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March 8, 2022 - Yes, We're Aware 

I was reminded that March is a designated Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month, and out of a sense of obligation, as a survivor myself, and as the wife of one who is in the midst of the battle, I do my part in making others aware.  For the brief moment, scrolling the Facebook posts, or hearing or seeing an ad on the topic, maybe I can hope that one might be compelled to pause, consider his/her own health, or pray for those who are touched by this disease.  Awareness should inevitably lead to action - or so we can hope.


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 at least a game-stopper, and 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 plan. Ed would resume the chemo that was halted in November, and return 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.


Yesterday, 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 kick-starting his inactive 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 feeling useless or helpless. The difference this time is 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. 

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