Sallysh

The year I became my mother
This post is the beginning of the year 2023 with roots in 2022. Some of you may have read this post as I planned on using it for my Christmas letter. Be warned, it's rather long.
Christmas 2022, I became my mother. It wasn’t planned. I’m not sure it was supposed to happen, but it did. It’s the way of the world. Eventually, one generation replaces the other.
It’s begins slowly. You go about your day with confidence forgetting to check the mirror before you leave the house. In my mind I am still 21 and looking foxy. That is until I pass by a large window with the sun behind me, and my reflection stares at me in unbelief.
“Who are you?”
“I am you.”
“No way. You look like my mother. My mother, my aunts — that’s who looks like that, but not me.”
"Look again."
It is the way. I might be shocked at how old I have become, but I feel blessed to be as healthy and productive as I am. In that respect I am totally my mom.
Mom has been gone for about six or seven years now. For some reason, 2022, the year my dad passed away has amplified my missing her. I'm missing both of them. I'm missing the way Christmas used to be.
Here are some Kaseman cousins: Dennis, Rickey, Brunella, Douglas, Debbie, Steve, and me.
Here comes Christmas. Things have been so very different. I’m not sure if it was the two weeks of winter weather holding things up, you know, mail delivery, packages from UPS and trips to the store with empty shelves, or something else. It was simply different.
I wondered why my mom started short-cutting things as she aged. Gifting money instead of stuff at Christmas, not putting up a tree or using frozen dough for dinner rolls at the big meals we enjoyed at their house.
My Christmas spirit got up and left. It began with stuff at my church of 30+ years. Then, what do you buy your children when they have jobs that net them more money than I could imagine earning in my lifetime. Sure, I could make them things, but they don’t even need that kind of stuff… stuff everywhere. I’m guilty of that also. It seems to me that the word “anticipation” has left Webster’s in the dust. Today’s youth wait for very few things with anticipation.
Since my “retirement” (and I use that word loosely) in April 2022, I have begun a purge. For the past 40 years I have walked over Christmas cards and letters bundled by year in plastic tubs stored in the “root cellar.” These pieces of paper and colored card stock are filled with memories, people I can’t remember, people I love and stay in touch with, and handwriting. Yes, cursive handwriting. Many children can’t read cursive anymore. We, JC and I, actually got into a convo with someone last Saturday about why he thinks cursive is not necessary with technology. I tend to disagree. In the future there will a specialized office with trained staff to decipher cursive handwritten documents found in abandoned basements like mine.
As I have been casually going through them, picking out a few items for a “second” review, I found artwork, letters, thank you notes and tons of photos of smiling children or families together for a Christmas photo. It was like my life was passing before my eyes as I watched my friends’ (Karen Benson McMahon) children grow up and have children of their own. I emptied one or two bins before life interrupted the progress.
There were boxes of beautiful German glass Christmas ornaments from my days living in the old Kelsch house in downtown Mandan. It was a house meant for Christmas. My tree, always real, reached to the wood-beamed ceiling. There was dated thick red carpet over hardwood floors and a real fireplace. I decorated my tree with vintage ornaments collected at rummage sales in the 80s, strung popcorn, glass blown icicles from someplace like Sundance and loads and loads of love.
Don’t get me wrong, I do have still have a tree. It’s from Lavonne’s Hallmark in Mandan, when Mandan had a Hallmark store. It is green, the color of the Grinch and looks like a Charlie Brown tree decorated with beaded spiders.
Christmas is not the same.
I thought, if I give these treasured Christmas decorations to my daughter, daughter-in-law and sister-in-law I might still enjoy them on their trees instead of in boxes as they have been for the past 15 years.
Then there's the multiple Christmas dinners my children have to attend. We celebrate with an early Christmas dinner, and rather than fuss with a turkey and all the trimmings, I served Salisbury steak, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes and Jell-O mold, among other side dishes. It was a nice 50s-style meal.
We also had Christmas early to clear our calendar for the biggest event of the year, J.C.’s birthday. He’s not getting any younger.
NOT — it was more important we were available for the birth of a granddaughter, Audenia Mae Barnhard, sister to the Fabulous Miss Elle, on Dec. 30., by my daughter, Claire, and her new husband Jason. Now that’s a big event.
In April, we were expecting another grandchild, a yet-to-be-named boy, giving Lucy and Oliver a younger brother. He came a little early and was named Finley Hill making seven grandchildren.
Of course, that’s nothing compared to the 40-60 grandchildren (my cousins) we would see at Christmas time at my grandparent’s home.
WOW. Somehow I thought those days would never end, but they did, and my aunts and uncles are slowing moving to the “kingdom” so they can be together again — no more sorrow, no more tears, no more pain. I told J.C. “We need to have some parties so we can see people outside of all the funerals we had this year — friends and family.”
