All Through the Summer and Into the Fall

We had a great summer, Amadeus and me. We traveled, we camped, we fished; we had sexy time in an orange tent under the starry sky and shared a cabin in the woods.  We took zillions of photos (maybe a zillion point five) of waterfalls, butterflies, rivers and a whole lot of bikers.  We visited friends and family and shared my motorcycle magazine adventures. Amadeus played music in clubs with his band and at home we made crazy music in the living room.

At the end of August, a little gloom trickled in. Amadeus had to go back to his teaching job. A few days into the school year, his brother died (thankfully, we got to visit him a month-and-a-half before he left the planet). The magazine folded and I lost the most fantastic job I’ve ever had.  A couple of weeks later, I was in the ER with a terrible ache in my gut and a fever. Amadeus read to me from The New Yorker while we waited for test results. The MRI showed a tangerine-sized cyst on one of my ovaries. My tumor markers were elevated. I was sent to a gynecologist, then a gynecological oncologist.

Throughout the summer and into the fall, something began to happen to Amadeus and me. I can’t name it, I can only say that at some point it dawned on each of us that, no matter what we were experiencing—positive, negative or neutral, we just flowed with each other, tuned in at some mighty powerful frequency. We had each other’s back no matter what, and gradually, we became trusting and sure of the other’s place in our hearts.  It all felt (and still feels) as big as the sky and as deep as the Earth and as strong as a hurricane—not a poofy little hurricane either, I’m talking Katrina here.

I couldn’t write about it until now because I wasn’t very familiar with this language—the language of love through action, the language of deep respect and reciprocal caring and admiration. The past didn’t matter—that was just the mode of transportation that got us to where we were now standing. And where we were standing was with each other. I began to realize the depth of my love for him, and how subtly and gently he makes me feel worthy of his. It all hit me like a freight train, but a freight train that ran over me slowly, making sure I really understood what was happening. He is dearer to me than I can express.  Also, when I watch him play upright bass, I want to jump all over him like a kangaroo on a tourist. It’s an aphrodisiac, that instrument.


The oncologist, before even examining me, said that he recommended a complete hysterectomy.  I tried to bargain for body parts (“Can’t you just take one ovary?”), but he wouldn’t budge. “You’re at the median age for menopause, you aren’t having more children– you don’t need any of it,” he said. I secretly wondered how he’d feel if a doctor told him, “Listen buddy—you’re at the median age for impotency—let’s just cut those balls off. You’re not using ‘em anyway.”

I left feeling terrified. He’d talked about chemo and radiation, and he wanted to do the surgery immediately.  No bikini cut, either—he wants to slice me, belly button to vageena. I pulled into the parking lot of Big Lots and sat there in my car, crying and shaking for a while. Who do you call when you have no idea what you’re calling about? Do you say, “Hi, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know that I could be dying, but it might just be a little lump?” I didn’t want to scare anyone. Finally, I phoned my friend Shanti, and she told me to come right over. She made me lunch and made me laugh, and pointed out that this was probably not as grim as it seemed. I went home feeling much stronger, though the neurotic part of my brain was figuring out which of my kids would get my bicycle and which would get my car.

Holy crispies, it’s been hard to find humor in these events. I feel like a contestant on “Survivor: Loser Island.” I miss the photo sessions and the fascinating biker folk I used to interview.  I can’t yet find a giggle in words like “cyst” and “chemo.”  I’m sure there’s humor somewhere in all of this, but I’m in a comic holding pattern until I get this medical stuff resolved.

Being a confirmed nerd and a research fanatic, after the oncologist visit I went home and pulled out my trusty laptop. I read obsessively about hysterectomies—the pros, the cons, the ins and outs. I took solace in the words of women who reported that having their reproductive organs harvested was the best thing that ever happened to them. I fretted over the stories of women who said it ruined their lives.

I love my ovaries. I adore my uterus. I believe that they’re somehow connected to the same circuit board as my brain. I’m girly and emotional. My hormones help fuel my creativity and my passion for life. That’s part of my belief system anyway.  I know that my body’s in the process of slowing the flow of estrogen, but I want it to ebb away gradually and gracefully. I don’t want some plumber coming in and removing all my pipes, just because I’m clogged.

