Americana Music Festival and Conference, Day 2
My mind is still spinning from yesterday. So much so I’m not sure where to begin or what to put down.
If you want to fast forward to some good coverage of the Americana Music Awards show, click here for the official story. I still can’t believe that a.) we got to vote for all those fine awards and b.) we got to see the show itself! Some of our picks panned out, others didn’t. But all in all, an excellent time.
Yesterday found us taking in a lot of things prior to the “big show” at The Ryman. And as creatures of habit, some of our very favorite things. We took a break from lanyards and swag bags and found time for a little stroll. Impromptu stroll shot. Happy faces. Love life!
First stop, Gruhn Guitars. What a treat to stop in mid-day, mid-week when the place was somewhat empty. We made sure not to drool… too much. Dave had his eye on a Gretsch Country Gentleman before we strolled over to the acoustic section. While I have my faves, I’ve always loved the look (and sound when played by others than I) of the Gibson Hummingbird. Of course, there had to be one there with the red sides. And I had to remind Dave… don’t touch! 
The stop at Gruhn was productive. Dave was able to ask the pros a few questions regarding my mom’s Martin (we learned some things about pre-1985 Martins) and I loaded up on guitar picks. We also had one of those classic ‘Dave & Jacqui’ encounters with a fellow traveler.
His name is Ben. He’s a retired Criminal Justice professor from Texas A&M… yes, as in REK & Lyle College Station. ANYWAY we bumped into Ben as he was picking up this guitar. 
Now there’s quite a back story to this (and I’m sure y’all are scratching your heads as I’m leaving it at that) but I do hope that he and his wife have a grand drive through Kentucky into West Virginia. Find that jam, Ben … and then find eBay. Yours is a glorious plan.
Our wanderings took us to Hatch Show Print. All the cool cats were there (Huey & Maow) and it was fun to chat with the folks who keep this little bit of Americana in motion.
It also was great to get a bit whiff of printer’s ink. It’s better than coffee in the morning, any day. (And you know how I love my coffee.) If you aren’t familiar with Hatch then I highly recommend this great piece about its history.
As we were leaving Hatch, Dave started to ask me if I wanted to look at boots. I love it when he talks to me that way. So we started to meander once again. For grins we went into Boot Country where you can buy one pair at regular price and get two pair free. I don’t know why we go into that store because really, they will never have that dream boot of mine. By nature, the store and it’s wares a bit pedestrian and touristy, a quantity versus quality experience. It was fun to look and easy to move on.
We spied a new place across the way called Betty Boots that we wanted to check. Just by the window you could tell this WAS more the place. Unfortunately, they had a no photo policy in store and that’s a shame. So many beautiful things I wanted to capture and stash in my dream book. Beautiful boots, clothes (all with vintage inspiration and flair), satchels. Dave kept encouraging me to try on a pair but I was a bit shy. Definitely closer and perhaps there (the aqua one with the red detail from the window is the one he kept picking up) but in time.
Now, while I’ve had my thing for boots, Dave has had his thing for hats. I’m not talking cowboy hats (as we all know that’s not quite ‘him’) but something else with a bit of flair. He almost left without it. But then it called back to him. Similar to the instantaneous bond between boy and puppy, this man and this hat were made for each other. Mission success!
We were able to meet up with Jake Mauer during his acoustic set at Rippy’s. He sat with us a bit to catch up and talk about his current project. It’s funny how this long-distance connection continues to thrive and like with a lot of things, I’m not questioning, just enjoying. Sometimes, people were just destined to meet up with other people. Jake played us ‘Wagon Wheel’ for old times sake and then with our encouragement, treated us to one of his new songs. It was splendid and we both really hope this guy gets his break. Funny thing, after he sang one of his songs someone came up to him and bought one of his CDs. He looked our way and I just said, “See… what happens when you play one of yours?” We’re going to catch up with Jake and his full band later this weekend.
So, I end this one with where I started… the 10th Annual Americana Awards show. Jim Lauderdale was the host and as he said what makes this genre of music so special is the people. People who put music first. Music that represents us all. 
As we sat in the Ryman, the Mother Church of Music filled with ghosts, spirit and splendor, we felt so right. And that in and of itself felt so good. What a treat. What a celebration. What a journey. Not just this past year but the past twenty-one.
