Tumbleweed and Alligator
Thoughts and Ramblings of a West Texas Native and a Cajun Poser
March 7, 2022 - Yes. We're Aware!
March 7, 2022 - Yes. We're Aware!
As many writers suffer “mental blocks” and “dry spells” in writing, so do I. When my focus has been this often dark and murky journey with Ed, glimpses of sunlight and intrusions of brightness enter so sporadically and leave so quickly that I barely have time to stop and capture on paper those moments and occasions that distract me from that which is our elephant in the room.
But, for the sake of accurate recording and timely truth, I pull myself back to the writing that keeps me sane, keeps me centered, and helps me measure progress or regression, whichever is relevant at the time.
Today, I reflect on the last days and weeks when we lived in a state of limbo, between action and inaction, perched above our lives as if we were not a part of what was happening. Chemo treatments halted in November by direction of local oncologists who seemed to be “stumped”, or frustrated by cancer’s rebellious nature – it wasn’t going as expected. The patient presented abnormal reactions to their normal protocols. I always knew that Ed was one of a kind. So, now I should not be surprised to learn that his cancer is a reflection of his own personality - stubborn.
I think it was December when a liver biopsy seemed to be warranted by the local doctor, only to be stopped in mid-stream. Puncturing the lung while trying to extract a piece of the affected liver proved to be a game-changer, or more accurately, a game-stopper. Perhaps for the best since it lead to said local doctor taking a step back, expressing some self-doubt, and admitting to Ed, “if you were my dad, I’d want you at MD Anderson.” Ok, that was reassuring. In the meantime, we waited for the paperwork, the required approvals, and the scheduling.
February 22, we packed up the car, delivered the dogs to the kennel, and headed to Houston. Prepared for at least 3-5 days (as suggested by MDA), our expectations were unique to each of us. Ed wanted nothing less than surgery. “I just want this cancer OUT OF ME!” I was more pragmatic and realistic. “Don’t expect the first visit to include immediate surgery.”
February 23 was labs and bloodwork, with free time most of the day. An uncle of my co-worker took us to lunch, and after a great Mexican feast, we stayed in the hotel room until the next morning. February 24, bright and early – before the hotel shuttle ran, we headed to radiology for CT scans. Finishing up around 1:00, we headed home, a little more reflective, sitting a bit more easily into the newest reality, stated by the new doctor, Dr. Ben Johnson. Like having a medical GPS, we left with a map. Ed would resume the chemo that was halted in November, and come back in two months for another scan. No longer wondering which road to take, which turn to navigate, we at least had a blueprint, a map, a navigation system.
Today, March 7 was the first day back on chemo. From 7:30 am until 1:30 pm, Ed was seated and still, an infusion of chemo going through his once more active medi-port, along with a dose of Benadryl to reduce the risk of allergic reactions. We now wait for the side effects – again. Loss of appetite, loss of hair, digestive roller coaster, and bouts of depression and/or feelings of uselessness. The difference this time might be that there are many more people in his corner, and many more prayers.
At the same time we walk together on this excursion into the unknown, we have birthdays to celebrate, eggs to hide, Spring flowers to plant, a patio to build and life to live and love just as if nothing was amiss.