‘THE TIME HAS COME,’ the Walrus said...

‘THE TIME HAS COME,’ the Walrus said,’ to talk of many things: of shoes and ships – and sealing wax…and whether pigs have wings.’

That nonsense was a line spoken by the Walrus in Alice in Wonderland to some little oysters, lured from their bed to go for a night’s stroll along the beach with the Walrus and his complicit friend, the Carpenter.  The poor little oysters realized too late that the objective was not the walk, but death. The little darlings would soon be eaten by the Walrus and Carpenter…each and every one!

Some days, I feel I’m being eaten alive. I get smaller, and the tumor gets bigger! Keep in mind, the space where my liver lives is pretty much filled to capacity under normal conditions. I’m beginning to feel like a full tick on a hound dog’s ear!! But, never mind. Hospice has something for that – fentanyl  patches. I get one plastered just under my collar bone every three days. I can’t say these do a lot..yet. Maybe a higher dose? So far, I have no real pain, just discomfort.

With cancer, it’s always something!  Now, it’s ‘tumor fever’ (yes – a real thing, also called neoplastic fever). My fever is usually low grade, about 99.5 – 100, and comes about when the tumor gets indigestion and spits out a variety of stuff which readjusts my thermostat. This new thermostatic set point changes things, and WALLA, I get night sweats. Never had them? Well, it’s like waking up in a puddle of your own sweat! So, I have to get up…change the linen and night gown, and try to go back to sleep. These come and go….a damn nuisance!

Have I mentioned that cancer is a lotta work? Not just for the patient, but the caregiver – and I’m both.

I will die soon - maybe in a month – or two. I have no desire to live forever, and I certainly am not interested in being reincarnated. But there is one tiny (4-5cm) jelly fish who can self reproduce – forever! This is done by a process called transdifferentiation. They don’t die of old age or cancer. When they feel their end is nigh, they turn inside out, shrivel into a blob and produce a new medusa…a new self! And they can do this indefinitely! The same animal! Not a copy. The same fucking being! Now…that’s something to contemplate! But too many questions remain. I don’t have the time. And it seems I’ve done a lot. So, I’ll let that possibility slide on by.

The M.A.I.D. Cocktail ingredients arrived today. That’s enough to think about for now. They will kill me. I will keep the locked box in which they arrived on the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet until I’m ready, and hear myself say, ‘THE TIME HAS COME’.

TJ –to be continued…..

 

I am feelin’ GOOD!

I have gone for weeks now without any physical reminder that I have a terminal condition! I have had NO pain. I am feelin’ GOOD!

That happened sometime between now and my last SAGA, when my dying from cancer became boring. So much so, I began to forget about my cancer. No, really!! I had stopped reading books, which well meaning friends brought to me, about dying. I stopped looking on line for explanations of every little annoying itch, ouch or discomfort. Instead, I flip through spring plant catalogues, and take inventory of the plants in my yard. I take notes about what needs repairing on the irrigation system and the house.

MY interest in cooking has been renewed as my appetite increased and my rearranged plumbing is more accepting of all kinds of food. I began cleaning out my closet and found clothes I couldn’t get into 6 months ago that now fit. A bonus, of sorts, to the weight loss.

But then there’s this…when I see a friend or someone I haven’t seen in a long while, they invariably say, “TJ, you look terrific!” or “You really look good, TJ.” I love the compliment, of course, but comments like those do make me wonder what they thought I might look like knowing I have cancer. I tell folks I’m pretty much going about my life as I did before cancer, with a few limitations (food and physical strength). I have mirrors in my house. I know I look thinner. But I hope I never look like death warmed over! Please, tell me if I do.

There is a daily issue I face – how much pig pancreatic enzyme to take before the three meals and two snacks I eat daily. No one seems to know what the exact dosage should be! Not even my doctor. There is a formula put out by the manufacturer, which is meant for every one according to their weight and how much fat they consume. My weight is holding steady at 110, down from 123 when I was first diagnosed, but the fat content of every morsel I put in my mouth?

Good grief, that’s questionable, and takes research. The only way recommended  by the manufacturer, to know if I don’t get enough piggy enzyme, is if my poop floats! It always seems to come down to pee and poop in these matters!! Poop “floaters” demand additional enzymes. But I can only take so many of those capsules a day. More and one might grow a tail!

Oh well….onward…oink,oink! I’m feeling GOOD!

There’s a mango in my kitchen fruit bowl.

