Why is Tony, the goomba, getting more responses than I am? After all, I am the one who is housing Tony! Not Fair! But I will win and we will send him to sleep with the fishes! Verna
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Hey, can a guy get a lil’ bit of help over here? Things ain’t going so well for me no more. Feels like I’m in the southside of Chicago back in the day! There are dudes coming after me from all directions…taking pictures of me, sizing me up.Hey I’m not paranoid, it’s really true. I know, I know, my mama always told me that my choices were goin’ to get me into trouble one day, but man, things were goin so good. I thought I was a contenda!
But let me back up and tell ya how I got myself into this mess. Ya see, I was looking for some new digs and I came across this place. It seemed perfect. It’s a bit old, 80,, so I figured it would be pretty easy to get into and it was. Not so shabby. Got myself moved in, snuggled around my favorite little pancreas, wrapped myself in some blood vessels to keep me warm and started checkin’ out the hood.
Figured no one would even suspect I was here. Figured, I could take over the place, like I used to do back in the day. Had all my plans in place. I’d call in some of my ole friends from back in the hood and we could be up and running in these new digs in no time. Hell, we’d own it, no problems.
Dude next door is a soft kind of guy, doesn’t even have a fence. Weird name…I think it Liver or somethin. I planned to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse. There’s a couple of twins, the lung guys just to the north, I figured I’d let those guys alone for a while…they seem to have some people. Things were moving along smoothly. Sure, I was causing some problems but no one suspected me….or so I thought.
Never thought my human would get suspicious. I just can’t mind my own business though. You can’t move into a new neighborhood without causing some issues. Well, maybe I did get a little carried away. It was when I ruined the tomatoes with stomach pain that my human started to ask questions. Even when I took her chocolate addiction and milk away, I stayed under the radar. Where I got into trouble is when I started to stretch out just a bit, I bumped into the wrong nerve; you know the one that makes their back hurt every time they lie down. Hey, how was I supposed to know that this human loves massages and facials and was a back sleeper. Snatching those away REALLY pissed her off! That’s when things started going to the dogs for me.
Next thing you know there’s police and detectives all over the neighborhood! They started asking questions, poking and prodding and taking pics from every angle. I hid when I could, I ducked and swerved, avoiding every one of them. They kept chasing shadows; they were chasing some dude named GERD and another guy they were tracking was reflux, man they really went after him. But still they didn’t suspect me.
That is until they brought in the big guns. They hired this detective known only by initials, he called himself GI. He seemed to be able to sniff me out just by reputation. He set a trap and I fell right into it. It was this thing called CA19-9. I guess he could find me by the trail I left behind. My mistake was being a tough guy. The bigger, the stronger, the higher the number. Maybe if I wasn’t such a showoff, they would not have found me, at least not so soon. I shoved that number clear to the sky! I was pushing 3600 when they finally found me out. You see when us tumors are healthy we get pretty excited and we dump this stuff right into our human’s bloodstream and this GI detective guy knew to find me by measuring it. They found my hideout! They even gave me a name. They called me pancreatic cancer but my human just called me bastard!
I was still a contenda though; I had a lot going for me. My opponent was old, didn’t know what to expect and I had scared the hell out of her. Boy was I wrong! Do you know this lady went out and bought a punching bag and had the nerve to name the thing tumor? Every time she walks by she thinks of me and takes a punch at it. Humans are so strange; this seems to make her feel stronger and more determined to smash me for real. I’ve been taking over hoods for a long time….I know what I’m doin’. It ain’t goin’ to be so easy to get rid of me. I was still in it to win it; a contenda for sure!
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The day my life changed completely started out like any other and included a happy trip to the annual preview Holiday party at Phipps Conservatory. I wasn’t sure I was going to enjoy it because food had become a problem, but I was going to give it my best shot since it was always so much fun.
My qualms centered around the fact that for the past two months I had been dealing with abdominal pain that was pretty bad every time I ate. Food had taken on a negative value, even chocolate! My doctor and I had been trying all of the standard stuff to treat it without much success. Pretty excruciating back pain when I laid flat now was added to the mix. That was particularly annoying because it marked the end of massages and facials!
My PCP agreed to send me to a gastroenterologist (GI) for further investigation. His first available appointment was several months off, but fortunately Judy, a very close friend who works in healthcare, was able to call in the first of many favors and get me seen within the next few days. Is that fair? No, it isn’t. That’s just one of the many problems plaguing American healthcare, but I wasn’t arguing. When the pain is bad enough you sometimes overcome moral objections. This doc ordered a number of blood tests and we were waiting on the results which Judy received while we partied at Phipps.
Pulling into Wilpen’s driveway, I noticed Judy’s car surprisingly there. Shortly thereafter Leslie’s car arrived, odd since I had just bid her goodnight. I didn’t know what was happening but figured it wasn’t good. In the kitchen, Judy told us both to sit down and then said, “Your blood tests are positive for pancreatic cancer.”
So much for the afterglow of the first Christmas soiree. I felt as if I had been hit in the face by a three-day old cold, dead fish. “This is a death sentence” I said and burst into tears. Judy attempted to convince me that pancreatic cancer is thought to be a death sentence to those in my generation, but that it was no longer the case. There were many treatment options to be explored.
I don’t think I heard much of what she said and remember very little. There were tears and hugs and more talk, but mostly there was just empty space. I remember asking “what happens next?” but not really hearing the answer. Judy stayed that night and has remained ever since, spelled by other very close and kind friends, two of whom are cancer survivors.
How would you feel if you thought you were pretty healthy and were given a diagnosis like this? Rage? Terrified? Confused?
