The Good Fight

Our amazing, brilliant, beautiful friend Annie passed last night. We were able to see her on Wednesday, to hold her and tell her we love her, and we shared both tears and laughter. She fought this battle with everything she had, and loved her life so much. She was fierce and glorious in her fight to stay with her family.

She had so many gifts - she was a talented actress; a generous, wise friend; a homeopathic physician; a loving wife to her partner Anita; a caring, devoted daughter and sister, and one of the best moms I've ever met.

I'm so grateful to have known her. And I'm so thankful her weary body is finally done with the pain.

My throat is tight with tears that can't come right now. I want to cry. I need to. I just don't think I can wrap my brain around the bigness of this loss.

As Anita said to Charley recently, "Love is all".

heartbroken

I don't even know where to begin. My friend Annie has been moved to hospice. Please keep her and her beautiful family in your thoughts and prayers.

Wednesday

My friend Annie is going to have surgery tomorrow to remove several tumors from her abdomen and pelvic area. This is great and scary news. Please, if you have a moment tomorrow, send a good thought, prayer, whatever - her way. Another update is posted here.

Good News!

My friend Annie, who was diagnosed with leiomyosarcoma almost a year ago, and has been battling like the fierce Warrior Goddess that she is, has gotten some great news on her latest scan. I was so thrilled to get the email with the link to this update.

Just wanted to share the good news.

A Call To Arms : Updated 1/19/09

I want to tell you about a dear friend of mine. We met doing a play at Seattle Repertory Theater in Seattle, and discovered that we were neighbors. She lived down the hall from us in our fabulous old building. I'm lucky to tell you that, because of that building, a few very dear friendships were formed. The amazing Suttonhoo posted a picture about this magical building not too long ago.

Anyway, this friend... She and her love were married in a park overlooking Elliott Bay in Seattle. They were surrounded by friends and family. It was a gorgeous clear day in Seattle. They had their guests bring potluck and blankets, and it was the most elegant love-fest ever. Charley and I were married several months later, in his parents backyard in Carpinteria, CA, and they attended. Our wedding was intimate. It wasn't just financial constraints that kept it that way, it was us. We wanted it cozy, and it was.

Six years later, they welcomed their first child, a sweet baby girl. Two months after that, Joe-Henry was born. In the intervening years, my friend had become a Naturopath, and we had moved to Hollywood, but we had stayed very close. We have video of our two first born, laying side by side on a blanket on the floor, unable to do much more than look at each other, they were still so tiny. It's hard to believe that was eight years ago.

We moved back to the Northwest in 2006, and since then we've been lucky enough to see them with more regularity, although we are still separated by a three hour car ride. In 2007, they welcomed another child, a boy, who is so lucky to have those three women guide him through his life. We've been so fortunate to know the blessing of their friendship, and to see that friendship blossom in our children. When they are together, they are the three musketeers, and we've joked that JH and their daughter Hazel will be drinking coffee in some campus coffeeshop, confiding in each other about their impossible parents, rolling their eyes and laughing. (although I assume Hazel will be doing more listening here).

I tell you about this friendship because I want you to know my friend. I want you to know what she has at stake if you choose to take on this task. My friend has a very rare cancer that was diagnosed last summer, stage 4 leiomyosarcoma. After a great response to her first round of chemo (tumors shrank and some disappeared altogether), her third ct scan showed some growth, and last week she had another scan which showed enough growth to spur doctors to alter course. She is currently in the hospital for a five day course of chemotherapy. She called to tell me herself yesterday. She sounded calm and upbeat, but asked me to put out a call for prayers and positive thoughts. She has been using creative visualization and meditating a great deal, and has asked us in the past to be specific in our thoughts of her. This time, when I asked her if she wanted us to visualize anything specific, she said with a laugh "a complete cure would be great".

She is a warrior, she is fighting so hard to stay with the family she has made and loves with all her heart and soul. Dear Ones, I am asking you to hold this woman and her family in your thoughts and prayers, because sometimes even Warriors get weary. Please send love and light and strength their way.

I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

Update: I spoke with my friend's partner last night, and she sounded so good. Dear Annie is being well taken care of, she feels safe, and the effects of the chemo haven't been too hard on her - they are monitoring her very closely. And a special note to Sharon in SF: thank you so much for commenting. Annie has been on the listserve and it's been incredibly helpful, I know. It's one more arrow in her Warrior quiver.

I promise to keep you posted as I learn more. In the meantime, I like Suttonhoo's word verification, and think we will use it as our mantra: "Sante".

Cold Fear

"Are you okay, Mom?"

That's the question my son asked after I got off the phone with a dear friend. Her wife, the mother of their two kids, had been diagnosed with a rare cancer about three weeks ago, and had just started chemo, and was hospitalized because she could no longer swallow. The tumors that showed up on the initial baseline ct scan were shown to have spread in the more recent ct scan taken a week ago. I'm sure I was ashen, and he was frightened. So was I.

These friends are like family to us. We met years ago doing theater together, and as fate would have it, they lived in the same building we did. We were the managers of the apartments for a time, and they still loved us anyway, even though we had no idea what we were doing. We watched each other's cats when we went on trips. We used their apartment to cook Thanksgiving dinner when they were out of town and our oven wasn't big enough for the pterodactyl we had stuffed for our dinner. We attended their wedding, on a beautiful, sunny Seattle afternoon in a park overlooking Puget Sound. Their first child, a girl is two months older than Joe-Henry. Their second child, a boy, just turned one a few months ago. We've stayed close, and the kids have helped us get even closer, if that's even possible. Joe-Henry loves their daughter Hazel, and seeing them together is like watching the future in living color. He loves baby Gabe too, asking for one of his own every time we leave their house.

We don't talk on the phone as much as I'd like to. They are both incredibly busy, talented people with lots on their plate. We email a bit, but it never matters how infrequently we see each other - we always pick up where we left off. But when she emailed about her diagnosis, and said they were leaving town that morning for the Adirondacks, but would see someone at Sloane Kettering, and would be back.....it's all just happening too fast. It's too much to take in, you know? And if I feel this way, I can't imagine what they are going through.

Our conversation was mostly very informational. I got caught up on what has been happening, because it's been so fast they've barely had time to process it themselves. Her voice was strained and exhausted, but she sounded remarkably strong, and buoyed by their family and friends. Someone got a philanthropic group to pay next months mortgage, someone else was cleaning their house, another friend dropped by and weeded the garden. I could tell that these things meant so much to them, and it wasn't lost on her how dearly they were being held in everyone's hearts. And their kids are helping them stay in the moment, something that has to be a necessity when panic threatens to send you racing through the streets in ten different directions.

I am setting them up with a blog and a great organizational website to arrange for friends to help, but I still feel completely helpless. I wish I could cure cancer instead. I wish I could kick cancer's ass to the curb. I wish I could not feel scared for my friend. I feel guilty for my fear - I want to just be fierce and organized and helpful and unemotional. And honestly, I am those things on the outside, for the most part. But inside - I am wobbly black jello. It won't stop me, though. I think I just had to say it, just once, acknowledge it, and now it's time to get to work.

Love to you all - it can't be said enough - love to you all.