance sometimes, but having the support and love of so many wonderful friends helps tremendously. I thank you all for every thought, word and prayer, and of course for your generosity here, Helping Hope to Live. Thank you.

A Propensity for Stemware

If you know me, you know how much I loved wine. I loved everything about it--the color, the smell, the taste, the glass from which it's sipped. And I loved the funny wine posts you've shared on my facebook timeline. My favorite:


Wife--I adore you. You mean the world to me. I can't imagine how I could ever live without you.

Husband--Is that you, or the wine talking?

Wife--It's me talking to the wine.


Alas, the love affair is over. I've had to give up many things because of my poorly performing lungs. Now, in order to get new ones, I must give up wine. Alcohol. I just turned my back and walked way one Saturday in February, and I've never looked back. It's as I've always insisted--"It's not that I need wine. I just like it."

I used to like it every day, in fact--sometimes twice. When the psychologist at Duke asked me during my evaluation how many days in the last month I had not had wine, my answer was "Less than one."

But I dumped it. It was a sacrifice, yes, but one worth making. The anti-rejection drugs I will be taking after transplant will be harmful to my liver, and they aren't going to need any help from alcohol. I understand, and Wine understands. It was an amicable parting.

But it turns out that Ido have a drinking problem...

The other day I found myself explaining what's so special about a wineglass to the same psychologist who caused my breakup. Just the sight of one of those fragile, elegant beauties signifies that it's time to let go of the day's troubles, to breathe deeply, sip and relax. She was concerned that I had replaced wine with "dealcoholized" wine--wine from which the alcohol has been removed by a special cone spinning process. But she was even more concerned when I assured her that I would quit that too--that I'd be happy to sip ginger ale or Ensure (see photo above) from my wine glass. She doesn't get it. I understand; she's young. But I don't see how my choice of glassware is a problem. I feel like my back is against the wall right now, but I don't think I'm going to let this one go. I will happily follow all the rules and regulations, all the dietary restrictions, all the exercise guidelines. I will take every single pill at the exactly prescribed time for the rest of my life. But I feel that I have to stand up for my right to choose my own glass!

Please vote for the wine glass!

Thank you!

Dancing Without Oxygen

I was recently reminded of this picture when my daughter shared her memory of "The Night My Mom Gave Me a Fat Lip While Swing Dancing." It happened in 1999. We were learning, and I must have missed something, because somehow my elbow connected with her lip, and all of a sudden, the party was over. Even though I begged her not to cry, one look at her poor battered mouth and I knew I wasn't going to be swinging her around the dance floor anymore that night. All I could do was go home and preserve the memory by making it into a cartoon. But I digress. This is really about my goals for after my lung transplant...which may or may not include further swing dancing lessons...


I want to dance without oxygen,

To breathe without thinking.


I want to fill my lungs with the air around me

And hold it in as long as I can.


I want to run, carrying only my own weight,

To synch my breaths with my footfalls on the pavement.


I want to say my words as loudly or as softly as I choose,

Without coughing and choking on them.


I want to walk through my house, unencumbered by breathing tubes,

And not get tangled up in the furniture.


I want to climb all the stairs without stopping to rest,

And to walk past beds and chairs without feeling an urge to recline.


I want to clean my house--all of it--and consider it a day's work,

Rather than a lick and a promise that I know will never be fulfilled.


I want to say "Yes, let's go!"

And not think about how much oxygen I will need.


I want to open the door and step outside,

And not be yanked back by a tube in my nose.


One goal, one wish, one expectation.

If I can have this, it will be worth everything else that comes with it.


I am ready for my new life,

Whatever it may be.

Responsibility

Over the past few days, many of you have kindly shared a fundraising link for My Awesome Husband Greg and me. With the outpouring of love, prayers and support we have already received--including rides back and forth to rehab for me, it was difficult to ask for more. However, Duke wants to see that a genuine effort has been made to raise money before they will place me on the transplant list. The costs associated with the surgery and the necessary relocation to Durham afterwards are overwhelming, even with good insurance. I'm sure we're not the only family that has needed help. Still, I hated to ask.

