Going home.

I'm hoping they will let Dad come home tomorrow. I believe I know what has been going on with him and it isn't pretty or easily fixed. It requires a whole different lifestyle. I'm tired. I would like to sleep in my bed even if for just one night before my bed is the recliner in the living room. Ciao


Thanks for stopping bye. See you soon -- Post From My iPhone

I know what "IT" is I think.

Yes I'm awake. I'm more tired than awake. 

This feeling is quite a queer feeling actually.  Father seems more delirious this morning. He asks over and over if it is raining? He likes to hear the rain on our metal roof when it rains. He is babbling about this and that. He rested a little last night albeit not much. He does not like the hospital because he can't get comfortable in the bed. ICU beds are tough, as they have to be sterilized a lot. People die every day in here I think. He is back to wanting to rip everything off his body. Considering the fact he has 25 leads from here to there is the main thing he wants gone. He is buck naked except for a light weight sheet. When I say "Light weight" I mean so used up it is almost transparent. I think a transparent sheet tells you our state of economy...Poor. The room has to be kept so cold for him to be comfortable I sit looking out at the beautiful day that i'm not part of and am snuggled in the same blanket that Valentina liked and used. I made it, it is fleece, bright reds, purples and oranges.  

I figured ”it” out. I will tell you how. In this unit you have to walk like 1/4 mile to use the restroom. Then you have to call on a phone every time to announce who you are, who you are here to see and wait to  be allowed to come back in. (Why was it designed this way? No bathrooms in the patient rooms? I would sue the architect it is asinine not to have restrooms in the unit. It takes a whole employee to monitor ins and outs.) Anyhow, when I go out I'm usually going to try and stay out ten minutes because I feel embarrassed calling. Usually within this time frame another person will come out or another family will show up and use the phone and either way I can sneak in behind them without having to use the 'Please let me in phone'. This morning while I was in the “circling the door” mode I realized something.

When I was a very young girl (6) my dad had 67% of his body burned in a fire. He was a mechanic at the time and thought he had poured a cup of water in the cup he was carrying to the car that he was currently working on.  A new guy had mistakenly put gasoline in the "water" jug and a spark from a car hit the cup and well the rest is history. I was the one who answered the phone when the hospital (my dad was admitted to) called and told us to come to the hospital as it was urgent. I got my Mom out of the shower and I don't remember much except the staff pushing across the desk all my dad's personal effects in a big manilla envelope. Giving my mom my father’s “Valuables” I instinctively knew was a bad thing. A very bad thing indeed. He was hospitalized for months. He was burned so bad.  Back in the olden days they didn't have the burn patient knowledge they have now. Wherever he would sit or lay down on would stick to his exposed skin and each time he had to get up it peeled skin off. Agonizing screaming were what we would hear. They would amp him up on Morphine but were too afraid to give him enough. It was horrendous as a child to see and hear your father in constant and undeniable pain. I remember on Christmas morning that year, they allowed my Mom to bring him home for a whole hour. It was such a joyous day. I also remember being allowed to sneak into his room late at night. Kids were not to be seen nor heard. (This is not the “ah-ha” part- Just some background)  

Now this is the epiphany, I realized it this morning. (Yes, I was in fact once again in the “circling the door” mode.) I was standing outside with a hot cup of coffee, complimentary dontcha know. It never tastes like much, but it is hot and the sign says does in fact say it is "coffee." I was watching the ER from the floor above and seeing the people in that unit who are really hurt, bleeding, barfing whatever and I feel sorry for them. This hospital is slow. What is slow you ask me now? I don't know. There is no time limit in my mind unless it is one of "my people" needing to be seen. Does that make sense? If it is one of  "My people" it takes forever. If I'm observing from above the Emergency room  all the workings below seem to be going at an even clip.  As if it is as if  all very fine tuned below. Triage than treat in order of patient need. Okay, still not to the point. 

 Yesterday when the ambulance came to my house to pick up my Dad (I have never called 911 before) and I heard the big engines roaring down my long driveway I freaked out. Not screaming, panicking, more like the direness of the situation. I think in my mind if  the fire trucks and ambulance are called to come to your home it is somehow more serious. This time was no more serious than any of the other times I have had to bring him to TRCH  except this time I'm tired. I couldn't even phathom the idea of trying to get him into my car to bring him here without help. I am spent. We (Colton and I) had to come through the front entrance to ER and not through the ambulance side. Once Colton parked the car and I pulled out my wallet, a book and both my phones each step that I took closer to the doors of the hospital was more agonizing than the one before. I felt like I was having an anxiety attack. It wasn't like I was panting, singing, crying, screaming, feeling faint anything like that. 

 I realized that my mind and body did NOT want to be here. I hate this hospital. I know this hospital like an old friend. Last year I think I spent 15-17 days with my Father. My sister (to whom I do not speak) was in here for at least a week (bringing total hospital nights up to nearly 3 weeks) and I was here every second.  Add my surgery and doctor/hospital visits and you see where I’m going. Hate the smell of antiseptic they use, hate the way my boots sound walking on the marble/concrete floors. 

You see, a long time ago when I moved back to Grants Pass from Fort Bragg California my sister (Hope) and I pledged to never have to be alone at the hospital. When I lived in FB I didn't have any family so all emergencies were mine and David's alone. So when we moved back we made a pledge that whenever anything happened with one of my kids I'd call her and if anything happened to her kids I came no questions asked. To have a sister by your side meant you would get through it. I think that with us sisters we have had to cling to each other and try to be the Mom to one another. That calming face, the "you aren't alone" feeling. It means that to be a “Boulanger” you  always have to come no matter the time of day… you go.  It's just what being a Boulanger represents to each other.  It is weird to speak of my maiden name always like it has it's own entity but it really does. Being a "Boulanger" is a special thing. Not many of us left. So, if you are "lucky" enough to be a Boulanger it means that you love with all you have, try to be friends with everyone, help others when they need it no matter what and come to the aid of your friends forever. We are fixers, doers. I hate to hear about anything I can't fix. Like the starving children, the women getting raped in other countries. I don't like to hear about it. Not because I am in denial that it happens but it makes me crazy that people in our country don't think we should get into other nations "civil rights." I am far from a woman libber. I'm not a "libber" at all. I just get so frustrated with things that are out of my control. OmG I’m a control freak. 

Oh my gosh, I promised my epiphany and I regressed again. (The nurse just came in to give me my Dad report. We know no more than we did last night. Do we have to pay without a diagnosis?) Anyway, when I was a kid my Mom's Mom, Alyce was in and out of the hospital my entire childhood. We went with our Mother, trapsing behind her day after week after year. They would release my grandmother just to have to re-admit her the next week. Grandma Macy had cancer. They took out her bladder now she had to get a pee bad, they took out her colon now she has a poop bag. (I do know the medical terms for each but would rather keep it as what I thought as a child) My Mom and her sisters always showed up in force. 

