My old friend Nan often says I should write the story of my life. I don't know why, it's been an ordinary life. Yet if I'd begun a diary in May 2013 I would have an incredible story - if at the same time a story similar to many others - to tell.
That's my husband of 54 years, Arthur. Photo taken about 5 years ago by my friend Nelma Ward. The bones of his face are now starkly outlined, the flesh largely sunken. He has been ill, yes, but at the same time his will power and courage have carried him through where others, myself for instance, would have given up. In May of 2013 the knee joint of his right leg was replaced, as the left one was in 2001. Common surgery these days. In the hospital he showed me a tiny red pimple on his upper lip...
The pimple grew to be a large one. A skin specialist took a biopsy. Cancer. The pimple exploded to something resembling the open mouth of a volcano. Hospital, a plastic surgeon, two operations, and a particularly aggressive growth was removed from his lip, from under his nose, and from his cheek muscle. The skilled surgeon, bless him, transferred flesh from his lower lip to the top. For two weeks it had to remain sewn up, and he had one corner of his mouth through which to take sustenance. Through a straw.
to be continued...