On Thursday, I met with two surgeons--one who procures the organs, and one who transplants. Both of them were able to answer questions I didn't even know I'd asked. From them, I learned why this fundraising is so important. No, it's not just because Duke wants to be sure they get paid. To them, it is a very serious responsibility.

When Duke receives a gift of lungs from a family who has just lost a loved one, they have a responsibility to that family to be certain that the person receiving the lungs will give them the best possible care. They also have a responsibility to the person who is next on the list, who won't be getting those lungs. Unfortunately, if the recipient is unable to afford the costly drugs that are vitally necessary to prevent rejection, then the lungs will fail. They will have been wasted. A sobering thought, but it made me understand why Duke is so insistent on making sure that the money is there to pay for those drugs--especially that first year.

So if you have been able to contribute to Help Hope Live financially, Greg and I are extremely grateful. We are just as grateful for every kind word and offer of prayers and positive thoughts, for every virtual hug that has come our way. This truly is a journey, and we know that we are not making it alone. We are so thankful for the blessings of family and friends in our lives.

https://helphopelive.org/campaign/12677

Dear Diary...

Dear Diary,

Today made me want to chuck my positive attitude and give up on imagining the outcome I desire. Today made me want to conjure up the worst that could possibly happen and just wallow in self-pity. Today was a day of discouraging words. Today was Duke Clinic day.

Oh, it wasn't all bad. The blood work-up and breathing tests went smoothly enough. It took just two attempts to get a good blood gas from my rolling veins, and I only had to play the dreaded Keep Blowing game three times. The best part was that I didn't have to perform the six-minute walk test. Best because the broken toe that happened on Duke Clinic day last week--the one where a nearly full oxygen canister slammed down on my left foot--still hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.

No, the discouraging words I heard came at the end of the day. They were uttered by Dr. Child Prodigy, who, judging from her apparent age--19-1/2--must be the newest member of the Transplant Team. As soon as she started speaking, I could tell she was smart. The kid knew what she was talking about. I had almost started to relax when I realized she was saying something about a delay in placing me on The List. Something about swallowing difficulties? The swallowing difficulties that I've been dealing with, diligently trying to exercise away, for two years? Those swallowing difficulties? Um, may I ask why this is coming up now? Yes, I realize that the paralyzed vocal cord is a new complication, but surely someone could have mentioned that those issues might be waving a red flag before now. Like maybe before I was subjected to all of those expensive--albeit really fun--medical tests. Before I put myself on the emotional roller coaster of having to decide if I even wanted a transplant. But you waited until now, when I've decided that I most definitely do want one--ASAP, please--before telling me I might have to wait even longer?

Diary, I'm afraid I might have lost it just a little bit then. But I didn't say any bad words, and she was really tough. I was the only one who cried. Then she told me she didn't want me to apologize. And then she apologized because she felt that perhaps she hadn't chosen her words very well. We were then free to move onto the next disheartening bit of information she had to share with me--antibodies.

Antibodies are something that I have also known about for a while. I have a lot of them...blah, blah, blah...make it harder to find a match...blah, blah, blah. And today I learned that the ones I have are mostly not the good kind...blah, blah, blah...bad performers...blah, blah, blah.

I guess what I'm trying to say, Diary, is that today kind of sucked. But you know what? Now that we've talked, I feel a little better. I have one more clinic day this week. I'm going to try to get back to my guided imagery happy place before then. Today was just a little bump in the road. I probably let things swell out proportion--like my damned foot. You know what--never mind. This is all going to work out. I can hear Missy now..."Don't worry, silly. It's going to be all right."

Thanks, Diary. I needed that.

Lungs: An Update

This beautiful picture was my daughter's way of gifting me with new lungs for Christmas.

Even though there are still some details to be worked out, some tests to be taken, things to do, people to see...in other words, even though nothing is yet written in ink, this feels like a good day for me to write about what's going on with the lungs I have, and the hope that I have of replacing one of them, soon.