Finally, there’s the Christmas card thing. I used to design a unique and personalized card ever year and write notes (not a long ones) in each one. That didn’t happen, not even close. Rather than order special cards, I thought I would send out the ones that I inherited from my father when we cleaned out his house for the last time (yes, we had about three or four or five go-arounds moving them from their house in Gackle, to Jamestown to the assisted living to nursing home and back again more than once).
I decided, "why waste a good card?" That’s my mother talking for sure.
Battling the snow and doing farmers markets well into December meant I was busy filling pfeffernusse cookie orders and making fingerless gloves. For some reason, I just can’t quit buying yarn and playing in my studio. I thought without a full-time job, I would be able to design my heart out. NOT. Somehow life gets in the way.
Therefore, if you did not receive a card from me, it’s because with the best of intentions. I wanted to take the time to write a note and handwrite an address on the envelope, at the same time, using of all the mismatched cards hiding in my closet, but I never got that far. I don’t know — blame it on the knitting machine, or recovering lampshades or shoveling snow. Or maybe Christmas 2022, I need some transitioning time to my new role as the “elder” of the family.
Being my mother means cutting back on dinners, scaled-back gifts to the children (not that my children complained about the sacks of money I distributed to a select few), hopefully fun and useful things to the grandchildren, downsizing and all the things that go with it.
Unlike my mother, who liked to stay home even more than myself, I went south the day my granddaughter was born. It’s not easy for me to be away from my house for an extended period of time, but I am getting better.
That trip, my friends, is the beginning of the story.
This is the longest post I have done in a long time. Rather than working on my Christian Apocalyptic love story, my Kaseman family history book or my other books circling my brain looking to get out of my brain, I had to empty my heart of its unnamed feelings about Christmas 2022. It’s a mixture of grief, loss, gain, family, memories and snow — lots and lots of snow.
BUT, as the Grinch's story goes, “He hadn’t stopped Christmas from coming. Somehow it came, it came just the same.”
Love to you all my friends and family. I feel better already even if its July and 90-degrees outdoors.

MY STEPS TO SURVIVING A LUNG CANCER DIAGNOSIS
Step 1 – Invest in sophisticated diagnosics before diagnosis
If you smoke, were a long-term smoker, or are in an occupation that exposes you to carcinogenic toxins (asbestos removal, auto mechanic, painter, etc.), I suggest getting a computed tomography (CT) scan, often called a CAT scan, of the chest once a year. Insurance now covers it and CT will detect tumors far earlier than a chest x-ray. Early detection of small tumors dramatically enhances your survival chances. I had a chest x-ray in January 2004 and was diagnosed with stage 3b, non-small cell lung cancer the following month. The tumor hadn’t shown on the x-ray; but at diagnosis, it was almost 3 inches long and ½ inch in diameter. The only symptom I had was coughing up blood the day before diagnosis. Learn more about early CT screening.
Step 2 – Choose a good general practitioner 
Your general practitioner may be the manager of your lung cancer treatment. The GP likely will pick your cancer team and may need to do a little arm-twisting to get things moving. Therefore, there can be great benefits to having a GP who is seasoned and well known in the medical community. I prefer doctors of osteopathic medicine to medical doctors. I’ve found that in my experience the former treat people, not patients. I believe a good physician shows kindness, consideration, and compassion toward those in his or her care. These characteristics are essential. Be sure you know your GP and your GP knows you. Such knowledge and trust will give you a survival edge. There are great health care professionals out there.
Step 3 – Ensure your oncologist is a physician
A doctor has a degree in medicine and a license to practice. A physician is devoted to restoring, maintaining, and promoting your good health. My physician oncologist does a complete examination (looks in eyes, nose, and throat, checks pulse in the extremities, checks reflexes, listens to breathing and heart rate) every visit. He reviews and explains all test results and asks how I feel. He looks at me as I speak, and he listens and makes notes on what I say. He carefully explains medical treatment alternatives that may arrest the disease, and together we choose each next step. He never rushes consultations and, consequently, often is late to scheduled appointments. Because his tardiness results from spending time with those he treats, I know he cares about me and every other patient. These are some characteristics your physician oncologist should possess.
Step 4 – Learn about your disease
At diagnosis, I had no idea what lung cancer was. Moreover, I didn’t know what an oncologist did, nor could I spell the word! After diagnosis, I read everything I could find about the disease; a good resource is the www.LUNGevity.org website. Then I read medical journals, government reports, research papers, and studies. I made notes about things I didn’t understand and asked questions at my oncology consultations. My wife attended every consultation, procedure, and test to ensure every question was asked and answered, and that we understood the answers. You need to know about type, stage, statistics, radiation, diagnostics, chemotherapy, side effects, surgical options, and so much more. Your chances of survival are improved if you are informed enough to ask highly perceptive questions.