We kids were so acutely aware of the hospital it was like being home. We knew all the nurses, the doctors and they would even bring us homemade snacks from home. They brought board games and would bring us cold drinks. We would ride up and down and up and down in the elevators for hours to try and sheer off even an hour or so of daily hospital boredom. We began to visit the other patients there and began to feel like the hospital was ours. I can remember one year my Mom had planned a huge Luau with about 30 friends and right in the middle of her elaborate party we got "the call" and away we went to the hospital again, leaving all of her friends behind to enjoy the party. 

 I know, I know I'm still not to the epiphany. I realized that I have been built for this care giving from a young age. I have probably (actually know for sure) that I have spent more time in hospitals during my lifetime than in any church, any college classes, any trips to or from delivering dogs. I will never ask God again "Why Me?" As I realized with all assuredly that he built me for this. He made me who I am so I could do this. This gross terrible thing of being at the hospital all of the time means and represents to me. 

I will accept, and I mean truly accept that this is where I belong. Why not me? I'm hating the realization but I realize this is ME. I hope I've put into words what I wanted to write. I wanted to see it in print that I am handing over my will to the great one. I am surrendering my doubts and feelings of "woe is me" and instead saying.... Let's roll. I always tease and say "I'm a doctor in real life" and most of the time I'm just kidding.  Sometimes, I feel like I am a Doctor. (No not Doctor Kevorkian either)  

My oldest sister, Kim called me last night. She had breast cancer in 2005 and has being fighting infection after infection since. We are talking deep and utter sickness and infection. The kind of infection that sends you to your knees. 

Last month when I was up in Portland for Bonne (The little sister who just had a double radical mastectomy) we found out that Kim has developed "Cellulites" in one of her calves. I told her in all my "Doctor" reading that what she had was serious. Deadly serious. She still went to work and took "Care of her business" like she likes to say a thousand times a day. "You have to take care of your business". Back to last night. She has been on an IV that she keeps going day and night for two weeks. Last Monday they put in a picc line. That is right in the neck area. Well her Doctor phoned her last night and told her a nurse was on her way to Kim's house because the cellulitis has spread and she is worried sick about Kim. They are giving her IV Pushes now (I must have missed that class in med school) and if her cellulitis is not significantly better that she will have to be hospitalized again…AGAIN. She told me that she is tired of fighting all the infections related to the killer chemotherapy and radiation that burned up her complete immune system to which she has never covered fully. She is only 50 and has been wrought with infection after infection since her cancer. She did the chemo and the radiation and has had deep infections ever since then. I'm going to be 46 this September and Can't imagine being "too tired" to fight any more. 

 

If I put toothpicks in my eyes could I fix the damage?

I don't mean like poke myself in the eyes. I mean like to stay awake with toothpick eyelids?

I wanted to blog tonight. I'm too damn tired. Needless to say we are at the hospital again with my Dad. I have decided that he won't die. God knows  what I can and can't handle and one death a week is more than enough. Keep good thoughts, if you are the praying type please keep me in your prayers. So far what we know is he had a heart attack, has a significant UTI and was extremely dehydrated. I'm more than tired. I still am not done grieving for Valentina. I'm just tired. Yesterday was the worst day of my entire life. I felt terrible. I mean terrible. I was mad at God, mad at anyone who didn't see things my way and didn't appreciate that which I do have. I will blog about that I promise. Suffice it to say I'm lucky to have what I have and oh I'm going to say this next thing even if tonight I'm doubtful of it. "IF God brings me to he will see me through it." I heard that from a friend and tonight I say Bull Shit. Tomorrow I may feel differently but hey, it is always about being real. Dad kept me up all night last night. Calling me to his room every five minutes. Ciao

Green beaded bracelets and sisterhood.

Oh yes, this is indeed the Heather Christian you know and hopefully love.

I am in fact wearing long pants. Notice however the rebel in me still wore

my cowboy boots. I wore pants for Valentina. Oh, that is not a sacrifice Heather you are thinking to yourself. Big deal. Well, it is a big deal. I haven't wore pants in at least 10 years. Shorts/Skorts etc. Nothing on my legs even in the winter and even when there is snow on the ground. One of the only things Valentina asked me was if I would "Please wear pants to her funeral." How can I turn down a dying friend? I said "Sure" forgetting that I'm claustrophobic to pants. Heavy breathing, feeling enclosed, not able to get the fabric off of my legs etc. It felt weird. Really weird. I would have walked through fire for her so I reckon pants was a small promise to keep. If you think you will see me again in pants I have something to say... "Dream on."

The funeral was today. Thus the need for pants. It was a Catholic service. This was my first Catholic funeral. So different than anything I have been to before. Lots of sitting and standing with the pants rubbing against my legs. Sacrifice so small for a person so great. Sergio stood up at the end and thanked everyone for loving his mother as much as we all obviously did. I miss her here. I don't miss seeing the pain in her eyes, the fight that brought her to her knees, I miss the smiles.

****Green sisterhood bracelets****

The last smile that I saw was when Erica gave her and I all three matching green crystal beaded bracelets she had made. Bracelet sisters and she smiled and the whole room lit up. That was the last smile I saw. When I went to "View" the body of my dear friend the morticians had so thoughtfully left the bracelet on and made sure it was not tucked up under her lapel. I walked up and saw the bracelet glistening and it matched mine and I felt her love once more. I don't know what is to become of the green bracelets. I plan to wear mine until the beads corrrode off or it breaks. It is a reminder of how she touched my life. No, I'm not making it an idol, just a reminder.

Through out this whole thing we have had the best hospice nurses. Tiffany is the one that brought us the most comfort and knowledge. She made us feel at peace and comfortable with our endeavors. I can't thank her enough. It was scary at times and she was the calm voice on the other end of the phone. Thanks be to Tiffany. This is officially the last "Valentina only" blog. I feel at peace. I could not have taken such good care of her without Erica. Erica was there every step of the way. I thank God for Erica every day. I will miss Valentina, but today when I sat in my chair next to Erica (After changing my clothes of course) I felt at peace. I got to tell you, Peace is priceless.

With that I wish you ado.

It is finished. My God, she is gone.

Well, here it is after eleven at night and I'm still up. I'm exhausted, emotionally, mentally and physically. I mean fully drained.

Erica and I sat in the room where Valentina lay in a coma and sang songs to her, prayed every prayer we could find on the Internet. We sang so many songs I practically know them all by heart. We sat on her bed rubbing her feet, massaging her legs and anointing her with oil. Hours spent helping her prepare to leave this earth. You know, something strange happened to me for all the hours spent on the end of her bed, I sang really loud not ashamed of my bad singing voice. I know that God doesn't care about my pitch, I sang with my heart. It felt good, actually a relief to be free with the songs as a final gift to my friend.

It is a relief she is gone, I know she is not suffering any more. Nothing is worse than watching it. She was a hero in my book. She tried so hard to keep upbeat, to not take medicine, to try and meditate out the pain etc. Oh, I also know it is not for me. Please keep me doped up. I'm a chicken and if it is my last days I don't want to be suffering

The main thing I found was about myself. When I ask the question "Why me?" whenever I am called upon to be a caregiver, I'm actually making it about me. This had nothing to do with me. When I try to figure out why me? I’m losing focus on what it is I need to be doing. I gave her that which she asked for.. a peaceful place surrounded by those that loved her. We did it. I promised her "together to the end." All my family members were not with me on this. It didn’t matter, I gave my word and I stood my ground. Everyone sacrificed. She had my all in all. I shouldn’t be made to be ashamed to do what I do and yet I’m always made to feel like I have done something wrong. Caiti sacrificed by allowing (actually I didn’t give her a choice) her to stay in her room and bunk with her brothers and Erica. She has never had to share as she is the baby and the only girl. I plan to repaint her room and get her maybe a new window.

