Furniture Stores are Really Just Indoor Playgrounds

My children love a furniture store. So many couches and beds to try, so many pieces of modified gymnastics equipment. Really, what's not to love?

When Dave recently suggested we stop at Rooms To Go to spend our gift cards from last year's Black Friday sale, I reminded him: "You know how much they love a furniture store, right? Be prepared."
 

When we got there, I prepared for the climbing and testing on nice clean furniture by scrubbing their hands and faces with baby wipes before we left the car. I was just imagining grimy little hand prints all over white mattresses. Ick. 

As we entered the store the race was on to see how many things could they sit on in the time we were there. Dave looked at furniture while I herded children and played. Thankfully, we never found the kid section to see if they had bunk beds, so we didn't have any ladder climbing in the mix. But we had plenty of this.  

 

Luke, trying out a chair.

And this.

Ella, on a bed at the same time.

And this. Luke patted the bed he was lying on and told me, "Night-night me, Mommy!" So we all night-nighted together.

Night-Nighting each together.

And finally, there was this.

Oh my heart.

At the end, when it was time to leave and Luke was missing, Dave found him climbing into another bed, pulling up the covers, about to take a nap for real. Because he does that - asks for naps and then takes them. (A point that still amazes me, two years in.)

We didn't buy anything but we had a great time at the indoor playground.

Bickering

Now that Luke has lots of words and they are becoming more understandable by the day, he and Ella are starting to bicker and their arguments are consisting of more than her bossing him around while he yells, "No!" and vice versa.

They both woke up happy this morning, so the bickering entertained me instead of making my right temple throb like my eyeball might pop out of my head. I've mentioned before that Dave and I enjoy a good argument for the sake of entertainment; it seems that our children do, too.

As we walked out the front door, Ella stopped in her tracks and said, "Oh! It's so foggy out here!" Then this commenced.
Luke: (right behind her) It's boggy out dere!
Ella: No! FOGgy! (emphasis on the first syllable)
Luke: Boggy!
Ella: FOGgy!
Luke: Boggy!
Ella: Uhg! (stomping to the car)
Luke: (bent at the waist as if leaning toward the fog and waving happily) Hewwo bog!

He can't say the "f" sound yet and I'm not sure if he even knows what fog is, but he greeted it enthusiastically.

"This is the day the Lord has made; We will rejoice and be glad in it." - Psalm 118: 24

Hard at Work on the Campaign Trail

Our little family has been working hard to campaign for Judge Jill Ganus (District Judge, Jefferson County - Bessemer Division) - that means that we've been attending street festivals and passing out flyers and popsicles while eating way too much junk food, buying too many junk toys, and socializing. It's been really fun.

Pause for a political plug:
Judge, as we affectionately call her, is Bessemer's Family Court judge, where Dave spends a significant amount of his time. While she only hears cases in the Bessemer division, she will be on the ballot for all of Jefferson County in November. If you are a Jefferson County resident, we hope you will vote for her because she is passionate about the families and children she sees every day and she's doing good work. Check out her website for more information.
End political plug.


125th Annual Whistle Stop Festival



We spent Saturday afternoon at the Whistle Stop Festival in Irondale. The festival is 125 years old, but this was our first time and it was cool. The main stage is set up in front of the railroad tracks and 4 city blocks are roped off for vendors and foot traffic. The whole afternoon, we listened to music and watched the trains roll by. Luke loved it. 



There were lots of things for the kids to do. They ate and ate. They jumped, they got paper train conductor hats - which Luke wore all day like it was his job. They played with their friends. They got positively disgusting, running around with bare feet on the street, covered in spilled snow cone syrup. I hope they didn't tarnish the judge's image with their filthiness.





Jumping Luke



Jumping Ella.



Riding in the Little Red Caboose

Wearing their conductor hats.

Having lunch at the campaign tent.

We brought a bag of toys for back up entertainment.

Raspberry is her favorite snow cone flavor. Blech.

Luke prefers Tiger's Blood. It's fitting.

Socter Ball!

Despite the fact that some people think soccer is a communist sport, we love it. We love the organized sport aspect of it, the socialization, the lessons about team work and sportsmanship, and the sheer physical activity it requires. Dave and I both feel like soccer is a good foundational sport for any of the other sports the kids might want to play later, so we intend for both of them to play until they aren't interested anymore or decide to try something else instead. (We feel the same way about gymnastics. That's why Ella does both and Luke will, too, as soon as he's old enough for soccer.)

Grandma has been taking pictures at the games this year, so I thought I would share a few. She got some really good ones!

I tried to catch this first picture all spring, but Grandma finally got it.

She's pretty good at kicking.

I'm really proud of how hard she works in practice. My expectation in everything she does is that she work hard. 

She is much more comfortable during the games this season.


Taking a breather.

Dave decided to help with the coaching this time and he's loving it. Ella really likes having him as a coach, too.

Water break.

In addition to soccer, he has taught the kids to chew straws while they wait for their turns to play. I looked over at them last weekend and he and four kids were lined up with coffee straws hanging out of their mouths.

Coach Dave

Saturday mornings are a family affair. Grandma and Pop the Pop and Grandmother and Papa are there.

Pop the Pop and Luke

 Even Aunt Becca, Uncle Nate, and Jake come to watch.

Jake can't wait until he can play.

Sometimes we steal borrow other kids' balls to play catch during the breaks.

Luke loves socter.

 And sometimes we just relax and watch the game.

He's still my baby.

Around the House

More quotes to showcase their enthusiasm, development, and the truly deplorable state of my car. But first, a classic line from Dave.

"When you wear your glasses and use your work voice, you're kind of scary." - Dave, after watching me attend a conference call from home. My response? After a fit of laughter, "Good, that's what I want them to think."

One night when Luke was randomly pitiful with a 102 degree fever, Ella brought out her doctor kit and gave him an exam. Then she broke the bad news: "Luke has a two-eye virus." I was very concerned and asked her to elaborate, and she informed me that she didn't have anymore answers but she would call Children's Hospital to find out.

While on the phone with Grandmother one day, checking in on the hooligan shenanigans, I overheard Luke run into the room and announce: "Mess!" When Grandmother asked him, "What mess?" He led her to the playroom where she found a broken picture frame and shards of glass on the floor. Though I suspect he had something to do with the breaking of it, I was proud that he told Grandmother so she could clean it up.

"Mmmmm. I wuv Tool-Aid!" - Luke, when he saw me get the Kool-Aid pitcher out of the fridge. He wuvs me, too, a lot, these days - squishing his face to mine or squeezing me in a hug. I love the love and his enthusiasm.

"No way! I wanna tuddle!" - Luke, asking for a cuddle at bedtime when I gave up on getting him to be still and rolled over with my back to him. After he agreed to be still, I rolled back over to spoon him and he was knocked out in 30 seconds. It's just so hard to let go of the day at bedtime sometimes.

While working from home recently, I was sitting on the couch with my laptop and Luke was nestled in beside me with a book. I was instant messaging with a co-worker in India and we decided to have a phone conversation over the computer (think Skype without the video). The phone rang and I answered it, my coworker's voice came through the computer speakers, and both kids perked up, wanting to know who I was talking to. Luke was engrossed in my conversation for about two minutes, then he decided he needed me to pay attention to him again. He leaned toward the laptop and said to my coworker, "I'm readin' books! S'muse me!" It really is difficult to have a work conversation with kids in the house.

And finally, upon getting in the car one morning this week, Ella informed me, "It smells like stinking cheese in here." She was right. Interestingly, I finally tracked the stench back to her own carseat, though I have not the vaguest recollection of what she may have spilled in it to make it smell like stinking cheese.

