I know. I know. I haven’t written in a long time. I’m sorry. I needed a break from the cancer world; I wanted to be normal so badly. I didn’t think about cancer, I didn’t read about cancer, I tried to live like I used to live.
I planted my garden with tiny tomato plants, marveling that they would quickly grow giving us a plentiful harvest before the first frost kills them. My passion for succulents took over two huge planters. I taught Ruth the magic of yeast, flour and water…bread. I worked with Grace spreading what seemed like endless piles of compost and mulch. I gorged myself of pumpkin curry when Bill took me on a date to my favorite Thai restaurant. The “C” word was considered profane in our house, so we simply didn’t talk about it, I wanted to focus on living.
Then in June we all went to Utah unexpectedly for a death. It was shocking. My dear nephew Teddy passed away; he was only nineteen years-old, he died from tonsillitis. It was surreal.
I couldn’t help thinking about what I would want my funeral to be like. Bill and I already made arrangements for my burial plot. We’ve discussed my wishes and wants, me questioning if my desires really matter because the funeral is really for the living, not the dead. I saw my brother and his family, their grace in handling tragedy, not sure I could do the same if I was in their shoes.
Shortly after Teddy’s funeral with death still lingering in the air, my mother, my family and all my siblings’ families invaded the Disney Wonder ship in Alaska for a seven day cruise. There were thirty-seven of us, yes, thirty-seven. We came armed with a Settlers of Catan game, some good humor, many large appetites, strong political opinions, and immense gratitude that we could spend time with the people we love. Furthermore, we got to experience the majestic beauty of Alaska while doing it. (Have to put a plug in here for Victoria, B.C. Canada, where we explored before the cruise. Just do it.)
After the cruise Bill, the kids and I spent the next ten days exploring western Canada. Gorgeous, simply gorgeous. The mountains jut high in the sky with glacier blue rivers cutting winding paths below the peaks. It seemed there was a majestic waterfall, cascading hundreds of feet, around every bend. We cruised along in our rented minivan with our eyes devouring the almost too perfect scenery, all the while singing with Louis Armstrong at the tops of our lungs, “What a Wonderful World.”
We also drove to Bill’s parent’s house near Edmonton and spent time with his family on ‘the farm.’ Sammy picking raspberries until his fingers were stained red, with his lips betraying where most of the raspberries had gone, Grace feeling empowered driving the Gator, William leading the boys on an adventure…summer being what summer should be.
Between the vacations and our other comings and goings, only on treatment days was I forced to join the world of mutated cells and cancer. In April my CAT/PET/MRI scans showed all the tumors were being completely devoured by my superhuman T-cells. Physically I was feeling better and I felt real hope. The cancer was almost gone. I was really going to beat this thing! I would continue to celebrate birthdays, travel to Ireland, discuss politics, kiss scrapes and bruises on little knees, listen to boy problems, and well, live.
In Spring I was feeling better, but as the tulips died back and the coneflowers emerged I hit a plateau, nothing concrete, just not feeling great. I believed I was suffering from some side effects from the medicine. However, my belief was shattered last week.
I flew directly from Canada to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. After getting poked, prodded and scanned, I wasn’t even nervous when I met with my oncologist to get the results. I just knew the cancer would be gone. I completely discounted my extreme exhaustion, barely able to move, but not wanting to miss out on the fun, forcing myself out of my cabin on the cruise; me losing weight because I had a hard time eating with the constant feeling of nausea reeking havoc on my digestive tract; me being curled in a ball in bed at Bill’s parents house with extreme pain in my abdomen. After my doctor asked how I was doing, I explained that the medicine was causing me to have more bad days than good, then he told me the test results, it wasn’t the medicine. Good news: brain tumor…gone. Lung tumor….almost gone. Bad news: cancer has mutated and growing aggressively in my small intestine.
I sat there hearing what he had to say, not really understanding. How could the cancer be shrinking in my brain and lung yet be growing in my small intestine? Basically, the cancer has mutated around my immune system, Miss Mellie brought her evil cousin Miss Mabel to the party. Miss Mellie (the cancer in my brain and lung) is getting her can kicked by my immune system. Miss Mabel (the cancer in my small intestine) looks at my immune system, laughs and is quickly spreading her evil cells throughout. So, the doctors are going after her. I have to have all or part of my small intestine out in two weeks. Miss Mabel doesn’t know what she has comin’…but I do, a Mayo doctor with a scalpel in hand. Watch out, Miss Mabel we are coming for you! The doctors won’t know how far she has spread until they go in because Miss Mabel is notorious for being stealthy in the small intestine. The bigger issue is what to do with Miss Mabel after most of her has been removed. How do they get her microscopic minions that are unresponsive the latest and greatest medicine? That is the question that keeps me up at night. The experts don’t know yet. However, after they get the complete genetic code of Miss Mabel they may have some more ideas. I can hope. I must hope. I have too much to live for…Ruth, Grace, William, Sam and Andrew, my children.
Here is a link from the Washington Post that explains what happened when I failed Keytruda.
Me at Mayo getting treatment with my support group
Disney Cruise in Alaska
Canada
Me, my mom and my sisters at Teddy's funeral
Teddy's Funeral
My Garden
My succulent obsession