When the people came from the mortuary to pick her up they came in a mini van. I imagined the hearse from days of old. He showed up in a purple van. A van much like my own. Now when I see a van I'm going to wonder if it is in fact a death van. If you have not heard a song by Michael W. Smith called "I can only imagine". You need to download it and hear it. It is the song I have heard in my dreams, in my wake hours as well. I know this blog is all over the place but I'm all over the place in my mind. i have to find some pants now. Valentina asked me specifically to wear pants to her funeral. That will be the last thing I can do to honor her. I feel like wearing a skort because it is me. Not me trying to be something else, I feel claustrophobic something fierce in pants. I mean terrible claustrophobic. Tomorrow I will be onto something else. So much has been happening with all things Princess Petunia. Thank you God for taking Valentina home. We are not in charge and thank you for the reminder that it isn’t about me and never has been. This might be my last blog about Valentina. I’m sure I have said more than you have ever wanted to hear. Pray for her…. And me.

Just another day in paradise.

***March 2009***
Valentina got more flowers today. She was so pleased when they came. So many people love her. I hope and pray that someday my life/my choices will have mattered. Everyone is here for a reason and no one knows what their purpose is or if and when they fulfill the purpose.

Valentina and Erica today

I know in this life, I won't develop any cures for any illnesses. I know I have a small circle of friends and family that I can hope to impact. I hope when I'm gone people remember that I always do what I think is right. Even if it embarrasses me, I try to be better than I know myself to be. I know I won't come up with a super breed of dogs that are without health issues. I know a lot of things, but I also know that I really know nothing. I am just a cog in the wheel. I won't achieve anything heroic in my life time. I won't save my Country. I will know my biggest accomplishment is what I leave behind with my children and hopefully grandchildren. That is enough for me. Oh, and making the public aware that Oregon is God’s Country and then not letting them move here.

I used to think that I would like to know when it is my turn to die. Lately I have been thinking "not so much". I have seen the suffering, I have seen the shock and horror of it. We have been face to face lately and I would like to pass. I'm acutely aware of cancer like it breathes in my own nostrils. I had my breasts removed so I could give myself the "average" chance of developing breast cancer. I think dying in your sleep is the way to go. Vote me in on that okay?

You can read this article if you are curious.

http://www.oregonlive.com/special/index.ssf/2008/02/family_ties_boulanger_curse.html

The link above is a story that was written about my sisters and I that was published in the Oregonian by a very talented journalist and now friend, Julie Sullivan. Rob Finch took all the pictures and is an incredible photographer.

If you read the article You will know where I come from with all of this cancer crap. I'm not brave, I'm truly a coward. Afraid of the "C" word. Knowing that each day comes a chance my sisters or I will be forced to call one another with the news one of us has cancer. Every relative on my Mom's side is DEAD. All from Cancer and the most terrible part is it is carried in our genes. My family has sacrificed a lot. We have plans, us sisters. So hopefully God doesn't have other plans.

Seeing Valentina sit in the chair next to me, watching as her lungs go in and out all the while listening for the exchange of air in her lungs to be sure she is still alive. Her sickness is overtaking her now. She is looking more gone by the hour. I see heaven in her eyes. Simple things make her smile. I feel so sorry for her son. He is 22 and doesn't know anything really. He is smart but doesn't even know the questions he will want to know later on in life. God brought them to me as neighbors now we are together in the end. It is so wonderfully strange how God works through us to do what he needs to have done. We helped raise him and he knows we love him.

There is so much suffering.. more than I can see. There is so much in front of me now I sometimes think I'm not strong enough to go to the next hurdle. You know, every 2 hours I set my alarm to wake up so I can give Valentina a pain pill. When the little alarm rings it literally makes me ill to have to walk to the “that” room that houses her body. When I open the door ever so quietly I secretly hope she is still alive. (I hope she is still alive.) Why would I hope she is alive? She is suffering so bad right now. Why wouldn't I be praying for God to take her? I do pray for that but with each alarm my heart skips a beat. I think she is close to the end and yet I can't divert my eyes from her, I can’t help but to stare constantly at her. She is almost in a coma so I'm not being rude looking at her. I see Jesus when I look at her. Not the skeletal remains of what she is now, but the person and woman that she is. No poop/blood vomit today. Lots of spills and a little more gone mentally, but no barf. Thank you Jesus for that. She is closer to God with every breath. I can just sit and wonder what he is revealing to her.
Looking for just a hint of Him.

I can tell you that Valentina has made a difference in my life. I can see through her life what grace and love can do to a person. She knows how to pick good people to surround herself with. I think anything less would have been a disservice to her. She is so absolutely beautiful to me. I don't see her dying I see her living. I see her surrendering her will. I see angels when I look at her. All the nurses constantly comment on how beautiful she is and that she has such a beautiful aura and it emanates from her body even in this weakened condition. Taking care of her, feeding her, attending to her needs has made me a better person. I have had these long hours of sleeplessness that I have been quiet and had time to listen to the still small voice. I get so busy and hurried in my daily life that I barely sit still. I pray and then set about fixing things etc and never sit back and listen for the answers. So conceited am I. I have to listen very carefully I realize otherwise my own thoughts and ways are all I can hear.

I haven’t been to church in years. I quit going because I am lazy. I would rather sit in my chair and sip coffee and listen to the Pastor out at the Applegate Christian Fellowship. Jon Courson is a gifted teacher. I can't leave my dad and it is the only day I don't have to be on TV so to speak. I can wear my pajama's all day long and not have to put on the "Heather show". It seems so lame when I put on paper that I'm too lazy to be thankful to Christ enough to go to Church. Was raised a Mormon and had to go to church, had to wear a dress, etc. Now, I know God doesn't care what I wear, doesn't care if I put on a dress he is just happy to see me when I make myself available.
What a thought.

Angels are everywhere. They are in my house preparing...

Heaven is just a blink away.....

Today has been a terrible day. Valentina is sicker than ever. She decided that day before yesterday she was feeling "so much better" so she refused her nausea medicine and anxiety/smooth muscle relaxant pills. Yesterday evening she started to barf. Not any ordinary barf (I know, barf is anything but normal under any circumstances) it was actual feces and blood. I don't know what I expected when the hospice people did their whole "Why you want to die at home" presentation. They mentioned that there might be some blood, maybe they mentioned vomit too. Never in the same sentence and certainly not together. I smell death. It doesn't smell good yet I know God is preparing her for her final destination. I wonder... I wonder so much. Watching someone go through this is a harrowing, eye opening, life appreciating journey.

