E.C. Stilson's Blog, page 29

Living Painting

 I put this picture on the wall, but I keep painting over it—‘cause it’s not quite right. Anyway, I didn’t realize my kids watched all of the changes until Ruby said something today: 🤣 “Oh, she changed again!”

Then Sky said, “Does she have a different face?!”

This IS actually hilarious. 😅

P.S. She looks WAY better with her eyes closed! My kids will NEVER forget this one—the “living” painting.

Half-Time

 “I give you two years to live.”

Time shifted, moving like molasses, and a darkness threatened to overtake me right there in the d*mn hospital room. 

No one else heard the news with me because COVID limited visiting hours. Nope, I needed to be strong and digest this alone.

Two years. My thoughts reeled. 24 months. 104 weeks. 730 days. That would make Ruby 20, Sky 18, Trey 14, and Indy 12. I have four kids. To not see all of them reach adulthood, start their careers, get married… To not grow old with Mike…

“I’m only in my 30s. You can fix this. Can’t you?” The words slipped out slowly, as if uttered by someone else.

“No. I’m sorry, Elisa. We can’t.”

A doctor told me this during my month-long hospitalization that started on Oct. 30, 2020.

This past weekend—the one-year anniversary of my diagnosis and my hospitalization in Utah— felt surreal.

As if trapped in an hour-glass, the sands of time cascade around me, and I’m stuck up to my waist. Sand continues dumping, getting caught in my hair, and occasionally my mouth and eyes…but it’s not falling as quickly now. “You might even have up to ten years!” A doctor recently told me. And although I’m exceedingly grateful, I can’t help thinking of the initial two-year diagnosis—and the fact that death still circles like a vulture in the wind.

If half my time were really over, what have I done with it? What do I have to show for the past year?

I scanned through pictures. Memories poured over me, just like the sand in that hour-glass. I remembered: fiddling for cancer patients; losing my hair; being selected as the angel family; enduring debilitating surgeries, infusions, and radiation; fighting liver failure and sepsis; and losing several friends who died too soon (suicide, overdose, cancer, car accident…). And then I found pictures of Mike and the kids. I remembered when family and friends came to visit. I couldn’t help grinning over road trips and time fishing, card games and movie nights.

Then it hit me: how much I’ve bonded with those who matter most. Like a bag cinched before a long journey, this has just brought all of us closer. And although I’m still scared, and we are “living scan to scan” (as the doctor says), I am PROUD. We’ve made it through so much. 

Hardship littered every bit of this past year’s pathway, but there have been so many breadcrumbs from God all along too—signs that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. Cancer diagnosis—death sentence—or not, I am the luckiest. To still be making memories, that might be the greatest gift of all.

Anyway, hopefully I have more than a single year left now (maybe even 10 as the doctor says). It really does put things in perspective though. What would you do, if you only had one year to live? 

Thumper-licious

 “It’s like watching Thumper—or some woodland creature—get cancer. I just feel so bad, and I don’t know what to do for you. No one wants to see a cute, innocent bunny with cancer.” My friend literally said this to me earlier this week, and I am flummoxed.

No. 1 — I am a certified bada$$. Was she seriously comparing me…to Thumper?

No. 2 — Thumper is a boy.

No. 3 — I want to be an awesome predator—not a “cute”…pansy-ish woodland creature. BUT I have to admit that (hanging in my bedroom) I have a painting of bunnies battling a storm. There’s just something romantic and inspiring about their tenacity. I spotted the painting at Goodwill almost a decade ago and HAD to buy it. 

I want that tenacity. I want to persevere like those fearless bunnies. Even when failure is guaranteed—I WANT to embody that kind of moxie.

No. 4 — While I sorta hated this “woodland creature” conversation, I am glad it reminded me of my aspirations. 

So, as I woke up today and looked at the painting on my wall, I had to smirk. 

Bring on the storm. Even if I AM a bunny, I’m gonna face this head-on with a determination that would make even Captain Ahab envious! Bam! 🤣 Take that, Thumper! 

(Viewer discretion advised: Aggressive picture attached.)

The Other Woman

 I’m waiting for Mike to come back from foot surgery…. So, I figured I’d share a funny story.

