Jimmy is lying on the sofa, exhausted from a strenuous afternoon of cheering Georgia on to a resounding victory over Ole Miss. We sat on the porch and listened to the game on the radio, as it was inexplicably not aired on television. The announcer, the great Larry Munson, didn't seem to have his old fire, but still does a remarkable job, considering the fact that he's eighty-four years old and in failing health; and, too, it seemed to be a somewhat lackluster game, not reflected by the 45-17 score.

Jimmy had a great day yesterday. He insisted on driving himself to the cancer center (I felt like a mother bird whose baby was leaving the nest) then afterwards to the country club to meet his good friend Wade Coleman, and to have one last drink with Robert. Robert Jenkins, who is retiring this weekend, after being the bartender at the Valdosta Country Club for fifty-four years, is a Valdosta icon. More than the bartender, Robert is a much-loved friend; he is also a successful businessman, admired and respected by the entire community. This is the end of an era; it's hard to imagine the country club without Robert.

Wade had put the word out that Jimmy was meeting him at the club, and they were joined by a large number of Jimmy's old golf group. They sat around and watched the President's Cup on television, and Jimmy had a grand time. Being with them meant a lot to him; he really loves those guys.

Adventures In Grocery Shopping, Part 2.

Yesterday's little saga reminded me of one of my favorite Jimmy stories. A lot of people have heard it, but it is just so classic Jimmy that I love to tell it.

Shortly after Jimmy and I were married, he went with me to the grocery store. It was obviously not something he had done often - if ever - and he found the whole experience fascinating. It was as though he had landed on Mars.

Novice though he was, Jimmy threw himself into the project at hand with his customary enthusiasm and single-minded absorption. He squeezed the tomatoes, he sniffed the cantaloupes, he earnestly debated the merits of the different cuts of meat, and the advantages, economic and otherwise, of 1-ply versus 2.

When at last our mission was accomplished, we hauled our loot to the checkout line. As she was scanning all of our little treasures, the cashier asked Jimmy, "Paper or plastic?" Jimmy looked confused, and after a long pause answered, "Cash, I guess."

This morning I stopped by the grocery store to pick up a couple of things, and got behind an attractive older woman who was the only customer at the only open register. Like me, she had a small basket of groceries. Her purchases amounted to $12.48, but she had a coupon she wanted to redeem, and eventually fished it out from the bottom of her handbag.

She had also pulled out an envelope that contained a debit card; it had just come in the mail, and as she had never used a debit card before, she wanted to try it out. The helpful little checkout girl came from around the counter and patiently explained how it worked. After several futile attempts to complete the transaction, they determined that the card would have to be activated by a telephone call before it could be used. There were now four people in the line.

Our customer then had to dig around in her pocketbook for a while longer before unearthing her wallet. She carefully counted all of her bills and all of her change before announcing that since she had paid her yardman the afternoon before, she needed to go to the bank to cash a check.

More fumbling around in her purse produced a checkbook. She slowly wrote it out, and then painstakingly entered all of the pertinent information into the check register. Finally, she tore it out and handed it with a flourish to the poor cashier, who at this point was franticly trying to find someone else to come open another register. She gathered up her belongings and her small bag of groceries, then turned to her audience, now an eight-deep line of impatient customers, and said with a laugh,"Get over it. I'm an old lady."

Since we've been back in Valdosta, our stress level has dropped from about a 10 to a .2. I can't speak for Jimmy, but I attribute some of my own new found serenity to my dog. Jimmy and I have a good friend who, after a heart attack, was advised by his doctor to get a dog because of the soothing properties of canine companionship.

No one can accuse my dog, Andy, of being beautiful. An impulsive pet shop purchase, he allegedly is a chihuahua, but with his big Yoda ears and long pointy snout and bowlegs, looks more like some sort of a mixed-breed terrier. My brother Mac unkindly calls him "rat-dog".

While we are in Atlanta, Andy lives with Jackie and Mary Oliver, my son and daughter-in-law,but he moves back in with Jimmy and me when we're home. Jimmy is somewhat less enchanted with Andy's company than I am. Jimmy likes "real" dogs (translation: hunting dogs, and, of course, bulldogs).

Like many small dogs, Andy loves to burrow under the covers and sleep cuddled up next to his humans. Under normal circumstances, this is not something that Jimmy would tolerate well, but because of my recent stint as Florence Nightingale, I have more leverage than usual. And Andy DOES have the good sense to stay on my side of the bed.

