Pinky Pie

This one falls into the category of too much information.

But a drink that I wrote about with my last chemotherapy is back again. We called it the Slider – vodka, juice and drum roll … mineral oil.

Ah. Hoping for the best.

Gak.

First, I have great news from my oncologist – her favorite Blizzard is Peppermint too. That’s why we were meant to be doctor and patient.

I gave her some advice how to make it better – Dairy Queen’s flavor of the month is Peppermint Oreo. I have them not put in Oreos and instead put in the chocolate that is used for dip codes. I think I need to bring her one next time.

She suggests I try other soft foods in addition to Blizzards, but has no problem with me Blizzarding away.

Part of the reason that I cannot eat much is that I have terrible, painful heartburn when I eat. It’s a result of radiation. So I’m to take pain pills prior to eating. Me and Rush have so much in common. And it should go away over the next couple of weeks. Looking forward to that.

Mostly, I am trying to keep my head above water financially. Out of the last $7,000 in charges, my insurance paid $600. It is absolutely horrifying insurance, a reason that the generosity of others through the You Fund Me Account is life saving. Thank you to all of you.

Blizzards for all my friends.

 

 

Hello all. I wanted to update you on me.

Finished radiation on Tuesday and it took away any pain in my back. I’m happy to say that I have no pain.

Now taking those oral medications, which. I hope will kill the cancer/keep it at bey for a very long time.

I feel wonderful about all of the support I have received – both through Go Fund Me and in words, hugs, etc. I’m still wondering who the mystery sending of Omaha Steaks was. Please mysterious donor, tell me who you are.

I”m working on thank you notes to all of you and I know I don’t have to but I must in my head and heart. It will take a while, but I will send get to you  – unless I forget. It’s not a question of chemobrain, but just Suebrain.

Hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving, with full bellies and full heart.

Already had a telephone toast to Thanksgiving with a vodka shot with my machitunin in KC since we can’t be there this year. I say next year in KC for Thanksgiving.

Love to you all.

Sue’s note:

My Association of Personal Historian Colleague/Friend/And Starter of this fund for me has hijacked my blog for today. Here’s what Paula “Yee-Haw” Yost wrote:

Paying attention? Pens ready? Fingers poised over keyboards? The GoFundMe campaign in support of our very own Pinky Pie Sue Hessel is officially open and awaiting your donation at https://www.gofundme.com/sue-hessel-pinky-pie. There’s a lot of love for this special lady spinning around out there with more than $12,000 being raised in just over two days. But our job’s not done . . . We need your help to make our goal!

The fundraising campaign was organized by Sue’s friends and colleagues from the Association of Personal Historians (APH), who like most everyone else wanted to support this fine lady in her battle with the Big C. We figured that we could best do that by raising enough money to at least help her contend with the ongoing, enormous medical expenses. We’ve worked and played with Sue for more than a decade now and, like you, have come to recognize what an extraordinary lady she is—always ready with a smile and joke to make the best of any given situation or to simply brighten our spirits.

One of my fondest memories of Sue is her hilarious performance during the 2007 APH Conference in Nashville, Tennessee. For our expo event, attendees had been asked to share items representative of their states alongside their work samples at their regional tables. You can see from the photo on this blog and our GoFundMe Campaign Sue’s unique interpretation. Posing gleefully in a fetching cheese bra over her beloved Packers hoodie, she said this was “Breast reconstruction, Wisconsin style.” Her hilarious fashion statement occurred two years prior to her original breast cancer diagnosis in 2009, which wasn’t funny at all.

As soon as Sue learned about her recent recurrence, she became obsessed with reaching out to other friends (including me) who had experienced breast cancer after her first bout with it. Not wanting them to be any more frightened than they already were, she reassured each of them that her experience did not have to be theirs. She continues that support in so many ways for so many people, through this delightful blog and much more.

Now it’s our turn to give back. Check out the campaign website (Did I mention . . . https://www.gofundme.com/sue-hessel-pinky-pie?), give generously, and then tell your friends, post it on your Facebook page, or Twitter, Instagram and Hashtag like a teenager to help us get the word out.

Thank you, Pinky Pie friends and fans, for listening and caring. And thank you, Sue Hessel, for giving me this space on your blog to spread the word. Take heart, people, Sue will return to this space very soon, and she’s much funnier than I am.

Anonymous, you’re killing me. Or, you are saving me? Maybe both.

Here’s the story: when I was a newspaper reporter long, long ago, I was known as the noseyist person in the newsroom. When something was going on, my antennas went up. I not so as clandestinely or suavely tried to figure out what was going on in the world needing reporting or worthy of my nosiness and/or gossiping.