Some of you reading this have probably had hysterectomies.  Please know that I’m not dissing the procedure. It’s saved many lives, and eased a lot of pain. I’ve talked to many women about all of this and realize that it can be a very positive experience.  But here’s the thing: I’m finally at a point where I love my life. I’m happy with who I am, I love the interactions I have with others, I adore the man I live with and the beautiful nature of our relationship. It’s been a hard fought battle, getting to this place, and (pardon my Swahili) I just don’t want anything to fuck it up. While some women happily go on with their lives, post-hysterectomy, others have had devastating results.  So I’m scared.

I went back to Dr. Oncology, asked more questions, expressed my concerns. We talked, but I never got the feeling that he could hear me. I’m not going to go into the boring details, but what I was aiming for was a kind of partnership, where my doctor would consider my thinking and treat me conservatively. I came away convinced that, no matter what he found, this guy was going to take all my toys.  He went from “cyst” to counseling me on radiation and chemo, and he didn’t even know what was going on inside my belly yet.

One of the difficulties of all of this was being uninsured. It paints you into a corner, limits your options. I was in this hospital’s system, the train was rolling, I was seeing the only gynecological oncologist in the area. And he wasn’t listening.

Poor Amadeus. God, I love him. He’s listened to all of my fears (for weeks) and he understands exactly where I ‘m coming from. He’s worried as hell, but even when I’m at my most distraught, he stays strong and calm, like Gandhi in Levi’s, only taller and with more hair.

“Some women end up incontinent. Will you still love me if I pee my pants?”

“A lot of women gain weight after hysterectomies. Will you still love me if I’m fat?”

“Will you still love me when I’m insane?” I should have said “insaner,” but he knew what I meant.

“You know, this could kill our sex life, or at least change it dramatically.”

This one’s a huge worry. From what I’ve read, if your sex life is a 1 or 2 before surgery, it could actually improve. If your sex life is a 10, the quality might decrease. Not to over share, but we’re solidly in column “B”, and I don’t want to rock that lovely little boat.

He just doesn’t give a shit. He loves me. It kills me how willing he is to stand by me, even though I’m  terrified that I’ll come out of surgery all butch and surly, yearning to drive an all-terrain vehicle and needing a shave.

“Somehow, I just think that you’ll be able to manage this,” he said. “I know you.” If I could sprinkle little sparkly pink hearts around this part of the story, I would.


I’ve cried a lot lately, mostly out of frustration.  While I know this doctor is probably a helluva surgeon, I just hate his overzealousness. I’ll bet he has a trophy room somewhere in his house, with hundreds of healthy stuffed uteri mounted on the walls.

So I’m back to square one. I can feel this “thing” inside of me, and I don’t know if it’s growing or shrinking or eating my liver. I sweat, I swell, I feel like hell. But the story gets better- I swear it. I’ll tell you about it soon.



Romanticalness. Passionality. Squooziness. This is the language of love, and though I just made those words up, I know you understand their meanings.

And so it was that my beloved Amadeus presented me with a bouquet of lush flowers in a candlelit French restaurant, got down and one knee, and said, “Moonbeam, my darling, will you make me the happiest man on earth, and do me the honour of becoming my wife?”  I put that letter “u” into the word “honor” because it makes it more frenchy and romantical.

Okay- it didn’t happen that way at all. Amadeus is romantic, in a practical sort of way. He’s also been burned to a crisp when it comes to love, which, between you and me, can make a man as wussy as a scrawny kid on a school playground. He’d brought up marriage a few times, then he’d drop the subject. Eventually I said, “Look—things are great as they are. I love us. Let’s just don’t discuss marriage anymore, m’kay?”

We were both skittish, superstitious about making any moves that would change our lovely situation. This thing we had was so special, such a gift, that in a sense marriage seemed appealing– a way to differentiate it from past relationships, to step it up and finally say, “Wow—so you’re the one.” But realistically, we both knew from past experience that marriage can kill a relationship faster than D-Con kills fire ants. It didn’t matter if we tied the knot or not, we were bonded, and it was almost impossible to imagine a future without the other in it. We have an incredible amount of passionality.

So, here’s how it really happened: I was sitting at home with my swelly belly, when I received a text message from my sweetie. And it was then that he wrote eight of the most beautiful  words in the English language: “I think u should b on my insurance.”

And that’s how he proposed. Seriously, isn’t that full of romanticalness? Isn’t it squoozy?

I texted back: “So, you think we should jump the broom?” After all, I’m a romantic too. I think I even added one of those smiley faces.

We talked about it when Amadeus got home from work. Adding me to his health insurance would almost quintuple his premiums, leaving us temporarily impoverished. That mortified us, but the prospect of a second ovarian opinion pleased us.  Surgery without bankruptcy thrilled us. And the idea of marriage made us giddy. We gidded a lot.