A Paradigm Shift

There's been a paradigm shift in my house. The child who has always been challenging is less so, and the child who has always been easy is not right now.

I was quite surprised recently when I discovered how very easy it is to have 4 year old Ella around the house when Luke isn't there. He spent the night at Grandmother's by himself for the first time ever, and Ella was home with us. It was so easy! I was so amazed that I told my sister and her response was, "Duh. I've been knowing she is the easier one right now for a while."

Of course she has. She's had the Luke-free evening experience with her a few times when Ella spent the night at her house. Until just a few weeks ago, I had not had an evening with just Ella in the house since before Luke was born. My how she's changed since then! She played by herself in her room until supper, ate, showered, read books with me, and went to bed. It was quiet. There was no yelling. She's almost entirely self-sufficient.

When did this happen?

Apparently while we've been wrangling the wild beast that is the most recent version of her brother.

Since turning two, he has fully embraced The Tantrum Phase of Independence. But you know the story, right? He wants to do everything by himself, he thinks he can do everything by himself, but he really can't yet. "No!" means no, except when it means yes - and that is often because "No!" is the default answer to everything. He wants to make his own decisions by himself, but he makes them so impulsively, they're often wrong. And who's fault is that? Mine. Because of course I should know that when he picked the Piglet cup he really wanted the Pluto one.

He's defnitely in that place where he needs lots of time and space to practice his independence. Dave and I are in the midst of a refresher course on the intricacies of toddlerhood - distractions and redirections and choices and transitions and time-ins.

He is a sweet, funny, loving, enthusiastic little spirit trapped in a frustrated toddler mind and body. It's rough on him. It's rough on us.

He wants so badly to play soccer, on the team, with the other kids. He tells me about it all the time. "I wanna play socter." He's too young; he can't play until he's 3. For a whole year, he'll be too young.

He wants to get on the balance beam and race across it by himself like the older kids. While he's physically capable of running on a 4 inch beam, he isn't mentally focused enough to do that yet.

He wants to tell us when he's feeling really mad or slighted, but he lacks the self-discipline to do that with his words.

His will is strong and his intent is generally good, but he is limited by his own development. His physical and emotional maturity will catch up with his will eventually, but until then, we have our work cut out for us. At the end of it, we'll have another confident, self-sufficient four year old. But you know what  they say about sausage - it's good, but you don't want to watch the making of it. Toddlerhood is the sausage-making of a four year old, and it's not for the faint of heart.

Riding with Ella

One morning when Ella and I were alone in the car on the way to a doctor's appointment downtown, she reminded me to stop and look at the world around me.

As we drove through the UAB campus, she asked me about the buildings and why the dragon on the signs has fire coming from his mouth. I explained that UAB is a college, like Montevallo, and that the dragon is their mascot and he breathes fire out of his mouth because they are called the UAB Blazers. Then she asked me, "Mama, do they have a real dragon in there?" I assured her, "No, they do not, but they do have a medical school and a dental school, where people go to learn to be doctors and dentists." That day, she wanted to be a doctor.

Interjection: On a different day, we saw my recently-graduated pharmacist cousin working in the pharmacy at Publix. On the way home, she asked me a bunch of questions about what my cousin does at Publix, and then she made a little moaning noise. I asked her what was wrong and she responded, "It makes me want to be a pharmacist." Right on.

Back to our trek through Southside: As we were passing by the appartments on University Boulevard where there is a mural painted on the retaining wall, we had this conversation.

Ella: Someone painted that wall, Mama!
Me: (Mistaking her excitement for indignation and preparing to explain) Yes, they did -
Ella: It's so beautiful!

Oh. Yes.

It is beautiful, with animals and children playing; color breaking up the gray of the city street. So many things are beautiful, so many things that I pass right by without even noticing. So many things that my four year old does notice. That same day, she pointed out some really pretty flowers planted alongside highway 280.

I never know what she is going to see that I would ordinarily miss. I love riding in the car and listening to her while she watches the world go by. She asks good questions and points out things that I take for granted. I learn so much.

Four year old eyes have such a fresh perspective of the world.

Remembering September 11

September 11, 2001 - I was a college junior; twenty years old, still mostly consumed in my adolescent self-centeredness. I was asleep in my bed in the dorm, recovering from the grueling (emotional, exciting, exhausting) experience of sorority recruitment. It was the day after Bid Day and I intended to sleep for most of it.

Then the phone rang. It was Dave. He never called in the mornings, so I knew something was wrong. It was a very short conversation: "Have you seen the news? Get up and turn on the TV."

I went across the hall to the chapter room (our common area on the sorority hall) and turned on the TV. He had to explain to me what was happening because I just couldn't get my head around it. Then I watched as United Airlines flight 175 crashed into the South Tower. And I continued to watch the news for the rest of the day and the tower fell, the Pentagon was hit, the plane crashed into a field in Pennsylvania. Classes were cancelled, though some professors were there with TVs tuned to the news if you wanted to stay and watch. I didn't. I needed the relative privacy of the dorm.

I remember feeling wide-eyed with shock. For the first time in my life I understood what it felt like when history is made, when text books get revised and the course of a nation changes forever. I finally understood the definition of terrorism.

I remember the horror of watching the tower fall, of seeing the people being thrown or jumping from the windows, of the people in the streets covered in ash.

I remember feeling sympathy for the president, newly inauguarated after a hard-fought campaign and the drama of a recount in Florida, and there he was, addressing the country and scrambling, I'm sure, to figure out what should happen next.

I couldn't comprehend the magnitude of the impact on our transportation systems, our economy. The New York Stock Exchange shut down for a week. Air travel stopped for two days. The entire nation stood still in shock.

Later that week I attended a candlelight vigil on campus and I bought a copy of Newsweek with the Twin Towers aflame on the cover. That magazine is still in my keep box.

Weeks later, I was looking through some pictures from a trip I took in highschool and I found one I had taken from the plane of the NYC skyline, Twin Towers intact. I've never spent more than an layover in NYC, but I'm glad I have that picture.

I decided to write this today because I want to make sure I never forget where I was that day and how I felt while watching that horror unfold on live television. I want to make sure that my children understand that 9/11 isn't just an event they will read about in their history books - it was real and people died and an entire nation came to its knees that day.

Port Removal: I nearly fainted.

Nurse: Are you a fainter?
Dave: No.
Doctor: She wasn't talking to you. You can faint if you need to, you're in a recliner.
Me: She was talking to me. If I faint, there will be problems. I think I need to sit down.

That conversation took place while Dave had his port removed last week. I accidentally saw too much while the doctor was giving him shots to numb the area, but I did realize I needed to sit down before my vision went black around the edges. I didn't faint, but judging by the hideous headache I had for the rest of the day, I came pretty close.

While I didn't intend to watch any of the procedure, I happened to be looking at the port when the first shot went in without warning. Then Dave was really uncomfortable, so after all the blood letting and shot giving I've seen in the last few months, I thought I could handle watching the shots long enough to tell him when that part was over. I was wrong.

I can look at blood and cuts and bodily fluids. I can take care of all those things. It didn't bother me to prick my finger four times a day to check my blood sugar during my last pregnancy. But I cannot handle seeing needles in skin, especially not my skin, but not anyone else's either. God willing, I will never have to self-administer shots of any kind (but I'm sure God will equip me if I do).

So, I really am not a fainter, as long as I'm not looking when the needle goes in. And usually I just get a little light-headed if I do see it. Though I've come close a few times, I've only flat out fainted once.

I was a junior in high school when I gave blood for the first time at the SGA blood drive. I did great, looking everywhere but at the needle in my arm. It didn't hurt. I was just chilling on the little bed-table, pouring out some blood. Then I got distracted and looked down at my arm right before the tech took the needle out. I thought I was okay. I was, afterall, lying down. Then I stood up.