Step 5 – Acquire a sanguine attitude quickly
Cancer is a disease of death; lung cancer kills more than all other cancers. Your attitude toward treatment is, I believe, essential to survival. When you acquire a sanguine attitude, your treatment team will notice your optimism. They will enjoy interacting with you; they will care about you. I strongly suggest you read Stephen Jay Gould’s essay “The Median Isn’t the Message” to help you understand survival statistics and find optimism about what appear to be bleak probability of survival projections. Join a cancer blog or messageboard. I am a member of several where I can broadcast my complaints and protestations to people who understand and have useful advice for coping. Find cancer support groups and join one. Most people who treat you have no idea how you are feeling. But survivors in cancer support groups understand; they know how you feel—you’ll fit right in!
Step 6 – Any port in a storm
There is no such thing as “a little stick!” During procedures and treatment, almost everyone will attempt to gain access to your veins with an intravenous device of some type. All such intrusions are uncomfortable, and unless the practitioner is good and lucky he or she will miss more often than not. If your treatment involves intravenously administered chemotherapy, you likely will get stuck at least once a week. A good way to avoid discomfort and frustration is to ask for a port. Installation involves simple, low-risk surgery. Once in place, you need to keep the area clean and exercise precautions when bathing—but access to your veins is no longer a storm but a port in a storm!
Step 7 – Don’t believe the miracle cure
The consequences of a lung cancer diagnosis are frightening. For most, it will be your first serious encounter with the prospect of death. When you type “lung cancer” into Google, you will be bombarded by advertisement that promises miracle cure at considerable expense. There is no such thing as a miracle cure! Before you invest time (now precious) investigating one of these “too good to be true” remedies, check it out on www.quackwatch.org and discuss it with your physician. Oncology is a medical science. Procedures, drugs, and protocols are tested using scientific methods that are published and reviewed by peers and regulating organizations. When science-based breakthroughs are discovered, they are broadcast very quickly throughout the practitioner community.Read about Steve Jobs—one of the smartest technologists and businessmen the world has ever known—who delayed his cancer treatment.
Step 8 – Don’t try to tough it out
I am a retired soldier and believed I was man enough to handle almost anything. Cancer proved to be the “anything” I could not handle! I suffered a long time trying to tough it out before I admitted I was depressed. My physician’s response: “Of course you are depressed—how could you not be?” He prescribed appropriate medication, arranged consultations with a psychologist, and suggested I attend support groups. Unless you are tougher than I, you will experience depression. Admit it and accept help. Here are some other things you might try. Ask for the “freeze spray” before an IV is used. If claustrophobic, get a script for Xanax and take it shortly before scans. Even in summer, wear warm clothing to diagnostic and infusion sessions. Some areas where these take place are kept very cold. Many treatment centers have volunteers—engage one in conversation. Many are survivors or caregivers and have a wealth of helpful information. During consultations, I was so frightened I couldn’t rationally ask questions about results or next steps, and I certainly couldn’t remember what was said. Consequently, I never go alone to a consultation. I suggest if you can, always have someone with you too.
Step 9 – Become a calendar maniac
If you have a smartphone with a calendar application, become an expert in its use. If not, keep a paper “cancer calendar” to record information. Your life after diagnosis will likely become filled with scheduled appointments, and given the nature of the disease and intensity of the battle, these are appointments you don’t want to miss. For example, my chemotherapy cycle required an infusion every third Friday. I had to record three rounds of steroid medication taken every six hours before each infusion. I had a scheduled blood test every Monday following infusion. Nausea started Sunday morning and lasted until Tuesday. Joint pain started Wednesday and lasted until Saturday. If I took the nausea medication about an hour before onset, symptoms often were minimal. Furthermore, if I started pain medication a couple of hours before onset, my pain was manageable. I used the alarm feature on my phone to warn me in advance. Plus, there was life to live, and the calendar helped me avoid conflicts between my cancer treatment schedule and my life events schedule.
Step 10 – Choose to live
When asked about my cancer experience, I often tell those in treatment that cancer is a disease of life or death. I believe if you choose treatment, you are choosing life. And if you choose to live, do something with the life you are given. The “something” will be different for each of us, but doing whatever you enjoy or find fulfilling is so important. If you enjoyed an activity before diagnosis, do it afterward. Look at yourself in the mirror every morning. If you don’t see an expiration date stamped on your forehead, then enjoy the day and look forward to the next! Oh, by the way, your hair will grow back! Baldness is a beautiful badge of courage.
Stay the course.