The show had plenty of surprises and outstanding performances, too many for me to replay. But all jumbled up in my heart and my soul it took on a magic of its own. 
Rarely am I spellbound but for those few hours, it was a genuine emotion. For others in attendance, it was just another awards show. But for us, that night and that music will always be simply perfect. ~Jacqui
Can’t Change The World? How About A Moment…
Something happened today.
I know you all have seen signs like this one. And the people who hold them.
Today was one of those days.
As I wound off my exit on the way to work, I saw ahead of me a sign guy. He was standing on the little island that divides traffic going straight onto Liberty into OTR from traffic turning right onto Reading. It’s been several weeks since I’ve seen a sign guy standing there and I wasn’t really in the mood for a sign guy encounter. It’s been a long week.
Rolling a bit closer, I noticed he wasn’t one of the regulars who sometimes are there early in the day. He was definitely new and quite possibly, new at sign guy-ness. I wasn’t sure exactly what his deal was and I was sort of hoping I could just roll through without knowing. My mind had it’s own bucket of worries.
A little closer and a glance up. I could read the message: “Terminal Cancer. Anything is a Help. God Bless.”
The light turned red. I was stuck there with a few other cars yet far enough back that I was safe to observe without him detecting. From my vantage point of around 25 feet, I watched how this man (guessing in his late 40s to early 50s) smiled and waved at those who either looked him straight in the eye or most likely, accidently made eye contact with him. Now I know that sounds odd. Was he supposed to be smiling? Why the heck was he smiling… and waving? Was this a joke? Or, was he simply trying to brighten someone else’s day while he swallowed his pride and did something most of us would have a very hard time doing? (Think about it.)
In a few seconds I went from “please let me hide” to “hmmm..” My new reaction: help him. My next reaction: wait, can’t. Husband is on strike and funds are limited this week. Follow-up reaction: look at him — he’s smiling and waving — man that has to take guts.
Then it happened. Our eyes met.
I knew the light was going to turn soon. I also knew I had three bucks in my wallet.
So I grabbed it, rolled down the window but couldn’t quite move my car close to him. I was about ready to tell him I’d circle back when he realized what I was about to do and walked to me.
Any other time there would be traffic behind me. But for some reason as I checked my rear-view window, I noticed the lanes were clear.
This was our conversation —
Me: “I don’t want you to get hurt if a car comes this way…”
Him: (starting to go into his thank you to stranger response as he accepted the singles) “God bless you ma’m…”
Me (cutting him off): “What type of cancer do you have?”
Him (startled that someone was going to actually speak with him): “Liver… it’s now in my liver. Started as testicular…”
Me (nodding): “Mmm. That’s rough. My husband just fought Lymphoma.”
Him (sensing a moment of understanding): “Oh no…”
I noticed the light went to yellow and I was grateful for the extra time.
Me: “So, what’s your name?”
Him (started, but sincere) “Kurt.”
Kurt was missing a few teeth. His hair was salt and pepper, pulled back with an elastic band. His face looked a bit tired yet his eyes had a certain crinkle to them. Perhaps it was the sun… or maybe a tear… but I suspect not too many people ever asked this man his name, let alone give him a minute of time.
I held out my hand through the window and said, “Hi Kurt. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jacqui.”
Now he was really taken aback but also seemingly grateful for the simple human connection. He whispered, “Thank you, Jacqui. May I really shake your hand?”
“Of course, Kurt.” I couldn’t help but laugh a bit. I mean, this was crazy on so many levels but so right on many more.
As our hands met he whispered, “You have no idea what this means to me, Jacqui. You really don’t.”
I said, “I may not, but I have an idea.”
Cars were starting to come down the way and Kurt had to get back to his island. As he took his post he looked at me again, smiling and I said, “It’s a beautiful morning, Kurt. I really hope you have a GOOD day. Enjoy THIS DAY,”
He smiled — not a smile of joy but a smile of gratitude. For that moment, someone cared about him. He mattered. And he did have this day ahead of him to live, regardless of his circumstance.
Right before I had to go he shouted out “Hey Jacqui… what’s your husband’s name?”
“Dave. It’s Dave.”