Or so they told me. I don't remember my feet ever touching the floor. The next thing I remember is the nurse and the cute boy who caught me leaning over me, asking if I was okay.

I was, of course, and I was okay on port removal day, too, once I sat on the doctor's stool, well below his work area so there was no risk of me seeing anything else I didn't need to see.

The port came out of an incision directly over the one it went into, and then Dave was sewed up again with dissolvable stitches and steri-tapes. He's finished. He doesn't even have to go back to the surgeon for a follow up. The whole deal took about 20 minutes.

Dave says he feels official now. Officially, done with cancer, chemo, and foreign objects in his body.

And to that I say: Amen.

Luke's Day of Labor

Dave and I were off work for Labor Day so we decided to spend the day with his brother and sister-in-law in Gardendale. We went to their house for lunch and stayed most of the day playing and sorting through Nana's pictures. The kids love to play there because they have big dogs, lots of toys, and good snacks. Aunt Jessica is a chip eater, just like Ella. She even bought them "cheese tuffs" to eat with their "ot dogs" this time.

About halfway through the day, while we were outside playing, Luke randomly announced that he wanted to use the potty. I've never heard him say that other than when one of us was using the bathroom, so that was weird in itself. Jessica told him she had a special potty seat he could use and we went inside to see about it.

That child got so excited about the "Melmo" (Elmo) potty seat. For nearly an hour he worked on mastering getting the seat from the closet, putting it on the big potty, climbing up, wiping, flushing, and putting the seat away again. All by himself. Over and over. Seriously, I started rationing the toilet paper. He did actually pee in the potty at one point, which was shocking and exciting for both of us, this being his very first time.

Once we finally wrapped up that activity and got back to playing, he announced again that he needed to potty. I took him back in and we went through the whole routine a few more times. This time we didn't quite make it in time, but who cares? This is the most interest he's ever expressed in a potty. I decided that we would stop at Target on the way home and get a Melmo potty seat for our house.

When we got home, I got it out and gave it to him. He did the rest, putting it on his potty and getting up there by himself. He played and played on the potty. Then he brought the seat to the living room because he was just so excited about it. He told Dave he needed to potty, and sat down on it in front of the TV and peed in his diaper. Again, who cares? Sitting on the potty seat to potty, even in a diaper, is a step in the right direction.

Yes, that's a potty on his head.

After his bath, he decided to use the potty again - the actual potty with the Melmo seat on it. Knowing he would be there a while, practicing, I left him in Dave's charge so I could finish helping Ella get ready for bed. I heard Dave asking if he was ready to get a diaper and then suddenly they both came running into the kitchen to find me - Luke crying and Dave excited. He had pooped in the potty and Dave got so excited that it scared Luke.

We all, even Ella, gathered around the toilet to have a look, give each other high fives, and let him flush and wave bye-bye to the poop. It was like a slightly twisted version of the goldfish funeral scene from The Cosby Show.

He was so very proud of himself. So proud that I thought he would never go to sleep. But he did, and for the first time ever with me lying beside him, he went to sleep without nursing at bedtime.

Two major milestones in one day.

Afterward, Dave and I were discussing how we hope these breakthroughs mean he's about to ease off his recent reign of terror. (Milestone phases are hard - on toddlers and parents.) Then the next morning, he refused to sit on the potty and he refused to take off his race car pajama pants to get dressed for school. Well, he would have willingly taken them off to trade them for Melmo pajamas, but it wasn't Pajama Day at school nor was it 50 degrees outside, necessitating long-sleeved pajamas, so we ended up in our regular diaper/clothes changing wrestling match.

But who cares? At least he didn't grow up overnight like I feared he might.

Ella's New Hair

For a couple of months now, Ella has been talking about getting her hair cut to shoulder length. She even picked this picture out of a magazine. I took a picture of it, mostly to appease her, and so that we'd have it in case we decided to get her hair cut.

This is the hair Ella wanted.

Dave and I talked about it and decided we weren't ready to get her hair cut yet. (Yes, we seem to have an issue with cutting our children's hair.) I talked to Ella about it and told her I wasn't ready yet and that if we cut it, we couldn't do the fun things with it that she likes to do - like pigtail balls and braids. She was okay with that but she kept talking about it anyway.

Meanwhile, I kept happening accross the picture in my phone and it struck me how very perfect the cut would be for Ella's hair. It amazes me sometimes how well the child knows herself. A couple of months passed and I started feeling okay with the haircut idea. I know all that hair is hot for soccer and gymnastics. We spend a lot of time untangling it, even with conditioner and detangling spray. I started thinking that maybe we should just let her get it cut.

Saturday morning while we were watching them play, the topic came up again when I commented that it was time for her to have a trim. I showed Dave the haircut she wanted again. He was okay with it, too, so he asked if she wanted to get it cut. Of course she did!

Her hair was past her arm pits when it was dry and about halfway down her back when wet. It varies from straight and full to ringlets, depending on the weather. This day, it was somewhere in between the two.

Before the haircut.

The lady cut about four inches off and layered it. She was quite impressed with the haircut Ella picked out.


This picture doesn't do justice to the amount of curl she has.

Despite the expression in this picture, she absolutely loves it. In addition to this being her first real haircut, it was also the first time she got really irritated at me for acting like a complete Mom and taking too many pictures. That's what you see on her sweet face. Irritation.

She was so over me taking pictures at this point.

With the weight off, her hair is even curlier now than it was before. It's spunky and sassy and it fits her perfectly. It was fun to watch her relish it all weekend. A few times I caught her lifting her face to the wind savoring the way her hair blew off her neck. She was excited to have her "new hair" washed the first time and it's been so easy to brush.

We got two important life lessons out of it.
1. On the way into church Sunday morning, neither of the men who were standing outside to greet us commented on it. As we walked to her class, she said, "They didn't understand about my new hair." I reassured her, "It's okay, most of the time boys just don't recognize when you have new hair."

2. While I cuddled her in bed Saturday night, I told her that I thought she picked out a great haircut that was perfect for her kind of hair. She said, "But I still don't have the eyes." I asked what she meant. "The eyes like the lady in the picture." I told her it didn't matter that she didn't have the lady's eyes because she has her own - the eyes God gave her that make her special. It fit perfectly with her Bible verse from last week.

"I am wonderfully made."  - Psalm 139:14

Young Adult Cancer and Fertility

Fertility preservation/awareness is a topic of conversation that is unique to adolescent and young adult (AYA) cancer patients because they are either entering or in the middle of their child-bearing years. It’s also a topic that you probably wouldn’t even think about unless you found yourself walking down the path of cancer treatment and, hopefully, someone along the way mentioned it. That’s why I’m writing about it; so young people will know.


The issue of fertility with chemotherapy jumped onto my radar when I was researching Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma and found some warnings about preventing pregnancy while undergoing cancer treatments. Dave’s oncologist never asked us about family planning or mentioned the risks of chemo on a pregnancy; and, that really didn’t surprise me since most of the patients he treats are well beyond their child-bearing years. As I dug deeper into the topic, I found out some other interesting bits of information that are worth sharing.

~ For women, chemotherapy and radiation often induce menopause depending on the kind of treatment and location of the cancer.

~ Even if the treatment doesn’t induce menopause, it most likely alters the genetics of the maturing eggs, so pregnancy should be prevented during and for at least 6 months after treatment.

~ Doctors recommend that a woman wait 2 – 5 years after completing treatment before becoming pregnant so that her body has time to recover and the chance of a cancer relapse is significantly less.

~ Chemotherapy and radiation also cause infertility in some men.

~ Doctors recommend that men prevent pregnancy for 2 years after completing cancer treatment because chemotherapy and/or radiation can genetically damage the sperm and they believe that damage probably repairs itself within 2 years.

