Sherry Morris's Blog, page 3

Serial Fiction: Mistake 12

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~*~I noticed a hole and a shovel of dirt heaving up. We inched our way to the edge and made out Mike inside— digging Momma’s grave. The old man was red faced and breathless, sweating profusely.I shouted, “Mike! Get out of there. Stop that. You shouldn’t be doing this at your age, in this heat.”“I loved her with all my heart. And now she’s gone. I can’t wait until I’m with her again, me and Chloe together forever in beautiful Kingdom Come.”He clutched his shoulder and dropped the shovel. “Mike! What is it?”He collapsed.I glanced over my shoulder. My siblings just stood there snarling and impatient, as if they were in line at the grocery store.“Help me! We have to get him out of there!”I slipped down into the hole, about five feet deep and full of watery muck. I rolled Mike onto his back. I checked and he wasn’t breathing, there was no pulse.“He’s suffered a heart attack! His heart has stopped! Call nine-one-one! Help me with the C.P.R.!”I did my best, alternating five chest compressions with pinching his nose and blowing into his mouth. I finally collapsed on top of the man who I recently found out was my real father. I prayed and cried. “Dear God and Jesus in heaven, oh please forgive me for not taking a real C.P.R. class since high school. Please forgive me for giving up. I’m exhausted. And I think he really wanted to not come back. Please take my Daddy’s—my second Daddy’s soul up to heaven with you and Momma and my father Daddy and give them all peace and happiness. And help us through our grief. Amen.”I squinted up at my siblings. Tammy asked, “Is he dead too?”“Yes.”“Eww!” She ran back to the house.Perry swatted down with a portly groan and stuck his arm into the grave. “Come on Oh-Donna. Get outta there before you expire too.” I grabbed his hand. He yanked me up. I pulled one of those muscles under my arm.We trudged down the path and I climbed the stairs to the porch. I plopped down into a rocker. The one Momma had sat in. I couldn’t stop crying.Perry called for the captain to bring the boat around.It would be more than an hour before it arrived, so I proceeded inside the bungalow. Tammy was sprawled on the sofa, watching a make-over show and eating Tootsie Rolls. Perry tried to take the bag from her. She shoved them behind her back. “Get your own. I found these.”He plodded into the kitchen. I meandered back into Momma’s bedroom. I made her bed. There wasn’t a depression in this one, like in the twenty-year-old one at her house in D.C.. Little Mount Vernon. Well, that one wasn’t there anymore. It burned down. I saw the cross hanging over the bed. As I turned to leave, I noticed a thick stack of 8” by 11” white papers on the desk. I rushed over and read the top page. It was from Charlatan Press.
Dear M. A. Taurus,
This is brilliant. It hit close to home because I had a similar. We would like to publish this, if you can make extensive revisions. We will only make an offer once the revisions have been made and accepted, there is no guarantee, you understand. Please see the two attached pages of suggestions. I would be delighted to take another look at this if you would like to revise.
Sincerely, Betty McNeelyAssistant Editor, Charlatan Press
I sighed. I didn’t know what I felt. Jealous that an old man could write what the romance publisher wanted and I couldn’t. Sad that this old man had been writing for eighty years and when he finally gets an editor’s interest, he dies. His stories will never be read. He wrote his whole life for nothing, no one but himself. Is that what I’m doomed for? Me and all my writer friends in cyberspace whom I commiserate with? Poor Mike. He will never be published.
Unless...unless I revise the manuscript for him...
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Serial Fiction: Mistake 11