“Put your antennas down, Sue,” I was frequently told. Dang. Caught again.

Not knowing things has been really hard for me.

So when I see these anonymously generous donations and don’t know the sources, it tugs at me. A lot. But I absolutely respect anonimity. I really do. I’m just that young woman. – really a girl who moved here in 1974 to make my fortune or solve the problems of the world with my journalism. It was just after Watergate when reporters were heroes. Times have changed. Have they Yes. No. Maybe.

But let me get back to the anonymous donations on the Go Fund Me account. Your generosity is inspiring and gratifying. And I know not everyone can afford to donate – I love and appreciate you anyway. While funds help in this crazy medical world we should just plain be grateful for each other that when  the proverbial chips are down we help each other.

I Know some folks do things not for the credit they get but because they just want to  do good in this world. Either way, support is not a numerical figure, but a reflection of humanity.

I do have one anonymous donation that I really need to know the source. It is not connected with Go Fund Me, which in itself is absolutely beautiful in using crowd funding to made a difference in this world. Brilliant. People power.

But please hep me with one git that came from Omaha Steaks without a card to indicate who sent it. Who are you anonymous donor? I just want to say thank you. Feel free to send a private message if you’d like. And yum

Thank you all again. Hugs to all.

 

 

 

As the GoFundMe offers came to me, and I finally agreed to the one set up by the Association of Personal Historians for all to use, the song from “Sound of Music” called “Somewhere  in my wicked childhood” came to mind.

“Somewhere in my wicked childhood, I must have done something good for here you are standing here loving me so, whether or not you should…”

In my head it is wicked adulthood and here you are standing here supporting me is how I change the lyrics in my mind. I am overwhelmed by the continual kindnesss that everyone has shown, including people I do not know. There is no way to possibly thank you all.

I just feel I need to confess a story related to Sound of Music, that may make you think twice about how much you really want to support me. It’s a funny story, as usual. Caveat emptor.

My friend Carol and I went to see a singalong version of “The Sound of Music” that had the words printed on the screen. We love such events. Even as a non singer, it’s especially fun to have no one tell me to stop because of the nerve damage I cause their hearing.

During intermission – remember those during musicals – we were chatting in the background. And rudely out of my mouth came some trivia that I had heard or read somewhere that Maria Von Trapp was not the sweetheart Julie Andrews portrayed  in the movie. At that moment I looked up by the sink where I was washing my hands and saw a half dozen little girls dressed alike in alpine clothing. The looks on their faces showed the mean lady broke their little hearts.

So I totally understand if you now see me as some sort of a monster and while not wishing me will health, wish me good luck with payment for the treatments.

Someday when the musical is written on my life and there are six little girls in matching Pinky Pie outfits, you can tell them the truth about me. It’s only fair. Until then, I’m sorry little girls.

And if you have contributed or will contribute, please know how much I apppreciate it and will continue to write crazy stories about me and my antics, goood, bad or ugly.

Love you, peeps.

And I want to say one other thing. Not everybody can afford to donate money. I absolutely get that and respect that.  Your caring means more than Donald Trump’S $2 billion which I know is on the way.

The day after school resumed in the fifth grade after the winter holidays, I dislocated my kneecap in gym class, resulting in an ambulance ride, a night in the hospital, a full-length cast on my left leg and a get-out-of-school free card for six weeks. It also meant a get out of gym class except for swimming for life and a career as an observer, not a doer.

I spent my days and nights watching TV on the three major networks  we had then plus educational TV and an independent station. What it meant then was I watched a lot of reruns during the day, expeciallly “The Untouchables.” I loved the stories of Al Calpone (when he laughed, we all laughed) and Elliott Ness, who brought him down. In betweeen, of course, was violence and bootlegging, not to mention the Depression and Prohibition, one of favorite topics and times in history.

My crutch was a tommy gun used when the G-Men raided a plant. It was about my only use as I didn’t want to be slowed down by crutches.

A bit over a half century later, I have a get-out-of work-card and am watching many different shows, including documentaries on “The Lion in Your Living Room” and “A Dog’s Life,” both on Netflix. Elliott Ness is not needed for these shows, nor is a crutch to learn about the nature of cats and dogs. (Mim, you would love these documentaries.)

Istead, I have a grabber tool which is similar in size to a crutch and that actually looks more like a gun than my crutch did. This tool just allowed me to grab a book from across the room without getting out of my recliner.

I didn’t buy it for this purpose, but to reach clothes that have a way of falling behind my dresser when a certain party (me) dops not put her things away properly.

Obviously, I need to get my sorry arse out of the recliner and I do, but give me a moment to mull over the props of this stage of life, compared with yesteryear.

 

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