He nodded with a somber look that I’ve come to recognize of other fighters and said. “I’m going to pray for Dave today. I hope he stays well.”
The light turned green. We were still smiling. I replied, “Thank you, Kurt. And you’re right… (gesturing to his sign) anything and everything does help. God bless you for what you just gave me.”
I know some people may think that I’m a sucker — that the whole cancer thing played me for my last three bucks. And if that were the situation, so be it. Kurt and a higher power will eventually come to terms — I can’t dwell on that. I want to have faith in people. I really do. And during a week when I’ve been left to question a lot of things, I honestly believe there was a reason for that moment. It didn’t change the world. How could it? But it certainly changed something.
I’ll be keeping Kurt in my thoughts.
Year One: Complete
Today is September 23. One year ago today (on a sunny Thursday) I was sitting at work when I got a call from Dave. Most of you know the drill from there. (And if you are new here, this post may help.)
It’s human to use anniversaries to sling-shot back in time, reflect on what happened, celebrate, mourn — some of the above, all of the above. I did my fair share of that yesterday on what was a different Thursday — the last of this cycle called year one:
After Dave received some good news in May, I made a deliberate choice to step away from the blog for awhile. We had things to do as a family … Brandon’s graduation, our first participation in the Relay for Life, a quick trip back to Woods Creek Lake, random weekend activities and days at the pool, packing Brandon up for college and helping him step into that new phase. There were a zillion blog posts packed in there but I decided not to write. I needed to step away for a bit and interject quiet. This place where I have been free to share, celebrate, question and rant will forever have a link to (dramatically whispers) Cancer… you know, cancer? If I didn’t write, there wouldn’t be any tag-on cancer reporting therefore, no more cancer. Me and my silly logic. Move on.
In the last phase of year one I’ve had to watch Dave wrestle with what early remission is… and what it is not. Primarily, there is not a magic moment when everything is coated in moon dust and all pain and fears are erased forever. There is no big ‘undo’ button, no riding off into the sunset moment — as perhaps my last post left things. Remission is gradual — and hard. But it is living and Dave continues to amaze and inspire me everyday. Conditions are still adverse in their own right and the support system of a hyper-connected medical team has naturally drifted into a different mode. All those appointments, meetings and schedules kept us rational — we were fed constant bits of information that helped us each react accordingly. We had steps each to take and things to check off the list. This quiet time with its focus on total healing allows for a lot of emotional thinking. It’s easy to get lost and tangled in the clouds. And there is always the nagging question, do you ever really heal?
In a few weeks, we’ll be back in Nashville. It is going to be quite a trip. We said we would go back to celebrate and that is exactly what we are going to do. I anticipate that while the pace may still be slow the time away — and the music — are going to be great medicine. We’re looking forward to it and we are going to do our best to post as we can from the Americana Music Festival and Conference.
So with this post, we really do close a chapter and start something new. We have a lot to look forward to and a lot we want to enjoy and do. The static of work situations and world conditions can just fade away for a moment. We made it to this day. To be honest, 365 days ago, I couldn’t see it.
Boy Cleans Up Good
It’s been one heck of a week.
Last Monday, Dave was recognized on campus with quite an honor. Along with colleague Bob Eveslage, Dave received the House/Bruckmann Award at Cincinnati State for faculty excellence. Nominated and voted upon by their peers, the annual award recognizes two faculty members who go above and beyond. I was able to sneak out and attend the ceremony and I am so glad that I did. Besides there being cake (mmm…. cake) there was a lot of love, gratitude and pride in that room among everyone there. Dave and I knew it was a special award but we didn’t quite realize the magnitude of the moment until we were in it. And on the brink of waiting for test results, it was a nice respite. 
But there were still a few days between Monday’s celebration and “the appointment.” Without admitting it to each other, we were both trying to get through the week without worry. It was hard. No, strike that, it was messy. My head and heart were twisted worse than a pretzel. Hassles with hospital billing drug me through the muck and reminded me again of all the realities and the possibilities; things I had wanted to forget and things I didn’t want to face. I cried a lot and sometimes I just didn’t know why. I gave up on eye make-up. I wrote some pretty bad poetry that seemed like a good idea at the time. I found solace in leftover cake. It was weird.
