Racing from Death and Celebrating Life

Three years ago I was diagnosed with Indolent Non-Hodgkin's B-Cell Lymphoma. “Indolent” is the magic word here, as it means lazy, idle, or sluggish. And thank God it’s a couch-potato cancer or I would have an aggressive, severe disease that would probably have already killed me.

I recently moved with my husband to Aiken, South Carolina, and needed a new house, a new driver’s license, new insurance, and new doctors. I hated giving up my Maryland oncologist, Doctor Selonick, as he is a brilliant cancer doctor who teaches medical students and oncology staff at Johns Hopkins.  

Oncology Pavilion at Aiken Regional Medical Center

There are only two oncologists in Aiken, a Turk and a Pakistani, both of whom received their degrees in their native countries. My new primary doctor, a woman named Doctor Kulik, who I still haven’t met, referred me to the Pakistani, Doctor Ahmed Gill. I had misgivings. 

I got an appointment and met Doctor Gill. Swarthy, with a beard, he had wonderful intelligent eyes and a kind face. He was astonished when I said my lymphoma had presented itself as bilateral tumors in my lungs. Nowhere else. My case was so unusual it was presented to Johns Hopkins in 2010, so I guess I have to cut Gill a little slack.

Gill was concerned that I’d had only chest scans during the last three years. He insisted I have a PET scan to make sure the cancer had not popped up elsewhere. 

PET Scan Machine. Just love being swallowed by this thing!

“PET scan: a positron emission tomography scan. A unique type of imaging test that helps doctors see how organs and tissues inside your body are actually functioning. The test involves injecting a very small dose of a radioactive chemical, called a radiotracer, into the vein of your arm. The tracer travels through the body and is absorbed by the organs and tissues being studied.” 

As I understand it the chemical also contains sugar and cancer loves sugar. I believe that any organ with cancer lights up like a carnival. Now you have another reason to cut back on sugar: cancer loves to eat sugar.

The test was scheduled, and the waiting began. Wait for the scan, wait for the results. Wait, wait, wait, all the while feeling heavier and more frightened. A week after the scan, I cooled my heels in the waiting room with other cancer patients. Two cups of coffee later, I was shown into an examination room by a male nurse who was holding my chart. My chart! He put the papers onto a small desk outside my room and closed the door. I waited. I sat in the chair, I stood up, I opened the door and peeked at the chart on the table. Two nurses came down the hall. I scurried back inside. 

I sat in that room like a sheep and then I thought, “What would Nikki do?” I darted from the room, grabbed the chart, sat down, and read the radiology report. 

No cancer in the body, except the radiologist noted the middle lobe of the right lung had a 1.3 centimeter nodule. The uptake on the radioactive sugar was fairly minor, but of some concern.

Okay, this was the old one, right? I’d had a bunch of tumors and Selonick had treated me with Rituxan. The drug and knocked out all the tumors save one, which was essentially just residue. Selonick’s last test had shown a withered shrunken thing compared to the first reading in 2010. But damn it, I couldn't remember the last recorded size. Was the current 1.3 bigger? Was the cancer growing again? 

I didn’t know the answers to those questions. I did know I didn't want to be caught with the chart.

I opened the door and scanned the hall. Nobody. I whisked the chart back onto the table and disappeared into my room and waited some more.

When Doctor Gill came in, he told me what I already knew. I gave him an okay-and-this-means-what-exactly look, and I got nothing. He said he would have to compare this latest test to the records from Maryland.

“You mean you have not received my records from Maryland?” I was incredulous. “You haven’t spoken to Doctor Selonick?” 

Apparently Gill had wanted to get the PET scan results before he did anything. But he showed himself to be a pretty cool dude. He picked up the phone and called, Selonick, although I could tell by his expression he never expected to reach another oncologist so easily. But Selonick took the call and the two doctors had a ten minute conversation, including sociable facts like Selonick’s wife is from Sumter, South Carolina. Selonick is very personable that way. And I knew he probably was in an examining room with an anxious patient who was ready to strangle him while he spoke to Gill. God knows he took plenty of calls in the examining room when I was his patient. 

I almost hugged Gill when I heard him ask Selonick, “What do you recommend?” No prima donna in this Aiken office. He was more concerned about his new patient than playing a game of “who’s the best doctor?” Turns out that the last time I had a chest scan the tumor residue was 1.5 centimeters. The miserable little monster is still shrinking! Gill and Selonick agreed the best course of action is to wait six months, take another chest scan and if all is fine, wait another six months and so on.