I’ve been driving Mike to and from work. The short—yet efficient—security guard stood next to our red truck and added me to the visitor list. I didn’t wear any makeup and my short, dark hair stuck out wildly. “I’m sorry for everything you’re going through,” the man blurted, referring to my cancer. “It must be so hard.” Then he shuffled away.

Nearly two weeks have passed, and he’s waved me in every day in my red truck. But Wednesday was different.

I’d decided to dress up and ask Mike out to dinner. I wore makeup, a fancy push-up bra, my fake eyelashes, and a light-colored wig.

I waited for the security guard to wave me through in my little car, but he didn’t.

“Who are you here to see?”

“Mike Magagna.”

His eyes widened. “And who ARE you?”

“Elisa Magagna.”

“You are not Elisa Magagna.”

All right….mall cop.

“Yeah, I am.”

He shook his head—like there was no foolin’ him!

Then it hit me. I’d dressed like a hooker and now the security guard thought Mike was cheating on me…with me! Cheating on his poor wife who has cancer!

I’m not sure why, but it became so absolutely hilarious that I could not stop laughing. I just saw so much judgment and concern cross the little man’s face.

“Fine.” He clutched a clipboard at his side. “I’ll let you in this once. But he needs to add you to our list. They’re supposed to let us know when new people are coming.”

So, I really confused him with my wig and different car. But now I feel like a freakin’ spy! Yaaassss.

“Mike,” I said after telling him the story, “this could be kind of fun. We can pretend I’m the other woman!”

I was the “other woman” once—a terrible experience that I wish I could rescind. My dad always did say that I’m an angel with one wing in the fire.

So, Mike’s in surgery—and I’m out in the waiting room, wearing my wig—like a legend. I’m sure Mike will do great; it is weird seeing him in a hospital gown vs. the other way around. I’ll be so glad when he’s feeling better.

Calling a Fart a Unicorn

 They found another tumor in one of my legs. It doesn’t even matter which leg at this point. Plus, it’s not a big deal really. Just another bump in the road.

The kids asked me last night how many tumors I have.

“One in each vertebrae, one in my hip, shin, leg…neck. Who’s counting? At least the cancerous tumor in my brain responded to treatment.”

“Wow. I guess that’s one way to find something good,” my son said.

“I’m just done focusing on the bad. It’s like studying for a test and still failing. I’m just gonna stop focusing on my score.”

“I’m so sorry this illness has been hard on you,” a friend said later that afternoon when I told her about the new tumor.

I hate that. It’s not that I need to feel like I have leprosy or something, but simply calling stage 4 melanoma an “illness” is like calling a fart a unicorn. Talk about the ultimate minimization. “This illness”… blah.

I said goodbye and hung up right before calling Ruby, my 19-year-old who is seriously—no bias—one of the coolest people you could ever meet. She’s almost a tattoo artist (just finishing her two-year apprenticeship) AND she recently got herself a motorcycle instead of a man. That kid knows what she wants, and she gets ‘er done regardless of obstacles!

“Ruby,” I said. “This isn’t a pity party, but I should probably give you the latest update.”

“O-kay?” she said in this adorable way that only she can.

“There’s a new tumor in my leg AND a lump in my boob.”

I heard her inhale sharply. “Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s no big deal! I’m just becoming a nonprofit tumor factory. They say, ‘Do what you’re good at’—and I took their words to heart.”

“Mom,” she laughed, “I love you so much.” And somehow her response made everything bearable. 

I called Mike later.  “If they cut off my leg and my boob, will you still be proud I’m your wife? Will you still love me?”

Mike broke out laughing. “Depends on which boob.”

“What?!” I nearly bellowed.

“You’re ridiculous—and dramatic. Of course I will ALWAYS love you. You’d still be you.”

“Yeah. But I’d look a lot different in my fancy dresses.” Then we made some pretty inappropriate jokes about it just being a “flesh wound.”

“Hey, did you hear Chrissy has stage 3 kidney cancer?” I asked him after we’d stopped laughing about me being “half the person I used to be.”

I sighed. “She said she feels dumb complaining to me—after everything we’ve been through.”