Jimmy is doing remarkably well; he is a different person from the Jimmy of just a few weeks ago. Yesterday his good friend and former CEO and chairman of the board of the Park Avenue Bank, Brad Burnette, took him to the monthly bank advisory board meeting. It was the first time Jimmy has been able to attend since last winter, and he really enjoyed seeing everybody.

Today he got all dressed up in a suit and tie (another first in a long time) and I took him to the holding company board meeting at the bank. He initially was a little self-conscious about being a Kojak look-alike, and he said that he did get a few double takes as people realized who he was. It IS a bit of a shock at first, but when you get used to it, he looks pretty darned good. Bald men have a certain very attractive aura about them; maybe Jimmy should adopt this look permanently.

I picked him up at the bank after his meeting, and took him for his treatment at the cancer center where we spent the rest of the afternoon. (I'm starting to feel like I'm back in my soccer mom days, chauffeuring my sons all over town.) After we got home, he crashed. It's only seven o'clock, and I'll get him up to eat a little supper, but he's pretty much down for the count.

Jimmy came into the kitchen this morning grinning from ear to ear. When I asked him why the big smile, he answered, "Go Dogs!". He is still basking in the afterglow of a great Georgia overtime victory over Alabama. We had our windows open last night, and I'm sure our cheering and yelling could be heard for a country mile. It's always sweet when the Bulldogs prevail, but last night's win was especially satisfying.

Today is the first day of fall, exactly six months from the day that Jimmy broke his back and changed our life, one whole spring and one whole summer ago. In some ways it seems like forever, but even so, it still has a surreal it-can't-be-true quality about it. Some mornings, before I'm completely awake, I think, "Boy, that was one weird dream I had last night".

Jimmy has always been such a strong, in control, take charge person, and I'm so ... not. This illness, with the incapacitation and the strong medications that have accompanied it, has caused an uncharacteristic docility in Jimmy, and a disconcerting role reversal for us. Having to take over as the decision-making tough guy has been neither a comfortable nor a welcomed state of affairs, but you do what you have to do. Fortunately, in the last few weeks he has become more and more his old self, and what a relief it is to have my sweet bossy Jimmy back in action.

Yesterday Kenny Scruggs and Buddy Coleman came over and got Jimmy, and they rode down to the farm, then into Madison where they had lunch at the barbeque place. Jimmy had a marvelous time. I continue to peck away at my "have to" list that has built up over the last six months. Normalcy in a wonderful thing.

Mrs. Dewar was released from the hospital yesterday. I took Jimmy by to see her after his chemo at the cancer center. She's better: weak still, and a little disoriented at times, but that's probably the medication she's taking. Hopefully, she has weathered one more little storm.

Our first cancer treatment here in Valdosta went quite well, and was an easy pleasant experience. Even the parking was vastly different. In Atlanta, I either have to drop Jimmy off at the clinic, and then drive to Outer Mongolia to find a parking place, or use valet parking, which is time-consuming and expensive. Here, we just parked at the front door and went in. Whereas at Emory, dozens and dozens of people are being treated at the same time, at Pearlman, there were just a handful getting infusions, so it went rather quickly. Life is a lot simpler away from the big city.

While Jimmy was being treated, I walked to the hospital next door and sat with Mrs. Dewar for a while. She's feeling better, and probably will go home Friday. She was disappointed that Jimmy was not with me, but I explained that it was too much walking for his back, and I think that satisfied her. I didn't tell her that he was a hundred yards away, hooked up to an IV. His white blood count is still low, as is his ability to fight infection, and there are just too many sick people in the hospital.

Jimmy is doing SO much better. I think that a lot of it is that he is so happy to be at home. This morning Jamey came and got him and took him to the office for a little while, and then they came back to the house and had lunch together. Jimmy feels his best earlier in the day; as the day wears on, he runs out of steam. As I write this, I'm being paged. He needs for me to flush the lines on his port with heparin (prevents blood clots) before he goes to bed. There are no timeouts in this ballgame.

Jimmy's mother is one of the best people I have ever known. Blessed with a sunny disposition and a sweet nature, she loves people, and people love her. Never mean-spirited or petty or small-minded or critical, she sees the good in everyone. She doesn't have to work at being like that; it's just the way she is. As Jimmy has always said about her,"Mama doesn't think bad thoughts."