I got in the car, drove myself home, and when Rosco met me at the door, I bust into tears.  

THE NEXT MORNING: What a difference a day makes.

The Darley two-year-olds "backing up" on their way to the gate.

The next day I got up very early, put Rosco in the car, and off we went to the Aiken’s "Breakfast at the Gallops" event. 

Aikenites on the rail watching the youngsters gallop.

I met some great new people, 

The legendary Cot Campbell, who moved to Aiken 26 years ago.

Two of Cot Campell's stretch their legs on the Aiken mile track.

celebrated life, and Rosco vacuumed up stray biscuit crumbs. He also got to see a lot of horses, meet a Pomeranian, two Skye Terriers and a Welsh Corgi. A most excellent experience for both of us.

But I think the best thing I saw was afterwards. I stopped at the Darley stables and saw their two-year-olds turned out together, just being horses, not locked into stalls 23 hours a day. Awesome!

A paddock at Darley Stables, Aiken, SC.

One of the Darley Barns at Aiken.

Video and Upcoming Book Signings

 Click bar at bottom of screen to see RACING FROM DEATH Trailer!

Book Signings:

Aiken Public Library, Aiken, South Carolina. Saturday, April 27, 3:00 p.m.

 

The new Nikki Latrelle Novel,  THE SEA HORSE TRADE premieres at Malice Domestic Mystery Conference, Bethesda, Maryland, May 3, 2013.  

Click to read first chapter of THE SEA HORSE TRADE! 

Sasscer Hill will speak at the “Malice SVU: Mysteries With Sex Crimes” panel at Malice Domestic on May 5. Sasscer Hill’s newest book, THE SEA HORSE TRADE will debut at the Malice conference. Her novel deals with the illegal sex trade of minors. Authors Allison Leotta, Laura Lippman and Lynne Raimondo are also featured on this panel. The panel will take place at the Bethesda, Maryland, Hyatt Regency on May 5, at 9:45 a.m. 

In September, Hill will appear at the Writers Police Academy in North Carolina and at BOUCHERCON 2013 in Albany, NY. Dates and times to be posted.

THE ROAD TO A NEW LIFE

A friend said, “Whatever you do, when you drive out of Pleasant Hills for the last time, don’t look back.”

I didn’t, and with Kitty mewling pitifully –she’d never been caged before -- and Rosco whining, I turned left onto on Route 301 South, and kept on going. An unharmonious chorus of complaints continued from the back in the Equinox’s cargo compartment for three hours, ceasing only when I'd left Maryland far behind and was almost clear of Virginia, where both animals gave it up and fell asleep. Bums. 

I still had six hours of driving ahead, and had been sleeping on the floor at Pleasant Hills for the last two nights. I’d left Daniel packing the horse trailer and pickup truck. He’d stay one more night. I didn’t envy him.

When I hit Weldon, North Carolina, I stopped at the KFC, and Kitty, Rosco, and I ate chicken like a pack of starving animals. After Rosco marked a number of tires in the parking lot, we hit the road again.

By the time I pulled into the driveway of my new home in Aiken, South Carolina, it was almost dark, the neighborhood quiet. My exhaustion and exhilaration tracked so closely together they’d become a single, overwhelming force. 

Deep breath, kept on moving. Climbed from the car. Put dog in fenced part of yard, cat onto screened porch. Lugged pet food/dishes, litter box, and toilet paper inside. Fed animals, left Rosco in the new house with a promise to return. Stopped for KFC on way to hotel.

Like a robot, I checked into my room and unpacked my suitcase. Hot shower, changed clothes, and back to the new house by eight. 

I wanted Rosco to know that after I left him in this strange house, in an area that felt and smelled so different, I would return. As a four-month-old, he was found on the Baltimore Washington Parkway almost starved to death. I’d adopted him from the pound in Prince Georges County, Maryland, and suspected he has abandonment issues. 

That evening, I took Rosco for a walk around his new neighborhood and discovered a conundrum. How do I tell a dog that’s had the run of two-hundred-acres in Maryland he is not allowed to pee on the neighbor’s bushes in South Carolina? It remains an ongoing puzzle.

Back at the house, Kitty stood on the screened porch staring into the night, lashing her tail.  Who knows what this means? After lavish petting and cooing, I drove back to the hotel where all I’d left behind caught up with me.