It’s been there for over a week. Since living in the tropics many years ago, I’ve loved tropical fruits. But this one little yellow mango – not like the big fat ones – but the ones shaped like a cashew crescent – has not yet appealed to my recently cancer-altered taste buds. And so it has been left to wither. Interesting – that word wither. According to AI it can refer to a boss creature in the game Minecraft (What!?), a biological feature on a horse, or a verb meaning to shrivel. It’s the verb form that relates to my new situation.

After being Whippled, I have shriveled !

It was a slow, almost melting process of fat and muscle mass from my 123 pound body. I didn’t feel it happening. I hardly noticed it – until I did. One day my pants almost dropped to my feet while I was on my daily one mile walk. Embarassing? Hardly. Shocking? Absolutely!

The next time I showered I looked closely at my body in the mirror. Good grief!! I was starting to look like a neglected mango. The only upside to that shocking image was that my sweetness was surely being concentrated as my poor body shriveled. Hmm? Ha! The downside was possible starvation!

I HAD to start eating more protein, protein, protein! A difficult task for a vegetarian.  Plus the problem with that plan was the double cross of being hungry, knowing I had to eat, and yet repulsed by the smell, or taste, of food! What to do? Protein Shakes are not fit for pigs’ slop. Protein powders seemed worth a try….in gravy, mash potatoes, soups, and my morning oatmeal. Didn’t work! What has passed the taste bud test is a milk shake with added whey powder, a shot of expresso, and vanilla ice cream! Not bad. Fingers crossed there’ll be weight gain.

I know that when the time comes, and I order that “ticket to paradise”, I will do so because of some malfunction of a body part or process. But I’ll be damned if it will be declared : “She died of starvation!”

So…get me to the kitchen ! Perhaps I’ll cook up a tasty Indian curry with – what else?! – Mango Chutney!!!!

Peace, Love, and Bon Appetit to you all,

TJ

 

CANCER STINKS!

After my return home from the first ER visit, hospital stay, and gastro procedure to unblock a bile duct back in June (see SAGA’ It Begins’), I couldn’t wait to take a shower and wash the ‘hospital smell’ off my body. But that smell lingered in my nose. It was a distinctive smell – on my breath, night gown and sheets. Even in my pee! I began to think it might be the pancreatic cancer.  Turned out, I was right!

No one talks about this aspect of cancer – at least not to me. But an AI search for ‘cancer breath’ turned up lots of discussion about the distinctive odor patterns (referred to as ‘signatures’) that can be found in a person’s tissue, blood, urine, stool or breath.  Each kind of cancer has its own smell. ** There are stories about some dogs that can detect those stinky odors on a person, even before a diagnosis! But I have yet to read that ‘cancer test by dog’, done during annual check-ups, is on the protocol list of doctors in the USA. I can only imagine!

That is not true in the UK however, where some astute scientists doing research in the Ministry of Health decided to study the phenomena of ‘cancer breath’ as a potential diagnostic tool.  Discovering cancer early can be a matter of life or death, ya know.  So, they set about to invent a breath machine (no dogs please!) to sniff a person’s breath and analyze the volatile organic compounds (VOCs) produced by cancer cells. News of this trial completely vindicated me from sounding like a yabbering nut case when I told medical folks I thought my cancer made me stink, to which they would roll their eyes and say…”Oh, I don’t know anything about that”.

Keep in mind, the UK has a completely different health system than the USA. They do research, paid for by people’s taxes, for the benefit of the people. In the USA, that job was given over to ‘big pharma’, who is benefiting more than the people.

So, all this to let you know that not only does cancer stink – really, but it also stinks in terms of disrupting quality of life. Even though I’m pretty much going about my life as usual…for the moment…I worry about my ‘cancer breath’ when in heated public discussions!! (Ha!) For that, I never leave home without a pocket full of peppermint candies.

TJ

**Oh yeah - FYI – Pancreatic cancer breath (according to AI) smells fruity and sweet. Some consolation – hmmm……

 

The last line from SAGA #6 was...

The last line from SAGA #6 was…”We live, we die. That’s just how it is. “ What I neglected to tell y’all, was that my death is not imminent. People hear the word ‘Hospice’ and think, “about to happen now”. Not true. Think Jimmy Carter!

I look pretty much the same, except for some weight loss, and I’m doing about the same things I’ve been doing for months, except for food consumption, which has been limited due to my being Whipplized! Remember that procedure? Back on August 14^th?  SAGA #3.  But my digestive tract is adjusting to the newly created plumbing, with the added benefit of enzymes (no longer adequate from the pancreas) taken in capsule form before meals.

Don’t misunderstand. This well being will change at some point and start to decline. I will probably develop pain as the cancer grows, and be weakened to the point of seeking comfort in my bed with a dose of pain killers. But no one at Hospice has been able to give me a time-line. So I live one day at a time doing what pleases me.

