Don't Forget the Flippin' E: The Story of Tracey Tressler De Libro

Prologue

Tracey had wanted to make video footage of herself for her unborn baby, but she was never well enough or strong enough to accomplish it. Before Bella was born she did write the most heart-filled letter to her.

This is it:

To my sweet, sweet daughter –

I am going to fill these pages with my words to you, and still I won’t come close to capturing how much I already love you. We haven’t even met, and you are my world. My deepest hope is that I am somewhere in the world as you are reading this, or re-reading it. I am somewhere close, and you will call me after you finish, and we will talk and laugh and cry together. But my precious little girl, and this is a difficult start to a terrible sentence. If I am no longer where you can reach me, look into your heart and know I am there, and I have never left. I was there the moment that heart formed and started beating but even before that moment, I was there and loved you. And if you need to, I want you to read and re-read this entry every day of your life so that there is never a doubt in your mind or in your heart that I love you. I love you, and my one and only choice in this world is to stay with you. If I am not there, it is NOT because I don’t want to be. All I want is to be your mother, and only forces beyond my control can stop me…but before they do, and I am NOT conceding they will be successful, I will fight with everything I have. I am fighting now—to keep you healthy, to keep me healthy, to meet you, to hold you, to teach you, to talk to you, to listen to you, to watch you grow and become, to love you. As I sit here, I have been crying but don’t let that make you sad. It’s the kind of cry that happens when you want something so badly that all you can do is let it out and hope that the Universe will fight, in its infinite power, to see that you get it. I’m not sure why I wrote this entry, probably the hardest one, first. Perhaps because the emotion is so strong, and I had to talk to you now. Perhaps its because this will be the most important entry I write to you. Perhaps in case you turn no further in this book. I hope you will at least read these first few pages and believe it…no matter what else you will believe. Perhaps because anything else I say will be trivial to these words… I love you. I will love you forever no matter where I am and where you are. And all I want for you is to spend every day of your life feeling loved and cherished and wanted. I want you to be happy and fulfilled. You are my most precious dream. You are my hope. You are my miracle.

Chapter One

Wheel…of…fortune! This slot machine theme music was the hook that lured my daughter, Tracey, and me, to our favorite past time…playing the slots in Las Vegas. We didn’t just play them…we were aficionados. We both had that special intuition that tells you when to move on or when to hang in. Casinos were an exciting place to spend time together. We reveled in the luxurious ambience, the dim lights, soft carpets, and all the great sounds…the tinkling of quarters into the trays, the clunk-clunk of the dollars, the sounds of all the machines, the screams of joy when people won, and the foul language when they didn’t. (Years ago the casinos used real change in the slot machines and real change was dispensed as winnings. Now most machines spit out paper receipts.)

I’m not claiming we left as winners, but that was not our primary goal. We really just wanted to sit together and play for as long as possible on the smallest investment. In the 1990s, we could play for two to three hours on only one roll of quarters each. Later, the payouts got tougher, so it was more of a challenge…but we were up to it.

Tracey had her strategies. She would slowly feed the machine one quarter at a time, until it kicked back a win. Then she’d play the maximum amount of quarters. Sometimes she pushed the buttons, and then alternated by pulling the handle, to shake up the machine. One of us would eventually say, This machine is cold. Let’s go somewhere else.

Then the two of us would walk around the casino, searching for a machine we liked or that called to us. Hearing the famous, Wheel of fortune, we headed to those machines. We’d sit next to each other, mindlessly play, talk, and laugh—just enjoy being together in such a cool place. We’d have the waitress bring us cokes. We got excited no matter who got the famous SPIN (where you can get a fast win up to one-hundred dollars), or even who won big. Of all the fun times we shared— holidays, traveling, shopping, and touring—I feel the gambling times were there at the top.

One Halloween weekend, I flew to our house in Henderson, Nevada, to meet Tracey, who drove in from Los Angeles. We wanted to see Fremont Street, a pedestrian area in the old downtown, where there are light shows at night. She and I walked around for a while, then we headed in to The Golden Nugget casino. The casino payouts were good, and we lasted for a couple of hours playing the same machines and winning. We eventually quit because we wanted to eat before we had to catch a show on The Strip.