The good news is that programs are available to help young adults understand their options and, in some cases, offer financial assistance for fertility preservation. Fertile Hope, a part of the LIVESTRONG foundation, is one such program (and also the source of the above information). Check out the website for more information.

Because this topic is intensely personal and I am unwilling to discuss our decision-making in this public forum, I recommend this blog post for additional perspective. The author is a 22 year old woman with Leukemia and I’ve been reading her blog for a while.

Life, Interrupted: A Young Cancer Patient Faces Infertility

Chemo Survival Guide

After six rounds of chemo, we’ve learned a few things that might be useful to others so I decided to compile a list of tips. Some of them are things we figured out along the way, others are things that people told us or I found via Google consultation.


First, I think it’s important to clarify that Dave had chemo (R-CHOP) treatments once every three weeks for a total of six treatments. That allowed his body a decent amount of recovery time in between treatments. He did not have radiation. I know that the side effects are often greater with more frequent treatments, and different with radiation. We think he had a pretty smooth chemo experience with fatigue and a general feeling of bloated misery being his biggest complaints in the 10 days after each treatment.

Now, on to the list.

1. Drink a lot of water. Or Gatorade. It flushes the toxins and helps you feel better. He found it hard to drink plain water during and for a day or two after treatment, so we kept Gatorade for those days. He normally drinks gallons of water per day, but he really had to make an effort to get enough fluid in those few days of each cycle.

2. Take the drugs they give you for nausea. If they don’t give them to you automatically, ask for them. It makes living life again after treatment a little easier.

3. Eat small meals frequently. He’s never been pregnant and I’ve never been through chemo, so we can’t say for sure, but it seems like the nausea is a bit like morning sickness in that snacking regularly keeps it under control. So eat, even when you don’t feel like you can. Also, he loved carbs for a couple of days after chemo, but protein is very important for rebuilding the body so try to work that in.

4. Sleep during and as much as you can right after treatment. The cycles when he had plenty of rest right before and plenty of rest right after chemo seemed to be the easiest on him.

5. Once you’ve rested and are able, get up and do something. He liked golf for the sunshine and the sweat, but I think any low key activity would be good for body and soul. This is also a good way to combat fatigue.

6. Put towels over the sheets and pillows the day of and the day after chemo. The drugs made him sweat a lot – and by a lot, I mean a puddle that requires changing the sheets. We started putting a towel down on the days when it was the worst so he could just get a clean towel if he needed it instead of having to get out of bed and wait for me to change the sheets.

7. Eat well. We didn’t cut out sugar entirely or switch completely to organic like some of the people who guided me through this, but we did boost his nutrition with vitamins and fruits and vegetables. He took a multi-vitamin, B complex, and acidophilus every day. All of those help boost blood counts, B complex also helps with hair and nail growth, and acidophilus helps with mouth sores and upset stomach. In addition to that, we kept V8 in the house and added spinach, tomatoes, carrots and other vegetables to our diet as often as possible (some weeks it wasn’t very possible because this has been the busiest summer in the history of ever). He sometimes had a hard time swallowing all the pills, so I bought him gummy vitamins and broke the rest of his medicine and vitamins in half to make them easier to swallow. (Obviously, you don’t want to break anything that is time released, so be aware of that.)

8. Gargle with a baking soda/warm water rinse to help the mouth sores. Dave didn’t actually have sores, but he did have soreness and that helped. Avoid spicy food and mouthwash that has alcohol in it. Even without sores, his mouth was, and still is, very sensitive to spicy things - even salt is too much sometimes. He never needed more than the baking soda rinse, but the doctor offered a prescription mouthwash.

9. Keep some acid reducer on hand. Dave had pretty bad acid reflux on the day after chemo, and he usually only needed a dose or two of Prevacid to relieve it.

That’s it. I feel like I should add a tenth one to even out the list, and maybe I will if I think of something else. Do you have any tips to add? If so, leave them in the comments.

Dave's Chemo Journal: July 23, 2012

As it turns out, chemo isn't the hardest thing we had to do this year.

July 23, 2012

Chemo number six today. The last one. Hooray. It is a day of great celebration, but I know that I still have to watch the stuff drip into my body one more time as I feel my body slowly decline from a state of wellness to sick, tired and nauseated. Chemo day is not easy. The couple of days after aren’t either. I have associational nausea now. Strange things make me sick. Last week it was the smell of my leather computer case which I bring to the hospital with me on treatment day. The smell of the bathroom soap here at the hospital turns my stomach. The sight of the cup which I have been drinking out of during each chemo session makes me need to vomit. In fact, I just told Amanda to throw it away.

As bad as chemo is, I can now say it is not the worst thing that happened this year. Two weeks ago today, on July 9th, Nana had a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital for surgery. She had a stint put in that night and we talked to her and the doctor afterward. The doctor said everything went fine and Nana was a bit out of it, but that is to be expected coming out of surgery. She stayed in ICU Monday night, Tuesday and Tuesday night. We visited at 1:00 on Wednesday afternoon and everything seemed to be fine. We talked with Nana a bit and she seemed tired, but still “with it”. I went to play golf. The skies were dark and rain was on the way. I was the only one on the course, but I forged through, trying to finish before the bottom fell out. On the tenth hole, my sister in law called to check on Nana and I was telling her how Nana seemed tired, but appeared to be recovering well. I relayed how I thought she would stay another 24 or 48 hours in ICU and then be transferred to a regular room.

While talking to her, I noticed a missed call from my brother and Amanda sent me a text telling me to call her immediately. I didn’t have to. Apparently, the doctor had been looking for us at the hospital to talk to us about Nana. He called my brother just after we left and told him that her heart had suffered too much damage from the attack and probably could not function without the IV medicine which increased her blood pressure.

I left the golf course, raced home for a shower and headed back up the interstate toward the hospital. We visited at 5:00 and then began calling the family in to say goodbye. At the 8:00 p.m. visit, all of the grandkids, most of the great grandkids and some of the great, great grandkids visited Nana in her ICU bed and one by one, said goodbye. My brothers stayed the night in the hospital in the ICU waiting room and at around 1:00 in the morning, there was a code blue. It was Nana, but since she did not have a living will on file, the doctors and nurses resuscitated her.

I got word of the code blue at 6:00 the next morning and went to the hospital at 9:00, knowing this would absolutely be the last time I saw her on earth. My brother had talked to the surgeon and Nana’s primary care doctor, both of whom recommended we stop the IV medicine and let nature take its course. We visited Nana at 9:00 and she was in and out of lucidity. She knew who we were, but about half of what she said was just crazy. She did tell us about reading the Bible and about how there were many good verses. She could not pick a favorite. I asked her to tell me the story about her throwing popcorn at Granddaddy at the medicine show before they started courting sometime in 1938. She said, “OH! What you know about the medicine show?”

“Just tell me the story Nana.” And she did. All about how they used to come around to the country and set up a tent and do acts and tricks to try to sell medicine. She and her friend or cousin were sitting behind Granddaddy and Nana threw popcorn at him to get his attention. I think she had met him before, but this event was kind of the beginning of their relationship.

She told me about walking around the house with Granddaddy before they got married too. During their courtship, Nana and Granddaddy used to go to parties, presumably with other young couples, and they would play games. One of the games involved a boy and girl walking around the house together. I never have known what else was involved, but Nana told me that story about her and Granddaddy walking around the house one more time there on that ICU bed at Princeton Hospital on the west side of Birmingham, Alabama.

Those stories are essentially the beginning of my family history and I needed to hear them one more time from the person who lived them so I could say goodbye and consent to closure of the earthly struggle of this 90 year old child of the depression who has been the one constant during my constantly changing 33 years.