Right now, I am dealing with one of the added features of cancer – constipation! There are many reasons for a person becoming constipated, none of which I will discuss here (thank goodness). What I find fascinating are illustrated stool charts which are found online. I never knew these existed. If I had known, I wouldn’t have had trouble trying to define my stool with one of the 7 shapes on the charts. Here is one example - I.E .sheep shit, cluster of grapes, corn on the cob, sausage or snake, soft blobs, mushy blobs, and liquid. I’m not kidding!

I hope I didn’t gross anyone out with that information. It was meant as an introduction to my next series of observations about the progression of physical and mental events when dying.  No one talks about this very much. I want to try. Let me know if you don’t want to receive this new series. I’ll understand.

 

 

It was not a complete surprise

It was not a complete surprise – finding pancreatic cancer cells in the lymph nodes, removed during my Whipple procedure, August 14, 2025.  But because they had not shown up on the CT scan done prior to surgery, I gambled the elusive little boogers would not be there.

But the pathology report proved they were, in fact, present, and had migrated away from the tumor on my pancreas.  And in all probability, there were others floating around in my body, just waiting to find a warm cozy place to take up residency, like my liver.

I found myself back where I started – trying to make a decision about which of 2 options I would choose – chemo or do nothing.

For the first one, it took no longer than the time it took me to catch my breath and blurt out – NO CHEMO !! I was told my cancer would forever be recurring somewhere.  So, by signing up for chemo therapy, I would forever be chased, hounded, battered, and weakened by that chemo dragon trying to conquer the cancer.  Why would I choose that options!!!???

I chose HOSPICE. Today, I signed up with Red Willow Hospice in Taos, NM.

Hospice offers a more natural way to pass from this world – relatively pain free. I can stay at home.  I’m ready to go. And when they can no longer manage a pain free existence? BINGO! I still hold that magic ticket which provides me with a one-way passage to paradise (or wherever one goes when they die) - MAID. (Medical Aid in Dying)

Please know this decision was not made lightly. It has been thoroughly discussed with friends and professionals, leading to an easy decision.

We live, we die. That’s just how it is.

 

SLOW AS RUST…..

That’s how this setback arrived…a slow, low-grade fever and night sweats!  And then I saw it!  It finally dawned on me – this is NOT going in the direction I should be going!

I won’t bore you with all the details of combating an infection, many of which are responsible for putting me back on that road to recovery, but I simply must tell you about my first ride in a medical helicopter!

The pilot, co-pilot, and medical tech person (all men) assured me all would go well during my 40 minute ride from HCH ER in Taos to the ER at Sandoval Regional Medical Center north of ABQ. They strapped me into a cocoon-like gurney next to the pilot. I was offered the option to be put in an upright position so I could enjoy the view! The view? No thanks. Just get me to a source of pain relief – fast.

The copter had a clear plastic dome – great for enjoying the view. However, this ride happened on a bright sunny day, and the sun shining on my face was intense. There was nothing to shade my eyes. Like a cat, I raised one of my ‘paws’ to cover them from the intense light. I saw red.

Had I been an egg, I would have been thoroughly scrambled from the vibration of the helicopter, and thoroughly cooked from the heat of the sun. I felt nauseous.  But I hadn’t eaten for two days, and had little to drink in the last 24 hours, so there was nothing to puke up but little puffs of putrid breath.

Life, in and out of ERs (I’ve now managed about 6 trips), is always about “hurry up and wait”.  But your turn finally comes about, and you become the center of attention.  What a relief!

So now, as Willy Nelson has said, “ I’m back on the road again” – to recovery. Thanks to you all for your well wishes.  I send you my love. I’ll be fine.

I've been WHIPPLIZED!

The Whipple Procedure is an abdominal surgery of extraordinary delicacy and complexity. (https://www.mayoclinic.org/tests-procedures/whipple-procedure/about/pac-20385054) The mechanics of surgery were left to my surgeon, very well trained in the procedure, with an artistic way of explanation including excellent drawings he would make to help this visual learner.

The physical recovery from having gone 'under the knife', from breast bone to navel, has been pretty arduous, but gets better in slow, incremental improvements, and is my responsibility. But, really?!!!!! How could I possibly know that news of my first pee and farts would be music to his ears! (It's a digestive issue apparently.)

I'm not doing this on my own. The hospital staff - mostly under 25 years old - have been incredible. They have come to NM from places as far away as Nepal and Trinidad, and from Chicago and Florida. And New Mexico - of course!