Tracey looked so happy when we were playing slots. She was relaxed and talked a lot about everything and nothing. I know she loved being with me, but I think what we were doing together became a special thing between the two of us. We always played quarter slots or dollar slots. The abundance of smokers in the nickel and penny slots kept us away.

Pat and I had bought a house in Las Vegas, thinking we might spend our retirement there. Our kids and their spouses each had chances to spend some time there and enjoy the shows and casinos on the Strip. Often, just Pat and I spent a long weekend at the house, and since Tracey was on the west coast, and we didn’t see her as often as the other kids, she was always invited to join us. We went there once or twice a year.

Pat took trips to Las Vegas alone on occasion. He loved the buffets, the Sports Book in the casinos, and the change in environment. After awhile, I got tired of going, but took my nieces once, and went with friends a few times. Tracey was with me on all those visits. The first time I went with my closest girlfriends (the Trophy Girls), I hadn’t invited Trace, but she ended up popping in on us.

First, let me explain who the Trophy Girls are. We all worked together in the 1970s in the radiology department of Greater Baltimore Medical Center (GBMC). I was a film librarian, and later a radiology nurse, before becoming an oncology nurse. Rita Heinlein-Ewell, Pam Murphy, Anne Hiss Carter, Barbara Glisson, Joyce Marth, Ilene Magaziner, and Cheryl Schafer, were technologists working in the department during that time, and leaders in the School of Radiologic Technology. It was a close-knit department and we enjoyed going out to dinners, going to the same parties and, following each other’s personal lives. Most of them kept in touch through the years, but I had moved out of town. When Pat and I retired and moved back to Maryland, we girls lunched together on a regular basis.

In 2002, Pat threw a big sixtieth birthday party for Jane Denbow (his ex-wife) and me. Our birthdays are two months apart and we were born the same year. Jane likes to say she is the younger one, but I remind her I was born three months prematurely. The party was a catered affair and we shared the guest list.

My children, Ed and Tracey, had made a video about me before the party. Ed had flown to California, where they wrote and filmed a discussion of what it was like to live with me. It was funny and wonderful. Mostly, they focused on my excessive use of canned goods for dinner. They were right. With a full-time job, nursing school, and two children, easy was the way to go. However, I have to say in my defense that, I had made a variety of good dinners over the years. They got it right though, and I was so proud of them, and I felt loved and appreciated.

The T.G. (trophy girls) became a close-knit group who had birthday lunches, special events, and celebrated any reason to get together. A few had lost loved ones, sons or husbands, but we were there for each other. It’s a wonderfully supportive network of friends who are rowdy and fun loving.

My friends from GBMC attended my party with their husbands, and some of our other girlfriends from the hospital. Cheryl presented me with a trophy, inscribed with: I am woman. I am 60. Hear me snore. As each of us turns 60, she takes possession of the trophy. That’s why we call ourselves the Trophy Girls.

In 2003, we trophy girls flew to Vegas. We stayed in my house in Henderson, Nevada, for a few days, rented a van, and drove to the strip where we saw shows, ate at great hotels, and then had a slumber party back at the house. When you are with all women, someone always has coffee made and bagels available. Tracey called to see how I was doing and later told me she said to her work colleagues, I am so happy for my mother. She is having the best time with her friends.

Then she called Pat to see if he thought it was okay for her to surprise me by coming to Vegas. He said he thought it would be a good thing. When she called to tell me she was on her way, I was a little concerned. This was not a mother-daughter weekend. This was a vacation for my pals and me. The girls all agreed that we should spend time with our daughters whenever we have the chance, and that made me feel happier about Tracey coming.

When Tracey arrived, she said she felt like she had six mothers. They catered to her and asked her questions, and listened when she talked. Tracey fit right in and had lots to offer. Everything turned out great. I was very happy my best friends got to spend time with her and see how terrific she was. They had only known her as a young child.

The day we were scheduled to leave, it snowed in Baltimore and our flight was cancelled. BWI airport was closed. We were beside ourselves with joy. Our poor husbands were home dealing with what ended up as nearly three feet of snow, feeding the dogs, and making their own meals. We, on the other hand, were given the gift of three more days in Las Vegas! Boy, were we lucky. We could have flown to our first stop in Phoenix, and gotten stuck there, where we wouldn’t have had a comfy house…or slot machines.