You know the thing about Valentina is she is braver than anyone I have ever had the opportunity to know. Everyone kept telling her to pray to be healed, to pray for strength, to keep fighting the fight and all along she was already doing that. She has had to endure more than anyone I personally know in her life. She sacrificed everything to give her son the "American Dream." She is from the Ukraine and isn't all "Americanized". She is a pure soul, not jaded and nasty. You know she only sees the good in people, never talks nasty, refuses to believe the bad. I know two people that you see God in them all of the time. I mean that...I only know two people who I think are going straight to Heaven. You don't wonder what lies behind their eyes, what motives they have. Valentina is one of those people David's dad is the other person. Honest purity.

You know, when my mom died I remember one of the last things she told me. We were all sitting around the kitchen table, her cheeks were so sunken in and she was quite emaciated as she could keep nothing down and even had difficulty talking and she leaned forward to me and said: "Heather, I would give everything I have ever owned to be hungry just one more time. Just to have anything sound good to me to eat". My Mom would have been willing to give up every earthly possession for the one basic need in life... to eat. That brings back the reality of "You can't take it with you." I think at least I have learned that lesson from my Mom. I don't put a lot of value in "things". If you spill milk on the couch just wipe it up. I don't get mad about accidents. If I have something you want you can probably have it. Things don't matter to me. When you look at life as one great journey it falls short for some people. My Mom died too young, she was only 45. I'm 45 now and am not even close to being ready. I want grand kids, I want more memories. I want... I want it all. I miss my Mom terrible and going through this with Valentina is quite a horrifying experience.

Valentina is at peace with what she is going through. She has said what she needs to say, has said what she wants to say and now sits and rots all the while keeping her spirits up. Every once in a while she will look at me with the look of desperation and tell me "I'm ready to die and be with God". Why am I not ready for her to go? I see her body disintegrating before me and it sickens me to see that such a wonderful person could be made to rot from the inside out. Her muscles are disintegrating and rotting. Why is it that the truly evil and terrible people gets to die in their sleep? Gets a quick painless death? I am struggling with the most incredible headache right now. I'm telling you a bad one. I think maybe waking up every 2 hours to medicate her is affecting my REM sleep. It can't be that I have not had enough caffeine today. That would make me have to admit that I'm addicted to it.


When I die, if I can't eat or drink I have instructed all the kids to chop up steak and stick it between my teeth and when the morticians come they are to find me with steak stuck in my teeth and a shrimp hanging out my mouth. Oh yah, also MUST be holding a diet Pepsi. LOL.

I know my latest blogs have been so depressing but that is where I am. My dad is the least of my worries. He is actually being a good boy and I appreciate it. He notices the change of the mood in the house. He has risen to the occasion and is so much less demanding. He was jealous at first and now realizes that he can share my love.

I feel so ashamed to admit this next part but feel like in order to be honest I need to put it on here so I see it with my own eyes. When Valentina asked me to take care of her I selfishly said to myself over and over "Why me?" I was feeling so sorry for myself because I always find myself taking care of people. I felt ashamed to admit it. (When she asked me I told her "Yes it would be my pleasure".) We pledged to each other "Together to the end." I have seen her eyes light up a few times. When I ask her if she wants the special Guayaki Orange blossom tea she has learned to love and then tonight when Erica made us three matching bracelets. I think this last smile and eyes glistening with glee is going to be her last. I think tomorrow she will be in a coma. I'm not a doctor even though I act like I am. She is jsut so weak. Almost too weak to walk. Can't hardly stand to see her. No one else is here so I'm considering this my last present to her. She loves being at my house. She finally sees why her son, Sergio loved it at my house. It is a family. a crazy, loud and sometimes vulgar group of people coexisting in one house. We love him. I love him. I hope he leans on us when he is ready to surrender the reality too. We love each other so much. We are a real American family and she wishes... well she wishes too late.

I woke up one morning and realized I knew why I am always the one being asked to be the caregiver, and that it is an honor to be trusted with someones life. Someone else in this world trusts me to help them enter the next phase. To have the confidence in me enough to ask me to be with them is enormous. It iss HUGE. I mean I realize it is h.u.g.e. I feel like it is such an honor. I know I have switched gears here but instead of asking myself "Why me?" I had an epiphany and realized "Why not me?" God has put me in the position that makes me available to help others. I feel bad that I always have to go with the first thought. Why me?? I wish I could just grow up and accept my place in the world. I'm a caregiver. Been prepared for it my whole life.

I planned to be a doctor when in college. Actually not finishing college is my most secret regret. I could be a doctor right now. I would never be happy being a nurse, I would want to be in charge of the total patient not the one taking the orders. Then if you think about it on a different level doctors have to make such hard decisions, everyone expects them to have all the answers and yet they fall short so much of the time. I would hate it because I like exacting things. You know A+B=C. Not so many variables and peoples lives in my hands. I think the amount of stress involved would make me nuts. I like dogs. I love dogs. I think the world is a better place because of dogs. I have 4 laying on me right now making it kind of difficult to type. (Big smile here).

My Toshiba is broke now. Luckily I have the Hewlitt Packard back up. Am I hard on electronics?? Why do my cell phones break so much? So much difficulty. That is it for now. I'm not going to second guess everything any more. I'm going to trust that God is in charge of when, how and what with Valentina. If anyone reads this... if I have cancer (sure I do-seems like it lurks everywhere) keep me doped up. Doped up good.

I'm entertaining angels? Yes I am.

No one needs to start off telling me how lame I am at keeping things posted, but I haven't had the time. When I'm down in the trenching I can't see too far beyond my noise. This writing will be of wild and wonderful of tangents, and probably won't make sense to everyone/anyone. I reckon i'm just writing for me. I need to vent.

All is good in the dog world.

My dogs are healthy; nothing weird and I thank God for that.

My plate is full already. What do I mean by that? My Dad is still being ornery as ever. He is crushing my spirit. Yes, I will die first. Yikes! With that being said, I think I should say I love my dad. He just is so mean and unappreciative. Nothing is ever right, not hot enough, not cold enough, too much ice, too little ice etc. You get the picture. Lots of people take care of unappreciative people and i know that it doesn't make me special or have a certain privilege to complain. I hope I'm teaching my children that when our generations get old they don't throw us away. We care for our own families. Except none of my sisters or brother will take my dad. I say "We are better people than that" and go about my day. Sometimes (depending on the amount of sleep I have been allowed to have) I'm actually thankful for the opportunity to be with him. He is mean but I know he loves me. Does that mean I wear the pork chop? He did something right because he is clean, well fed and sassy. One of my kids better belly up to the bar when it is my turn to be old. I will be a nice old person. I know the difference first hand. When he dies I am a real orphan. I'm old enough to understand all of this but sometimes when I am so weary I lose my focus.