Thursday finally came around. As I met up with Dave in the familiar lobby of the oncologist I realized that despite what the scans said, we had each come a long way and we’d continue to go forward. Dave looked good. He was not the same man who sat in the same chair near the coat rack a few months ago. And it was time to find out what step was next.
The CT scan was pretty consistent with the scan taken post chemo and just prior to radiation. The remaining bit of ‘Roger’ didn’t grow and actually got a smidge smaller.The consensus is that this bit of stuff seen on the films is scar tissue. We had been told that because of the original tumor size, there would probably always be a little something in the picture — the wadded up housing of what once held a blobby mass of mutating danger. Things were progressing well. And instead of rushing back in to more follow-up tests in a few weeks, the oncologist felt good about Dave’s response. Nothing to do or see here until Thanksgiving when the guitar part comes around again. It took a bit of courage for Dave to ask when he’d start hearing about remission. The doc quietly looked at his watch then up at Dave and said, “You’re in remission now.” I’m not sure if you are supposed to dance in an examination room but I was about ready to give it a try. It’s not everyday you hear something like that.
We rounded out the week celebrating the end of school for the kids. And for Brandon, the end of an era. If you’re going to have a week of weird emotions, you might as well throw those into the hopper, too, no? Somehow through all of this our band of five also navigated a Senior Year. Graduation is this coming Sunday. We have a lot to celebrate.
Now who wants cake?
~Jacqui
What Will We CT?
So it has been nearly six weeks since the last post. A nice bubble of no treatments and minus one MRI to help diagnose continual back pain — no tests. (The MRI showed a happy, healthy spine so the docs believe the back pain is residual from all the nerve pressure, etc.) Dave has been doing great. The recovery isn’t instantaneous but with each day he is getting more in step with where he wants to be. And so am I. There is an element of loveliness in the mundane.
But things start up again tomorrow with the first big post treatment photo shoot. I’d be fibbing if I didn’t say I wasn’t a wee bit anxious. Dave has a CT scheduled at the crack of dawn. The results from this will give him an indication of how well the six rounds of chemo layered with a month of radiation worked against Roger the Tumor. Our hope is that there is no wicked grin staring back on the films. Because then it would be back to white coats, plans, treatments and yes, hospital lounge/soft-rock crooning from Lionel and company.
Those are things I am not looking for.
~ Jacqui
The Day After
Good morning. It’s so nice to say FEEL those words.
Yesterday was a big day and it started early. So much so that I wasn’t able to keep the countdown going. But that’s okay, right? We all knew what Friday, April 8 was about.
I’ll start with Brandon because his appointment was the first on deck. Six months ago we were referred to a genetic/cardiac team at Children’s for Marfan Syndrome screening. This was just a few weeks after Dave’s diagnosis and things were pretty crazy. During that evaluation, the cardiologist said Brandon’s aorta was dilated per the echocardiogram. It was mild, but it was there and thus he was put on a beta blocker and began the blood screenings for Marfan, etc. We found out in Jan/Feb that the screen came back negative. Given all of the other “clues” acquired, they decided to look at a few more genes to see if Brandon had Loeys-Deitz Syndrome, another connective tissue that shares some properties of Marfan — including aortic complications to a dire degree — but isn’t Marfan. Those test came back marginal — one of the two genes they looked at was normal. The other had something a little “wrong with it” but not definitive of triggering a disorder such as LDS. It was explained that it could just be a genetic variation. To be safe, they wanted Dave and I to start genetic testing (ECHO + blood work) to make sure we didn’t have anything similar and rule in/out if our family was weird. Um, we know the question to that. This was in Feb/March when Dave was wrapping up chemo and getting ready for radiation. We told them we’d “get on it” knowing that Brandon had his check-up early April.
To prepare for the now customary six-month visit with the genetic/cardiology team (white coats!) Brandon had a CT with contrast two weeks ago. And this is where it gets odd. Our pediatrician got a copy of the report and called us right away. Per the radiologist, there was no aortic dissection (good, meaning things didn’t get worse) nor was there any aortic dilation. In fact, the whole aortic root and system looked pretty darn “normal.” Okay… How did this happen?