In 2005, we took a second trip to Vegas, and this time Tracey was automatically invited to join us. I had been sick with a low-grade fever and cough, but decided I was getting better and I might as well go on the trip. The flight took everything out of me and when I landed, I was totally dehydrated, extremely fatigued, and irritable. I whined a lot, but my friends were used to that.

My cough kept me, and my bedmate Pam, from sleeping. I went to the bathroom and had to lie on the floor and put my feet up on the sink to keep from fainting. I kept chugging cough medicine but it didn’t help. In the morning I told my friends I needed to go to an emergency room. Cheryl and Pam took me to a walk-in clinic. I almost fainted in the waiting room so they took me in quickly. Oh, that’s right…I answered to the wrong name. I couldn’t sit up straight in the wheelchair, because I got woozy and kept sliding down. The doctors gave me fluids for the dehydration, prednisone, and an antibiotic for the cough. They mentioned an inhaler, but forgot to give me one.

That night, I kept Pam awake again, coughing violently. I had to sleep sitting up in bed. The next morning Pam told the girls I needed respiratory therapy. This time we went to a hospital. They took a chest x-ray, diagnosed me with viral bronchitis and possible pneumonia. My radiology technologist friends insisted on being with me to make sure that the x-ray technique was perfect. The therapist gave me a respiratory treatment and it was wonderful. I could breathe without coughing. The doctors sent me home with an inhaler too. I felt almost like a new person, but was still sick for a week at home. I had packed my big suitcase for the trip and ended up just wearing the same pajamas every day.

That weekend I missed Danny Gans, Elton John, and Thunder From Down Under. Pam stayed home with me, and Tracey went to the shows with the girls and had a great time. They brought me chicken noodle soup from Panera’s Bread. It turned out that I had brought Influenza-A from Baltimore to Las Vegas.

Flight to Las Vegas…$253

Danny Gans, Elton John, and Thunder from Down Under…$250

Being sick with your daughter and BFF…priceless.

(At least I had a valid excuse for whining.)

Chapter Two

In November 2005, Tracey called me from her job in California. I was sitting at my computer, most likely writing and reading emails. Pat was watching TV in the bedroom. She said she had coughed up sputum and tasted blood, and asked me what would make that happen. I thought of infection, or lymphoma (from my career as an oncology nurse), and told her she should see her doctor and get a chest x-ray. The next day she called me again after she had seen her internist.

Tracey said, I felt silly for going to the doctor. She (the doctor) didn’t even take my temperature. She thought I was worried about hemorrhaging. I felt fine and silly, so I didn’t push for an x-ray.

The following week she had a second episode of hemoptysis (coughing up blood), so I suggested she find another doctor. Her friend referred her to Dr. David Grossman, who took her complaint very seriously. He ordered a chest x-ray that revealed a mass in her left upper lung. He told Tracey it could be infection and gave her a prescription for antibiotics. He mentioned it could also be a fungal infection common in hiking areas in southern California. He added that cancer was a possibility too. He made her promise to come back in two weeks for a follow-up visit.

Even with my oncology nursing experience, I didn’t really consider cancer a serious possibility. I was concerned about the fungal infection. Trace said it was not curable, but it could be treated. I googled it (Internet searching) and read all I could. I was relieved she seemed to have a caring and competent doctor. She lived so far away and this was such a surprise for me. Tracey always looked healthy and had been telling me about the hikes she took and how much she loved them. I figured she couldn’t be too sick to hike six miles at a time.

An email from that time from Tracey follows:

11/28/2005

sorry i didn’t talk on the phone. i was in a grumpy mood yesterday. after my antibiotics, i, of course got a yeast infection. had a terrible reaction to the yeast meds and had a hellish night. finally feel normal again today…

i’m supposed to start student teaching in the summer. in order to do that, i MUST pass my CSET exams in Jan and March, and i would soo fail them right now. i need to study like crazy. i’m torn. and i’m freaking out about money and Pat paying my tuition — i feel like that’s too much. and i’m wigging out about little stuff like getting my hair cut. how will i afford that? even though i do it every 3 or 4 months now. and i need my laptop for school. i’m scared i’ll have to spend money to upgrade. and i need to go wireless. don’t even know how to do that. just having a wiggy day here, can you tell? i need to eat chocolate now.