 I was in a daze. It’s been twenty years since the demise of my first marriage; there’s been a lot of heartbreak in the interim. My relationship pattern was to fall in love, often with a fellow of dubious intent whose guts my children hated, and when things started going south, I’d run like hell, across state lines if necessary. This time around, the fellow is wonderful. Thick, thin, uterusless or not, he loves me. This time, I want to stay put. It still blows my mind.

 So, a couple of weeks ago, we jumped the broom.  Beforehand, in a top secret pre-wedding ceremony, we sacredly pinky swore that the foundation of our relationship will never change—we’ll still have adventures, we’ll remain best friends, we’ll never take this “thing” we have for granted.  Insecure woman that I am, I wanted reassurance that this had more to do with love than it did with co-pays. Amadeus wrapped his arms around me and said, “Everything we’ve done was leading to marriage anyway.  We’re just speeding up the process.”

It was the quickest quickie wedding in the world. We held our secret for several days beforehand, leaking our plans to just a few close friends and family members. On the way to the ceremony, Amadeus realized that he’d never formally asked for my hand. In the car, all decked out in our wedding finery, headed toward our huge, life-changing event, he asked, “Moonbeam, will you marry me?” It sounded so beautiful that I made him ask me a second time, then accepted his proposal.

My children were there, and so was my granddaughter. Amadeus’ grouchy dad (whom I adore) arrived with his wife, and a few close friends were in attendance. Everyone was beaming, everyone was joyous. Shanti performed the ceremony, which was infused with beauty and meaning, and which I’ll never be able to remember because I was love drunk. We exchanged vows and cheap rings (Amadeus’ actually spins), shared a kiss and it was done. And it’s just beginning.

It still doesn’t seem real. We’ll be talking, and I’ll look over at him and think, “Wow– that’s my husband.” I look at the ring on my finger, and think, “Wow– I’m his wife.”  I imagine the future and try to wrap my mind around the gorgeous fact that I will have the pleasure of his company for what I hope will be at least forty-two years.

Wow– we’re married. 

Last night, around midnight, we kissed and celebrated the fact that I’m now officially insured. Tomorrow, I have an appointment with a new doctor. I’ll keep you posted.

Our wedding was a small, informal affair, attended by only a few close friends and family members.

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16 thoughts on “All Through the Summer and Into the Fall

  1. Kendall says:

    Wow! That is the biggest hot news revelation I’ve seen since Occupy started. I would like to be the very first to say CONGRATULATIONS and then quickly move forward to I told you so. Way back, a million years ago when you first started living with Amadeus, I suggested, based on what you were saying back then, that this could be The One. So I feel hugely self-satisfied and grinny. I also just want to add the information that I had a hysterectomy in 1989, when I was forty-four. I was then bleeding about 15 days every month, getting anemic and weak and essentially bleeding to death. It was the best thing I ever did. I bought myself a WHITE nightie (no more blood stains), and WHITE sheets, and never looked back. I lost weight, there was absolutely no change in my sex life whatsoever, and I did not become incontinent. Life is good. Even now. Better than it ever was before. Now I’m involving myself in Occupy. I hope you do whatever feels good to you, I hope you have a rich and beautiful marriage with this man who sounds just right for you, and I hope the cyst goes away and you go o to do really interesting and worthy things that make you feel as fantastic as we all know you are.

    Kendall, you wonderful, beautiful woman! Were your ears burning? Amadeus and I were talking earlier, and I told him how you had said that he sounded like “The One” when I’d very first written about him (and how I said something like, “Unh unh– it’s not like that”). You were absolutely right, and I’m so glad you were.

    THANK YOU for telling me about your positive hysterectomy experience. I thrive on reading them. If I need to have one, I’m prepared for it, but I need to feel confident that it’s medically necessary. It all comes down to having a doctor whose judgement I trust, and one who gives my desires (and my thinking) credence. Once that happens, if I wake up with no girly parts, I’ll be okay, because I’ll know that it was a last resort, and not a “you weren’t using them anyway” thing.

    Re: Occupy Wall Street. You go, Kendall! You’re one of my heroes, y’know.

  2. ryoko861 says:

    O-M-G How fucking romantic is that!! You mushy people you!! CONGRATUALTIONS!!! (((HUGS)))

    Ok, now……

    You’re going to be alright!