I kissed her on the cheek, brushed her hair back behind her ear, told her I loved hear and said goodbye. My brother and I told the nurse that we wanted to stop the medicines that raised her blood pressure to functional level and I left the hospital at about 9:30.

I got a message to call Amanda just after 11:30, but I didn’t have to. She was gone from us. Gone to Heaven to be with her Lord and Savior, her beloved husband and only child. How sweet it must have been for her. I know that she had been accepting, if not looking forward to death for many years. But it was still hard on those of us left behind. Much harder than chemo. Bring it on today, doctors and nurses. No matter what happens today, it will, at worst, be the second hardest thing I have done this year.

Dave's Chemo Journal: July 2, 2012

Here he introduces the concept of anticipatory nausea - something that is very common but that I read nothing about when researching chemo treatment. Also, some of the changes that cancer brought to his life.

July 2, 2012

Here we are for session five. It has been three months since I started taking chemotherapy, so today is kind of like an anniversary. I have had a great four weeks since my last treatment. We had father’s day, Ella’s birthday, a couple of other kid birthday parties and an early 4th of July batch of ribs on Saturday. I know I will probably be down on the 4th so I cooked early to make sure I got to enjoy some bar-b-que before treatment. There has been lots of golf since the last treatment. In fact, I played the day after I was last here. It was pretty rough, but I enjoyed it and it fit in with my philosophy that I will do whatever I am able during the process.

I did not come to the hospital with the dread that accompanied me on treatment 4, but I do have some “anticipatory nausea”. That is the term used by the nurses for the sickness in my stomach. It started last night and has continued on to today. I had a big breakfast of biscuits and gravy along with three bottles of water in hopes that my stomach will be sufficiently coated before they drip the poison in me and that I will have a head start on peeing the stuff out.

The doctor just came by for my consult. He tells me that my blood cell counts look good and we are ready to begin the treatment. I asked about the process after 6 chemo treatments and he said after I finish I will have a scan in several weeks. The expectation is that this scan will be normal. Then I will be scanned every six months or so for a period of 2 years. Again, the expectation is that all of these scans will be normal.

The doctor told me that he could probably scan me now and everything in my body would be normal, but indicated that 4 rounds of chemo is not known to be curative. Six rounds is apparently the magic number. I asked him if there was any possibility that I would have to go more than six rounds and he told me, “No, we don’t fudge on that number.” That means that by the end of the month I will done with chemo. Praise God.

The hair on my head and face already seems to be growing more quickly. I am shaving my head at least twice a week now and my facial hair is prickly even though I shaved just yesterday morning for church. The hair growth has surprised me enough to make me wonder if the last treatment was a bit watered down and not as potent as the first three. I am sure that is not the case, but I can definitely see the light at the end of the tunnel and I am excited to move on to the next phase of life. With the exception of the few days after chemo, I feel much better now than I have in several years. My stomach doesn’t feel full and bloated, I have more energy and can stay awake later. I spend more time with Amanda and the children and the relationships I have with them are richer and more satisfying than before. I don’t spend so much time at work, but the time I do work is more focused and productive. I no longer sit around for extended periods thinking about work being slow or business being down. I perform the work I have to do and leave. I am learning how to work to live rather than work to try to become rich. I have learned that there is much richness to be enjoyed that costs little or no money.

Like golf. At Montevallo. What started last Memorial Day weekend as something to alleviate my boredom while Amanda and the children slept has turned into a full-fledged passion. I played golf five days during the past calendar week. I am not good but I have improved. I have been trying to break a score of 100 for the past year, to no avail. When I started playing I didn’t keep a stroke score, but rather counted the number of balls I lost during a round – and it was consistently a double digit number. Yesterday I used the same ball from the 8th to the 18th hole before knocking it into the woods. [He has since broken 100 and played an entire 18 holes with a single ball. He brought it home and told me to keep it. It's sitting on my desk as I type. He was very proud.] Golf has truly become a passion. And while I could aspire to play golf at some of the bigger and nicer courses and country clubs, I am completely satisfied at Montevallo.
There is an old couple who drives around the golf course on their cart every day. Sometimes they have the dogs with them. Sometimes the lady gets out and walks while the man drives around. They drive around the course, staying out of the way of the “regular patrons” and play the open holes. I have seen them all times of day from early in the morning to just before dusk. They sure seem to be happy. And while I do not wish that I was retirement age, I certainly believe I could be content and happy driving around the Montevallo 18 after I retire instead of playing at some high class country club.

So much for that. They have started the meds and I am ready for the ride. Good riddance cancer. [Amen.]

Dave's Chemo Journal: June 5, 2012

From round four. 

June 5, 2012 – 1:40 p.m. Number four. Hopefully I am past the halfway point of this process and headed for the home stretch. I only have two more scheduled treatments after today. Then scans from time to time for the next couple of years to make sure there is no cancer in my body.

The last treatment was horrible. I did not realize quite how horrible until I was leaving the hospital on May 15, but I knew then that mistakes were made during the treatment. First, my white blood cell count was probably too low for me to have undergone treatment. It was 2500 on May 15 and that is the cutoff for the doctor to administer treatment. Today the white count was at 3300 and I feel much better. It is amazing the difference 800 blood cells can make.

Secondly, I did not eat during the May 15 treatment, so I was nauseated not only from the medicine but also from the lack of food. I choked something down on the way home, but it was too late. That combined with the low white cell count made for a miserable experience. I went to bed as soon as I got home from the hospital at 4:00 and pretty much slept all night, then kept the same bedtime on the next day. But after two days of primarily sleeping, I was fine.

Today, I feel better than last time. I still have nausea, but it is not out of control. I am tired, but functional. I really dreaded coming for the treatment today because of the experience from last time, but I am doing okay and feeling a little inspired. Maybe the dread will not be so bad for treatments five and six.

Dave's Chemo Journal: May 15, 2012

Dave's round three entry. It's a short one!

May 15, 2012 – 10:45 a.m. – Here I am back at the hospital for the third treatment. I have been here since 8 and they still haven’t started Rituxan. It will take at least two hours once it is started. I have gained weight since last time – too much weight. I am up to 247. I feel much better at 235. I know I need to make some serious diet changes. [Note: He had lost 20 - 25 lbs in the 10 days he was in the hospital, so his weight has gone up and down drastically in the last 6 months.]

I am not that upset about the treatments. I sincerely believe I am healed and this cancer will not come back. I have a peace about it. I don’t know when the next scan will be, but I know I will be devastated if cancer shows up.

I haven’t written in this journal since my last treatment. That is definitely a sign that I am better psychologically and emotionally. The hardest part is coming to the treatment. I felt so good this morning and for much of the past week and a half, but I have to come back in here today for more medicine. That is quite a mental challenge.

Dave's Chemo Journal: April 23, 2012

This is Dave's journal from round two.

April 23, 2012

Chemo number two is today. I am here in my recliner and absolutely dreading the moment when they come out and attach my port line to the bag of medicine. I just heard a nurse come up and say, “He’s vomiting.” I don’t know who or where he is, but I sure hope that isn’t me in a bit.

I have been feeling so good the last few days it is hard to actually believe I am sick. When I came for the first treatment, I was still recovering from two surgeries and had frequent pain and discomfort. Three weeks have healed my body to the point I feel really good and can function at an almost normal level. I really don’t want to take medicine that will make me feel worse than I do right now. The dread has been with me for the past couple of days and has even manifested itself in my sleep.

I dreamed last night that the doctor called Amanda and told her that I had responded so well to the first treatment that I did not have to take any more chemo. What a nightmare. I almost cried when I woke up and realized that no such call had been made.