I poured myself a drink and odd details of Pleasant Hills floated in my thoughts. The sunken stone step outside the kitchen door -- an impression made by the tread of relatives going in and out for more than two centuries. The pine step plates of the grand staircase I padded up and down as a small, barefoot child. The horse stable where I’d raised so many young Thoroughbreds.

Daniel had said to leave Pleasant Hills would be like a death. Refusing to sink into that dark place, I turned on the TV and was saved by the new season premier of my favorite TV show, “Burn Notice.” The main characters, Michael and Fiona, were also trying to escape from something and apparently needed to fake their own deaths. 

Fiona and Michael

While they were figuring out how to do this, I attempted to remove the key to Pleasant Hills from my key ring. 

While I stared at the ring assembly, Michael and Fiona drove to their house with several gallons of gasoline. I slid a fingernail between the key ring’s metal pieces and tried to pry them apart. The metal was heavy and tight as a padlock. Meanwhile, Michael and Fiona were splashing gasoline around the interior of their home.

I had to separate myself from Pleasant Hills. I used a thumbnail and the nail on my forefinger. I pried. My fingernail broke. On TV Michael and Fiona were pouring gasoline onto their bed. Pry harder! My finger bled, the skin tore. Fiona lit a match and torched the bed. My thumbnail broke down to the quick. Damn it! Michael and Fiona’s home burst into flames. The rings finally separated and the key slid off.

Michael and Fiona prevailed against all odds that night, and I did too. Death and rebirth. I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep and in the morning, I was ready for our new home.

Rosco enjoying his new home

CAPTION CONTEST! Photos from Bouchercon 2012

  On the my last day at Bouchercon, I was picking up my few unsold books from bookseller Richard Katts of Mystery One Books. It was time to catch my flight and lug the books home. I looked up from my bag of books and Lee Child appeared before me. Right there, sitting at my bookseller’s table! 

Never one to miss an opportunity to be annoying, I thrust my camera at an unsuspecting stranger, darted around the table, and knelt next to the man who’s almost as tall as Jack Reacher. The stranger snapped the picture below. 

It’s not the best photo, so I asked my Facebook friends for help. We ran a photo caption contest. 

The number of Facebook “likes” for each caption narrowed the contest to three entries from dozens of great ones. The committee’s giggle meter provided final order of finish. 

Third place goes to, Bob Sanchez: “Sasscer Hill, taking success in stride."

Second place goes to Anna Tauzin’s entry, “Act cool, it's Lee Child, OMG!" 

Notice Lee’s smile and picture a caption bubble over his head as you read Rhonda Lane’s winning quote: “Wait ‘til I tell Lynda that the studio wants to produce the Nikki Latrelle books starring Tom Cruise in drag." 

Below are some other fun photos from Bouchercon 2012 in Cleveland, Ohio.

The Murder in the Great Outdoors panel. Stephen Booth, Robin Harlick, Paul Doiron, Sasscer Hill, and Curt Wendelboe.

Sasscer Hill and Curt Wendelboe before the start of the panel.

Robin Harlick and British author Stephen Booth. He was very popular and really drew in a crowd. I was proud to be there.

Sasscer Hill outside the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, where the opening ceremonies were held for Bouchercon 2012.

Inside the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, Mary Higgins Clark!

Author John Connolly interviews "Tom Cruise" who will star in the new "Jack Reacher," movie.

Parnell Hall entertains us at the Sisters in Crime breakfast on Friday morning. Did he know SinC would sweep the Anthony Awards?

 Hank Phillippi Ryan and Sasscer Hill in the Book Room. I need to get some red lipstick . . .

Thriller author Zoe Sharp, looking sharp.

AFTER THE FALL

 "Leaves are falling all around. It's time I was on my way.” This Led Zepplin song, “Ramble On” so reflects my mood as I start to leave Maryland.

Pleasant Hills after the fall

And words like “Sometimes I grow so tired, but I know I've got one thing I got to do...  sing my song.”



My song is in my novels where characters chase the dream, fight the odds and help the helpless.  Writing connects me to the wild spirit in my heart and when I listen to Plant singing, “Gotta find the queen of all my dreams,” I know just what he means. When that queen, that wild heart drives my writing I know the work is good, that readers can share the emotion clear and simple. 

Plant sings, “Mine's a tale that can't be told, my freedom I hold dear.” I have always believed in personal freedom and rugged individualism. In today’s political environment I keep some of my beliefs to myself. But I want to be financially sound, debt free, and at least moderately successful as an author.