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~*~“Wake up Oh-Donna.” Tammy demanded as she whapped me with the magazine. I swatted her back. “I wasn’t sleeping.”“Good. Don’t you pull another Twilight Zone thingy on us. We need you to get us to Mom.”Perry said, “Chloe is being autopsied as we speak.” He turned his head and threw his arm over the back of the front seat. Waiting for our or more likely myresponse.I challenged, “So you made sure that Momma’s mortal body was violated, but you wouldn’t let Daddy be autopsied. And you accused her of murdering him. Which she did not, could not do. And then Tammy went and had him turned and burned.”Perry said, “Chloe did so murder Dad—” Tammy interrupted, “Whaddaya mean I had Dad turned and burned?”“That’s what the lady at the mortuary told me. He wanted a military Christian burial, but you told her to cremate him ASAP.”“It was cheaper that way.” She twisted her face toward her window as her voice cracked.“You never even gave her contact information where to send the ashes.”I noticed something odd in Perry’s expression. I hated when he got that look. Something sinister was going on in his head. I shivered.The driver stopped at a public park on Duck Key. He opened the doors for us. The boat captain stuck his head in the front door. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a wheelchair. Jimmy will carry the lady to the dock.”Oh just great. I had to keep up this stupid charade. Wait until I had a private word with Perry. Of all things to have to lie about. I’ll probably rot in purgatory for pretending to be disabled. Norma Jean licked my face. I closed my eyes and sucked in my lips so she couldn’t lick them. Okay. This is for you honey. I’ll keep it up, so long as you are by my side. I won’t let anyone treat you bad. Never again. Your first life must’ve been a lonesome miserable existence.Well, Jimmy turned out to be about six foot four, two hundred pounds of muscles and sun streaked hair. Just the right amount of five o’clock shadow. And he sported a playful smile. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he effortlessly carried me to the small speed boat. He handed me off to Perry, all ready onboard. “Ouch!” I said as Perry plopped me down on the rear padded bench seat. Norma Jean leapt on and proceeded to sniff the motor housing and everyone’s feet.I grabbed on to the beige seat as the boat lurched forward. It was so hot. I knew we’d be burnt red before we arrived at the shore. Me and Perry anyhow. Tammy was lucky to have so much mocha melanin in her flawless skin. We sailed southeastward, past scatterings of little islands, some lush and thickly wooded, with mangrove and palm trees. Others were inhabited. The captain pointed and said, “There’s Virginia Key and there is Key Biscayne.” as he propelled us between them. Penetrating the Atlantic Ocean, the water became deeper teal. More small islands dotted the mauve shrouded horizon. Within an hour, we arrived at a dilapidated dock. My hair was a dried windblown nest. The captain tied the boat off on a piling. Perry climbed off first, displaying his big fat butt in blue poplin shorts, bright white legs, covered in thick black fur. I worried I was gonna be sick over the side, but I kept it in as Tammy stuck her little firm behind out cat-like as she turned her head and smiled demurely at the captain and Jimmy. They of course weren’t missing one iota of her perfectly toned cocoa skinned cheeks peeking out of her hot pants and her barely there halter top. She didn’t need to wear a bra, since her high dollar boobs stayed up high and mighty all on their own, even when she laid down, not an uncommon position for my sister the slut.Yeah, I know that’s not nice. She couldn’t help it that her genes and Daddy’s money for cosmetic surgeons made her so susceptible to the men. And she sure has had her share. Six ex-husbands and she’s only forty-one.Jimmy lifted me into Perry’s arms. Perry farted as he leaned down to collect me. As soon as the boat sprayed its wake on us, Perry dropped me.“Hey!”“You’re heavy Oh-Donna. I’ve got a cramp in my pinky.”I reclined on the splintery dilapidated dock until the boat was out site. Norma Jean was sniffing her way down the narrow white sandy shoreline, barking as she chased a brown pelican.Perry said, “Let’s get this over with. Meet and greet this asshole Mike, offer condolences, find out where and when the service will be held, then get back to the hotel. While we were in the security office, I saw on the hotel information channel they serve hot hors d'oeuvresevery night, free in the lounge at happy hour.”I asked, “Don’t you even feel in the least bit grieved that your step-mother died? The woman who lovingly raised you as her own from your teen years on? The one who had to go back to school to train for a second career, after she’d retired from the secret service, so she could put you through law school?“Nope.”Tammy said, “Eww! Is that their house? It’s a little crap shack. They’d better have plumbing in there.”I squinted at the turquoise bungalow with a fretwork laced porch. “Yes there is plumbing. And electricity and even satellite T.V. It’s not Gilligan’s Island. It’s called ‘Make Believe Island...’” I cooed, remembering my dream of being on the other side of this island with my dream weaver, Ashley.We climbed the three wooden steps onto the porch. Perry banged on the orange door. Norma Jean leapt onto the porch and circled three times in front of a rocking chair. She plopped down and groaned.Perry said, “The asshole’s not here. Let’s go. Frickin’ wild goose chase. Again.”I shoved my brother aside and tried the knob. It turned. I opened the door and said, “Mike? Mike its Donna. We’re here.”He didn’t respond so I stepped inside. I roamed through the tiny twenty-five foot by twenty-five foot shotgun style carpenter’s house. The whitewashed bead board walls were adorned with botanical prints and candle sconces. A curtainless window overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. Wide, pine plank floors were immaculate. Seating for four was provided by an oxblood leather sofa with gold nail heads and a matching round tub chair. My gaze drifted around the perimeter, to a globe on a wooden stand, a green two-level end table, a square coffee table and a short bookcase, filled with colorful leather bound books. There was a small bedroom situated in the front of the house. The kitchen was caddy cornered to the living room. Between the front bedroom and the kitchen, there was an access door to the cistern. The rear bedroom was a little larger than the one in the front of the house. Mike wasn’t home.I walked back onto the porch. “He’s not here.”Tammy asked, “How much do ya think this place would go for? I mean rent out a private island to tourists?”Perry said, “You wanna buy this rocky jungle? It’s probably full of snakes and water rats and sharks and crocodiles.”“Alligators,” I said. “Florida has alligators. You need to go to the Nile or Australia for crocodiles.”“Or Peter Pan.” Tammy said and started singing the never-smile-at-a-crocodile song like Captain Hook.I giggled. Big smarty pants Judge Perry Payne didn’t know the difference between crocs and gators.Perry flipped his little black cellular phone open and fumbled in his pocket.“Who’re you calling?” Tammy asked.“The captain to bring the boat back, before we all get sunburned.”“I’ve never sunburned a day in my life.”“Because you’re a black girl Tammy.” Perry rolled his eyes.She smiled smugly.I thrust my hand up and asked, “Wait, do you hear that?”“Hear what?” Perry asked irritatedly. “Oh Donna, what the hell are we listening for?”I started down the steps. Norma Jean ran past me, nearly knocking me down. My legs were still a little wobbly, but I was feeling much better. I kicked my shoes off and tiptoed through the hot sand. I followed my Great Dane into the woods. Perry demanded, “Where do you think you’re going Oh-Donna? You wanna get eaten by a croc? There are snakes dangling from those trees.”Tammy screamed.I gasped and glanced around. I didn’t see any snakes. I picked up on a rhythmic noise and couldn’t resist following. Maybe it was my dream weaver, on the other side of the island. Maybe Ashley was working with a percussion instrument on a new song. Butterflies fluttered in my tummy and around the wild white hibiscus. Marsh mallows.Perry and Tammy followed, complaining the whole way.We reached the clearing where I recollected finding momma at the graves of her long ago stillborn babies. I pondered our last conversation. Momma had been arranging small sunflowers on two graves."Hello Momma.""What are you doing here?""I came to see you—get you.""Why?""To take you home.""This is my home.""Momma why didn't you tell me about Mike?""None of your business.""My momma living a double life is none of my business?” I huffed in exasperation."Don't you judge me, young lady. Don't you judge another until you walk a mile in her moccasins. Your great grandmother was a Cherokee, you know.""No I don't. How could I? You never told me."I read the headstones. Baby Girl Lambert May 5, 1945 - May 5, 1945Born too soon. The other was etched Baby Boy Lambert May 5, 1945 - May 5, 1945 Born too soon"Oh my God Momma. I'm so sorry. Stillborn twins. How did you ever go on?""The little girl in my soul died with them.""Why don't they say Taurus?""We weren't married yet.""Oh.” Wow, that must've been rough."They weren't his blood anyhow. But he wanted to raise them as his own."What kinda floozy was my mother? Oh my gosh. "Who are you? You acted like this prim and proper lady all my life, looking down on any boy I brought home. How dare you to have judged me so sternly.” Oh no. Boy did I regret saying that. "No— What I meant was— ."Momma grabbed onto her baby girl's headstone and rose to her bunioned feet. She shook her finger at me. "Don't you dare judge me. You have no idea what I've been through. I am not a loose woman. I was raped in the line of duty.” She crossed her arms and veered toward the sea.My hands flew over my mouth. Tear drops spilled. I tried to reach out to her. She trudged away.I followed. "I'm so sorry Momma. Of course. I should of known. Please forgive me, Momma?"She flinched when I wrapped my arm around her and walked beside her down the path, back to the beach. Of course my curiosity wouldn't let me let it go."Momma, do you know—did they catch the guy that did that to you?""Mike took care of Hundred Dollar Bill.” "Hundred dollar—?”"Blandings. Bill Blandings. He's dead. My babies are dead. Okay? Drop it Oh-Donna." I did. We shuffled speechlessly toward the sea. I supported her arm. Or rather, Momma grabbed onto me, for steadiness. She'd developed a palsy since I had last visited her on Christmas Eve. Her head shook. Poor Momma.So Bill Blandings, the pirate in my dream, Vera's ex-husband raped Momma. And her husband, Mike killed him. Hundred Dollar Bill? That must tie into the counterfeit money. It must be his. We began walking toward the bungalow. "Momma, why don't you sit in one of the rockers on the porch and I'll go in and make you a drink?""That would be nice."I left her on the porch and dashed into the kitchen. I spun around. No refrigerator. I spotted a cooler in the corner. I opened it and removed a bottle of water. The ice had all melted around it, but it felt slightly chilled. I twisted the top off as I returned to the porch and offered it to Momma."Thank you.""Momma, I want you to come and live with me."She guzzled a long pull. Water dribbled down her chin. She wiped it with the back of her gnarled hand. "No you don't.""Yes, I do. Come on and live with me. It'll be fun. We can play rummy and watch Jeopardy and you can make big pots of your famous vegetable soup.""No Oh-Donna.""Why not?""Because my place is here. With Mike. We don't have that much time left in this world. I should never have wasted my mortality. I didn't do anything to change the course of the world. I could've made him happy though.""Wow. My life would've been so different. If you hadn't divorced Mike, I would've grown up in Florida. On this island? Sweet. And Perry wouldn't have been my half-brother and you never would have adopted Tammy. I would have been a spoiled only child. Oh wait. No— I wouldn't be me.""Sure you would.""No, 'cause I'm only half your girl. I'm half Daddy's girl.""If only it were that simple."I looked at her, confused. Wait a minute. Momma spent the first week of every August with Mike Taurus. I was born in May. I counted on my fingers. August to September is one, October, November, December, January, February, March, April, May—? "Momma, Nathan Payne wasn't my father was he?""Of course he's your father. He adored you."Yeah right.“But you were conceived in love. Mike doesn't know. I couldn't tell him.""Mike doesn't know what?""That he created you.""But you just said—” "Nathan loved you as his own. He gave you a good life. You should be proud to have had such a brilliant man to call your father.""But...he wasn't.""As genes go, no.” She gulped another long pull of water and wiped her chin."My marriage to Nathan is what we called a marriage of convenience. It was nineteen sixty-three. I was pregnant and unmarried. I would have lost my job. He offered, I accepted."Wow. Daddy was that big of a man to marry a woman pregnant by another man and raise her child. Oh Daddy... I felt a tear start. "How come you didn't like him?"Momma rolled her teary eyes. "Because Nathan was a constant reminder of what I could have done, should have done. Every day I longed for Mike. But I was too deep into the mission. Into our blended family. I couldn't walk away from his children. They needed a mother. I never actually hated Nathan, not until I found out…he used me as a guinea pig."I waited. She didn't continue. I pressed her. "How did you meet anyhow?""Originally? He delivered my twins. Years later, I ended up in the ER with bilateral ovarian cysts, gangrene had set in on one side. He was the gynecologist on duty that night. He saved my life.""So how does that make you a guinea pig?""He didn't tell me that while he was in there, he transplanted another woman's ovary into me.""Momma! In the freezer—down in the basement—I found a Tupperware container with an ovary in it!” "He was a weird one.""Well, how'd you find out about the transplant? Your body must've rejected it immediately. Oh that must've hurt?""No, the old genius was extremely brilliant and lucky. I didn't reject it. Don't ask me how. My blood type must've matched the donor's perfectly. We must’ve been distantly related or something.""This is like science fiction Momma. Transplants in the sixties?""He'd been practicing on Rhesus monkeys. Your daddy really was a genius you know. It's too bad he went blind. Nathan Payne, now he would have changed the world for the better. Had he the chance.""But Momma you hate—hated him.""Fine line between love and hate daughter. Fine line.""How'd you find out?""Last month, after my hysterectomy. The surgeon told me. You know, I told you about my uterus prolapsing? It was hanging down nearly outside of my vagina. I couldn't get used to the pessary they gave me to keep it shoved up. It hurt. I wanted the darn womb yanked out. So he talked it over with me and we agreed to go ahead and take it all out, the ovaries and tubes too. He did leave the cervix though, since I'm still active.""Is that why you got mad at Daddy? He called and told me you were trying to kill him.""Kill him? No. But I was mad as Hell."We watched Mike tying the boat off. We hurried down to meet him. "Momma, come with me. Come and move in with me. You and Mike."Mike asked, "What's this?"Momma said, "No, child. Thank you, but we're where we need to be. You go. Live your life. Be happy. And don't let your career stand in the way of your destiny of love.""Career? What career? I have no education, because there was no money for my college because Tammy and Perry needed it.” I stopped. I sensed an epiphany coming on. "Momma. You did that on purpose, didn't you? You didn't want me to have an education and a career, didn't want me to make the same mistakes you made...""You'd better get back to Miami dear. We generally have a right bad thunderstorm every afternoon. Thanks for coming to see me. I love you, Oh-Donna. Always. I've lived my life for you."We embraced and wept. Mike started up the boat. I stepped in. "Oh, Momma. I forgot. The Miami cops are lookin' for you. Umm...arson and counterfeiting."Mike laughed. So did Momma. I hollered over the engine, "What?"Mike shouted, "Change the charges to murder and counterfeiting and it's déjà vu from when we first came to Make Believe Island in nineteen forty-five."Momma said, "Go on, little doll. Don't worry about me. I'm where I need to be, with the man I love. Now you go to your man. And forget about your job. No job is worth a man."I had waved to Momma and blew kisses as we sailed into the wind. That was to be the last visit I ever had with my mother.
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Serial Fiction: Mistake 10