I have to preface the rest of the story with the fact that I was what Judy refers to as “medically naïve” even though my professional background was in public health and medicine. I had never been hospitalized, sedated, or even had a colonoscopy. An IV was completely foreign to me
The next step was meeting with the GI doc who had ordered the original blood tests. Since this doctor spends a great deal of time suggesting that his patients get their affairs in order, I thought he’d enjoy this joke that I used when teaching internal medicine residents.
An oncologist is meeting with a cancer patient. The patient listens to the dire news and asks “So how much time have I got left doc?” The doctor looks at him and says “5”. The confused patient looks at him and says questioningly “5? Five what? Five hours? Five days? Five weeks? Five months?” The oncologist looks at his watch and then says “4”. The oncologist looked at me, trying not to laugh and wondering, just what the hell kind of patient he’s got on his hands.
The first month following my diagnosis remains to this day a fog. Leslie, my closest friend, would come over each and every day to make sure I was still alive and some days we would just pretend everything was fine, others we would talk about what was to come next, and other times we would just cry.
Judy embarked on a search for the best pancreatic cancer specialist. A well-respected oncologist who specializes in pancreatic cancer was located at Allegheny Health Network’s Cancer Institute. We were able to get in to see her within just a few days. Interestingly, the very building in which I was about to embark on the fight of my life is named after my late husband! That has had its advantages and its disadvantages. Some find it intriguing while others find it terrifying as they don’t want to be the one to kill the woman whose husband’s name is on the building!
I don’t remember much from our first oncology visit, but I know it didn’t go well! One of the good (and sometimes bad) results of the electronic age is that you have access to read what the doctors write about you. That day was not a good one. I was not feeling well, having terrible stomach pain, I was scared to death having no idea what to expect. The doctor was pleasant and caring, but I wanted nothing to do with her. Evidently, when she asked me questions my only response was pointing at Judy and saying, “I don’t know, ask her.” I told her that I didn’t want to know the details, she should deal with Judy. I just wanted to run out of the room. Couldn’t we do this via zoom? I didn’t want to hear her talking about this horrid disease that I was sure could not possibly involve me. I just wanted to go home and curl up in my bed and hide!
Not surprisingly, the physician’s progress notes did not reflect a very good portrait of me as a patient. She expressed concern that I was unable to engage in my care. I did not seem interested in participating and she was not sure that I could be compliant with treatment. Well, that was a wake-up-call!. No one was going to say those things about ME! Reading that note really got a rise out of me! In retrospect, it was a good thing because it rallied me to prove her wrong, and boy did I. (She now refers to me as a good patient! We share travel stories and she and her staff marvel at how well I am tolerating treatment! As of September 2026, I have had 154 medical encounters (doctor visits, chemo infusions, blood transfusions, weekly blood draws, a hospitalization) and have not missed or even rescheduled a single one! So take that “I’m concerned that she will not participate in her care!”)
I could not have made it this far, certainly not this well, without the help and support of my dear friends and acquaintances, some of whom are hardly known to me. So many people have come forward with cards, well wishes, food, and support. Leslie, Judy and MC have been my daily rocks, holding me up, and even carrying me (figuratively speaking – I’m now pretty skinny but still…) when necessary. I’ve cried with them, I’ve laughed with them, and even occasionally vomited on them You don’t realize how much you need a village until you do.
Stay tuned for more adventures of “ I’m In It to Win It” featuring me and one annoying pancreatic tumor.
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“Why are these blasted basement windows covered with brown paper so I can’t see in?”
When getting to know Wilpen in 2006 when I moved in one of the oddities I had noticed was that there were three above ground rooms in the basement whose windows were covered from the inside with brown paper. Further investigation revealed that the inside doors to these three rooms were always locked. When I took these findings up with the so-called Estate Manager, Terry. I was told that there was, “potentially dangerous equipment” in those rooms and it was a good idea that I not go in there and hurt myself. While this made be feel like a complete bumbling idiot, I was way too busy with more important matters to give this any additional thought. I was still trying to navigate the immensity of the house itself without getting lost. I would occasionally head for a spot on a different level or floor and end up somewhere else.
When I came to Wilpen, two people came with me. They had helped me with my garden and the maintenance of my small house. “I’m not going alone”, I told them, “you two must come with me.” Kent came to help with the buildings and the grounds and Pauline to attack the extensive but untended gardens. One day, early on, they came to me and said that they had found a problem on the estate. “It’s a body, isn’t it?” I asked. I had been convinced that this was the only serious issue that could have surfaced. It just seemed that in a place of this size, it would not be impossible to find a body. Perhaps I had been watching too many WQED murder mysteries.
“No, No, said Kent, but we are worried that it might upset Mr. Snyder.” “So, if it’s not a body, what the hell is it?” Kent responded, “We’ve discovered a good-sized marijuana farm on the property.” It was complete with well-planned irrigation lines that ran to the other side of the indoor pool house. This was an area that couldn’t be easily seen from the mansion or the roads that bordered the estate. Suddenly, the papered windows and the locked rooms made a great deal of sense. I asked Kent to get the keys to those rooms from the Estate Manager, Terry.
That evening when Bill came home from the office we told him about the Gilded Weed growing on our gilded age grounds. Fortunately, Bill took it well. He was not upset; as a matter of fact he found it laughable, at least at first. I am surprised that he didn’t ask, “How close to harvest are we?” After he got over his surprise, he began to realize the potential seriousness of this illegal issue which would not reflect well on him or Wilpen if it appeared on the evening news. When we finally gained entry into the rooms, it was apparent that someone had gone to a lot of trouble and spent a lot of money (probably estate money) to ensure a healthy and profitable crop. The seedlings were destroyed along with the plants in the field. The rooms were returned to their intended use, which was gardening. Oddly enough, Terry was not immediately fired. He continued on for several years.