**Valentina is a friend**

14 years ago my mean, old neighbor married a woman from the Ukraine who had a son. He was 8 when they moved in next door to me. They spoke no English. We home schooled our children and he learned everything right along with the kids. I love him as if he is my own. Well, we moved out to the country and away from the mean neighbor and his wonderful wife when their son went to college. A few months ago I find out he has divorced her and she is dying from stomach cancer. What a bastard right? It doesn't stop there. She is dying. There is nothing that can be done for her. You know what? I have never heard her shed a tear for herself. Not one. Of course I'm not with her 100% of the time but she has been so kind, appreciate and makes me actually happy to help her. Does that sound weird? I'm enjoying taking care of a dying woman? She is strong, stronger than I would ever be. I would cry and feel so sorry for myself. All the things I would miss out on. The grand kids, the graduations etc. She is weak.. so weak and yet she still tries to do everything for herself. She is just a skeleton now. Nothing but hanging skin on bones and it hurts me to look at her. At the same time I can't stand not to have her in my sights in case she needs something. Not everyone in my life has been happy with my decision to care for her until the end. I don't care. Now that is weird for me as I tend to be the consummate people pleaser. Taking care of her makes me feel loved some how. I see it in her eyes. I hear it when she calls me into her room at three in the morning because she wants to hold my hands and thank God for me in her life. Those things count to me. They count a lot. When my own Mom died I lied in the hospital bed with her as her life was slowly taken from me. I am not wanting to have regrets in my life. I make choices before I consult my immediate family and God knows my heart. I don't understand why I get called in such ways. It is not like I'm out looking for "strays" or people to care for. God brings them to my door. I just... I don't know. Valentina's friends came in number to see us (really her) when she was in the hospital the last time and her other friends have blessed me. She has the most excellent friends. Real women of God. Not phonies, but women who when they say that they are praying for her I believe them. You know, when people say "Oh, I'll pray for you" you wonder if they really will. These women (her friends) are incredible. God blessed her with such wonderful women in her life to make up to her for having such a (I want to type "evil" but can't bring myself to say that word) mean, selfish totally money loving man. Everything to him is about the mighty dollar. Sad, as someday he will have to answer for his behavior. Yikes! Does it sound like I'm judging him? I totally am, that way I don't have to look at me.

I think this blog is rambling along even more that I imagined when I started out because I didn't realize where I would go with it. God. All I can say is God. When I'm up really, really late with my Father and Valentina it is almost like I feel his presence in my life. I feel like he knows what I'm doing and thanks me in the wee hours of the morning. I haven't told any of my business associates of my care giving. I feel ashamed. Like they will judge me. What will they judge me on? Like I'm a patsy? A waste? A person who doesn't say "no?" I don't know why it is. I didn't even realize that I hadn't not told people for a reason. Am I ashamed to take care of the ill? am I afraid to look weak in the minds of my business associates? Now instead of being blessed by this I'm feeling ashamed of myself again. I am empowered when I help someone get what they want and don't what. We cutely call it "Mom is the facilitator" for Valentina.

Guess that is it for now except to say Erica has been such a blessing to me. When I'm totally stressed out or scared by Valentina's pain she comes into the room behind me and assures me I'm doing all the medications right, I'm doing the right stuff, Valentina really is that weak. When I am broken she comes in behind me and reminds me what a privilege it is to care for someone else. Hopefully if Cody marries her she will know how to take over the "Care giver" role. I don't want to go to a nursing home.

Happy Thanksgiving all!!

So, it is Thanksgiving already and I'm still up. No, I'm not fretting over what to make, how long it takes to prepare, how high to set the heat or if everyone who is coming over will have a good time. Instead I'm sitting up looking at my new cowboy boots. That's right, I got new cowboy boots tonight. I'm sure I must be such a sight. A middle aged old woman wearing shorts, a Iam Jacket followed along with cowboy boots clunking about. Today (actually yesterday) was a bit tense at times. Lots of drama. I wish that things would settle down with the way people treat and act towards one another. No one knows when their ticket will get punched and it is time to leave this earth. I find it hard to believe that someone can be a Christian and believe in Christ and then things don't go their way and they decide Buddha is the way. It is not that I have anything against Buddha beliefs, I'm ignorant about them actually. I just don't understand other people's choices. Sure glad that I'm only responsible for me and my kids and how I have trained them up. Changing subjects here.
The puppies are so cute. I have the most adorable little CavaChi's, they are so sweet. They are my favorite hybrids. The kids are getting excited to have me gone for 2 days in Portland. I have many babies to deliver and love when I get to make people's life enhanced with one of my babies.

Hey Heather, do you got any coffee?

This is shouted out to me every time I dad is between sleep stages. Midnight, 4 am, 2 am, Noon, it doesn't matter the time. He wants coffee. The funny thing though is that he wants what he wants when he wants it. I can see the parallel between child and later aged adults. Dogs are selling great. I love it when people call and appreciate the hard work that goes into them. I'm doing a lot of stuff on line lately and I find the further in you delve the more interesting it gets. NO you doubters, I'm not getting into anything satanic, pornographic or disgusting. Just the amount of information is overwhelming. I mean it, you can find anything anywhere. I also downloaded Google Chrome. What an awesome program. You start typing and it's only job is to find what you are looking for. I have to get my dad that coffee, he is needing his third cup and it is the "nickle" day. Thursdays are the days he gets his special paper. OMG calling for a third time in this short amount of time. I'm a fast typist too.

I'm emarrassed by the time lapse in entries

I can't believe how long it has been since I have blogged here. Seems like the main times I want/need to blog is when I'm stressed/pissed or confused. Wonder what it is this time?? Let's see. I just re-read the blogs I posted and I sound so mean and ugly. I'm really not. I would say I'm more blunt. Straight to the point blunt though. I could say my dad is a hard man to take care of. I can say I got help with him now. I can say that things are so much better now with someone helping me. My husband did get his Bachelors degree in September. He got it in Business Administration. He is now working on his Masters degree. I'm tired. As usual I'm tired. He works 12 hours a day for "the man" and then comes home and starts his homework/assignments etc. Hardly see each other. I'm complaining. That is why I'm here today. I want to complain about my husband and his "selfish" desire to improve his families living situation. Isn't that utterly crazy? Selfish? I"m sure he doesn't like being stuck working at home and at his job. Well, to be truthful he doesn't do ANYTHING at the house. There are no "Honey do" lists. Honey do is me I have learned after all these years. When he takes a vacation he does things around the house but during the other times there is not a dish done, not a load of laundry (He does wash his own white shirts because I was "staining" them in the wash). He doesn't vacuum, make phone calls or sweep. He comes home from work, works on the computer and then goes upstairs and veg's out to the TV in preparation for the next exciting day of "same old shit". I suppose if I was him I could complain about me. Heck, I would be good at it too. It's that bluntness about me dontcha know? (Yes I know "Dontcha" is not a "real" word but when I say it or type it I feel like a southern Belle)

I love every show involving judges, Desperate Housewives, Greys Anatomy, General Hospital, Cesar Milan, Animal Planet, Brothers and Sisters, Lost, House and anything to do with operating. I like that in Oregon there is NO SALES TAX. What the price says is what it actually costs you.