    And if you don’t want the dr. to take your entire uterus, then you tell the doctor only take the infected part! It’s YOUR body! I’m glad you’re getting a second opinion!!! You have to feel comfortable with your doctor and the decisions. You have to both agree!

    I think your love for A will over come ANYTHING! Your sex life will not be affected. Try not to think about losing a body part. It’s damaged and you need to have it fixed. I understand why you feel the way you do though. I’m like you, but it’s my breasts. I love my boobs. I had a scare in Sept. when I had to go back for a second Mamo because of a questionable area. The thought of possibly losing one of my breasts was devastating to me. They’re the only thing going for me as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been told that I have nice boobs and even the techs that do the mamos have said I have great breast muscles. I pamper them, make sure my bras are supporting. I refuse to have saggy boobs!

    Take it one day at a time!! If you look to far ahead you’re imagination is going to get the best of you and everything will look grim. Concentrate on now.


    It is sooo fucking romantic, Irene! I’ve been wondering aloud for the past few weeks when I was going to quit feeling so gold-durned mushy. I’m like a permanent bowl of oatmeal.

    What you said? About the doctor? Exactly! I had to go back and clarify this post by mentioning that my tumor markers were a little elevated. That’s what’s made the doctor so knife-happy, but in reading about all of this, I found that there are lots of things that can cause false readings and temporary elevations– endometriosis (which I have in spades) and infections, and I was using a Mirena IUD (since removed) which causes cysts and infections. I’m going to get retested tomorrow, to see if anything’s changed. I’ll bet it has.

    I wish I had boobs. I mean, I do, but over the years I’ve lost so much weight that I’ve gone from a D to a B. I remember them fondly. I would pamper them if I could see them. I’m sorry about your scare, but I’m glad you’re okay!

    I’m so happy you were here. (((Hugs back)))

    It’s all a honeymoon, which is code for: with the increased insurance premiums and my hurty body, we’ve postponed it. Snuggling on the sofa and watching movies was pretty romantical though.

  3. Claire says:

    Holy moly!! “Congratulations” just seems like not enough to say to express my admiration and joy for your wedding news. Wow, oh wow! And for the other medical issue – you’re smart, you’re strong, you’ve got oodles of love and support on your side, and you will be just fine. And even for good measure, I’m sending lots and lots of prayers your way.

    And… the magazine folded? That must be why Wendy mentioned finally moving back home. Out of the bad always comes the good. Always.

    Love you!

    You angel! Answering these comments is so much fun– like sitting around with my girlfriends, giggling about boys. There truly are times when I wish we could do just that, and this is one of them. Cocktails would be involved. I’m just feeling so happy these days, despite that stoopid cyst. It’s all going to be just fine, and I’m gladly accepting prayers these days (especially yours– I think you have some sort of “in”).

    Yep, the magazine folded, and despite my sadness at no longer writing about Harleys (or anything else at the moment), I’m grateful for the experience (and the pay). Wendy and Buck are two of the best people on the planet, and working with them was joy. I agree with you– good will come from this.

    Love you too!

  4. Ann Marquez says:

    Oh Moonbeam! This is quite the roller coaster ride! First of all, Congratulations!!! I must say that I’m not a bit surprised… ;) I had a feeling about you and The Music Man as well. I’m so very happy for the both of you. What a beautiful romance! The devotion the two of you share is the most precious, priceless thing on earth. Here’s to Moonbeam and Amadeus and forever love–Clink!

    Second, I’m so VERY glad that you are getting a second opinion. When I read that he tossed the old “you aren’t using ‘em anyhow” crap at you, I screamed “N0ooooooo…” In my opinion, NEVER EVER trust a doc with such an attitude. And to dismiss your concerns… OH you don’t even want to get me started with that!

    I wish we could sit down for a chat, but now that I know you are insured and you are going for a second opinion and that you are doing your research and listening to your heart/instincts instead of listening to a doc telling you that you don’t need those parts anyhow, and that you have A there watching your back, well, I just know everything will work out. (And, um, about the sex (blush)… I think that depends more upon what’s going on in a woman’s life, personal meaning, etc. — there are so many factors to take into consideration here. It’s not a simple a matter of sex being better or worse after a hysterectomy. So don’t give that a second thought. But that’s just my opinion… for what it’s worth.)

    Just know that everything will be okay.

    Thank you so much for that clink, (((Ann))). It is a beautiful romance. At first, we worried that marriage might kill it, but that doesn’t seem to be the case at all. It’s like a big happiness burrito supreme.