Jimmy made the decision early on not to tell his mother about the myeloma until he absolutely had to. He told her about the fractured vertebrae, but he omitted telling her what had caused them to fracture . She is ninety-one years old, and mentally sharp, but very frail physically, and confined to a wheelchair. Jimmy is her only child. He knows that this would devastate her, and he has been determined to try to spare her this pain and worry for as long as he possibly can. As he has not seen her since losing his hair, this has been a great concern for him. This afternoon he went to see her, with trepidation in his heart and a baseball cap on his head. She admired the cap, but never said anything else about it, so he didn't either. He'll probably have to tell her the whole truth before we go back to Atlanta, but he's glad that he could protect her for one more day.

Thursday Jimmy got some cortisone injections in his spine, and so far they have given him a lot of relief. He has also started taking something called Lyrica for the neuropathy in his hands and feet, and that is helping as well. He said this morning that he feels the best he's felt since he broke his back.

Friday, with all of our Emory appointments out of the way, we threw a few things into the back of the van and headed home. We were so glad to get here that we almost kissed the ground when we pulled into the driveway.

A few weeks before we found out that Jimmy was sick, we had started doing some long overdue renovations to our house: several windows had to be replaced, painting needed to be done, countertops needed replacing, etc. etc. Like most projects, once begun, one thing led to another, and it seemed to take on a life of its own. Then right in the middle of everything, we had to move to Atlanta. Everybody has done a superb job of finishing up and trying to put the house back together for us, but there are just some things that no one can do but me, and I haven't been here to do them. And now that I AM here, all I want to do to is crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, curl up into a fetal position and suck my thumb. For a month.

Most of yesterday was spent at the clinic, getting lab work done, then having an intravenous infusion of Zometa to strengthen Jimmy's bones. Afterwards, we had a good meeting with Dr. Lonial and Darlene Anderson (stem cell coordinator, and what a sweetheart she is!). We have a plan. Our primary objectives are:

1. We'll continue to wage war against the myeloma (Jimmy says he envisions the myeloma as little PacMen, chomping away at his bones). The M protein (the marker for myeloma) is down 80% to 1.2, which is good, but ideally, we would like for it to be zero. Dr. Lonial wants us to start on another round of molecular chemotherapy next week, and has agreed that we can have this done in Valdosta. It will consist of two doses of Velcade a week for two weeks, administered intravenously, along with Decadron, a steroid, given orally. We are omitting the Revlimid this time, since Dr. Lonial thinks it might have inhibited Jimmy's stem cell production during the last collection.

2. We still need to collect a lot more stem cells for transplant; an additional seven million would be nice. When we finish this round of chemo, we'll go back to Atlanta, in early October, where we will go through another stem cell collection process. Dr. Lonial thinks that he will not use the vicious Cytoxin this time - thank heavens. That stuff is like rat poison. We'll do the Neupogen shots again (I inject them subcutaneously into Jimmy's abdomen; the last time we did this, Jimmy's middle was polka-dotted with bruises from my inexperienced shot-giving). We are also going to try a new drug that has just been approved by the FDA. Hopefully, this will result in a stem cell bonanza.

3. We are continuing to work on strengthening Jimmy's back. We had a good session Monday with Carl, the therapist, a great big guy with a shaved head and a little gold earring, who looks a lot like a professional wrestler, and a little like Mr. Clean. Tomorrow we're going back to the spine center, where Jimmy is getting cortisone injections in his back. He also has a series of exercises that he is doing several times a day. This whole thing has been so debilitating, and he has lost a considerable amount of muscle that we are trying hard to rebuild.

Last night Jamey and I decided that the few remaining wisps on the top of Jimmy's head had to go, so I shaved them off. Jimmy is most displeased with his new persona. Among his numerous complaints are: "my head's cold", and "I'm not pretty enough to go around without my hair", and "I could get a job at a halloween carnival, scaring small children".

Having been virtually inseparable 24/7 for the last six months, Jimmy and I have developed sympathy pains for each other: when his back hurts, my back hurts, when he's down, I'm down, and so on. It's like the stories about when the wife gets pregnant and her husband starts having morning sickness. I'm perfectly willing to share his miseries, but I draw the line with alopecia.