“Why? No two situations are the same.” 

“That’s exactly what I said! She shouldn’t minimize what they’re  going through. Both of our situations are hard—I can’t imagine what they’re enduring. I’m just glad we have each other’s backs and that we can find the good together.”

So, today is good because I still have two legs, two boobs, a sense of humor, and doctors who are competent enough to even find new tumors.

I start treatments again on Nov. 4. I’m counting down the days so we can fight this thing again. The best any of us can do is try—while still focusing on the good! So, that’s what I’m doing. I’m too busy seeing the good side of life to focus on anything else. “‘Tis only a scratch!” Bam.

Mike’s First Surgery

 “But he’s never had a surgery before!” Trey said, so concerned for Mike. “I should tell him something, just so he knows he’ll be okay. I mean…could something go wrong?”

“I mean, it could. But it won’t.”

I realized then how worried Trey is about Mike. I’ve been so sick, and Mike has been the rock for our children.

That aside, where was this concern when I’ve millions of surgeries?! The kids don’t worry at all when I go in. And when I asked Trey who his favorite is—between me and our dog—he said our dog!

“All right. What are you gonna say then?” I asked, plastering a smile onto my face.

“I’m gonna tell him that everything will be fine!” Then he paused. “Wait. That’s what you say to someone when it’s NOT gonna be fine…. Then he’s gonna get really suspicious. And he’ll get nervous. And he’ll be FREAKING out until Friday!”

“Ummm, Trey. I feel like you’re overthinking this.”

“You know what. I’m not saying anything! Plus I don’t want to jinx it. Remember how you woke up during that one surgery?”

I groaned from the memory. “Yep.” I actually sat up, my eyeballs were about four inches away from the doctor’s shocked faced. It was crazy hearing him scream like a little girl. 

——

I did have to break out laughing after Trey left for school. He’s obviously thought about this a lot, and he’s SUPER concerned.

So, Mike’s first surgery ever is Friday, and apparently everyone in the house is worried. (I just want to know which ice cream to buy him!) 

He’s gonna do great! It’s like my dad says, “He’ll get to go on vacation without even leaving the farm.”

(This pic is from a recent road trip Mike and Trey took to a concert. These two really are best friends.)

Came Back Around

 Her words completely floored me. “I don’t want a Black man narrating my book.”

“Excuse me?” I balked. She suddenly seemed like some sort of neanderthal. It was 2013! Who thought something like that?!

At the time I co-owned a publishing company. Other editors, writers, investors, and myself had worked to publish over a hundred authors in just over a year. But authors—like this woman—had begun irritating me. 

As a first-time author she’d submitted a list of demands. Her book hadn’t sold well, and now she wanted book signings in key New York locations along with reviews in publications that would cost thousands of dollars each. We couldn’t do all of that, but I’d tried something else and actually had luck! 

A famous man had agreed to narrate AND PROMOTE her audiobook! But when we actually finished the project—and we’d slated it for release—the author didn’t want a Black man connected with her book??? I had never heard something so idiotic—something so completely infantile….

“I’m terminating your contract,” I immediately told the woman. “You wanted your book to sell so we found a well-known narrator—who kindly agreed to narrate your book—and you’re upset because of what he looks like? I’ll email the details to you, but we will no longer fund this project.”

She screamed, and I hung up. Within the next hour, my editors had talked about the situation and agreed. We would not support an author like that. 

As a side note: I’d built an amazing team. They knew how hard we’d work to establish the publishing company, but they also knew we’d reached a critical point. I’d just filed for divorce, and because of my ex’s financial involvement, none of us knew if we’d be able to keep the company going through a split like that—and while I adjusted to being a single mom to four little kids.

So, long story short, the company—my dream—dissolved. I think it actually ended well for everyone. I taught authors how to self-publish, and they even got to keep the rights to their covers and promotion materials. 

But as for the famous narrator, he wouldn’t be making anything off the project he’d worked so hard on. And just the idea of that irked me because he’d been so exceedingly kind throughout the whole ordeal.

“How much would you charge for something like this…if you weren’t getting a percentage of the profits?” I asked, and he gave me a number. It was a small fortune to me, but I’d made up my mind.