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~*~Mike didn’t answer his phone. After an hour, and two sets of complimentary soft drinks, three bowls of a trendy salty snack mix and a silver bowl of cool water for Norma Jean, Mr. Rollins packed us into one of the hotel’s black Lincoln Town Cars, gave the chauffeur verbal instructions and handed Perry written directions to give to a charter boat captain. I was so darned sleepy. You’d think that I’d be alert and bug eyed after my Rip Van Winkle act. I had not slept well last night. I cried for my momma. Little girl Oh-Donna did. And I’m still raw over the loss of Daddy. What’s it been now, two weeks? Ten days? Little Orphan Annie. The tune played in my head, “Tomorrow”, as I leaned my head against the door window in the backseat of the Town Car. Tammy was seated with me, her mind engrossed in Cosmopolitan magazine. My puppy sprawled on the floor, with her big drooly face in my lap. She was snoring. I petted her gently.Yeah Annie girl, I hear ya. You think tomorrow will be a better day. I sure hope it is. Can’t be much worse than today. I tried so hard to drift off to sleep. Momma says...said... I just can’t get used to her being gone. Momma told me that we grow and heal in our sleep. So I really should try to get some sleep on the ride down to the Keys. To make my head thingy better. But I really yearned for some music to pull me into one of my special dreams. I missed Ashley so much. My debonair dream weaver. If only they were real. If he were real. I had enjoyed a fantastic dream during my coma. Ashley had turned out to be my roommate. I do have a roommate, but I’ve never met him. Her. I assumed it was a female. Ashley Jones answered my house sharing ad via e-mail. She/he is a song writer wannabe that drives a cross country bus for one of the grandpa pop groups from the seventies. She’s/he’s on the road so much that our paths haven’t crossed yet. I assumed she was a girl, but then my dream weaver came out of the basement and he took me on the bus. We arrived at Make Believe Island. He was gonna write songs, I was gonna write novels and we would make beautiful music and babies together. In a cute little orange bungalow on the other side of Make Believe Island, where Momma moved to with her secret agent lover Mike. She told me Mike was my real father. Not Daddy, Dr. Nathan Payne, the sociopath who raised me. Perry’s father. Like father, like son, like adopted daughter Tammy.
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Serial Fiction: Mistake 9