Since my week-long evaluation at Duke in January, where I was deemed a "reasonable candidate" for a single lung transplant, I have been moving steadily towards being officially placed on the list. At first it was difficult to accept that reality. Part of me had been hoping that there would be some reason I couldn't be accepted, releasing me from the responsibility of making what felt like an impossible decision. I had read enough--including patients' success stories--to be convinced that life after transplant was not necessarily a life I wanted. It certainly wouldn't be the life I have now, the one that I love so much.

When I heard the news that I was in the running, I felt no sense of elation. The only peace I got was when I imagined myself saying "No thank you. I have decided to stick with the lungs I have." I thought that was a sign that I should just accept whatever time I have left, and make the best of it. I wouldn't change much. I'd try to be nicer, get the taxes done, clean the house. Other than that, I'm pretty happy with the way things are.

Now I see that I was wrong. I've learned a lot in the last couple of months. I have been going to Duke five days a week for Pulmonary Rehab. That's exercise. I have always loved exercising, even though I have slacked off drastically over the last several years. Exercise has always made me feel strong--that I have some control over my life. At rehab, I now accomplish in a day what I had been doing in a week. I am starting to feel invincible again--almost.

The program at Duke includes education about all things transplant-related. No matter how horrifying something may seem (i.e., feeding tubes, diabetes and tremors), if you hear it explained clearly and calmly as if it's just another one of those things people have to deal with, it starts to feel normal. Knowing that everyone in the room with you has the same fears and is facing the same difficulties helps you to know that you can do this. Knowing that your are in the hands of the very best is priceless.

I remember reading somewhere that it's not the chances we take that we regret, but rather, the ones we don't take. I realize that if I don't take this chance, I won't be here to regret anything. Guided imagery has helped me to realize how important a part the mind plays in what happens to the body. And remembering that everything is in God's hands, that he will direct the outcome, gives me great comfort.

As I write this, I feel good, at peace. I feel like I have prepared for this journey. I realize it is not a journey that I could ever make by myself, but I am blessed with so much love and support in my life, I know I will never run out. I have already received more acts of kindness than I can properly express thanks for.

I just wanted to give you an idea of where I am. I am ready for whatever is coming my way.

Guided Imagery: Where I Try to Explain Something I Know Nothing About

I had heard of guided imagery, or read about it in a magazine. I probably thought That sounds interesting. I'll have to look into that. Then I must have pinned it on my mind's Pinterest board, along with the many other things I'm going to do once I've knitted all my yarn and sewed all my fabric and read all my books.

Then a friend reached out to let me know that she has had years of experience and success with the technique. She thought it might be helpful to me.

Two things you should know, in case you don't already: (1) I thrive on anxiety and turmoil. I have an endless hunger, which causes me to seek out the Worry in every situation; and (2) I am in now the process of being evaluated, prior to--I think I hope--being placed on the United Network for Organ Sharing (UNOS) list for a lung transplant. A fact guaranteed to keep my Worry tank full to overflowing for the rest of my life. I need help.

Yesterday, over the phone, my friend explained how Guided Imagery works. She told me about it in a way that made me eager to try. Two things stuck with me from our conversation--I would have a special "Guide," and I would learn to visualize outcomes that are desirable to me. I was in my room as we were speaking, and I looked up at the painting of The Sacred Heart of Jesus on the wall. Such a beautiful, kind face. I knew Jesus would be my guide.

But this morning, I learned that it wasn't up to me to consciously choose a guide. One would make itself known to me. We began with Martha softly talking me into a very relaxed state--perhaps the most relaxed I have ever felt in my life, at least while I'm awake. Then she told me to picture myself in a place where I feel safe and comfortable...happy. I tried to conjure a little cottage in an English garden, when suddenly I saw the swing in my sister Melissa's flower garden. How many times since she's been gone have I pictured myself sitting there with her on a sunny summer morning, drinking coffee, talking and laughing like we used to during our trips to Michigan? That was definitely my place. Can you guess what came next?