I can hear the guy down the aisle from me here heaving his guts up now. They still haven’t attached me to the medicine. I think they are debating which chemo to give me first – the R or the CHOP. One nurse said I was getting CHOP first and she would wait to give me Tylenol and Benadryl until closer to time for the R. Then another nurse came and gave me the Tylenol and Benadryl and said, “Down the hatch.” So I took it and now they have been discussing what I am going to get first. I just heard the nurse who gave me the medicine say, “We may have to do the Rituxan first.” Surely they haven’t screwed me up already.

2:11 p.m. – Just about done with the second treatment. Not nearly as bad as the first. If I could not see the line connecting the medicine to me, I would not know it was going in. They gave the Rituxan first and it took a long time. I watched a movie all morning and have been looking around on the internet this afternoon. I was a little tired and sleepy, but I think the Benadryl has worn off so I am pretty much awake. Just sitting in a chair for this long is draining and I think that has made me as tired as anything else.

Dave's Chemo Journal: April 19, 2012

In this entry, Dave recounts 12 days worth of activity between rounds 1 and 2 of chemo.

April 19, 2012

I am excited to see that I have not written anything here in 12 days. Writing is typically something I do when I am sad, depressed or devastatingly bored. There has been some of that since the last journal entry, but none in the past several days. Let’s see what I have done . . . .

On April 8 (Easter), I had a pretty good day. Church, hiding eggs with the kids, etc. We went to a dinner get together at 6 and I had to come home early. My stomach was sketchy and I was very tired. In bed by 7:30.

On April 9 I went to the doctor for blood work and my white cell count was 700 (versus 3800 at my initial appointment). The doctor told me I could become infected easily and I should be careful not to be around any germs if possible. I went to the office for a while, but could not stand to just sit there and not go to the courthouse. Knowing that I did not need to go to the courthouse and desperately wanting to go find some new work tore me apart until I left around noon and went to the golf course. That might have been too much for me as I was in bed right after dinner. My temperature spiked and we called the doctor’s office. He called us back from his home phone, but my temperature had returned to normal and he told us just to keep watching it.

On Tuesday, I had hearings in the morning and an appointment in the late afternoon. I worked a full day and felt pretty good all day. Amanda’s mom offered to keep the kids for the night so we had dinner and watched a much needed funny movie.

On Wednesday, April 11, I did go to the courthouse in the morning and then spent the afternoon visiting children who I represent in court at their homes. It was very fulfilling and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

On Thursday I went to the office and then made a trip to see another client in an institution in north Alabama. The 280 mile round trip was good for my spirits and I got home by 2:30, just in time to make it to the golf course.

I followed up with my primary care doctor in the morning on Friday the 13th and went to the golf course with my brother-in-law at 10.

I felt good and pretty normal from Tuesday through Friday and my health and treatment side effects did not keep me from doing anything that I wanted to do.

On Saturday, we all got up early and went to a local state park to participate in a run/walk for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. My sister-in-law organized a team for us and we all wore t-shirts bearing the slogan “Lymphoma Sucks” in lime green. The back of the shirts said, “I wear lime green for Dave Roper, a Certified Lymphoma Butt Kicker.” My kids had shirts that said “I wear lime green for my Daddy.” Those have made me cry more than once since the kids got them.

We participated in the race and walked with my brother and his wife. We took turns pushing the kids in the stroller and finished the 5k in 51 minutes. Certainly not as fast a time as I would have wanted to clock if I were running the race at full strength, but not bad considering the circumstances. After the run, our team had breakfast at the park. Over 20 people wearing their shirts in my honor. It was pretty awesome.

We went to the store on the way home and played outside in the pool in the afternoon before cooking dinner on the grill. It felt like a pretty normal spring Saturday.

Sunday was normal too – with church, lunch after church, a nap after lunch and a visit with Amanda’s uncle and cousins in the late afternoon. Great days all around.

On Monday it started happening slowly. I had not really believed that it would happen, even though the doctors told me that it would. I was at work when I first noticed it just a little and by the time I got home, it became apparent that this would be a reality during the next few months.

On Tuesday my son had surgery to get tubes put in his ears and it became such an issue while we were at Children’s Hospital that I decided to buy the necessary equipment and handle the problem. It looked like someone had been grooming a dog in his hospital room for goodness sakes. So on the way home, we bought clippers and new razor blades and I became a bald man that afternoon.

Wednesday I worked half a day and played golf in the afternoon – still feeling fine and perhaps using my “sickness” as an excuse to blow off work in the middle of the week. And today I am here, back at work with a full day planned out, feeling fine. I wouldn’t know I have anything wrong if the medical professionals didn’t keep telling me that I do. Of course, that makes me entertain the possibility of terminating my chemotherapy, but I know that would piss off the wife. So I guess I better keep going with it. Next one is Monday. I will probably be writing more then.

Dave's Chemo Journal: April 6 and 7, 2012

I've combined the next two short entries in this post.

April 6, 2012 (3:30 a.m.)

Depression, insomnia, reading lymphoma blogs, wondering will my hair fall out, wishing my stomach would feel normal, thinking I need to work tomorrow, hoping I have the energy to play golf and wishing right now I could clear my mind enough to pray . . . that is pretty much the order of the last hour and a half. I slept from about 9 p.m. until 2 a.m. and have been awake since. I tried to go to bed but gave up at 2:30. I have been reading a few blogs about other people’s cancer stories for the past few minutes, something that gives me mixed emotions. On one hand I am curious about what experiences I have facing me, but on the other, I do not want to know the horrors that could lie around the corner. Generally, I prefer walking blind into a situation I know will be difficult to researching and exploring the situation and dreading and worrying about the possible effects. Still, it is a bit comforting to know that there are other people out there my age and younger who have or have had the same disease I do that are well now. So, to the blogs I go. Maybe sleep will come soon.


April 7, 2012

So, yesterday I was on a high all day long. Woke up at 2 a.m. and stayed awake all day long. Went to the golf course at 7:30 and played a full 18. Had lunch at home about 1:00 and then worked in the yard until 3:30. Dyed Easter eggs with the kids and hung out with the in-laws until about 8:00. I crashed before 9 and slept hard most of the night.

Today we had soccer at 9:15 and then went to my grandmother’s house for lunch. I got tired mid afternoon and my throat has started hurting a little bit. I am still going pretty strong at 6:15 tonight and think I will be able to stay awake another couple of hours. I haven’t really felt like I have cancer the last two days. I have some aches and pains from chasing and picking up the little ones. My innards burn a little bit from time to time and I am trying to drink a lot of water to make sure all the chemicals get as flushed out as possible. Nausea and fatigue have not been part of the operation the last two days. I am cautiously optimistic. Everything I read and hear says that you will feel good a couple of days and then bottom out after that. I hope I don’t have a bottom out coming at the start of next week. I am just going to keep on doing whatever I can for as long as I can. That includes teaching the youth Sunday School in the morning. He is risen!

Dave's Chemo Journal: April 4, 2012

Here's the next entry in Dave's journal.

April 4, 2012

So I finished up with the first chemo treatment Monday at 5:30 pm. I was at the doctor’s office for a full nine hours. I left feeling a bit tired and nauseated. The doctor prescribed nausea medicine which we filled before going home. I took one as soon as we hit the door. I was in bed by 7:30.

The next morning I woke up around 6:00 and thought I might be able to go to the golf course for a morning round before going back to the doctor at 1:45 to get my shot. I went to the bathroom and took a shower, then immediately went to my recliner and stayed there for the next two hours looking at the television and internet, completely exhausted from my morning activity. I watched a movie and had lunch at around 12:00, followed by another nausea pill and some pain reliever. [Amanda's note: Remember that he was still recovering from two surgeries. He never needed pain reliever for chemo side effects.]