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Chapter Three
How Can You Mend A Broken Heart?
Norma Jean and I eased into the back of the rented purple Chrysler Sebring convertible. I strapped her in, more or less. Her pointy ears twitched at the sounds of Fort Lauderdale. Black lips flapped in the wind on I-95, the road that stretched from northernmost Maine to southernmost Florida.Perry snarled, “Why the frick couldn’t we have just flown into Key West? What a miserable frickin’ ride this is going to be.” A tennis ball couldn’t fit between our car and the dump truck in front of us. I tried not to dwell on his aggressive driving techniques.Seated next to him, tying a trendy chiffon scarf around her perfect hair, Tammy snapped, “It’s all Oh-Donna’s fault. She just had to bring the dog. That was the closest I could get us. No airline flying into Little Cuba or the Maragaritaville place had any animal tickets left.”I said, “Key West is way too far south. We need to meet up with Mike in Miami Beach, at the hotel he works at.”Tammy said, “Why didn’t you just get directions to his place or the funeral home or where ever Mom is?”“Eww!” I picked a bug out of my teeth. I flung it at the back of Perry’s noggin. “Because Mike and Momma live on a little island. There isn’t any bridge. We’ll have to take a boat.”Perry said, “So we’ll go charter a boat. What marina do we need to leave from?”“I’m not sure. Like I said, we’ll call Mike from the hotel.”Oh no. I can’t take Norma Jean into the Fontainebleau. Even if they do allow small pets, she’s no lap dog. Shoot. “We have a problem.”Perry barked, “Now what?”“Norma Jean. I can’t take her into the hotel.”“Sure you can. She’s a companion dog. You have a disability. By law, no one is allowed to ask your disability.”“But I don’t have one of those little doggie vests to identify her as such.”“Don’t worry about it.”I hugged Norma Jean’s left leg. It trembled. Why couldn’t she have come back as a Labrador Retriever or a German Shepherd? That would be convincing. But a Great Dane? Tammy said, “Nobody will ever believe that big clumsy dog is for a blind person. Oh-Donna, here, put my sunglasses on.”“No. I’m not blind. There are other types of disabilities.”Perry drove up under the portico at the hotel. I squinted across the street at the site seeing ship moored on the Intracoastal Waterway. Some day I’d like to take a cruise around Miami, getting up close and personal with the backs of the stars’ homes. We waited in line nearly ten minutes, only to be told we were at the wrong entrance. This was just for the valet parking of previously registered cars. We had to drive down to the next portico to check in first, by the colorful flags. I covered my eyes in embarrassment at the spew of foul words my brother muttered in front of the dutiful employee.Perry floored it, then slammed his foot on the brake as we traversed the short distance. He nudged the car forward and told the valet “We’re checking in. And I’ll need a wheelchair for my sister.”The older Latino said, “Yes sir. Evan, we need a wheelchair.” as he opened the door. Perry groaned out of the driver’s seat. A young woman opened Tammy’s door. She seductively stepped out, scanning the scene. The perky valet flipped the black leather seat up before I could move. I gasped when Perry reached in and picked me up. He flopped me into a wheelchair. Norma Jean leapt out and sniffed it. “Nice doggie. Nice doggie,” the valet timidly said as she pushed me up the ramp and into the lobby. Norma Jean followed. Tammy and Perry went through the revolving door with the bell captain and our luggage. Perry waddled over to me and told Miss Perky, “That’s fine. She can wheel herself. Oh-Donna, give me your purse.”“What?””Oh-Donna, give me your purse. He snatched it from me and fished out three dollars. He gave one to the valet that pushed me and palmed two to the bell captain.“Give me my purse back!”I stretched but he dangled it high. Norma Jean growled and snatched it from him. I recovered it and wiped her drool off, onto the arm of the wheelchair.While Perry and Tammy were registering, I took in the ambiance of the hotel. Beautiful crystal chandeliers. I gazed over at the lobby bar and recalled having a drink with Momma there. Giant photos of Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Peter Lawford and Sammy Davis Jr. were hung in front of the windows overlooking the rock grotto pool. Oh Momma, You’re really gone now. Forever.Hanging television monitors displayed old Rat Pack footage of concerts and skits the gentlemen in the photos performed in forty years ago. Norma Jean commenced sniffing. She sniffed her way across the lobby, down the steps to the bar and started jumping, trying to get to a T.V. that displayed Frank Sinatra singing “Strangers in the Night”.I wheeled myself as fast as I could but was stuck at the stairs. No one was seated at the bar, thank goodness. Norma Jean never-the-less was attracting attention from patrons at the tables, who were turning their heads with quizzical expressions. By the time I spotted the handicapped ramp, Perry finally stomped over, seized my dog by her pink collar and dragged her back to me. “Control your dog Oh-Donna. Come on. Our room isn’t ready yet. They’re holding our luggage. You go make your contact with the randy janitor or whoever. Let’s get this over with.”With Norma Jean at my side, I wheeled myself across the tropical carpeted lobby. Perry and Tammy followed me, but kept their distance until I stopped at the unattended concierge desk. Nothing was there but a display box of tourist maps on the high black granite counter. My shoulders were all ready fatigued. How do the poor frail people do this all the time?A uniformed hotel security officer approached. I gripped tight to Norma Jean’s collar. Please don’t throw her out. “May I help you folks with something?”I let my breath out and said, “Yes. We’re acquaintances of Mike Taurus, one of your bell hops. His friend passed away. Chloe Payne. We’re her children. We need to get a hold of Mike, to find out what to do now.”“I’m Fred Rollins.” He shook everyone’s hand. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Chloe was a lovely lady. Come on over to the security office and we’ll try to get in contact with Mike. He’s in a horribly bad way. Poor old guy.”Tammy and Perry marched like little soldiers behind Mr. Rollins. My arms ached propelling the damned low end ouch maker chair across the carpeted floor. It was a step up from the one at the hospital, but worse when you factored in there was no volunteer pushing me. Norma Jean sniffed her way across, staying beside me this time.
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Serial Fiction: Mistake 8