    I’m really excited about the second opinion– you totally get why I’m so nervous about the first one.

    As for sex, I think Amadeus agrees with you. I think we have enough passionation between us to weather that storm. Hopefully, it’ll turn out to be just a little thundershower. Again, as long as I feel confident in the doctor and the doctor’s decision, my head will be in a good place and things’ll be fine, no matter the outcome.

    I wish we could sit down for a chat too- but I’d want to talk about writing.

  5. Heather says:

    Well first a big CONGRATULATIONS on the marriage! I’m very happy for you! ((HUGS))
    I’m so glad you are getting a second opinion. My mom had a wonderful Gyno Oncologist who was just a real gem throughout her illness. The only thing that concerns me is your tumor markers, I really do hope those were a false positive from the Mirena(and that’s what I will be praying for). Please, please, please keep us posted and let us know something as soon as you get your second opinion!
    And don’t be such a stranger, you need to write more-I miss you when you don’t post(I should talk-I haven’t posted on my blog since August)!
    Sending you hugs, love & prayers,

    Thank you, (((Heather)))! I’m happy for us too!

    I used to love the Mirena, but when I was researching all of this, I found that it causes a lot of problems for some women. I’m almost hoping that I’m one of them– it would explain a lot. I’ve even read that sometimes, cysts caused by Mirenas sometimes just disappear (fingers crossed). I promise to keep you posted!

  6. (((((HUGS))))) What a roller coaster of a post. I couldn’t stop reading until the last comment. I gotta tell you, when I was done reading, I was left with a positive feeling in my heart. The good, far out weighed the bad, and I’ve got nothing but good thoughts and feeling for you and your new man. I am so happy for you and him. As for the not so happy points, I know the two of you will work your way through them, emerging better and stronger.

    I’ve really missed your writing, but I can see you’ve had your hands too full to entertain the masses up until now. It’s also evident that your mind had gotten too full to not return to your keyboard for some much needed decompression. Thank you for bringing us up to date and sharing so much with us. I’ve been staying fairly busy as of late as well, so I’ll be checking for your next update every chance I get.

    Take care, Moonbeam. (((((HUGS))))) :)

    On an unrelated note, Kendall is now one of my heroes too. Thank you, Kendall, for your service. Keep up the good work and stay safe.

    It’s definitely been a roller coaster around here, but I feel positive too, (((((((Mr. P))))))). Thank you for understanding about the lack of content lately– I really have had brain overload for the past few months. Plus, my writing gig was more than full time work. If I hadn’t lost the job, I doubt we’d have even had time to get married. :) It was fantastic to realize that I actually had time to do some self-serving, frivolous blog writing.

    Thank you for the positivity, the good wishes and for realizing how nifty Kendall is. You’re pretty nifty too.

  7. Kendall says:

    We have a love-fest going here! I have been a fan of Moonbeam since I stumbled over this blog a few years back (my step-father’s surname is McQueen; I was known as Kathy McQueen in my childhood), and I met Peter Parkour right here in the comments on Moonbeam’s blog. Peter–you are one of my heroes too, for your concise, good-humored, loving perspective.

    Look what you have made, Moonbeam: a community of appreciation, laughter, kindness, wisdom, and great foolishness. This is how we embrace you, cheer for you, holler at you approvingly, and hold you. You made us your community. We here for you, girl. Huzzas.

    I love and miss our love-fests!! Maybe we’re long lost sisters, Kendall, even though McQueen is just my adopted name. I’d like to think so, anyway. :)

    I didn’t make this community– you guys did. I just host the party every now and then. And I think your description is right. Great comments, wonderful wisdom, delightful goofiness and fun. I love it here.

  8. I am all smiles and long distance (((((HUGS))))) right now. See what you went and done, Moonbeam. :mrgreen:

    Awwwww….glad you’re all smiley and huggy. Me too. Sigh. So heppy.

  9. Debbie says:

    Wow, I don’t know where to begin. Congrats for sure on the wedding and your true love. I’m jealous. As for your ‘cyst’, I had the same experience with my Dr when I went in for a breast exam. They found something suspicious yet inconclusive and the very first thing he started talking to me about getting a double mastectomy. I was so, WHOA. . . Glad you are able to get a second opinion. You are in my thoughts.

    Thank you so much for the good wishes, Debbie! I’m glad you “WHOA’d” on that mastectomy advice. I feel so fortunate to be able to get a second opinion. After this experience, I feel for those who have to go with the advice of first doctor that examines them. That would probably leave you breastless and me reproductive organless. Scary!