I'm thankful for the friends I have. I'm also interesting enough to have some people not be friends any more. You need weeding out some, gaining new ones. Some friends are my forever friends. I turned 45 this year. Certainly not any sort of milestone but with each new year comes new nuances and new awarenesses. I have realized that in my 45 years I have about 5 really good true friends. Those 5 will be there at my funeral, helping to support my family and I know in my heart they love me. OH, don't get me wrong, there are always conditions for friendship. I think everyone has conditions. EVERYONE. You have to figure out if the unspoken conditions are worth the cost of the friendship. Now, I know I'm going to have people say I'm a pessimist etc. Think long and hard about it. I have. And for me that is my truth. I love that I can be who I am and some people like me. I'm just an average/regular Joe. No, you politicians I'm not Plumber Joe. I'm not Joe Smoe. I'm just ordinary. How sad. In my mind I'm extraordinary. I can do every job, run marathons and fly planes. It is a good thing I lose keys because if anyone here were a pilot I would try to fly the plane. No, I'm not having dreams of grandeur.

I wonder if he is sleeping?

Yes, It has been one hell of a day and I'm feeling more and more screwed by the day. My dad is taking every free minute and every minute all day and night. He starts calling me every morning at one and keeps going until well past 8. Fix my pillow, I need a breathing treatment, Fluff my pillow, cover my feet, uncover my feet, pick up something I dropped. I'm too hot, I'm cold now etc. I'm trying to be supportive but I'm damn tired. I called my dad's worker and asked to have some help. Apparently I'm making the most I can and now I have to write a letter (Very detailed) explaining why it is I need some help. At this point I'm feeling like.. "Great, take him".

I don't want my dad in a nursing home, I have done all in my power to keep him home I just need help. Now tonight I'm tired as hell and have to try to put together a fucking letter to some pompous bitch who can weigh it and decide my and my father's future. Pisses me off something fierce. I like dogs. Dogs make my life bearable. They love me unconditionally.



Now, I find out today that my old neighbor, Sergio's Mom has stomach cancer and the doctors give her 6 months. Usually I think doctors are so full of shit. With her they put a scope down her throat, saw the cancer was everywhere and told her bye bye. Speaking about doctors being screw asses. I have recently this week found out that my "wonderful, carefree, fun and easy" expanders have been "compromised". That is really a nice way of saying to me that I have been poking holes in my tit's every week injecting sodium hydrochloride into them and then they have been leaking out little by little. Hey, at least it is good to be me. NOT!! So, after much consideration I have decided to take out my fucking expanders and live my life as a flat bitch. No tits!! No more operations for me. I'm tired. Did I already mention I'm tired? Drained really. My tits drained into my body and now I'm just tired. I found out just recently that when you get the "fake tits" you have to remove and put new enhancements every 7-10 years. I'm not wanting a lot of surgery. No more than I've had now. I'm just so pissed that the doctor is having me come up Tuesday (4.5 hours each way) so he can counsel me. Then wants me to wait until Thursday, drive my fat ass back up there once again and then decide my fate. What an arrogant asshole. No consideration to the fact I'm almost 45. Don't care about the tits anymore. If my husband doesn't care and has been telling me for months to let them go why should I? No more bra's. That is right. No bra's. No shoulders hurting, more flexibility and hey... How can I possibly think about so many surgeries? Who will take care of my dad? He is full time and 24/7. I wonder if he is sleeping right now. I'm going to go wake him up. Bye

Do you have a purpose?

Well today was spent painting my dad's room twice. Erica picked out a color that looks like melted chocolate mint ice cream. Made me sick to look at it. I mean physically ill. So, after we painted the second coat of ick we realized it was not going to darken and change colors magically and we could stand it. Nope. Off to Walmart we go. Now we painted it cream and chocolate. It looks so much better. Now David has been working on the flooring all night. We should be ready to go by tomorrow as far as touching up the paint and getting things semi ready. I'm not planning on doing anything as far as furniture until the hospital bed gets here and the hoyer lift on Monday. He was moved from one room to another today. Now he does not need a "sitter" and has been put into the main hospital population. This means he is improving. He is a true miracle. Wonder what his purpose in life is. There must be a purpose. Shouldn't there be a purpose? Don't we all have a purpose? Ah, the great question of life. I miss my friends. I miss my old life. I miss my dad.

Move along.. Nothing for you to see here.

Today I am totally wasted. TOTALLY WASTED I tell you. Spent my morning getting new flooring for my dad's room. Last night the boys and their friends pulled everything out of his room and then pulled out the carpet and padding. We burned his mattress. You know the mattress I just bought him less than a month ago. Smelled horrid so it had to go. Now, on Monday I have a hospital bed coming, a hoyer lift and a heavy duty potty chair. I'm feeling a bit anxious about this decision. I want to be able to care for him, but if he requires 24/7 or a lot more care than I am already doing he may have to go to a (gasp) nursing home. Then if I put him in one of "those" facilities I will feel guilty if I don't go and sit with him a couple of hours a day. This way the CNA's will know he is loved.

I sent a letter to the administators of this hospital today as well as the supervisor of all nurses. I can't believe some of the staff here. Assholes. Need a wake up call. Probably won't hear back but feel better having expressed myself. I called the administation office and they told me they "couldn't" give me the top guys email address. I started asking if it was the hospitals policy or his private policy not to be in contact with patients or their families. Ha, 4 minutes later my "friend" in administation said she had gained permission to give me his email address. What total and complete horse shit. I'm not going anywhere. I live here. Wouldn't willingly be admitted to the hospital. All the kids know if mom has to go to this hospital, "Sew me up and ship me to Portland". I'm not a hospital snot, it is just that I want a doctor who see's more than 3 patients a day and one that has patients who are actually under 75 years old.

We (Mostly Erica) scrubbed my dad's bathroom spotless, she painted it, got a shower curtain, towel holders etc. Now my dad will only use it for a shower. We now have 3 bathrooms for everyone to use. No one would use my dad's when he used it because of the leakage. It is kind of nice having a bathtub after 4 years.

I'm hoping that the nurses coming out 2-3 times a week the first couple of weeks home will help me make any adjustments I need to make in his care. I'm actually scared of this new venture with him. He has not stood on his feet for even one minute since his arrival a week ago today. Weakness. My weakness too. Why is it I always end up taking care of the infirm? What? Why me? I told everyone here Gramps is the last. Someone else can stand up to the plate after him. Someone else can take on the burden of the ox. I can't remember right now the saying, but you get the drift.

Now we are going to paint Dad's bedroom and start putting down new plywood to the places that are ruined in the floor due to piss. Piss=peeing where it isn't supposed to be. UGH. I hope this blog seems rude, I just am so tired. Emotionally, physically and mentally. I haven't done a lot besides follow the staff around and watch everything they have done to my father. I have questioned everything and asked "Why?" . Bet they will be glad to see me go as well. It is hard to be rude/mean/short tempered when the patient's family up your ass watching everything. I think it is the best way to get good care.