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~*~My ticket was for a window seat, in front of Tammy and Perry. I smiled at the respite, not to be sitting with my arrogant siblings. I retightened my seatbelt and kicked my ugly black purse under the seat in front of me. As we taxied up the runway, I closed my eyes. Dear God and Jesus in heaven, please rest my mother’s and father’s souls in eternal comfort. Forgive them their sins and please give some wisdom and warmth to the ones they’ve left behind, including Momma’s friend Mike. Please let us take off and land safely. Amen.I opened my eyes and chewed cow-like on cinnamon Mentos candies. I kept popping them in until we’d leveled off. Momma was a big gum chewer. Cinnamon Dentyne. I couldn’t bring myself to buy any at the gift shop. She really could pop and crack her gum. An inherited trait I didn’t possess. But it doesn’t really bother me anymore, wondering why I look and act and react so differently than my family. Because now I know all the terrible secrets they kept from me. Damn them. I leaned my head on the window and stared at the trees and roads down below until we ascended high into the clouds.The twenty-two-ish male flight attendant brought the drink cart. Blond and handsome, but way too young. “I’d like a Diet Pepsi, please.” He popped the top on the can, poured some in a clear plastic cup with ice, serving it on a white paper napkin. I turned thirty-nine a few weeks ago. How that happened, I can’t explain. I don’t feel thirty-nine. I feel well, twenty-seven-ish. The T.S.A. guy was more in my age group. Perfect actually. Perverted actually. Or was he actually just following procedures? Jeeze Donna. Get a hold of yourself. Here you are daydreaming that a man who couldn’t possibly be attracted to you actually was. Making a big romance out of it. Just like the make-believe romance you have with your make-believe roommate, your dream weaver, debonair secret agent Ashley Jones. The flight attendant served hot coffee to the perky lady next to me. The old man on the aisle declined a beverage. The attendant handed us all a tiny bag of pretzels. I can’t eat pretzels. I’m on the Atkins diet. I can never eat pretzels again. Pure carbohydrates. I love pretzels. I carefully pulled the plastic bag open and ate them, one-by-one. Sucking on the white salt. Enjoying the first crisp bite. Washing each down with soda.The ventilation system whooshed as I tuned in Perry and Tammy’s conversation. Tammy asked, “So do you think Mom’s really dead?”Perry said, “Hope so. Dunno though. Consider the source of the information. Her brain damaged daughter. We do need to find Chloe, one way or the other. If she’s dead, then that’s great, we not only will be heirs to Dad’s estate, but to Chloe’s as well.”“What about Oh-Donna? She could cause some trouble.”“Don’t worry about Oh-Donna. Whatever is damaged in her brain is getting progressively worse. And she’s refusing medical treatment. Only a matter of time until she has a fatal stroke.”“Perry, don’t talk like that. You’re giving me the willies.”Tears trickled down my face. They really didn’t like me at all. I just pretended, for thirty-nine years, that my family really did love me, deep down. I suppose it was a survival tactic. I took the napkin, wet with condensation from the icy cup and wiped my face.
Maybe I should try to get treatment for my head injury. That last big sleep was scary. But then I’ll never get to see my dream weaver again. Ashley. Oh Ashley. If only you were real. In the here and now. That week we spent tucked away in the little bungalow on Make Believe Island was bliss. You wrote me a song. And I started typing a new novel. And you said Momma and Mike lived on the other side of the island. If only that were real...


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Serial Fiction: Mistake 7

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~*~After saying goodbye to Norma Jean at the animal drop off area of Dulles International Airport, we headed into the terminal to the security line. I hate going through security, always afraid I’ll be singled out and embarrassed. Perry and Tammy snaked through a different queue than I, no doubt so they could scheme in private.When my turn came, I removed my black kitten-heeled shoes, watch, pearls and matching earrings and placed them in one of the tan plastic boxes on the conveyer belt along with my black purse. I positioned it right behind my pink carry-on suitcase. When the exhausted looking Transportation Security Administration guy manning the x-ray equipment gave the go ahead, I thrust my items through. I stared at the no nonsense on my watch T.S.A. guy standing on the other side of the metal detector. Reminded me of Kent McCord from Adam-12. He instructed, “Remove your suit coat before you step through.” I was wearing a black pin striped skirt and matching top. It sported an attached contrasting blue collar, which gave the appearance of a separate blouse. I said, “This isn’t a suit coat.” I focused on his brown hair, recently cut and deliberately disheveled. Chiseled classic features, compelling blue eyes and a touch of sexy stubble.He said, “Remove your suit coat.”“It isn’t a suit coat. This is one piece.” Why does he have to look so stern? “Remove your suit coat,” he barked.I took in the rustles and groans of the weary businessmen in line behind me.“This is just one piece. I’m not wearing a blouse under it.”“You’re not wearing anything under it?”“No. This is one piece,” I whimpered. You’re an idiot Donna. Why did you pick this to wear today?“Remove your suit coat.”Standing tall, with shaking hands, I unbuttoned the three buttons and flashed him my pink lace demi bra.“Step through the metal detector.”I did. As I handed him my boarding pass and Virginia driver’s license, he leaned down and whispered in an official tone, “I was not being difficult, Ms. Payne. I have procedures to follow.” He didn’t take his eyes off of my cleavage as I buttoned up. Mr. Procedures was about a foot taller than my five foot-two inch frame. When he leaned down, all I could think about was tiptoeing up to kiss those dominating lips of his...I said, “I was not being difficult either. What did you think I was hiding?” “Exactly what you revealed. Thank you.” Those lips curled into a brief grin. He handed me my boarding pass and I.D.My pulse reeled when I touched his large hand. Flushed, I pivoted and retrieved my belongings. Slipping my shoes on fast, I stumbled out of the way. Had that guy actually flirted with me? A guy like that? I momentarily envisioned him ordering me to remove my bra and almost experienced the sensational stubble of his whiskers on my breast as his hot breath tickled my nipple. I glanced back at him. He kind of reminded me of another actor too. That guy Mike on Desperate Housewives. What a yummy blend. When he pivoted and sized me up, I almost opened my mouth to say something foolish. But the metal detector beeped and his attention instantly averted from dumpy old me.As I trekked toward gate thirty-two, I wondered how long it had been since any man had shown interest in me. Not since the Woodrow Wilson Bridge became stuck in the open position and I missed my entire wedding. What idiot erected a draw bridge on the capitol beltway? My groom concluded I had stood him up at the alter. Tammy and the best man kissed him and made him all better at the resort in the Poconos that I’d reserved and paid for. My God, that was ten years ago.
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Serial Fiction: Mistake 6

