MSI Press Blog

  Times were tense. I was caregiving for my husband, dying from cancer and on chemotherapy that required multiple trips a week to a distant hospital, my spina bifida daughter in a city a half-hour away who had lost her caregiver during the days of covid, and a CHARGE Syndrome adult son living at home -- and trying to run a business at the same time. The son tried to help out as best he could with his own care, but he did not always have the skills to do so. To wit, the scene above that ensued when he tried to help out by making his own breakfast -- one that at least brought a moment of levity into a too-tense life. Speaking from personal experience, the spouse (in this case wife, but it really does not much which spouse is pressed into the role) who ends up as the caregiver for a cancer patient is in a no-win situation, emotionally and physically. The role of spouse is to support the spouse and to navigate through life together, IMHO. That complicates the matter of caregiving. The two

  Colorectal cancer has a life expectancy of 4-6 months if discovered in stage 4. If discovered in stage 1-2, life expectancy is 5 years. (Note: Carl's Cancer Compendium provides longevity statistics for a wide range of cancers.) So many people die from colon cancer and colorectal cancer after brief periods of chemotherapy, if that, a imperative exists for watching for early signs of cancer is not heeded (or in some cases, they are simply missed or misinterpreted). I speak from personal experience because although Carl died from cancer of unknown primary ( CUP ), his oncologist was convinced that the original cancer was gastro-intestinal in nature although the colon was clear of the cancer by the time the cancer had reached stage 4 (which can happen in cases of CUP). So, assuming the oncologist was right about the original cancer, did Carl actually survive the 5 years without knowing it? Discovery at late stage does not mean the cancer arrived late stage -- it may have taken mon

It is Tuesday. Time to tall turkey. Monday's madness is over, and Wednesday will take us over the hump, so Tuesday it is for some serious discussion with authors. Tuesday talks mean to address authors in waiting and self-published authors who would like to go a more traditional route or who would at least like to take their steps with a publisher by their side. Today's topic  is the anatomy of a successful book. We are talking here about books by small presses, micro presses, and self-published authors. Large presses have a different sales volume and a different approach to marketing and sales not typically available to those without their big pockets. The image of a successful book is a high volume of sales from the get-go (and maybe even from pre-orders) that either steadily builds or starts big and stays there on a flat trajectory. Conversely, if a book starts slowly, stumbles, and has a long spell of poor sales, one often assumes that the book is and always will be a poor s

  We only get to die once (well, usually, NDEs aside). How we die can be just as important as how we live. I wish that thought had been top of the mind when Carl was dying; we might have done things differently. It is not, though, that we did not have examples. We did, actually. Dottie, a dear friend from Massachusetts, had been my secretary when I was in the Army and then opened her house to me and my infant son when, during my later reserve days, the barracks would not allow him in because of his severe breathing issues from which he was in danger of dying nearly every day. (He survived, grew up, and, still with some breathing issues, is living a robust life.) Through all the intervening years, even after I moved to California, Dottie stayed in touch. Then, she got terminal brain cancer. After some initial surgery (and more planned, which, she feared, she would not survive), she decided that she wanted to spend the time she had left visiting all her family, which had spread out acros

  Retired Chairman of the Join Chiefs of Staff and former Secretary of State, GEN Colin Powell , died today from the complications of Covid-19 and cancer. Both deadly. He was fully vaccinated; however, cancer made him vulnerable, especially the kind of cancer he had, multiple myeloma, a blood cancer that lowers immunity and thereby reduces the effectiveness of vaccines.* This death is particularly painful for my family though the Powell family has no idea of it. You see, with Carl Leaver, my husband, just dying of cancer, any cancer death is painful. However and moreover, years ago, when she was in high school, our daughter was a good friend of Anne-Marie Powell, the general's youngest daughter. All the kids gathered at the Powell house, always. Most of the kids were unaware of the stature of their friend's father because of his humility. He loved kids, and he welcomed them all -- as a father, not as a statesman or military officer. It spoke a lot about him. Likewise, when our