He had no idea where the money came from—or what I’d just gone through—but as a single mom I worked extra hours. Through two different jobs and over six months, I paid the man what he should have made.

“Why are you doing this?” one of the previous editors asked. “The company went under. I don’t think you need to front the cost.”

“It’s the RIGHT thing to do. He worked hard. He deserves to get paid.” I’d begged him to narrate the book. How could I not pay him after he’d gone out of his way to help me?

I remember making the final payment. It felt so good. That day I’d actually looked up the author—the racist one. She’d self-published her book, which hadn’t sold well. And to think, she’d almost had it narrated by someone who could’ve made it a bestseller….

I thought about all of this today, because we’ve had some pretty astronomical medical bills, and I spent a chunk of yesterday afternoon fighting debilitating pain AND our insurance company. Anyway, I opened my email, only to discover that someone had given us a bit of money—exactly what we need to get by! It was the narrator who I’d worked so hard to pay off while I was a single mom! I read his name about three times…just totally stupefied. Had he seriously given us money? I haven’t heard from him in over seven years! Yet, there it was…a random email and a gift.

Tears literally streamed down my face. I’m not quite sure why it touched me so much, but it did. I can’t believe he’s following my story—or that he even cared enough to help me in my time of need.

I still don’t know how to process this, or why it’s made me feel so completely humbled and just grateful really. I did something for him—simply because it was the RIGHT thing to do! And somehow…it came back around. 

This whole experience has brought me to my knees, over and over. The kindness of people—even acquaintances from years ago—it’s truly astounding. As I type this, I can’t help sitting here…still amazed.

Over a Cup of Coffee

 “This is taking FOREVER,” the woman fumed even though it had been less than three minutes. “You’re making me late for work.” She’d already complained about rolling her window down and yelled because they were out of a specific syrup.

The teenage barista frantically took another order at the drive-through, started a simultaneous fourth drink order, and handed the cranky lady her drink.

“You know,” the woman seethed, “I’m having a TERRIBLE day—because of all this! Because of YOU. You’ve made me late! I’ll pay for the person behind me so at least SOMEONE can have a nice day.” 

The barista could have cried. She’d had a tough day too: everyone had called out sick because of COVID, she’d been treated terribly by two customers already, AND she worried about her mother—whose cancer seems to be getting worse…. 

The barista nodded as she tried not to cry. “Okay.” She forced a smile at the unhappy woman. “I hope you’ll have a…nice day….”

The woman must’ve realized how childish she’d been. “You must think I’m a terrible person!” she said. “It’s just because I haven’t had my coffee yet today! That always makes me cranky.”

Yes…. That was it. She’d yelled at a child because she hadn’t had her coffee yet. That made everything better. #sarcasm

Then she drove off. And even though she had paid for the person behind her, she had also momentarily derailed the little barista’s day.

…

When my daughter told me what happened to her yesterday, I got so upset. With everything we’re going through, we try to be extra kind to other people because you never know what they’re going through. I just can’t imagine treating someone so terribly over something as insignificant as coffee. Plus, it makes me sad that someone treated MY kid—who’s only 17–this way. She’s doing the best she can and honestly dealing with a lot. 

 

I just wish people would realize that workers are exhausted right now. AND that’s someone else’s child. (I sure hope she wouldn’t treat her own kid that way.) Why not lift each other up, instead of tearing each other down?

Mike Broke His Foot

 Mike broke his right foot…. He said it’s ironic because, “We finally caught a break.” Oh…dad jokes. 

Trey felt really bad because he’d been driving our friend’s four-wheeler when it happened. Trey is only 13, and he keeps saying how much he wants to drive a car because kids get their licenses at 15 in Idaho. And so, when he had a chance to drive the four-wheeler, we thought, “Why not? He has a helmet and a seatbelt. What could possibly go wrong?”

But as they took a turn too fast, Mike reflexively stuck his foot out the side of the four-wheeler—right before it actually tipped on its side—and he fractured two of his bones on the top of his foot.