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~*~I was drinking another glass of ice water when Norma Jean galloped to the front door prior to “Aura Lee” resounding. I staggered through the foyer. Great. Just great. I could see the silhouette of Daddy’s old sport’s club crony, Dr. “Farts” Goldfarb. He’s the medical consultant at Heavenly H.M.O., where I work in the file room. And the one who transported me to the emergency room two weeks ago after I enjoyed one of my heavenly dreams at work. Norma Jean’s tail was whipping my behind. I gripped her pink collar and opened the door. “Hello Donna. I just got off the phone with the judge.” The Jack Nicholson look alike marched in and shut the door behind him. He was carrying his little black doctor’s bag. Just like in the old movies. He grabbed my elbow and escorted me to the living room.“I’m fine. I don’t know why everyone is always making such a fuss.” A wave of dizziness caught me in the lie. I plopped down in the old gold recliner. The ear thermometer beeped as he inserted it. The living room began a slow spin as he shined a light in my eyes. His face was so close to mine that I could smell chocolate chip cookies on his breath. Gross.Here I am being examined by a proctologist. In my own home. I need to write this scene and insert it into one of my novels. One of those truths can be stranger than fiction moments. The room returned to normal as he took my blood pressure and pulse. Doc Goldfarb pinched the skin on my arm and said, “Look Donna, it doesn’t go back down. You’re dehydrated. I need to admit you for I.V. fluids and some more tests. I’ll get in touch with Dr. Claytor, the lady neurologist who interpreted your CATscan—” “No. I’m not going to the hospital. I have to go to Florida tomorrow...my momma died.” I began blubbering, trying to cry, but no tears came. Farts held my hand and said, “Very well. Come on. I’ll take you down to the E.R. We’ll get some fluids in you and see what your neurologist recommends. I’ll make sure you are at least hydrated, on an outpatient basis. But promise me you’ll make an appointment with her as soon as you get back.”Tammy brought me another glass of water. “Go with him Oh-Donna. I’ll take care of the house and dog for you. I still have some clothes up in your guest room. I’ll stay the night. We’ll have sweet orange tea and those special cookies from the Giant bakery. I’ll pick some up. I brought your mail in. It’s on the kitchen table. You got a package.”Cookies, yum. It’s been a couple years since I devoured my last cookie. Package? I wasn’t expecting anything. And how rude and presumptuous of her to dig my keys out of my purse to open my cubby on the community mailbox. She was snooping for something, no doubt. But what? Sipping my water, I plodded into the kitchen. There it was. A big brown padded envelope from Charlatan Press. Something wasn’t right. Not normal. I hadn’t sent a self addressed stamped envelope for them to shove my manuscript back into with the form rejection letter. I authorized them in my cover letter to destroy my manuscript if they didn’t want it. Wait a minute. I felt giddy. They must want to buy it and have marked the pages up with revisions! I withdrew my kitchen scissors from the wooden knife block and slit the envelope open. I extracted the cover letter.
Dear Orpha Donna Payne,
Thank you for thinking of Charlatan Press. Unfortunately this manuscript does not suit our current editorial needs. We are sorry to disappoint you. We offer the following comments: 
Stupid heroine. Bully hero. Too much plot, everything but the kitchen sink. Not as much emotion as I’d hoped.
Sincerely, Betty McNeelyAssociate Editor, Charlatan Press
I tugged the four pound manuscript out. It was only bound by one horizontal rubber band...and it was plain brown. I’d mailed my manuscript bound with one pink rubber band horizontally and one blue rubber band vertically. They must’ve liked them and kept them. Too bad they didn’t like the story and keep it. I flipped through. It looked like the first hundred pages out of four hundred had been read. The rest appeared untouched.I shoved it back inside the ugly envelope.Tammy asked, “What’s that?”“Nothing. Nothing at all.”“It must be something,” she pried.“I thought it was but nobody else does.”
“Oh-Donna you’re not making sense.”


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Serial Fiction: Mistake 5

Click here to read this serial from the beginning ~*~While I was bickering with Perry about taking Norma Jean with me to Florida, Tammy yanked out the Yellow Pagesand systematically worked down the list, calling all the 1-800 numbers for the airlines. She finally found one that not only would accept a Great Dane for transport, but they also provided a carrier for her— to the tune of five hundred plus bucks, but that included the ticket, carrier and a veterinary technician fight attendant who would feed and water her while on board. The only snag was we couldn’t fly out until tomorrow morning.
Perry made a couple of his-honorly phone calls, arranging to have his cases postponed or reassigned for the next week and then went home to pack.

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Serial Fiction: Mistake 4

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Come Fly With Me
I went through the motions of crying, but I guess I must have been too dehydrated to create many tears. Oh Momma. I miss you so much. Just when we finally understood one another. Oh I hope, God please let Momma understand that I love her and she was a good Momma. To me and to Daddy’s son Perry and to Tammy, the chosen one. The little girl they adopted. Even if they are arrogant, greedy, ungrateful, manipulative conniving so and so’s. It’s not Momma’s fault. They learned that from Daddy.It occurred to me that my siblings weren’t crying. Didn’t they believe me? Were they in denial? No, then they would’ve asked who had called and for all the details. “Why aren’t you guys crying? Our mother just died. Aren’t you even curious what happened to her? I mean she could’ve been beheaded in Iraq for all you know.” I eyed them suspiciously. My grief was morphing into seething anger.Tammy screamed, “Ohmagod! What was she doing in Iraq? I’m gonna be sick.” She clutched her taught stomach.At least Tammy has some sort of feelings, even if it’s just she’s grossed out. Perry asked, “Oh-Donna, who was that on the phone?”“That was Momma’s friend, Mike.”He questioned, “Mike who?”“Mike Taurus. They used to work in the Secret Service together. That’s where she went the first week of August every year. To spend time with him.”“While she was married to my Dad? That ‘hoe. Right there, grounds she shouldn’t inherit his estate.”I smiled. Good for you, Momma. Having a real boyfriend. Someone who treasured you. Not like that sociopath you married in his hideous plot of convenience. Perry’s father. “So where is the body?” Perry questioned.“As if you care. And as if I’d tell you.”“Oh-Donna. Where is Chloe’s corpse?”“Florida.”Tammy blurted out, “Al Qaeda operatives are in Florida? Ohmagod!”Perry said, “So you sent us to California on a wild goose chase. Thanks a lot little sister.”I said, “Oh no! Norma Jean!”Tammy asked, “Who’s Norma Jean?”“My dog. That’s her name. I can’t go to Florida and leave her alone. Will you take care of her?” I sized up my brother, begging with my expression.Perry said, “No. We’re all going. Toss her in a kennel or something.”“No! I’m not locking her in a cage. Her first incarnation was just horrible.”Tammy said, “Honey, no, you shouldn’t give her Carnation evaporated milk. Too many sugars in it. She needs Purina—” “No, I meant her first life. Oh never mind.” These two would never believe that this beautiful Great Dane is the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe. And I’d better not slip, or they’ll have some good ammo toward getting me committed to the loony house.Perry dialed his cell phone. “Judge Payne here. Is Roddy available? Right.” He unzipped his black judge’s robe. “Listen, I just got word that Chloe died...in Florida...thanks...I appreciate it...hold on.” He tugged his robe over his head, revealing a huge pair of black sweat pants and a white undershirt covering his portly highness. “Oh-Donna, are you going to have a service for your mother?”“Of course.” I noticed how the cold ungrateful step-son addressed the woman who lovingly raised him. “She’s being buried in the Florida Keys.”“What?”“That’s what she wanted.”“Where? Key Largo? Can they even bury people there? Isn’t it below sea level?”“It’s on a little uncharted island.”“What? How in the hell can we find it? What am I supposed to tell Meddlestein?”“Give me the phone.” He huffed and then handed it to me.
I told my mother’s neighbor what had happened and he insisted on attending the service with his wife, Gloria. She and Momma were close friends. I instructed him about the Fontainebleau Hotel and we agreed to meet there.
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My Melanoma

Melanoma is the #1 Cause of Cancer Deaths for Young Americans By SHERRY MORRIS
This article was written in 2005 with 2007, 2013, 2014, 2015 & 2016 updates
The largest mole on the left shoulder blade was my melanoma in situ which is the very earliest Stage 0. It looked like a normal mole to me. If my nurse practitioner hadn’t suspected it, I’d be walking around with invasive cancer now, oblivious until it settled into my lungs, liver or brain. Notice how white I am. I’ve never had a suntan and always use sunscreen. I apologize for not having a close up of the mole. This photograph was taken so I could see the back of my hair at the Love & Hope Ball. I didn’t take a before and after picture of the malignancy because I never in a billion years dreamed it would be cancerous. I’m still in shock that I have Melanoma, I didn’t think I was at risk.


That’s correct. My dermatologist advised me Melanoma is the leading cause of cancer deaths for Americans between the ages of twenty and forty. Everyone fears breast cancer and prostate cancer. Why isn’t the media getting the message out?