Wonderful events like the Washington Post’s August 29 Review of “Racing from Death” help me to believe. Accolades like, “If you miss the late Dick Francis’s racetrack thrillers, you’ll be intrigued by Sasscer Hill’s Racing From Death.” 

But the key to success is to be prolific. I must write well and plentifully. Having two herniated dics and an office in an attic up four flights of stairs do not lend themselves to this goal. Being constantly worried about my absurdly expensive homeowners policy, the huge utility bills caused by twelve foot ceilings, and the high Maryland property taxes just ain’t cutting it.


After the 2011 earthquake, the 2008 market crash, the gutting of Maryland horse racing in this state by the legislators in Annapolis who continue to raise taxes, it is time to be on my way. Staying in our beautiful historical home without the funds to keep Pleasant Hills going makes no sense. Time for hard choices that will lead to a less stressful life in a smaller town and smaller home where I can write novels that will give readers a quality place to visit when they want to step away from the hardships of life.

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=sasscer+hill

A July 2012 Review for “Racing from Death.”

Agog and amazed upon receipt of this lovely review!


"Small Press Reviews" by Betty Webb in Mystery Scene Magazine, 2012 Summer
#125

 Sasscer Hill brings us another exciting racehorse mystery in Racing from Death (Wildside Press, $13.99). When Maryland jockey Nikki Latrelle,introduced in the Agatha-nominated Full Mortality, takes several horses to race at a Virginia track, she lands in the middle of several cold cases. Years earlier, two teenage boys were shot to death, leaving their mother in despair. Around the same time, another mother disappeared, abandoning her young son to his cold father. In the present, and possibly connected to those old tragedies, jockeys are dropping dead, victims of a lethal weight-loss drug. Horse lovers and fans of Dick Francis will love Hill’s you-are-there-on-the-racecourse thriller, but the real asset of this excellent series is the hard-riding, hard-partying Nikki herself. After being orphaned, Nikki ran away to the track, where she found her calling. Spirited to a fault, she doesn’t suffer fools gladly, especially when their ignorance harms horses. Nikki’s racetrack friends are worth mentioning, too. Lorna, an exercise rider, loves too hard and too blindly; Mello, an elderly groom, has a touch of the Sight. In fact, Mello’s visions give Racing from Death the touch of magic that separates it from standard mystery fare. Add to the character mix a mysterious crying man who haunts a nearby forest, and we’re given an utterly unique take on racetrack thrillers.


http://tinyurl.com/7elojmjPurchase novel or read free chapters!

RACING FROM DEATH AT COLONIAL DOWNS

I studied the middle–aged New Kent County Sheriff on duty at Colonial Downs racetrack on June 23, 2012. 

Taser Gun 

Holstered on his wide leather belt were both a Taser and a handgun. Additionally, he carried a flashlight, a baton, keys, and two radios that were connected by spiral cords to the mikes that sat on each of his shoulders. And that’s what I could identify. 


How did he walk around with all that stuff?


Being a mystery author and a busybody, I had to ask him how much his belt weighed.


 “Eighteen pounds.” He said, shaking his head.  “But you should see some of the young bloods. You wouldn’t believe the stuff they carry around.” He told me one of the two radios was for the sheriff’s department, the other for the racetrack.


I was stuck at my desk outside the track’s gift shop hawking copies of my published mysteries. With the downturn in the economy, the crowd was sparser than the last time I’d been there. I spent time talking to three different sheriffs on duty that night and got a whole new perspective on the mortgage foreclosure disaster. New Kent County has not been exempt.


When I picture a mortgage foreclosure, I see the mean bank and the mean law officer evicting people from their only homes. But Saturday night, a sheriff I talked to turned the mental image around. He said, “I’ve been a law officer for thirty-something years and the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do is enforce a foreclosure.”


He told me about an old woman who had just gotten out of the hospital the day before. “She still had bandages on her arm,” he said. “And I had to evict her.” 


The pain from the memory twisted his face. He closed his eyes as if trying to push it away.


“It’s like war,” I said, “when you’re supposed to shoot someone you don’t even know.”


He stared at me. I decided it was time to step away from the abyss and sell a book. 

Sasscer Hill outside the Colonial Downs Gift Shop

“Hey, do you read mysteries,” I called out to a woman who’d just come through the main entrance and was clutching a free cupcake voucher.