Martha then had me imagine my Guide arriving. I cried when I saw her, and I'm crying now, as I'm telling you this...Melissa came walking across the lawn and sat down beside me on the swing. I then attempted, with guidance, to imagine how she acted when she saw me. She had a smug little smile, because she knew she was surprising me. I heard her voice--her calm, beautiful, voice--saying "Don't worry, silly. Everything is going to be all right." She had many occasions to tell me that when we talked. Of course, Missy is my guide for this journey. That I hadn't thought of it myself surprises me. That she chose to come to me delights me. I feel better now about taking this trip with my sister.

The View from Missy's Swing

One of Those Days

I don't know what made today different. I'd started getting the calls yesterday--the ones from Sterling, Virginia, telling me that my Apple security had possibly been breached through my cloud account, blah-blah-blah. Several identical messages were left on our answering machine. After the third call today, I decided to return the call from my cell phone. When the helpful guy with the accent asked what he could do for me, I reminded him that he had called me. He said "On this number?" rattling off my mobile number. "No," I said. "On my land line."

When he asked me what that number was, for some reason, I snapped.

I said, "I'm not going to tell you what that number is, but if you don't stop calling it, I'm going to hurt you! And don't you dare call me on this number! I swear to God, if you do, I'll track you down and hurt you! Now leave me the fuck alone!"

Yes, those were my actual words. I have no idea where they came from. They just squeaked out in the croaky, broken voice that I'm stuck with now.

Then, to keep myself from thinking that I might be crazy, I started obsessing about how mean I'd been. The poor guy was just doing his job. I didn't know what set of circumstances had put him in his position, but I was pretty sure that "Scam Artist" hadn't been his first career choice. I really could have been nicer...

I called back during the next commercial break.

It sounded like the same voice, but I played along, explaining that I'd just spoken with someone, and had been very rude, and I would like to apologize. He asked me if I knew the name of the person I'd spoken with. I didn't, so he asked for my name, saying he would see what he could find out and call me back. I told him I didn't want to give him my name, but I would like to know what he was doing. He explained that my Apple account might have been breached. When I told him I didn't have an Apple phone, he said, "Well, Ma'am, you should just forget about it then. That's what you need to do. Just forget about it."

But I couldn't. When I got the next call from Sterling, Virginia, I picked up the phone and pressed One to be transferred to Tech Support. And there was my friend again. He told me my Apple account had been breached, and did I have a computer or laptop? He wanted to know if I knew how to connect my phone to my computer. I told him I didn't have an iPhone, but that my husband did. He said I should have my husband call him when he got home. He said he should ask for Victor. (Aha--I had a name now!) I told him I would do that--have my husband call--knowing that would never happen.

Within a half-hour, Sterling VA was calling again. I picked up and was transferred again--to Victor. Once more, we ran through our lines...how can I help...you called me...security breach...This time I asked if I could have his name. At first he hesitated, then told me it was Victor. He asked my name, so I told him Kate. That's when it got weird--er.

"How old are you, Kate?"

Getting bored, I said "18," thinking What the hell?!! Does this dude not recognize my voice by now?

"You're 18? Do you have a boyfriend?

Okay. This was kind of fun.

"No. I don't."

"Can I be your boyfriend?"

"I don't think so. Where do you live?"

Again, the hesitation. Then "Cupertino, California."

"Wow." By now, I was sorry I didn't have an iPhone so I could hit Record or something.

He asked for a number where he could call me, and I acted coy. I told him I'd call him. He said I couldn't use the number I had, because someone else might answer, but he wanted my facebook identity so he could friend request me.

Ha! I was almost tempted to give it to him--not!

Anyway, I think he was starting to get suspicious, because when I asked for his, he said, "RV. That's all. RV."

Like I said, just one of those days. Gotta go now...Sterling, Virginia is calling...again.

Pranksters in My House

2016 has eased into 2017, and I've done my traditional reflecting. The popular feeling seems to be that 2016 was a year we'd all rather forget--unless, as my nephew, Brad, pointed out, you're Laurie Hernandez. Not only did she win Olympic Gold in Brazil, she also took home the coveted Mirror Ball Trophy on Dancing with the Stars--go, Laurie! While I may not have won any shiny medals or trophies, I still feel like 2016 was pretty good to me. (Okay, there's that whole election debacle, but that's another blog entirely.)

