Ready.Set.Cure. 2013

Once again, we gathered with our family and friends to fight blood cancers at the Ready.Set.Cure. 5k organized by the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society - but this time it was in celebration of remission.

His first survivor shirt.

I only decided the day before to take Georgia, so she didn't have a Lymphoma Sucks shirt, but she did sport her lime green bandana to match. Ella and Luke were excited about that part, since Georgia doesn't often wear "clothes". Though I walked as fast as I could, I still think I was too slow for her. She's quite competitive; she wanted to run. During the race, I was thinking I should have sent her with Uncle Dale, but then she collapsed under the picnic table, after wading in the stream and having a bagel and a cup of water, and I remembered that she is nearly nine. Even if she thinks she can sprint a 5k, it's probably best that she doesn't.

Georgia and I at the end. 

We left the kiddos behind this time, since none of them are big enough to keep up but all of them are too big to push/pull the whole, hilly, 3.1 miles. Luke was the only one who cared about it. He has since informed me, over and over, that he is going to race next year. I believe him.

Jake, Ella, and Luke

It was a great time. We raced, we socialized, we took pictures, we ate doughnuts and bagels, and my Uncle Dale won his age bracket. 



Our Lymphoma Sucks crew.





It's Been Three Months

I had a post written about my post-chemo mental state that I planned to publish today, but after the past perspective-gaining week with Dave in the hospital, I decided not to. It was all about the fear and the flashbacks and how I didn't have time to process everything that happened until after remission, but last week was kind of a mini version of the first hospital stay/cancer experience and I think it gave me some closure. Thus, I'm good and you won't be subjected to the whining.

Dave was supposed to have his three month PET scan today, but it will be rescheduled for later when we know that his blood counts are stable. He'll get his counts checked in the cancer center tomorrow, to make sure they are staying normal without Neupogen shots. And since he had the bone marrow biopsy and CT scan in the hospital, we have peace that he is still in remission.

Therefore, I decided to post some hospital pictures instead. Everyone who came in the room had to wear a mask. Dave had to wear one if he left the room, and found some entertainment value in watching people's reaction to him walking around the hospital in a mask. I'm certain they thought he had the swine flu. He also had to wear one when the kids came to visit because they are germ factories. I was generally exempt from the mask policy because "he's used to [my] germs," but I did wear one when the kids were there to make them more comfortable.

Dave had not seen the kids in a week.

Ella was glad to cuddle with him.

The mask distracts from the tired on my face.

Luke refused to put one on in the room.

But he decided it was okay for the ride home.

We were very glad to have him home last night. Even, maybe especially, Georgia (the dog) was ecstatic. She hasn't been sleeping much during the night and I think it's because she was waiting for him. His place in this world is with us, and our worlds aren't right without him.

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.