Dad is out of CCU

Well today my dad is better. Go figure. I'm so sick and tired of (every day since Friday) the doctor's telling me he is "not doing well," "Not expected to make it". Perhaps we should talk feeding tubes. OMG. Then last night I made the "executive decision" and had them take off the mask (that is kind of like being intubated.) It forces air in and out of his lungs without the tubes. He was going crazy screaming and yelling with the mask on and it was about 3 AM and he was in restraints. Want to see heart break? Watch a loved one be restrained in hand restraints and then sit back and have to watch. Want to watch in horror as your father screams and sobs? He is very claustophobic. Bad disease. Well, I knew the mask was making him so crazy. Then add that to his hands being restrained and it makes for a sick time. So back to what I was talking about in the beginning of this. About 3 AM I decided I had watched my dad struggle with his restraints and scream his last words to me. We took off the mask and just put him on the nasal canula. He started to relax right away. Within a few hours he was speaking. Not coherently, mumbling quite a bit but still makes enough sense to be able to hear him call me a "Shit ass". Ha.

You know yesterday when he was lucid (about 10 hours after the feeding tube was discussed) we took off his breathing mask he sat up in bed and told me "I told you no intubation". I said "Right dad, didn't do intubation, you had a mask on". He thought for a minute and said to me and directly to me with direct eye contact "I thought you loved me?" I was shocked at this question. I do everything for him, little asshole. "I said Dad, I have not left you side since you got into the hospital" Little pause and then he said "Then you need to respect me." He was talking about the breathing machine. I was so happy that he made his wishes known to everyone. He is absolutely back. The doctor just came in (1 of the 3) and said it is a real miracle my dad. He was telling my Dad he didn't think he would make it through the night and was feeling sad for his family. Then much to his surprise my dad was up sitting in the bed and talking. I also told the people to quit doping him up. They were giving him 100mg of Haldol, xanax, alprazalam, and something I can't remember. I asked the doctor numerous times why so much medications? Worried about the build up? ETC.

Here is another thing I have been thinking/wondering about. Why is it that now that my dad is in the hospital everyone comes every day to see him. I'm telling you, I can not believe the people coming every day. These same people are crying all over my dad when they think his day is numbered. In reality, these same people have not been out to see my dad, sit and chat, take to lunch, call on the phone etc. Hope especially gets me. She has been here 2 of the nights he has been here. She sits and reads books while I take care of my dad. I think she is pretending she is not here or she is on vacation from the kids. When she does actually stand up she wrings her hands acting all concerned and tells me what to do. Unbelievable. I guess I should just be glad she is here sometimes so I'm not always alone. The other morning when we thought he was going to die I was left standing all alone. Standing freaking alone. I called Hope, no answer, Serina's cell went straight to voice mail. I finally called David at work and had him come and sit with me until the troops arrived. This experience has really left me bewildered.

My dad is crazy sick!!

My last remaining parent is in CCU. It is a crazy phenomenon when you are facing the bleak outlook of becoming an orphan at the young age of 25? Okay, those of you who know me know that I'm a wee bit older by say... 19 years older than 25. You mathematically challenged should know that means I'm nearly 45 and will be parent less. I'm sad beyond words. I still have tons of people calling about puppies etc. I usually am so enthusiastic about talking dog. I can't fathom the idea of talking dogs. I have the most beautiful puppies born and I can not think about them.
The picture you see is of me and my Dad and sister at Red Robin.
Thursday he started coughing, like he had caught my cold. I have been sick off and on this past month. I'm blaming the anesthesia for anything that ales me for the first 3 months. I only blame the anesthesia because that is what the others tell me. I don't know, I could be getting sick more often.. IE. colds, coughs, head aches etc as rigor mortis is knocking on the back door. I'm half way to the other side of the daisies myself. When you are forced to sit and watch someone you love die it sucks hard. Not a good way to remember a loved one, but no one wants to die alone.

Anyways, back to last Thursday, he started coughing hard. Coughed all night and he coughs loud. I kept asking him why he was making such a racket. By Friday morning I could not decipher a blood pressure or figure out where his lungs were. I did not hear wheezing. She a tightness. Thank you Jesus one of the home care nurses called and was able to come in to my house right away and she could not get a blood pressure on him either. So, luckily Colton was home and was able to help me bring Grandpa to the ER. We were in the ER less than 15 minutes before they had him upstairs in Critical Care Unit. Yikes. Today is, I think Tuesday. When you are in the hospital realm all the days blend together a bit. You know, I'm not trying to trivialize other peoples struggles just to explain what I am doing when I'm doing it. My dad has all night been begging me to untie him. When I did he pulled out his IV and the nurses don't like to have to redo work. Who would really? Certainly not me. I feel another long, long night ahead for me. I'm dead dog tired. I hope he will sleep a little this night instead of keeping me awake all night and then he gets to sleep all day. If that happens I may go home and take a shower. I wonder how many days deodorant is supposed to last? Ha. I'm so funny. I think it is actually turning into delirium. I started typing this at around 9 pm and can't remember what I typed previously. Kind of being on drugs myself except none of the fun and all the raging headaches. Man. Peace out.

What's up with Heather??? DNA sucks sometimes.

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Facing Fatal GenesNorthwest families and scientists are combating DNA defects to keep women at high risk of breast and ovarian cancer from ever getting the disease.
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The Boulanger Curse
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The Boulanger Curse
Four Oregon sisters wage war against a gene mutation that puts them face to face with the cancer that killed their mother and threatens their daughters and sons
By Julie Sullivan

The Oregonian


Heather Boulanger Christian winced, chest aching. Eleven days after surgery, she pulled a sweat shirt over her bathrobe, slipped on Crocs and stepped bare-legged through Grants Pass snowdrifts to reach a family baby shower.

Audio Slideshow - Heather Christian talks about why she chose surgery and shares her experience with it. WARNING: This slideshow contains some graphic content. Heather Christian says she shared her story with The Oregonian to help others. You can email her directly about her experiences at heatherbchristian@gmail.com A message from Heather:
Pacifier-shaped balloons bobbed as sisters, aunts and cousins celebrated the latest Boulanger baby girl.
Heather, better than most, knew just what that meant.
After the gifts, Heather willed herself to her feet and drew five nieces into a bedroom. She opened her robe.

