TO:      ovarian cancer

FROM: me

“Hate” is such a polite word. I detest you. I despise you. Yet even those verbs are insufficient.

You took Mom. She was easy pickins’. Sixty-eight years old, 125 pounds, a long-time smoker, not exactly a prize fighter.   So sinister, creeping around through fallopian tubes, virtually undetected, multiplying silently until you outnumbered healthy cells, leaving organs shell-shocked. 

Then you took Bricie. She fought you though. For five grueling years she railed against you. But in the end, you wore her out, you took her down. You robbed two incredible kids of a loving mom--at 5 and 9 years old! A good man of his devoted partner, wife. 

And then you went after my friend Cindy. Bad choice. You shouldn’t have messed with Cindy. You didn’t know that she has friends far and wide who have her back, ready to support her IF she faltered. And you didn’t count on her friend Jana, whose profession was to eradicate you and your filthy gang from the women you target. You didn’t plan on Jana [aka "the body guard"] accompanying her to every single appointment just to ensure that your bags were packed and that you had checked out permanently, a one-way ticket.

You didn’t count on Cindy’s tenacity and grit. Well, she won!

She kicked your sneaky little ass.

So slink off. And leave me and my friends alone! F o r e v e r!

Most sincerely,

Me 

Mother to Daughter

You

are I…

and he.

But mostly

Me.

I have so many dreams

For you:

For who you’ll be,

Canyons you'll cross,

Places you’ll see.

You are the me

I yearned to be,

But couldn’t.
Different times...

Once bolted shut,

doors splintered

as women powered through.

Doctor, Justice, Governor, President, Chair,

PhD, CEO, MD, DDS, DVM, & MOM

They’re all 
Available to you.

You are the me

I wanted to be,

But couldn’t,

Didn’t dare.

Take that.

And sprint through those open doors

into your future.

For both of us.

--Betsy L.

One Shot Was Not Enough

Lying on the couch under heaps of blankets I am so HOT! I’m sweaty.  It seems like I was shivering just a few minutes ago. I was as cold as an ice cube, even under two blankets and my sleeping bag. I fling the covers off and sit up. My head feels weird—like it’s stuffed with cotton or airy, fluffy polyester.  Should I have some orange juice?  Finally, I’m cooling off.

            Not ten minutes seem to pass before I’m freezing again. Huddling under the blankets I can’t stop shivering. The Price Is Right is still on TV, but I’ve lost interest. Who cares what his bid was Bob Barker!

            Maybe I should take a shower to try to warm up. So I trundle off to the bathroom with my sleeping bag held around my shoulders like a cape, the blue fuzzy part against my neck. I turn on the shower as hot as it will go and get in. I just stand underneath it, feeling the searing needles pierce my skin--feels so good—and I am finally warm again.

            I dry off quickly and bundle up in heavy pajamas and my quilted robe. Feeling better, I head back to the couch and lie down. The Price Is Right is over and there’s a soap opera on. Boring.  I’m getting cold again.

            Maybe I should take my temperature. I find the thermometer in Mom’s bathroom cupboard, and I return to the couch and lie down to take my temp. [Mom says always sit still when you're taking your temperature.] After what seems like four or five minutes I look at the thermometer. 104. Could that be right? I shake it down like Mom does and put it back into my mouth. Several minutes later I check again. 104 again. Um. That’s high.

            I should probably call Dr. Ramsey’s office. In a few minutes. With my sleeping bag cape around me I creep to the kitchen and sit down in Dad's chair—I am so tired. I look in Mom’s red Parade calendar for the phone number, and then I dial each number, listening as the dial spins slowly back into place before I dial the next number.

            “Hello, my name is Betsy. I am home sick today. I was hot and then really cold, so I took a shower to warm up, but I got cold again, so I took my temperature, and it is 104,” I explain to the lady who answers.

            “My mom and dad are out-of-town on a trip.”

            “We have Nancy and Kevin staying with us, but they’re at work. My brother is at school.”

            “Yes, I’m the only one here.”

            Someone took me to the doctor’s office.  Measles. But no spots. I was ten.

            Nancy had to stay home with me the next few days. She was a teacher, so she had to have a substitute. I felt guilty that she couldn't go to her job.  Mom and Dad came back, but not early. Within a week or two, the newspaper reported that kids should get a booster shot for the measles immunization. One shot was not enough.

His Mother Told Me I'd Never Be Bored

"Is that about as slow as you can pedal?" I asked Joe as he rode his surf bike toward the paddle boat.
He didn't even have time to answer before "Splash!" and he was gone! Just disappeared beneath the surface of a gigantic Swiss lake!
The surf bike was an interesting apparatus. Imagine a surf board with a bicycle seat and bicycle handlebars on it, just no wheels. Pedaling moves a small propeller beneath the board that moves the surf board across the water. Easy.
"Oh no! Where did Papa go?" Celeste cried out from the safety of the paddle boat. At age 10, she was sensible, and knew enough about the world to know that one shouldn't be on a giant lake without a life jacket. In fact, she was so sensible that she tried to caution her father when he saw the shop that rented surfbikes.
"I don't know, but I'm sure he'll be up in a second," I replied as calmly as I could manage.  Sure, this happens all the time. We're visiting a foreign country, and my husband, father of our two kids falls into the lake from the surfbike that he just had to rent.
In a split second I recalled his lovely mother telling me on the eve of our wedding that once married, 1. I couldn't give him back, and 2. that I'd never be bored.  And, once again, on postcard-perfect July day on Lake Lucerne in the Swiss Alps I WAS NOT BORED!  Instead, my mind ran through thoughts like a Rolodex: What do I do if he doesn't come up? How will this trauma affect these two children?  How does one get a body back to the USA? And finally, Do not drown on my birthday!
Just as my mind raced through these dark, morbid thoughts, he resurfaced. Thank you God!
Of course, the kids were as relieved as I was. He got into the paddle boat, and as Charlie and I pedaled, Joe held the bike alongside and towed it.
Charlie gave me one of his looks that I'd seen so often in twelve years. It said, "I really can't believe that he thought this was a good idea. And yet, I can believe it because this is my dad."
As we settled down and laughed a little, we noticed that Joe's glasses were not on his face. No doubt still falling slowly through the deep aqua water to lie forever at the bottom of the lake.

And then Joe asked sincerely and benignly, "Does anyone else want to ride the surfbike?" As if this was the greatest thing ever!
"No!" we all three shouted.
There were many blessings that day:  He resurfaced and was fine, though his passport was soggy and the glasses were gone forever. The Swiss government requires that children wear life jackets, so our two had life jackets, (though we two adults did not). And most important, my two children are not as nutty as their father and declined his invitation to ride the surfbike.