“Not really,” she said. “But do you know where they have the cupcakes?”


I manned my book table from six to ten-thirty that night. When you do a book signing, you become the information center. You tell people where the bathrooms are, where to get their free cupcake, where to buy a program, and how to reach the bar. Being Ladies Night, the gals not only got the cupcake, they got in for free, too. 


That night, the Thoroughbred Racing Foundation was hosting a retired race-mare beauty contest.  The horses in this competition came from the James River Foundation, a correctional center where retired race horses get to live out their days and prisoners get to work with horses while searching for that second chance. The offenders in this correctional program have an unusually high success rate for staying out of the prison system.  


The TRF vanned in three plump, groomed, and shiny mares and paraded them in front of the grandstand after the second race. People filled out their choice that evening and voted, placing their picks in a box. Since I was sitting right next to it, it occurred to me it would be easy to stuff the ballot box. Except the  sheriff was there. Besides, no one tried to bribe me. 


Colonial also sponsored “The Race to the Alter,” where engaged couples competed for an all expense paid July wedding at the track. Additionally, Colonial put on an all female jockey race that evening, and, of course, the amazing author Sasscer Hill was there signing her horse racing mystery novels.

Kim Loftus and Chris Chappell from Virginia Beach, pictured with Chris’ daughter.

"Lite 98's radio host, Shelly Perkins, was the emcee for the evening. Over the sound system, I heard her announce the entrants to the “Race to the Altar.” Later, Kim Loftus and Chris Chappell from Virginia Beach won the race to the Alter which included the facility, the gown, the cake, the food, the champagne, the pictures and the limo!



 The hands down winner of the beauty pageant was a chestnut mare named Skittles. The seven-year-old mare never hit the board in nine lifetime starts, but Saturday night, she wore a garland of roses in the winner’s circle and received a year’s supply of carrots from Whole Foods.

After they finished parading the mares, Colonial’s director-of-marketing, Darrell Wood, stopped by and told me I had a fast date with a microphone on the Jumbotron.


“You’ll be interviewed by radio host, Shelly Perkins,” he said. “Right after the fifth race.”


Two years ago, when I knew I would have to go on the air in front of the entire grandstand, I got quite nervous. Last Saturday, I didn’t. I got hungry, ate an entire order of french fries, and bought a Makers Mark and ginger ale. I nursed my way through half the Maker’s Mark, consuming enough for a buzz of bravery, but not enough to spoil the show. Then it was time to walk down to the racetrack circle and get ready to go on the air.

Sasscer meets Shelly

I was introduced to radio host Shelly Perkins, who held a cheat sheet that did not include the name of my new novel. She also wanted to pronounce my name as “Sow sir.” I told her to pronounce it like she was telling someone not to “sass her.” 


She said, “Okay. When we go on, you will tell me a little about your book.” 


I froze. I hadn’t even thought about talking about my book. Where was my head? So I did a very fast mental repeat of my novel's elevator pitch, letting it rise to the top of my brain until it was as big and clear as a billboard. 


While I did this, the fifth race ran. After the field galloped out, the winner, ridden by Horatio Karamanos, came into the winner’s circle and we all moved out of the way for the win picture. Afterwards, I ended up standing next to Karamanos as he stood on the scales to weigh in.

Horatio Karamanos rides in the winner, Little Piasano

For me, an amazing coincidence as a fictional character named Eduardo Carmanos, based loosely on the real Karamanos, features largely in the novel “Racing from Death.” 

Karamanos (red cap) on the weight scale standing next to Sasscer (turquoise)

Carmanos has an even bigger role in the just finished manuscript, “The Sea Horse Trade.” When you read, “Racing from Death,” you will race with Nikki in a Colonial Downs turf stake where the fictional character, jockey Carmanos, blocks and stops Nikki’s horse three times, trying to keep Nikki from winning. Those that have read the book tell me they felt like they were there on the track, grinding it out to the wire – that they couldn’t put the book down.

Suddenly, Shelly Perkins motioned me to join her, the camera guy stood in front of us, and did a finger count down from five to one, and the light on his camera went red.


I managed not to screw up, and finished by telling the crowd "Racing from Death" features young jockey Nikki Latrelle who tangles with a murdering sociopath who is selling diet cocktails to jockeys who struggle to maintain racing weight. 


Shelly said, "Gee, I'm glad that's fiction!" 


I had to laugh.