Awesome Greg's and my "Borrowed Baby," our "Imaginary Granddaughter," Jordyn, came to stay with us in June, and she's completely changed the dynamics in our previously empty nest. We couldn't be happier!

Ever since she was tiny, Jordyn has loved to play tricks, and Greg has always been a favorite target. She used to delight in sneaking up behind him while he was working at his desk, and scaring the hair off his head by yelling "Boo!" then giggling uncontrollably. What is astounding to me is that no matter how many times she did it--sometimes twice in one day--he never expected it.

But now she's older. She has better skills, and a larger repertoire of pranks. She likes to bake. Especially cupcakes...

This one was from the last batch she made. When Greg saw that there were sprinkles involved, he said "Leave one without sprinkles for me, please."

"Okay."

I then watched as she hollowed out the top of a cupcake with a spoon, filled the crater with sprinkles, and then frosted over it. I wish we had a picture of Awesome's face when he bit into that mouthful of crunchy sweetness, but I'm afraid we were both laughing too hard to be concerned about capturing the moment.

But Greg likes pranks, too...

Jordyn planned her 14th birthday party in November. One of her primary activities was going to be making s'mores over a grill. She enlisted her buddy, Greg, to help her find suitable marshmallow-roasting sticks in the woods behind our house. Greg, however, had other plans for his Saturday, and they did not include whittling and carving 20 sticks--if they were able to find that many. He slipped out of the house while Jordyn and her friend, Kinsley, were still sleeping. A quick trip to Lowe's, and he was home with five packs of clean, beautiful sticks. Not wanting to deprive the girls of the thrill of the hunt, though, he went out and taped the packages randomly to trees, then came in to wake them. They donned boots and jackets and willingly headed out...

"Hey, what the...?!"

"Look what we found!"

And the real chocolate on the graham cracker was that during the party, which was held in the parking lot of an apartment complex, a neighbor (another prankster, perhaps?) called the Fire Department. A truck arrived, lights flashing and siren blaring. Fortunately, the guys just laughed when they saw the group of kids and a couple of adults roasting marshmallows over a grill.

Happy birthday to Jordyn--one I'll always remember with a smile.

New...

This was shared on facebook by my friend, Cindy. I know nothing about numerology, but it makes perfect sense to me that 2016 should be a number (9) which signifies endings and completions. For me, it feels like 2016 ended of a way of life I had become very comfortable with.

Over the last eight years, I've gotten used to supplemental oxygen and regular pulmonary function tests. Gradually, my lung function has dropped from 100 percent to 75 to 68. When it dropped to 40 percent within six months, that was significant. That's when I got used to being tethered to a concentrator or a portable oxygen cylinder around the clock. Happily, that number stayed at 40 percent for three good years. After each visit to Duke Medical Center for testing, I was happy to report that I was still "too healthy for a transplant." I'd had to exchange things like tennis and running for other things--knitting, reading, writing--but life was still good, still full of plenty of happy distractions.

In November, however, I learned that I am no longer too healthy. Things were said about it being time to get me on "The List," because the disease has started to progress. Funny--I'd almost been able to forget that I had a disease. I'd come to view my oxygen deficit as a lifestyle change. Now I have to change my thinking.

I will go to Duke at the end of this month for a week of daily testing. Awesome Greg and I will make the 50-mile trip each day, and each day I'll undergo some kind of "procedure." I heard words like CT scan, heart catheterization and barium (the kind you drink). I must admit, I'm feeling a little bit of fear and trepidation as that week draws near.

But this numerology thing eases my anxiety a little. If 2016 was a 9, then 2017 is a 1, which means new beginnings. I must not resist, I'm warned, if I do not want to be pushed by the universe. I definitely do not want to feel pushed. Which brings me to my single New Year's resolution for 2017:

I resolve to become a person whose response to the future, whatever it may be, is "That sounds great--let's do this!" Maybe 2017 will make me the recipient some new lungs. Whatever happens, I trust that all be well. My resolution for 2017 is to choose trust over resistance. We'll start there.