When we got to the doctor, the nurse called me back to the room promptly and proceeded with my shot. My experience the day before taught me to ask questions about any item being shot into my body. I asked the nurse what this shot would do and she responded that it would cause my bone marrow to create more white blood cells. “And what will it do to me?” “Well, since the medicine affects your bones, you will probably have some bone pain and flu like symptoms.” Great. That will go nicely with my nausea and fatigue. Bone pain. How lovely.

After the shot we visited a friend in the hospital who had given birth the day before. Then we went to my office for about an hour before heading to my daughter’s soccer practice at 5:30. I faded fast at soccer and spent a good bit of the practice sitting in the car. We made it home at about 7:00 and had dinner – leftovers from lunch that Amanda had already pre-plated for all of us. I was in bed again by 7:30 and pretty much oblivious to anything going on around me.

Today I woke up at about 5:30 and was again full of energy. Today was circled on my calendar as a day that I must get to work. I had something very important that required my attendance and at least part of my attention. I took a shower, brushed my teeth and shaved and by 6:15, I was ready to go back to bed. But I pushed through and left for work with the wife in tow at 7:00.

I made it through my schedule of items at 9:00 and 10:00 this morning, but started feeling a bit dizzy and lightheaded at around 10:45. I went back to the office and stripped off my coat and tie and shuffled papers for about an hour until lunch.

My “must be here for this today” assignment was scheduled at 2:00 and I made it through, finished at 2:45. As soon as that was over, I headed back to the office and was on the road for home by 3:00. Seven hours of work on the second day after a nine hour chemo session – not too bad. We will see what tomorrow brings. It is not quite 5:00 yet and I could probably sleep until the morning.

The hardest part of this is not being able to seize the day. I am looking out the front window of my house into bright sunshine with a gentle breeze. The temperature is around 80 and the skies are bright blue with big white clouds. A picture of perfection that would support all manner of projects and activities, and my body is too weak to do anything but go outside and sit. Something that will only make me more frustrated by my inability to truly enjoy the weather.

Dave's Chemo Journal: The End and the Beginning

Dave sent me the journal he kept throughout the chemo process and told me to post as I see fit. I read the whole thing and there is good information in there for others who are just starting the process. There will be several posts, but I've decided to start with the last entry and then back up to the beginning.

August 14, 2012

I guess, just to put a bow on things, I will write in this journal today. Yesterday would have been the day I would normally expect to go for chemo at the doctor’s office, but we just had an appointment and my PET scan showed all clear for now.

I read the first couple of pages of this journal before coming here to type the final entry and, amazing as it is, even reading the words I typed while receiving the chemo treatment brings a twinge of nausea to my stomach. So to heck with me reading this. Hope you, whomever you may be, enjoy.

Now that we have his blessing and get a general feel for how over the whole situation he is, here is the first entry. It's a long one.

April 2, 2012

So, here I am at the first day of chemotherapy. I am sitting in a beige colored reclining chair with my feet up and a paper pillow behind my head. My neck hurts because I cannot find the proper fold to make the pillow comfortable but other than that I feel pretty good. In fact, the pain and fatigue in my neck is my primary source of discomfort, much more intolerable than the healing incisions from my recent two surgeries.

There are two bags of fluids hanging beside my chair and fluid is dripping into my IV and into the port in my chest. The nurse said these initial fluids are the pre-treatment medications given in attempt to prevent any sickness from the actual medications. I have not actually taken any medicine yet, but I will by the end of the day. They say I will be here between five and six hours today receiving this treatment. I am fully equipped with my laptop, iPod, book, sunflower seeds, mints and phone to attempt to combat the looming which I know awaits. It is 11:20 and I have been connected for less than an hour though I have been at the clinic since 8:30. It appears I will spend the entire work day with the nurses and staff here at the center.

I met with the doctor this morning and he was very comforting and reassuring. This was my first contact with him since my initial appointment and my first opportunity to discuss the results of my PET scan with him. The nurse called ten days ago and told me that I have a minimal amount of cancer remaining in my body, but she could not answer any specific questions about the meaning of “minimal amount”. I was excited to come to the doctor today to obtain a more precise definition of this term even though I was nervous about taking the chemotherapy.

We waited in the room for the doctor for about half an hour and I was opening the door to go to the bathroom just as he was coming in. He left my chart on the table and went to see another patient, giving me the opportunity to review my records while waiting on him to come back. When I started looking at my chart, Amanda jumped to her feet, excited to take a peek. We could overhear all of the activity in the hallway and Amanda quickly sat back down several times when she heard footsteps approaching our room, leaving me standing alone with my open medical chart.

When the doctor finally came back in, I went through my list of questions:

“What do I expect from chemotherapy?”
“What physical restrictions will I have after treatment?”
“What does a minimal amount of cancer mean?”

The doctor went through the anticipated side effects of chemo with me and then went over all of the precautionary medications they administer in attempt to prevent those side effects. He also indicated that I have “garden variety” (a term actually listed in my medical chart) diffuse large B cell cancer and that my treatment regimen will consist of six sessions of R-CHOP chemotherapy.

Regarding physical activity, he indicated that I could work and participate in light exercise. He recommended that I not work out but told me that I could play golf. He went on to recommend I read a particular book to improve my golf swing and gave me three research based tips about golf he had recently read in the Wall Street Journal. After five minutes or so discussing golf, he returned to the business of discussing cancer and told me (after reviewing the reading of the PET scan that I had already thoroughly reviewed without understanding a bit of it) that I have no significant traceable cancer in my body. I asked the doc what stage of cancer I have and he kind of beat around the bush a little but told me that I am probably a 1E or maybe a 2. He then reported that with my particular brand of “garden variety” cancer, treatment of Stages 1, 2 and 3 is virtually the same and Stage 4 is really what you want to avoid. Perhaps that is the perspective from the medical professional, but I was elated and relieved to hear the magic words “Stage 1” come from the doc’s mouth.

After we met with the doctor, I went to the “party room”, a room with nurses, supplies and a few chairs to wait on my recliner. There are at least twenty recliners in this place and they were all full. I had no idea there were so many people receiving cancer treatment. A nurse came into the party room in a few minutes and did my “teaching”, going over what side effects to expect from the medications, the remedy for each effect and the situations necessitating a call to the office.

In a few minutes, a recliner opened up and I was escorted to it and my port was hooked into the IV bags. After about an hour, a nurse came over to my chair with a large syringe filled with red colored liquid. She was wearing latex gloves and had a gown covering her clothes, so I knew that the real chemo was about to begin. All of the prior three hours had just been prep work for this moment.

The name of the red medicine is Adriamycin and the nurse said she wore the gloves and gown because it would cause a chemical burn if it leaked onto her skin. “And you’re putting this inside of me?” I asked. “Yep. It burns up the cancer.” How comforting a thought that something which burns the skin is being shot inside of me though the IV line connected to the plastic port implanted in the right side of my chest. But the red stuff didn’t really bother me. It went in easy and I didn’t feel a thing.

Next was a much smaller syringe containing a clear liquid called Vincristine, then a new bag of clear liquid to drip Cytoxan into my line for 45 minutes. After the Cytoxan was connected, the nurse brought Benadryl and Tylenol to take by mouth and get ready for the next stage. The nurse told me the Cytoxan might make my nose burn and it did just a little, a feeling like when you have been cleaning the bathroom with the door closed and inhale too much Tilex or Clorox. Nothing unbearable.

At 12:30, the Cytoxan was finished and the nurse connected me to a large bag of clear fluid called Rituxan. This medicine is the “R” of R-CHOP and the initial treatment takes four hours. I think the Benadryl and Tylenol was to prepare me for the Rituxan. The nurses have told me that this medicine may make me have chills and that if I do have chills, they will likely occur at about the one hour mark. I am only fifteen minutes in, but so far, I don’t have anything extremely unusual going on. My legs seem a little cold, but I think I may be feeling that just because I am expecting a chill. We shall see.