We decided to just wait for April 8 and chat with the cardiologist in person. Probably better that way because we were able to filter out some emotion. Brandon’s appointments were to start at 7:30 so we went to bed geared up for a big day. A few hours later, Brandon woke up with an awful intestinal bug. There was no way he was going to make this appointment. So I did what any other mom would do. I went to the appointment for him.
The receptionist at the Heart Institute at Children’s thought I was strange. She’s good. And at first, I was told the physician would just like us to “reschedule.” I simply said, “I know that he isn’t busy right now and I’d really like to be able to talk with him about these tests results. He has all the information — he technically doesn’t need to look at Brandon.”
PAUSE
“Okay. The doctor will meet with you.”
It was a good meeting and I could have been real brisk — for the love of all that’s green and good he made Brandon go through the emotional bends these past six months — but I wasn’t. I was open, let him know I had a copy of the report and that I looked up every big word on it. How does a dilated aorta just not be dilated anymore? The simple answer — the CT gave him a better picture. It showed no weak spots along the aortic root at all. The beta blockers could have helped — so Brandon will continue with those but yeah, in his terms, “this is really great news.” I followed by saying “Yeah, I’m glad Brandon didn’t have a sports scholarship offered to him that we turned down. That would have really stunk.” (I’m allowed one snark point per medical mystery. Rule.)
So where are we in all this? Well, Children’s wants to keep Brandon on an every six month check-in schedule. There could be something with his connective tissue system that they just don’t have a name for yet but they’d like to monitor. And, we can regroup with the surgical team to coordinate the pectus bar removal. We’d like to do that in December while we’re still in our deductible bubble and Brandon can stay home for a bit to mend. The best part –B can play soccer again, and that was really all he wanted to know. EKU has a club team (he’s actually researching them right now on the other computer.) In terms of genetic disorders and saving Jameson and Tessa from investigative medicine, Dave and I will get around to the blood tests (now that we’ve hit our family deductible, hee hee) but probably won’t do an ECHO. Why they didn’t order a CT after the ECHO / initial diagnosis is beyond me. It would have clarified so many things, right? Everybody wants better pictures.
Speaking of pictures, here’s one for you:
Upon completion of radiation yesterday afternoon, Dave was given his mask contraption and a certificate from the team. He absolutely loved the pomp and circumstance as this was a huge accomplishment. The paper reads:
“Be it known that Dave Killen having completed the prescribed course of radiation therapy with a high order of proficiency in the Art and Sciences of maintaining a cheerful composure while demonstrating high courage, tolerance and determination, is recognized as having earned the respect and admiration of the Radiation Therapy Staff and is hereby awarded the Certificate of Merit (First Class) with all the rights and privileges pertaining thereto given this day, April 8, 2011.”
Dave will have some follow-up appointments and scans within the next 4-6 weeks. At that point, our hope is we get the nod and he is officially rated ‘R’ for you know what. Not gonna say it until I can scream it from the mountaintops!
Thanks for journeying with us friends. We’re now returning to our original, albeit scant, programming and ramblings of the road trips of our happy and our complete. We’ll be running laps in June in the Relay of Life. We’ll be driving back and forth to Richmond, KY a bit. We’ll be back at Woods Creek Lake in July. And of course, we’ll be shuffling down old Broadway in October (if not sooner!) All of this minus that which tried to define us in other ways.
Love you all ~ Jacqui
195/2
I’m changing things up a bit today and turning this one over to the pros… two folks we dig and a song that means a lot to us and really says it all. Three may be magic but two has power. We’re so focused on two.