Two incisions sliced the pale skin where her breasts used to be. Black thread pulled the puckered skin tight. Under each arm, bloody fluid pulsed through drain tubes into small canteens tucked into her waistband.
"This," she said, "is what you need to know."
Every family propels its peculiarities forward. The DNA that delivered them red hair, porcelain skin and statuesque shapes also carried a defect, like a mistyped password or a misdialed call. The mutation could cause other cells to grow out of control, causing cancer. Who carried it was random. When it became obvious, through tumors, was unknown. But long before scientists identified the breast-cancer gene, Heather and her sisters were convinced that a malevolent force was at work in their family: The Boulanger Curse
—
To be a Boulanger means there are just four hours and 20 minutes between a call for help and a sister at the door - the drive time between Heather Christian and Hope Sonney in Grants Pass and Kim White in Molalla and Bonne Anson in Vancouver.
"We are," Kim, the eldest, says, "all we've got."
Cancer had killed their grandmother and was claiming a young aunt when their mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer at 44. By 45, the vivacious Bonne Boulanger was dead.
Heather recapped the sad history at every doctor visit only to be reassured that cancer was caused by many genes interacting with many environmental factors.
Then in 1991, Heather's small-town doctor handed her research upending that notion. Scientists at the University of California at Berkeley had in 1990 located a gene for early breast cancer. They'd studied 23 families rife with the disease - including one family from Fort Bragg, Calif., where Heather then lived. A second study confirmed the link to ovarian cancer.
The exact gene had not yet been identified, and no test yet existed, but Heather's doctor urged her to have her ovaries removed. Heather carried the news to her sisters, ages 21 to 34.
All were married, all with children. Surgery would end their childbearing and thrust them into early menopause and the roller coaster of hormone replacement. But memories of illness travel through families like wedding photos and Grandma's china, from generation to generation. The Boulanger girls recalled not only the bunk beds and Black Angus cows of their Grants Pass girlhood, but also hospital beds in the living room, black vomit, the death rattle.
One by one, each had her last baby and then a hysterectomy.
Thirteen years later, on Memorial Day weekend 2005, Kim felt a lump in her right breast. She dropped to the tub's edge and cried. "I thought," she said, "that we'd saved ourselves."
—
Every other week, Heather left her husband, four teenagers and nursery of puppies to take her sister to chemotherapy, a three-day ordeal wrapped around a 10-hour drive. "If it had been 100 hours," her husband David said, "Heather would still go."
Heather was the fixer. She covered debts, settled fights and launched the "gimme" - when a family member was guaranteed one special favor a year. She moved her dad into their home when the senior Boulanger became severely ill from diabetes.
She carried two cell phones, juggling calls about her latest Chihuahua or Pomeranian puppies, available 24/7, talking up to four hours a day. "You buy a dog, you buy a piece of Heather," her sisters would say. She had her own style, too: athletic shorts paired with the flashiest rhinestone bracelets and rings. Her personality was equally sparkly. When chemotherapy nurses limited her to five-minute visits, Heather befriended other patients so she could stay near Kim.
"There's rules," she'd say, "and then there's Boulanger rules."
Kim, who works the customer service desk at the Oregon City Fred Meyer, had already had one breast removed when her oncologist ordered a genetic test to determine the next step. Only about 10 percent of breast cancer is inherited, but for those people it greatly increased not only the risk of breast cancer at a young age but also of having it in both breasts. Kim had a simple blood test, and the sisters drove together to a Portland geneticist to hear the results.
Kim had the gene mutation. The BRCA1. The most common breast cancer gene mutation.
She wept, unable to ask a single question. With three children, she felt "like I've passed along this death sentence."
But Heather, dry-eyed, fired questions.
She learned that all the sisters and their one brother should be tested. If they had the defect, each of their children had a 50-50 chance and should be tested, too - even the boys, who had an increased risk of prostate cancer and could pass the mutation to their daughters.
But what if she didn't? Could she live with the guilt? The randomness?
One by one, Heather and her sisters were tested.
All had it.
"We're four sisters with totally different lives, eating habits, exercise habits and way of life, and it still got us," Heather said.

The Boulanger Curse.

From the moment Heather knew her results, she called her sisters to discuss having their breasts removed. Some people relied on more frequent mammograms or preventative medicine such as tamoxofen. Surgery, though, would cut their risk from 87 percent to about 5 percent. "We are going to war," Heather said. "We're going to do whatever we need to be around for one another."
She found Dr. Arpana Naik, who directs the Breast Center at Oregon Health & Science University. A surgical oncologist, Naik's entire focus was breast diseases, including women at high risk of breast cancer. Naik and her nurse coordinator, Martha McInnes (of Ask Martha fame), were, Heather said, "the first people who didn't think I was crazy."
David was not so sure. His wife of 20 years was planning a double mastectomy without ever talking to him.
"It's my body," she recalls saying.
"It affects both of us and the family as a whole," he said. "It's not like breaking your foot. I just want to be sure you're thinking clearly and not just in 'My-family-has-cancer mode.'"
The lone brother in the family, Tom Boulanger, had no plans to be tested and thought his three sisters were overreacting. "I think it's insane," he said. "I can't imagine putting myself under that to prevent something that may never happen."
The men also worried that there was peer pressure at work.
But Heather was sure. Kim's cancer returned them to their mother's final days. Heather was 44, the same age her mother had been when she was diagnosed. Bonne Boulanger "rocked as a grandma," but she didn't live long enough to know most of her grandkids. "I want to know my grandkids," Heather said.
David agreed. "We would have arrived at exactly the same place," David recalls saying. "But I just wish you had talked to me."
On Jan. 15, he left Albertsons in Grants Pass, where he is assistant store director, to drive Heather north.
She had spent her "last days with my boobs," making to-do lists for her children and having long glittery "cancer pink" fingernails applied, a rare treat not usually allowed by her work. Her children gave her a farewell card that read: "Happy Retirement to your knockers." "You are the toughest woman I know," her 19-year-old son Cody wrote.
Just after 7 a.m. on Jan. 16, Naik surgically removed the breast tissue and several lymph nodes to ensure no cancer was present. Heather would need breast exams every six months for the rest of her life because some microscopic breast cells remained. Dr. Reid Mueller, a plastic surgeon at OHSU, placed an expander under Heather's chest muscle, the first step in reconstruction.
Heather wasn't fully sold on implants, but her insurance required it be done at the time of surgery, and she didn't want regrets later.
When she woke up, David was waiting.
She peeked under her hospital gown.
"I'm so glad I did this."
—
Serina Wilson wrung out a cool washcloth and placed it over Heather's throbbing head. She had left her 3-year-old daughter in Grants Pass and come to Portland with her husband to help her aunt. She planned to return in two weeks for her mother, Hope's, surgery and again in June for aunt Bonne, a school bus driver. At 25, Serina was the next generation's fixer.
The sisters had descended into Heather's room, circling everything on the dinner menu, then calling out for pizza, too. Heather had made elaborate individualized silver charm bracelets to mark the surgeries. The sisters studied theirs: "In Memory of My Mother" and "High Maintenance."
"High maintenance? That's not me!" Bonne said. "That's Hope."
"Brat," Hope said.
The sisters were, Serina knew, "terminally unique." They carried big personalities and tiny dogs, frequently in costumes. They were closer than any family she knew. "I don't have a cell phone because the aunts would call 500 times and say, "Where are you?" she said. As a teenager, Serina and her cousins had died from embarrassment at their aunts' lack of self-consciousness. Her mother, who had nine children, would leap out of a car to stop a fistfight. She stopped an abusive parent in a grocery store by asking, "Excuse me, do you know there are parenting classes you can take?"
Hope told the surgeons, "Just make mine perkier than Heather's."
"Mother!" Serina said.
"You guys are hilarious," Naik said, laughing.
Serina wasn't laughing. The sisters' experience had convinced their brother, Tom, to be tested after all. Two cousins had already undergone testing - both negative. But Serina was still worried. Mastectomy, with the pain and change in appearance, terrified her. She wasn't done having babies. And what if Jadin, her beautiful, redheaded daughter who looked so much like these women, carried the gene?
Serina couldn't imagine fighting so hard to live. Except, she would.
The sisters had taught her how.
She was a Boulanger. With all the weakness that carried — and all the strength.

Julie Sullivan: 503-221-8068; juliesullivan@news.oregonian.com