It is now 1:40 and I have finished lunch and have had time to get acclimated to the Rituxan. My hands and feet feel cold. I touched my hands to my face and my face felt ten degrees warmer. The nurse said my hands felt fine, not cold. Another nurse just came by and I was about to drift to sleep mid-sentence. She said she was going to bump my dosage up a little and asked how I felt. I told her that my hands are cold and I just got dizzy. She stopped the machine. Looks like I might be here until after 5.

I went to the bathroom a little while ago and had the harrowing yet somewhat predictable experience of producing urine with the color of orange Gatorade. This was not at all surprising considering the chemical red drug the nurse put in me this morning. The nurse told me this is normal during chemotherapy.

Now it is 3:30 and lots of folks have already left the hospital after receiving their treatments. I am stuck here getting this Rituxan and the bag looks to still be about half full. I never dreamed that my 8:30 appointment would last the entire day. Hopefully, the future treatments will not require me to spend the whole day at the doctor’s office.

R - Rituxan - 4 hour, clear drip
C – Cytoxan (Cyclophosphamide) – Clear drip
H – Doxorubicin Hydrochloride – (Adriamycin) - Red push
O – Oncovin (Vincristine) - Clear push
P – Prednisone – 4 tablets for four days following chemo administration

Two Year Old Luke

Two-year-old Luke has learned how to use his great big, brown eyes for bending your will to his own. They are oh-so-sad and soulful when I tell him no and he really wants to hear yes. It’s terribly cute. It is not cute when he realizes it’s not working and opts for plan b – dropping all of the bones out of his body until he crumples in a puddle on the floor, screaming. Alas, he is two.

Today is his second birthday. He’s growing up so fast I find myself really needing to focus so that I don’t miss it.

His number one job is playing and he takes it very seriously. He plays alone, he plays with us, he inserts himself into Ella’s games. He imitates her and now he makes up his own world to play in. Lately he’s been playing Birthday Party, lining up all of his cars and trains and singing Happy Birthday, complete with a toy ‘upcake. When we play with him, he makes us take off our shoes and sit in the floor – unless we’re dancing. We do dance. I love to watch his little body dancing all around telling me to “Dance Mama!” I wish I had danced in my earlier life like I dance with my 2 year old.

He and his cousin Jake are fast friends, already teaming up for trouble and blaming each other for it. Well, Luke blames Jake, but I’m certain that Jake would blame him too if he had all the words.

He is becoming more independent every day. He packs his own toy bag to take to Grandmother’s, brushes his own teeth (I still insist on having a turn), puts his shoes on, finds his things and puts them away when asked, and picks his own cup. Have mercy, cup-picking is a tantrum trigger for him, just like it was for Ella.

At meal times, he says the blessing with us, and knows most of the words to all of them. He sings so much that I’m convinced that he has music in his head. His life soundtrack consists mostly of “Skinny Marinky Dinky Dink” and “Down by the Station” right now. He also gets very excited when we break out the Southern Gospel and sing “Glory Land” at the top of our lungs.

He started taking gymnastics this summer and he seems to love it, judging by the amount of tumbling he does at home. While his balance is amazing, watching him practice his beam skills at home is occasionally heart-stopping. This fall he will go to preschool 4 days a week, and I’m certain he is ready. I know he will be excited that he gets to go every day like Ella does.

Though he still looks like the same skinny bean he’s always been, I can tell he is heavier when I wear him now. He is certainly longer. He alternates between eating like a 14 year old boy and picking at his food – depending on what fun he had to leave to eat and if his teeth are hurting. He still has to grow five more teeth before that special trial of parenting is finished. I think everyone around him is ready for that to happen. He doesn’t cry about his teeth; he turns into his evil alter personality and lashes out at every person, place, and thing around him. We’ve learned that when Luke assumes the likeness of a cornered, feral cat, it’s time to give him some Motrin.

When he’s not teething or mad, he has a very sweet, easy-going personality. He loves his family and freely blows kisses and tells all of us, “‘ove you!” If you can catch him, he gives really good hugs.

His hair is getting too long but it’s wild and beautiful and one of his last vestiges of babyhood. Cutting it will signify the end of an age in our house. I’m already mourning those baby curls and they aren't even gone yet.

He still nurses briefly at bed time, but that is rapidly changing as he more and more often tells me, “Night, night,” and rolls over to fall asleep. He has slept through the night a handful of times recently, but he usually still wakes once or twice to cuddle and he almost always finishes the night in our bed. We aren’t in a hurry to change that.

He is a fun-loving, mischievous, affectionate kid and I count myself lucky to be his mother.

The Turning of a Season

It seems fitting that we found out that Dave's cancer is in remission when the first hint of fall is in the air. Just yesterday he called me outside before church so I could feel the fall before the sun burned it away. It's a welcome reprieve, the remission with the changing season.

While I am overwhelmingly happy, I'm also a bit shocked that it really is over - that we really did survive it. Despite constant reassurance and an otherworldy sense of peace, I've forced myself not to count the blessing before I heard the words from the doctor's mouth. Like a baseball player who refuses to change his socks for fear of ending a winning streak, I have refused to commit myself to the idea that everything would be fine for fear that I would jinx it.

As the doctor opened Dave's chart this morning to tell us the results of the PET scan, he said, "Let's see what kind of pet you are." I think we both sighed with relief. Whatever tiny bits of disease appeared on his first PET scan in March were gone this time. The surgery worked. The chemo worked. The prayers worked.

Thank you, God.

He got clearance from the doctor to have his port removed whenever he is ready. As he got dressed this morning he told me he was ready for it to be gone. He'll have another PET scan in three months. If that one is clear, he'll have scans every 6 months until he reaches the 2 year mark. There is a 70% chance that he is completely cured, but the greatest risk of relapse is in the first 2-3 years after treatment, so they'll keep close tabs on him for the next few years. After that, they'll do bloodwork and scans as needed until the 5 year mark. After five years of clean scans, we get to use the C word. For now, we'll just stick with a capital R, for fear of jinxing it, you know.

And, we will praise the Lord.

"Praise the Lord, my soul;

all my inmost being, praise his holy name.

 Praise the Lord, my soul,

and forget not all his benefits—

 who forgives all your sins

and heals all your diseases,

 who redeems your life from the pit

and crowns you with love and compassion,

 who satisfies your desires with good things

so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s." - Psalm 103: 1-5

Again, thank you for lifting us up. We would have been lost without the prayers.

Miss Communication

Early Saturday morning (like roll-out-of-bed-and-into-the-car-early), Dave and I were driving up the interstate with both kids in tow. We ate breakfast in the car, so I was in the process of loading caffeine and still groggy.

Dave, as he usually is first thing in the morning, was all happy and singing with the music up loud enough to drown out Ella.

Ella, like Dave, was also all geared and chattering non-stop at the top of her lungs.

Luke, in an effort to compete with Ella, was alternately hollering, "Mama!" and "Hussshhhh" when I responded.

I've mentioned before that I don't like to be spoken to in the mornings, right?

Anyway, about halfway through our drive, after thirty-ish minutes of coping with the music, and the singing, and the chattering, and the Mama-hushing, all at top volume, Dave asked me, "Where is Greece?"

Huh?

As my sluggish, over-stimulated brain processed that question, I wondered why he was asking me something so random. I looked at him weirdly and I replied, "On the Mediterranean."

He looked at me even weirder and said, "The CD."

Oh. Grease! The musical. For the loud singing. Right.