I hope Amy & Emily don’t mind me pushing this pirated video around but I had to go with a live version. Last summer when this whole thing was making itself known, we sat in an audience similar and sang along. There was power in that performance and power in that room. Didn’t matter if you hit all the words or all the notes. Others filled in the gaps and carried you. It was beautiful. Doesn’t it feel great to sing along? ~Jacqui
Power of Two Indigo Girls
Now the parking lot is empty
Everyone’s gone someplace
I pick you up and in the trunk I’ve packed
A cooler and a two-day suitcase
Cause there’s a place we like to drive
Way out in the country
Five miles out of the city limit we’re singing
And your hand’s upon my knee
So we’re okay, we’re fine
Baby I’m here to stop your crying
Chase all the ghosts from your head
I’m stronger than the monster beneath your bed
Smarter than the tricks played on your heart
We’ll look at them together then we’ll take them apart
Adding up the total of a love that’s true
Multiply life by the power of two
You know the things I’m afraid of
I’m not afraid to tell
And if we ever leave a legacy
It’s that we loved each other well
Cause I’ve seen the shadows of so many people
Trying on the treasures of youth
But a road that’s fancy and fast ends in a fatal crash
And I’m glad we got off to tell you the truth
Cause we’re okay, we’re fine
Baby I’m here to stop your crying
Chase all the ghosts from your head
I’m stronger than the monster beneath your bed
Smarter than the tricks played on your heart
We’ll look at them together then we’ll take them apart
Adding up the total of a love that’s true
Multiply life by the power of two
Emily:
All the shiny little trinkets of temptation
Something new instead of something old
All you gotta do is scratch beneath the surface
And it’s fool’s gold
Fool’s gold
Fool’s gold
Amy:
Make new friends but
Keep the old
But remember
What is gold
What is gold
What is gold
Now we’re talking bout a difficult thing
And your eyes are getting wet
I took us for better and I took us for worse
Now don’t you ever forget
Now the steel bars between me and a promise
Suddenly bend with ease
And the closer I’m bound in love to you
The closer I am to free
So we’re okay, we’re fine
Baby I’m here to stop your crying
Chase all the ghosts from your head
I’m stronger than a monster beneath your bed
I’m smarter than the tricks played on your heart
We’ll look at them together then we’ll take them apart
Adding up the totals of a love that’s true
Multiply life by the power of two
194/3
Why is it that when countdowns get to ‘3’ things really get exciting? Tension. Anticipation. Energy. It’s almost here — that whatever you are just a few final steps from having. You can almost taste it, feel it, grab it. Ah, yes. Three is a magic number. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t add that in this case, it’s causing some folks to get a little crazy. Good crazy. Fun crazy. We love it crazy. Post-it notes, vid links, heck even creepy caller man who simply relayed the message “the number is three” last night before hanging up. Oh yes, you are all reinforcing the (un)scientific fact that countdowns — especially when they get to this point — bring out good things like hope, joy — vive.
This mojo is helping a very tired Dave make it to campus and then the Rad Booth these final days. At night, he sleeps like a rock. Such a difference from months ago when there was no sleep, just pain. But come morning, even after peaceful slumber, things are rough. It’s hard for him to get up and move about. The fatigue, while different from chemo fatigue, is thick and overwhelming. I can see the internal fight he has with his body just to sit up and put his feet on the floor. It takes awhile to get revved up. Coffee is saving grace. But the feeling of still being supported by all of you — in all of these unique, wonderful, wacky ways — is truly what puts the man in motion.
I had no idea that when I started this little countdown what a change it could bring to the situation. I was merely counting days to document achievement. You spun it into something better. Humble gratitude overflows. Namaste. ~ Jacqui
193/4
We’ve popped the top off this last week. Yesterday afternoon, I got this text from Dave as he was heading back to campus:
“1 down … just 4 more to go! We are almost done with this thing :-). WOOT”
Yes he uses emoticons when he texts me. Get over it.
192/5
One hundred ninety-three days ago, Dave called me at work. It was the first time I had ever heard him say ‘Lymphoma.’ It was also the first time I really felt the world around me completely slip away.
That call — that moment — will forever be a suspended one. The memory is pure Technicolor. Ironically, what I sometimes can’t remember is the life that lead up to that point. You know, the life without cancer. Oh, I have recollections and such but what I can’t clearly remember is what life felt like without all of this. The metamorphosis of 276,480 minutes — some of which were an eternity in and of themselves — has definitely brought me to a new place. God only knows where it has brought Dave. I have ideas but I am not him to really know.
There are five more days of treatment. Just five. And then, a 4-6 week break of nothing. Sweet nothing.
Dave is wicked tired — the effects of radiation compound as the days and treatments go by. But there is a spark in him that is back. Things will never be as they were but things are going to be okay. We can each in our own way and together, get through five days. ~ Jacqui
Nashville or Bust 