Most of us think skin cancer is preventable. We limit our sun exposure between ten in the morning until four in the afternoon. We apply sunscreen. We use cosmetic tanning creams, go to tanning spray salons or lay in UV-free tanning beds.

I’ve never been a sun goddess. I do my gardening early in the morning or late in the evening. I take the kids to the pool after four p.m. and liberally slather on the sunscreen. I’ve never sported a suntan. I don’t smoke, drink, drug or fool around on my hunky husband. I have skin cancer.

My risk factors were strawberry blonde hair, blue/green eyes and two bad sunburns during my sixth summer, when our wonderful neighbors took me to the beach in Ocean City, Maryland with their kids.

How many of you have blue, green or hazel eyes? Blonde or red hair? Get yourselves and your loved ones to see a medical professional ASAP. Skin cancer can creep up on anyone at any age. Even you tall dark and handsome types. All ages, races, skin tones, eye and hair colors are at risk. Human? Get checked.

Like many of you, I thought Melanoma was the curable, no big deal cancer. They remove the mole and it’s gone. No problem. Wrong! Melanoma begins in the surface of the skin, travels down through the layers to the lymph nodes, where it hops on and is transported to the lungs, liver and brain. Cancer that originated in the skin is still Melanoma in the other organs, and it is just as deadly as if the cancers originated in them. This is how people die of Melanoma. Yes, non-smokers, non-drinkers and non-thinkers do contract lung, liver and brain cancer.

At my annual well-woman check-up, I asked my nurse practitioner to take a look at some itchy raised ugly lesions on my back that were bugging me. I thought they were Seborrheic Keratsois, which are benign lesions most people eventually get. She confirmed this. I asked her to recommend a dermatologist. She did, and said, “While you’re there, have him look at this mole on your shoulder blade…”

The initial biopsy showed a severely irregular nevus. The dermatologist explained this could turn into Melanoma, so he wanted to remove it ASAP. The total excision a week later confirmed Melanoma in Situ in the epidermis, the top layer of skin.

Yep, that mole which I took no notice of was Melanoma. It didn’t look like any Melanoma photo I’d seen. It wasn’t black and blue and red and crusty and bleeding. Those photos are what the advanced stages look like. The early stage looks like a normal mole, but has a slight irregular shape to it or a subtle color difference of hues within. I can’t even guess how many seemingly healthy people are walking around with early Melanoma and they have no clue.I was stunned. How could I have Melanoma? What about all of the little-black-bikini-moms sautéing themselves poolside all day? They were bronzed beauties and just fine. I was a pasty white frump and I had skin cancer.

I endured three operations at the primary site. All layers of skin and some fat were removed, along with a margin of healthy tissue. Stitches in my shoulder blade prohibited me from doing so many activities. Tying my shoe. Yanking clothes in and out of the washer & dryer. Unloading the dishwasher. Pulling weeds. Typing! Oh that hurt so much. Two pathologists agreed all cancer cells have now been excised. I was very fortunate the cancer was only in the very top layer of skin and hadn’t begun to penetrate. I won’t need to undergo radiation, chemo or immuno therapies. God bless my gynecologist nurse practitioner, Brenda Hagan, for suspecting this mole.

My dermatologist tossed me onto a surgery-go-round. Every two weeks I had one or two suspicious moles excised or re-excised. The sutures were removed in seven to fourteen days, and then I had another round. This dragged on for six months in 2005.

I joined a Melanoma Yahoo Group. The other sufferers and their loved ones basically told me that Melanoma always comes back. They remove it all, and then in a few years, or maybe even a decade or more, it comes back. This time in the lymph nodes, or worse. I eventually had to unsubscribe, it was too sad.

The local news didn’t help my mood. A 27 year old pregnant woman who had Melanoma removed as a teen, wasn’t feeling well. She went to the emergency room, and they found Melanoma in her brain. She lapsed into a coma that night. Her husband quit his job and stayed at her side. They kept her on life support until her fetus grew large enough for a premature delivery. She died when her baby girl was born. The baby died five weeks later.According to the National Cancer Society, the average person with Melanoma has a reduced life expectancy of 18 years. Factoring in my parents’ and grandparents’ long lives, that takes me to around 62, just when I will be eligible to receive my deferred pension. I might not live long enough to receive the first check. It’s doubtful I’ll ever draw Social Security, since I’ll have to be 67 to receive full benefits. But then again, that’s the statistical median. Half the people live longer. Half die sooner.

Once the shock of the cancer diagnosis sank in, I didn’t cry and freak out. I educated myself, and looked back at the lifestyle changes I’d made over the years. I’m going back to brewing a pitcher of iced tea daily. It’s rich in antioxidants. I’m tired of diet soda anyhow.

I did get grouchy and annoyed at the inconvenience, pain and limitations suddenly imposed on my daily life.

I never did the Why me? drill. I’ve had other devastations to endure, and I learned early in life there is no answer to the riddle Why do horrendous things happen to good people? I’ve accepted my disease and that I have a little less time to go. I have chosen to spend the rest of my life on the sunny side of my dreams. I want to take a great big bite out of life with my blue-eyed blonde family.

I am having a hard time swallowing the two bad childhood sunburns caused my Melanoma. Yes, I have been lightly sunburned and peeled a few other times in my life, but never a severe blistering burn. I have kept my sun exposure to a minimum and applied sunscreen. Yet I know many people who sunburn every year before tanning to a dark brown and they don’t develop this in the prime of their lives. Are UV rays really the sun cancer villain? Could something in the sunscreen cause it?

Every house I’ve ever lived in has tested positive for radon gas in the basement. We tested our current home. A normal radon reading is below 4. Two tests indicated our radon level was 20! We stopped spending time in the basement until my husband and son installed a fan to vent the radon out from under the house up through the roof. The next test came back at a reading of 1.2, which is comparable to what the radon concentration is outdoors. I’m very proud of their hard work and proper installation. The fan runs continuously, I hear the hum in our master bathroom as it is adjacent to the attic where the pipe vents through the roof.

Could radon gas exposure have been the culprit or catalyst that triggered my Melanoma? Do any of you with Melanoma have radon exposure?

My husband has his peanut butter theory. Everyone who has ever contracted cancer has eaten peanut butter. His point being we are probably poisoning ourselves and are clueless.

I have skin cancer.

I want to get the word out to everyone. I’M TALKING TO YOU! Each time you see a doctor or nurse, for any reason, ask them to look at your moles. Don’t insist “Oh, mine are fine. I won’t get skin cancer.”

Everyone is at risk… Update March 15, 2007 I had another follow-up full-body-check today. My dermatologist wants to biopsy a mole on the right side of my neck, near my jaw line. He’s concerned it could be basal cell carcinoma. I had one on the opposite side, same location removed in 2005. That one was a severely irregular nevus, which was on its way to turning into melanoma.

Basal cell carcinoma is not usually deadly like melanoma is. Basal cell carcinoma can be disfiguring if left untreated.

I’ve had a lot of benign seborrheic keratosis popping up and I don’t like the ones on my face. He froze three today.