It breaks my heart to hear the stress in her email. And now she was worried about her health and finances too. She always said she thought she was a failure if she had to ask us for help. I reassured her that Pat and I were happy to help her and that money was not a problem. Pat and I had made a decision long ago that we would always try to help our kids, financially or otherwise, when they needed help.

At her follow-up visit, Dr. Grossman said the mass was unchanged in size. He was able to get her a CT scan that same day. The recommendation from the CT scan report was to obtain a lung biopsy. The biopsy was scheduled for December 8, 2005, in Interventional Radiology at Sherman Oaks Hospital. She would have a local anesthetic. I was feeling anxious about the biopsy, so I asked Tracey if I could come out there to be with her for the procedure.

She told me, No. I have friends who offered to go with me. I want you out here if it turns out to be serious.

I thought to myself, Friends aren’t the same. Her mom should be with her for this.

I said, I’m retired, sweetie. And I can afford to come out as many times as you need me or want me there.

Tracey said, No. I’m okay. Don’t come out yet.

On the day of her biopsy, December 8, her cousin Barb was having lumbar spine surgery and I spent the day in the hospital with her and her family. We were in the family waiting room until late in the afternoon and I was starting to worry that I hadn’t heard anything from Tracey. According to my time calculations for the west coast, the procedure should have been done. I called the hospital and asked for the radiology department and spoke to the radiologist who had done her procedure. He was very upbeat and said Tracey was fine. She was required to lie flat on her side to avoid complications like a pneumothorax (collapse of her lung) or bleeding. He said she was now sitting up, eating and drinking, and would be released soon. I felt relieved but I needed to hear her voice.

Tracey finally called my cell phone after I had gotten to Barb’s hospital room. First, she apologized because she had called the pizza delivery people first. I relaxed and laughed, happy that she could joke. She said the procedure had been rougher than she’d anticipated. She said it was painful when they punctured the lining of the lung and even more so when they punctured the lung itself for four biopsies. She could feel herself blacking out. When she came to, they were slapping her face and calling her name to revive her. I was horrified to hear about this.

I knew a lung biopsy was considerably more risky than a breast biopsy, and wished I hadn’t listened to her and had just flown out there anyway. She told me she had just texted her brother, Ed, as he was also very worried and had tried to reach her. She was going to finish her pizza and then relax. She still insisted I stay home. I was glad the procedure was over but kept dwelling on how bad it was for her. As her mother, I wanted to kiss and tend to her. I hated her being alone and I needed to see her.

A week later, Dr. Grossman called Tracey and asked her to come for the biopsy results the following Tuesday, after regular office hours. This was a red flag for me. Pat and I were just relaxing on our bed watching television. She called me in the late evening after her appointment with him and was sobbing so hard she could barely talk on the phone.

She said, I have lung cancer. My hands flew to my heart and I gasped. I repeated what she said to Pat and he started crying. I was absolutely stunned. My chest was so tight. My Tracey has lung cancer? Any cancer would have been hard to believe, but lung cancer? She never smoked, nor did I. She was healthy. She hiked all the time. Lung cancer was a disease for sixty year-olds, not a healthy thirty-five year-old.

She went on to tell me the official diagnosis was a 3.5 cm., adenocarcinoma, in the upper lobe of the left lung. When she got the diagnosis, Tracey cried in Dr. Grossman’s office, and he took her under his wing. He hadn’t expected this diagnosis either. He gave her all his contact numbers and said she could call him any time for questions or support. She said he spent a lot of time talking to her and trying to console her.

On the phone, I said, Sweetie, it will be okay. Can we fly out there tomorrow to be with you?

She said, Yes. Thank goodness. When I hung up I looked at Pat and tried to explain my disbelief. This was my beautiful daughter. She was sweet and generous and loving. She was active and full of life.

When I googled lung cancer in WebMD.com, I read:

" …Lung cancer is the leading cause of cancer death in the U.S. in both men and women. Adenocarcinoma is the most common type of lung cancer accounting for 40% of all lung cancers with its incidence increasing. It is most commonly seen in women and non-smokers. It tends to originate along the outer edges of the lungs in the smaller airways. Adenocarcinoma often spreads to spaces between the lungs and the chest wall, and its typical location makes early detection difficult.

About 250,000 people in the U.S are diagnosed with lung cancer each year, most are between the