  10. Renee Mason says:

    What a grand re-entry into the blogging world! Congrats and God bless on your marriage; what an amazing man you found. Good luck wth everything and please keep us posted.

    Renee, thank you. I truly did find an amazing man. I’ll update soon, I promise.

  11. Pat . says:

    I was so pleased to see you had posted again – I rushed right over to tell you off for being away so long. Then I went on the emotional roller-coaster that you had created for us. OMG doesn’t come remotely close. Bombshell after bombshell.
    Business like bullet-points to keep the mushiness at a minimum: romance-marriage- great; your husband sounds perfect; girly bits – you get as many opinions as you need; you will get through it and you will be better than just fine when you come out the other side.

    ((((PAT!!!)))) I’m glad you didn’t yell at me while I’m all fragile-like. In the future, you can tell me off if I wait this long between postings (unless I have a really good excuse, like a bad haircut that I’m waiting to grow out).

    I did go get a second opinion with a wonderful doctor. I’m waiting to update until I get the test results back next week.

    I’m making no excuses for mushiness– I’m a newlywed, for cripes sake!

    It’s so fantastic to see you here.

  12. David says:

    Nice to see you hear again cyster! :) Had to get that one joke out of the way. Sorry. Nothing funny here, but it’s great to read you here again. Dear moonbeam, you guys are not the first to marry for the insurance. We did it, after 22 years of unsanctioned cohabitation. It worked out well. I know others who’ve married for health coverage too. Don’t know whether that’s a sad commentary on marriage or insurance. Both I guess.

    Anyway …

    C O N G R A T U L A T I O N S ! ! !

    Hee. “Cyster.” Well, we married for love, we married fast for insurance. I’m looking forward to many happy years with my co-insuree.

    Supersonic hugs to you.

  13. Claire says:

    Just remembered a story about a knife happy surgeon my daughter encountered. She was referred to him because of a hernia repair she needed – well, it was really to fix a seroma that grew to the size of a basketball with its own blood supply because the referring surgeon was an idiot and didn’t put drains in her after surgery. New surgeon wanted to fix the seroma but at the same time perform a COMPLETE HYSTERECTOMY on a 30 year old girl. His rationale was that it would prevent future hernia recurrences. WTF? She ran from him as fast as she could. Probably she should have reported him because ethically (as another really good surgeon who she did have do the seroma removal surgery pointed out) he had no right to even suggest that to her. And no medical basis for it either. That was a nightmare. I am so grateful that my daughter had some brains to listen to her intuition and me behind her for support. Maybe some girls aren’t so lucky.

    My point of telling you this, dear MB, is to underscore that there are knife happy doctors out there who are less interested in the holistic approach of medical treatment and more interested in their ability to rack up another surgery. Be careful and hoping that the cyst goes away!

    That is some kind of scary. It’s like being told you have to have frontal lobotomy for a headache. I’m definitely listening to my gut on this one (so to speak). I got my second opinion, and she totally agreed with my feelings about all of this. Of course, I love her. I’ll tell you all about it, after I get my test results.

  14. Jojo says:

    CONGRATULATIONS on the marriage!!! And now on to your health….

    I am a reader who lives in Little Rock. Please go to see Dr. Pamela Stone at UAMS. She is a Gynecologic Oncologist. She did my hysterectomy and I found her to be a very good listener, gentle, and concerned about what I wanted… AND smart.

    Here is a little story about her:

    Her is a link to her contact info:

    Best of luck!!!


    Hi Jojo! THANK YOU! This is a great reference for women in this area. I really appreciate it.

    I see you read my follow-up post, so I’m heading over there. :)

  15. Brian says:

    Congratulations on the wedding, Moonbeam! It’s also good to hear that your medical thing turned out okay.

    I haven’t commented here in forever, but I do check in from time to time. I am still plugging away on my blog (formerly In Repair), but I have a new site name and domain name, and am using it more like Tumblr.

    Blessings to you!! =)

    BRIAN!!! I’m so glad when you stop by! Thank you for the congrats, on both my hubby and my health.

    I’ll get by to visit that new blog of yours soon!

    You know, I may have mentioned this before, but I think you were actually the very first person ever to comment on my blog, long ago and back in the day. Remember that? It was after Tammy Faye Bakker died.

  16. Brian says:

    I remember! =) I miss Tammy.

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