Trey rushed into our house and told me the whole story. “It’s pretty bad, Mom!” So, we immediately rushed to the ER. I told Trey he should stay home, but he would NOT leave Mike’s side. Then when the hospital told us that children aren’t allowed in the rooms, Trey puffed up and said, “This whole thing was my fault.” And he actually convinced the medical staff that he needed to stay with his father!

After they took X-rays and told us the worst, I watched Trey and Mike. The two of them talked and laughed. They shared stories about the Korn concert they’d recently gone to—and about a concert they’re going to later this month. And I have to say that it amazed me, just taking the time to realize how their relationship has changed over the years….

Trey was only 5 when he met Mike, and now that he’s becoming a young man, it makes me proud to see how close they are.

Anyway, I’m glad Trey went to the hospital with us. It felt a bit hilarious leaving the ER; Mike had a boot and crutches, and I had my walker. I’m sure we made even 90-year-olds feel young. 

But Trey still felt really bad the next day, and luckily my dad (Philip) called. My dad’s pretty legendary. He sends inspirational texts to our entire family every morning. You never know what he’ll say, but it’s always timely. Last year—before my cancer diagnosis—I compiled all of those texts and published a book for him. It was so awesome to see the surprise and joy on his face. More about that here: https://www.amazon.com/Inspirations-Modern-PHILosopher-Philip-Stilson/dp/B08DBW125M/ref=mp_s_a_1_3?dchild=1&keywords=philip+stilson&qid=1634212899&sr=8-3

So after telling Mike to “get better soon,” my dad called Trey to cheer him up. “You know, people get paid to actually tip vehicles over.”

“What?” Trey asked, mystified. “That’s not for real, right? I just think I’m a terrible driver.”

“No way! That’s a skill people look for. You could be a monster truck driver!”

Trey suddenly lit with excitement. “You’re…right! I could do something like that! I just feel bad Mike got hurt. I’ll just tell him to keep his foot inside next time! Then we can do this together!”

Mike’s surgery is scheduled for a week from Friday. It kind of feels like the blind leading the blind over here though. I’m still so sick, and now I’m taking care of Mike. But this experience has showed me just how amazing our kids are. Sky has been picking Mike up from work. Ruby has helped out so much with the younger kids. And Trey and Indy have started doing extra chores (more laundry and such). 

It’s almost been exactly a year since I found out I have cancer. It’s odd, but this terrible diagnosis hasn’t been as tragic as most people might think. I can’t believe how much closer our family has gotten. 

Our kids have transformed into responsible young adults. I know part of this is because my illness catapulted them into so much change. But as I watched Trey and Mike in the emergency room, it hit me again how very lucky we are. 

I might have cancer, but I also have everything I could possibly hope for. It’s such a strange feeling: I’m the happiest I’ve ever been – and the sickest. It just goes to show, it’s all about perspective and gratitude. 

Photo note: This picture is so adorable. The nurses kept saying they couldn’t believe how happy we are even though we’re going through so much. I honestly think it’s because we have everything; we have each other.

Soul Worth Bidding For

 It’s strange, but it’s been several years since I’ve visited the cattle auction in Blackfoot, and I’m still thinking about it. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t want to be a vegetarian—mainly because I like steak—but I am swayed by how the cattle looked as they entered the ring. It just reminded me so much of death. 

Let’s face it; we know where most of those cattle are going. It’s not pretty or glamorous. Period. Until you imagine some fancy couple in an extravagant restaurant, drinking champagne and eating…beef. 

When I write that it reminded me of death, it’s more than just slaughterhouses. That auction is probably what the afterlife is like. 

I know I wrote about this previously (in a silly way), but I’m serious now. What if when we die we pass in front of God, and He simply decides if we’re worth paying the price for, to go to Heaven.

Either way, as people spent thousands upon thousands of dollars at the cattle auction—and a cow literally pooped about three feet from my face, it was more than the smell of cow patties that freaked me out. 

I guess, the cattle auction made me want to live differently. I want to be a person God would bet on, bid for, and want to hang out with.

What does it take to be worth a high bid...worth going to Heaven?  

As I watched a final cow hardly go for anything, I stood from the stands and left—honestly feeling bad its life hadn’t been worth a little more.