All the kind words, well wishes, good vibes, positive chi, and healing light have found their way into my recovering body and heart. Without all of my friends who sent these love notes, I would not have been receptive to the idea of taking on this incredible challenge. Thank you all.

So, for now, rest assured I've taken a rain check on that "ticket" outta here, and will pursue this recovery with all the gusto, grace, and good humor I can muster/manage - for a stone carver of a certain age! We are pretty strong!

Peace & Love to you all.

HOME!!!!!

Jane Ellen Burke drove me home from UNM Hospital in ABQ on Tuesday, August 19^th.  If, for some reason, we had been stopped by the cops, I may have been suspected of being a druggie!  Needle tracks and puncture spots were visible all up and down both arms. And I was definitely under the influence of something! We  made it to Taos at 5:00 pm. I was beyond exhausted. Ah, sleep, in my bed!

I had resisted enlisting Home Help before surgery, not knowing what kind of help would be needed, and as it turned out, none was needed, though I had to invent certain maneuvers to navigate around chores. I borrowed from dance moves: The Hinge -  bending from the hips, and not the waist,( to load the dishwasher and clothes washer), The Log Roll ( for getting in and outta bed), and my favorite – The Plie – a bending of the knees but keeping the upper body straight…great for sitting on the toilet!!  What more does a post surgical person need?  Okay – food.

Getting sufficient protein is the issue. As a vegetarian, I really have to work at it. Some would say, “Thank goodness for Protein Shakes.” Believe me, there is little goodness about those things!  But I have discovered that a double shot of espresso mixed in makes things more pleasant on the palate. A double shot of bourbon would be better!!  (Dream on Surgical Queen!)

What I need NOW is an answer to the casual question I received from a friend: “Are you planning to have your scar tattooed?  WHAT? Scar? Tatooed? I wouldn’t consider a tattoo on my belly under any circumstances. Ouch! But the idea does present some esthetic and creative opportunities: 12 inch scar slightly curving from just below the belly button (head of a snake?) to sternum, 32 small staples, rippled surface. Yes. I can see the potential…..

No driving for 4 weeks, nor lifting anything heavier than 10 pounds. In 2 weeks, I’ll see my surgeon about future plans, and get the stitches out…and perhaps work on a snake design in the interim????

I conferred with Dr. M. Hernandez at UNM Hospital in ABQ this morning at 11am. M. Kennelly agreed to be with me, and to take notes. It was the second time I had met with him – the surgeon who will be performing The Whipple Procedure on my innards, August 14, 2025. I have great confidence in this extraordinary doctor who exhibits empathy and incredible “bedside manners”. He likes art. His favorite sculptor is Carl Milles. He did excellent drawings of what he planned to resection in my aching gut. Can sculpting my innards be less exacting or beautiful than working in clay…in the right hands?

Agreeing to this surgery has been a long, hard mental decision involving consideration of 4 options given to me to deal with the diagnosis of Stage 1 Pancreatic Cancer – well differentiated! The tumor was tiny – discovered by accident when Dr. Roth, a gastroenterologist, did an endoscopic procedure to unblock a bile duct which had initiated my interaction with doctors and labs and machines that whir and go bump in the dark. Having never experience any of this stuff, it was a mystery that was a bit scary yet fascinating.

I nixed chemo/radiation right away. The hardest option to nix was – do nothing, in which case I would go into decline and be able to request assisted death by cocktail, within 3 months to one year. That one held a strong magnetic attraction, as I have been considering ways to leave life, on my own terms, when I chose, for years. This was like my very own “ticket to exit”!!! Very hard to resist!!

But in the end, I chose surgery and a pretty arduous recovery. Why? I really don’t know. Possibly, it was due to the extraordinarily kind, thoughtful, thorough, optimistic, yet open minded comments, encouragement and love from friends and doctors. I took a rain check on that “ticket to exit”.

The Saga Begins

It began Friday, June 6th, when my primary doctor called at 10:30 am, reporting that a recent ultrasound image of my aching gut, and analysis of multiple vials of my blood indicated something was outta whack and needed further investigation.

It was suggested – no – I was told to go IMMEDIATELY to the Emergency Room of Christus St.Vincent Hospital in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I was there for an MRI, additional blood work, and consult with a gastroenterologist.

That eventually happened, and I was told I would be staying the night in the Emergency Room’s room for overnight guests. It wasn’t a proper patient’s room – more like a storage room for unused equipment with a bed and port-a-potty! I was just happy to lie down and shut my eyes. So far, I had not experienced pain, just a pain in the butt!!