We got back to Atlanta this afternoon after spending a lovely three days in Highlands. It was just what we both needed. Jimmy vegged out on the porch a lot, hardly leaving the house except to go for a ride one afternoon. His good buddies Bill Huff and Kenny Youmans came over and sat with him while Bill's wife Maudie and I went to the Old Edwards Inn Spa and got facials. Our hopes that ten years would magically drop from our appearance never materialized, but it was therapeutic.

The Georgia-South Carolina game Saturday night is best left undiscussed (perhaps "best left in disgust" would be more appropriate).

Jimmy's beautiful blond hair is about 85% gone now, and we're finding its loss fairly traumatic. As long as he looked the same, it was possible to pretend that everything was ok. He has also lost weight, probably about ten or twelve pounds, and continues to suffer from extreme fatigue. Just taking a shower this morning wore him out so badly that he had to get back in the bed and rest for thirty minutes before he could get dressed. It could be, too, that when he got out of the shower and looked in the mirror and saw how much hair had gone down the drain, he, in my grandmother's words, "took to the bed". Otherwise, we're fine.

Rosey and Pat are expecting another baby! They gave us permission to tell, and we are thrilled. Little brothers William (2 1/2 years old) and Jake (13 months) are going to be hard acts to follow though!

Jimmy's hair has started to fall out. He won't let me touch it because he says he wants to keep it as long as he can, but he's starting to look like a molting parrot. In a few days he's going to be as slick as a gourd. He says he's going to get a do-rag with one of those fake pigtails in the back and an earring.

We went to the clinic yesterday, and his blood tests looked good; his blood counts are slowly building back up. This morning we went back to the spine center, and Dr. Schauffele was very pleased with the progress Jimmy's back is making. He said his goal is to have Jimmy back to playing golf in a few months.

The Fernbank Science Museum is only a few minutes from our apartment, so yesterday afternoon we decided to go to see a short documentary on coral reefs. It turned out to be a little bit of a downer because a) they kept talking about how global warming is killing all the reefs, and b) it made us homesick for the Bahamas.

We seem to be in a very welcomed R&R phase of treatment. I feel a little silly saying every day that Jimmy's feeling a little better and giving a recitation of what we had for breakfast and what we watched on television, so I may occasionally skip a day or so with the blog. The order of the day will be No News Is Good News.

I dropped my cell phone on the floor while we were in the hospital and the text messaging component is not working. I think the voice mail is messed up, too. I'm working on it.

Posting anything today seems like a big waste of time, for the reader as well as the writer, since it has been thoroughly uneventful. Jimmy feels better and better. We had a very unlaborious Labor Day, neither of us even bothering to get out of our pajamas. Jimmy watched Woods and Mickelson slug it out in whatever golf tournament they were playing, then watched Clemson slug FSU (FSU slugged back at the end, but not quite hard enough). I slept all day, probably making up for all the sleep I lost trying to sleep on that implement of torture in the hospital. Ever so often, I'd wake up enough to make my way to the kitchen, eat a big bowl of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla ice cream, then stagger back to bed. All in all, it wasn't a bad way to spend a Monday.

Jimmy's doing fairly well. He's as weak as a kitten, cold one minute, hot the next. It's just going to take some time for all of this stuff to work its way out of his system. He's lying around, reading a lot, and watching whatever sports he can find on TV. We've spent some time on our balcony which overlooks the pool. It makes us feel so old, all of the bikinis, and the loud music blasting our eardrums. We're the oldest people in this complex by thirty years at least. What on earth are we doing here?

Five months ago, Jimmy and I had ordinary lives, did ordinary things, had ordinary thoughts. Then one day, like Alice, we walked through the looking glass, not into Wonderland, but into the strange and disturbing world of Cancerland, a dark and frightening place that consumes all of our thoughts and time and energy. Sometimes it seems like a crazy bizarre dream, this waking up in a strange apartment in Atlanta, with a back brace on the sofa and hypodermic syringes in the refrigerator.

Still, we laugh a lot, and we cry a lot, and we find joy and happiness in the most unlikely places. C'est la vie.

Go Dogs!

Jimmy had a good day yesterday: he felt better and more normal than he has in some time; he was SO glad to be out of the hospital; he got to watch the Bulldogs on TV, and they won - BIG. And to top it all off, Rosey and Pat and Jamey brought supper over and we all watched the game together. It was a lot of fun, and Jimmy's little girl can always make her daddy smile.