I also have benign skin tags on my neck which I want snipped. My doctor will remove them when he does the biopsy. Then I’ll be all set for ponytails and up-doos this Summer.

Please, please, please! Even if you have always slathered on sunscreen and stayed in the shade, like I did, have your moles checked. Anyone of any race can develop melanoma. Its a silent epidemic.

Yesterday I was contacted by a textbook author who had visited my website. I granted her permission to publish my above photo in two medical terminology textbooks. One for high school, the other for community college. I feel like Lucy Ricardo in the I Love Lucy episode where she writes a novel and they want to use it in a book about how not to write a novel. Nobody wants to be in a medical textbook. I’m giggling inappropriately and I don’t know why.


Update March 25, 2013 My father was diagnosed with Melanoma at age 91. It didn't kill him, he died of heart failure after a long life in the sun as a farmer, cowboy, Marine and police officer.

As I wrote in 2005, I'm still suspicious that environmental factors in addition to the sun contributed to my early Melanoma. Now there is a lot of talk of the chemical BPA in plastics and lining food and drink metal cans. I rid our home of all plastic that didn't say 'BPA free', the vehement protest of my Disney daughter who loved all of her cups she'd collected from the theme parks. Good news. I did save them and they have a "5" recycling symbol. I just learned that "7" is the one that might contain BPA, so the cups are back in use. Now to use up all the canned food and soft drinks then start buying only frozen or in glass or plastic containers.

Nobody has said BPA causes cancer. There have been studies that show is a hormone disruptor, and in small doses is not dangerous. Still, I don't want it in my body.I just had another six month full body check. For the first time in eight years, there were no suspicious moles to be biopsied. Usually I have three done:  one mole the doctor is concerned about, one I'm concerned about and one that spooks us both. This is my second visit to this dermatologist and I really like her. I have lots of seborrheic keratosis, which are wart like benign lesions on my trunk and a few on my face and elsewhere. It was always a bother for the male docs/physician's assistant to freeze a few off with liquid nitrogen. At my first visit to her last year, this lady doc froze sixty from my back. She allowed her nurse to freeze eighty-five yesterday! Pretty much all that we could find. You'd think liquid nitrogen would feel cold. It actually stings like a bee with a blow torch as she zaps each spot for x amount of seconds which seems like a minute but I know it isn't. I flinched and curled my toes and made fists and scrunched up my face but kept a stiff upper lip. She apologized continuously for the pain, but I wanted them gone. The immediate reaction was redness and swelling, I looked like I had hives. And it burned for several hours, I felt as though I was on fire. I took one dose of Aspirin when I arrived home. The pain subsided and now I'm just left with the brown and red spots (some of which bled, probably due to the Aspirin). They will dry out and flake off during the next thirty days. Then I'll look so much better in my summer clothes this year with all of them gone. And it will be easier to keep an eye on changes to my moles and freckles since there won't be so much to look at. Yippee!


Update Thanksgiving 2013 My beautiful non-smoker sister, Beth, died of lung cancer two days ago. She hid it from me, wanting to beat it before she told me. Her husband contacted me one week before we lost her. Beth's voice was long gone. I don't know what type of lung cancer it was. I instantly assumed it was caused by second-hand smoke as she had lived with smokers since college. Her husband still smokes. But now, in May 2015, it's occurred to me it could have been Melanoma that caused the lung and brain cancer. She may have never even found the mole, if like mine, there was no tell-tale pigment in it. Bless you sister, I miss you every day.


Update November 2014 My latest full body skin exam revealed a change in a mole on the back of my upper inner thigh that my dermatologist found troubling. The biopsy came back benign. This wound is a challenge to care for. I have to place a mirror on the ledge of my bathtub and hoist my leg over it to see what I'm doing. The Vaseline is leaking through the band-aids and staining my pants. Sigh.

On an up-note, my doctor let me in on a secret:  Silicone Scar Sheets. They're like band-aids and they flatten and lighten keloid scars. I'm like why didn't anybody tell me about these 9 years ago? I've been tortured this year with so many steroid injections into my scars and stinging laser scorches. Which did nothing but irritate the big raised ugly purple scars on my chest and back. These expensive scar sheets really do work and I am using them diligently. They are available at drug stores and Walmart. $18 a box.


Update April 2015 Had my 6 month full-body skin exam by my dermatologist. She found a worrisome mole on the center of my lower back which she immediately removed. The biopsy showed it was a mildly atypical nevus. Benign, but morphing into badness. The margins were clear, so she got it all before it did evolve into Melanoma. I've been cancer-free for ten years. Unfortunately, since I have an open wound on my back now, I'll have to temporarily discontinue the Brazil Butt Lift workouts, yoga et al. I'll try to run tomorrow and see how I do. Might need to be content walking. Walking is better than dying :)

My 22-year-old daughter also had a worrisome mole biopsied this week. I'd been concerned about it for two years. The doctor she went to back then said it was beautiful, just to watch it. The physicians assistant at my dermatologist last week didn't think it was anything, but did a shave biopsy because my daughter insisted. Guess what? It was a mildly atypical nevus, and now she has an appointment with my doctor to have more skin removed. Momma knows best.

Moles don't have to have all of the signs and symptoms to be cancerous. My melanoma had no pigment in it whatsoever. It was just larger than a pencil eraser and had an irregular border. It surprised the physicians assistant, he wasn't expecting a malignancy.

I've told my 25-year-old blonde haired, blue eyed, fair skinned son to have a skin check as soon as his new job insurance kicks in, and then every year thereafter. He takes after me and my father, who didn't have melanoma until age 91 and it didn't kill him. Something in my generation has accelerated the skin cancer's arrival.

Update May 2015 The margins were clear on my 22-year-old daughter's subsequent biopsy. My doctor took enough extra skin around the atypical nevus to create a 4" scar on her shoulder blade which I am dressing with Vaseline and gauze after every shower. She is just fine.

Please have your skin checked every year by a dermatology professional (doctor, nurse practitioner or physician's assistant). And make appointments for your whole family. Melanoma and other skin cancers are quiet killers. All races and ages can be afflicted, whether you are a sun worshiper or vampire.

Anecdotal Update June 2015 This blog post has begun a dialogue on Twitter. I've been told:

More Australian men die from Melanoma than automobile accidents.

Melanoma is detected at a later stage if covered by a tattoo. Please if you have tattoos, get a full body skin exam by a dermatologist as soon as you can schedule it. Please!

Update April 2016 At my six month full body check, my dermatologist biopsied a mole on my leg she said had a white ring around it. I couldn't see it, but she did with her magnifying light. It came back as a dysplastic nevus, which means it is morphing into cancer, but isn't there yet. Two weeks after this biopsy, I went back today to have the skin reshaved. The doctor determined the wound is too irritated to do that now. It had gotten infected and I finished up a course of Keflex antibiotics this morning. She wrote another script in case it gets really red but told me to hold off on another course of antibiotics. She gave me instructions to create a vinegar rinse, which she feels will clean out the goop and heal it better than antibiotics. I have just done the first soak. It stung a little. My next appointment is in 3 months.