The following morning I was moved to a proper room in the main hospital, and scheduled for an ERCP (look it up on Google) at 1:30. Thank goodness for Propofol. I didn’t see, hear, nor feel anything during the procedure.

What I heard when I woke up was the gastroenterologist saying, “TJ, we have a problem. I have provided a temporary fix to a blocked bile duck where the tubes of the gallbladder, liver, and pancreas intersect, but there is a small growth on your pancreas, which caused the blockage, and it is potentially cancerous. We need more tests and a biopsy from that little growth to determine what to do next.”

I was handed my discharge papers from having spent two days and two nights in the hospital, drove myself back home to Taos, and now wait, in an unfamiliar limbo, to hear the results of that biopsy on that one little growth. They said, “We caught it early.”

WHO AM I?

During the past six months, dealing with the medical community, I have been called Terrisa Mabrey. It gives me a ‘start’ when I hear that name called in the waiting room. Until I was 30 years old, I was known to family and friends by that name. Then a change. When I turned 32 years old, I moved to Dallas, Texas, and had business cards printed up that identified me as TJ Mabrey.

There was a definite change in me that came with the name change…a maturation of body and spirit, along with a clear direction to explore in my art.   I became known as TJ. Dallas and I both grew and thrived. For the past 53 years I have been identified as TJ Mabrey, artist/sculptor. I have never questioned that that is who I am.

Today, Feb 12, 2026, as I started on my daily walk – hat pulled down over my ears against the wind (I hate wind), hands shoved into my jacket pockets – moving forward on auto pilot, I suddenly became aware I seemed to be walking on air – unearthed. Gliding down the street, I sensed I was growing small…and smaller, with things around me growing big and bigger!!

Like Alice in Wonderland, I think I must have momentarily stepped thru the looking glass of the cosmos, and, as if by magic, I seemed insignificant in this big world. A passing construction vehicle broke the spell, and I finished my walk as usual.

Sitting at my kitchen table afterward, in a sort of silent meditation, I began to wonder what happened to Terrisa, because I am definitely TJ. Did the atoms (along with some other stuff) that made up the matter that was Terrisa get rearrange to produce TJ? Or, did they get sent to the garbage bin in my brain. Was Terrisa just a figment of my imagination? There are plenty of physicists who believe that.

Later, on the afternoon of the 12^th, my doctor called to report on the tests and scans done on my body the day before. The pancreatic cancer had returned and took up residence in my liver….just as we all suspected it would do.  I’m good with this outcome. I contacted Hospice and arranged a meeting later next week. I still feel pretty good.

I’ve had 6 months of what I call a good life. No pain, very little discomfort, NO CHEMO! And, I’m very close to finishing two new marble sculptures. Now, for a good death…..whatever that turns out to be. I don’t know. Nor do I know when it will come. In the interim, I’ll continue living dyingly ( as Christopher Hitchens expressed it!). I know who I am. I am TJ Mabrey. But….WHAT am I?  That’s a topic for later discussion…

 

 

The Five Rs: Refuse, Reduce, Reuse, Repurpose, Recycle!

What does this slogan of sustainability have to do with the life of a terminal cancer patient who is a sculptor?  Not much. Except for one of those words - REPURPOSE.  I’m referring to the practice of repurposing marble or marble sculptures.

What does marble or marble sculpture have to do with cancer? Nothing. Except when the sculptor has a beautiful piece of unfinished stone sculpture; suddenly gifted a burst of energy during that strange stage of cancer referred to as “limbo”, when no signs of cancer are felt, and life is good.

To repurpose the unfinished sculpture in question, the 10 foot long piece of beautiful Lasa Italian white marble was cut into manageable pieces. This almost seemed an act of ‘vandalism’!  - an act resisted for more than 20 years in which time that large, unmanageable piece had been schlepped around, from studio to studio, in the belief that the original design would justifiably be finish one day. But, it didn’t happen.

After a terminal cancer diagnosis, some things, ideas, and even people must be let go. That can be a hard decision to come by. But to REFUSE old ideas can be liberating. To REDUCE a big thing to a smaller, manageable item, can lead to renewed creativity. To REUSE a creative moment in time, long past, is a bit like a life in RECYCLE mode. But it is, nonetheless, a life.

The two pieces of marble, repurposed from that larger stone, have resulted in two new sculptures. Each is a truncated female torso: TORSO I and TORSO II.  Somehow, those two partial figures, presented with slashes and distortions on their surfaces, remain beautiful .

In a roundabout way, they exist because of those Five Rs mentioned earlier, which can be the means of sustaining all life.

Later, TJ