Dear Carl, Tomorrow is Valentine's day, the first one without you. I want you to know that I received the note above a couple of days after you died. I do not know why it took over a week to reach me; perhaps I was distracted with your dying and spending every minute I could with you even though you were barely aware (seemingly) of what was going on around you. I am told that with the brain fog from hypercalcemia and chemotherapy, it would have taken much effort for you to be able to get online and write this note. I am so glad that you did. That note is the centerpiece on our bureau now. Thank you, too, for the poppies. I know you loved California poppies; that is why I asked you to send me poppy flowers after you died so that I would know that you are okay. Well, even though all the flower books say that poppy season ended six months ago, you have done a good job of keeping at least a couple of the poppy plants blooming. The one at the bottom of the hill had three blossoms yester

  May is Skin Cancer Awareness Month. That gains attention close to home. I just had stitches removed from skin cancer surgery (last week).  According to my surgeon, skin cancer can take the form of melanoma , basal cell carcinoma , or squamous cell carcinoma . Of the three, melanoma is more dangerous because it spreads easily and quickly. Squamous cell carcinoma and basal cell carcinoma can usually be excised.  Both my late husband and I have experienced squamous cell carcinoma. For him, it appeared like a little horn on his forehead. It was easily excised and left no scar. Mine was more insidious. An "age spot" appeared out of nowhere, then grew, then changed shape, then because pussy, bled, and itched. The Skin Institute did not believe it was cancerous, but I insisted on an early biopsy -- and I was right. When something appears to be very wrong, it usually is very wrong, and the patient is still his or her own best advocate. We were fortunate. With squamous cell carcinom

(photo from Wikipedia)   When traditional treatments are not working, cancer patients may want to participate in clinical trials. We did not have the time to arrange for something like that -- Carl was diagnosed very late and endured a very short time. When the cancer became quite out of hand after just three rounds of chemotherapy, the oncologist offered to "look for" a clinical trial, if we wanted one. Of course, that did not work out because Carl died just three weeks later.  However, the suggestion got us thinking. What would be involved in being in a clinical trial and in finding one? What would be the pros and cons? With subsequent research, which we would not have had time to do on our own, given the speed of Carl's demise, I learned some interesting things. On the positive side, clinical trials may provide access to treatments and drugs not yet in (wide) use and will almost certainly provide personalized attention. On the negative side, there is no guarantee that

  This is a series of Caturday posts on the topic of taking in  feral cats .  General information (from previous posts): For a few decades, we have rescued feral cats. In fact, with only one exception, our "domestic" cats have been ferals that we brought inside to join other ferals, already domesticated, as part of a bonded cat family. Right now, we have five cats (alas,  Murjan , the single non-feral cat we had, died from cancer last fall, and  Intrepid , closely bonded to Murjan, died three years ago from the same kind of cancer, and, most recently, Snyezhka , who had been valiantly fighting three kinds of cancer, died from a saddle thrombus, probably related to her chemotherapy but, of course, no one is going to suggest that and it really does not matter since knowing exactly what caused the reason for her death won't bring her back). All five of our feral cats get along pretty fabulously -- and they also got along well with the three predecessors. Of course, all of th

  I have written a bit about the process of pets dying before, along with the ways in which vets can be (or not) helpful. In that post, I shared a book by Barbara Karnes on understanding the pet-dying process, which I had found very helpful and which would have provided me with a fair amount of relief and guidance had I known about while Murjan was still alive. It explained much about his dying process and death that was comforting in retrospect. You can read that post HERE . In this post, I want to share the emotional aspects not only of the dying itself but also of the role of the support community (which should be supportive but in our case was not so, at least not to the extent that we needed and that could have been). As a result, my experience with Murjan's dying days were traumatic--more traumatic than they should have been because of lack of support from the veterinary hospital that should have been my source of support.  As I explained in the earlier post, Murjan had been