Thursday, November 28, 2013

Gobble Gobble Shake It Shake It

Team Miner - 

There's nothing quite like a brush with rather major adversity to make you appreciate all the good things in life.  Like everyone else, I reflect on all the things for which I am thankful every year when Thanksgiving rolls around, but as this particular year draws to a close, the gratitude feels deeper than usual.

Though I am tempted to post a long laundry list of things for which I am thankful, I am going to save most of that for the party early next year (which we are still planning) to show our appreciation for everything that everyone has done to support us through Jeff's treatment. I'm thinking it might coincide with Lydia's baptism, since I would like to have her baptized here in SF, instead of Kentucky. 

When the party rolls around, we'll have more to celebrate. Yesterday Jeff got the results of his post-chemo PET scan: still NEGATIVE. Woohoo!

On Monday we have an appointment with the oncologist to discuss the PET scan. I hope we will get a clear sense of what type of follow-up monitoring and care will be required over the next several months as well. 

In other news, since I rarely seem to find the energy or inspiration to write anything these days, I am dealing with some "senioritis," so to speak. Emotionally, it is very strange to be here - in SF, that is - when we had planned to be in Bowling Green already. I have this preemptively wistful and sad feeling, knowing that we need to say farewell to our life here, but I am also overeager and ready (in some respects) to get this show on the road. We have so many dear friends here, and the thought of moving to what will be a lonely place at first, is scary.  So, I have a new resolve to channel all this ambiguity I'm feeling and really make the most of the time we have left here.  Consider it a Thanksgiving resolution.  Also, I want to make the most of the food scene everything San Francisco has to offer, so I've got to get out and get my grub on before we head East to a land that seems to mostly consist of chain restaurants and some reputable donuts.

Aside from my inner turmoil (which makes this sound a bit more emo than necessary, but whatever), we had a great visit last weekend with Aunt Emi and Marc as they passed through on their way to Seattle. They let me be a third wheel on a date to see "Catching Fire," which I thoroughly enjoyed.  Now, Uncle Mikey is visiting for Thanksgiving. He is playing with Stelly, and meeting Lydia for the first time and it is just lovely to have him here. Unfortunately for him, he has arrived in the nick of time to experience Lydia teething (again) and also learning to crawl and cruise around.  She is growing up so fast. This morning she sat up in her crib for the first time, and this afternoon, she pulled herself up to stand while she was supposed to be snoozing. The times, they are a'changing...

Love to all of you,


Friday, November 08, 2013

A Note From Jeff

I returned home recently from the last round of chemotherapy, and while it's taken me a bit longer than anticipated to finish this, I thought it would be an appropriate moment to (a). thank you all for your support and (b). write a bit about the end of treatment and what the future holds. So:

(a). Thank you all. Your support has been wonderful, and I am so grateful for everyone who has sacrificed time, money, or even just a positive thought for us during what has been a long, at times interminable, six months. I am supremely grateful for the love and support of Katina, proprietress of this weblog. Cancer treatment is unpleasant, but I am lucky to have a spouse who took so much on her shoulders so that I could focus on getting well. Also, she has good health insurance. I do not envy anyone who must continue to do all the ordinary business of regular life (shopping, child care, insurance companies, bills, etc.) on top of trying to stay positive and recover. Between Katina and you all, I have had the luxury to get well at my own pace without many external demands on me. Thank you. I really can't say enough about how much it meant to me and to us that so many people have been there in ways ranging from the biggest to the smallest.

(b). Treatment is over. There are no more hospital admissions scheduled, and I no longer have additional poison medicine to anticipate. The last PET/CT scan I had was negative. Technically, this does not make me cancer-free. Instead, it means the machine was unable to detect any cancer in my body - overlapping but non-identical categories. The last two rounds of chemo were much less stressful for my body, and I've already started to notice improvements in important departments, including (but not limited to) my ability to grow eyebrows and hair on my head. While I don't yet feel strong, I feel the capacity to become strong returning, and I look forward to sweeping out some of the mental cobwebs from my working brain and starting regular exercise. All of this is grounds for legitimate celebration, so I look forward to sharing hugs and congratulations with our extended support network.

And yet.

When it comes right down to it, I don't yet feel like celebrating. Partially, this is due to my temperament. An academic advisor of mine once dubbed me a "laconic midwesterner" and anyone who knows me knows this to be an accurate description, both geographically and attitudinally. I'm not a big jumper for joy by nature. The reservations I feel are more than emotional reserve, however. I wanted to write a brief thank-you to everyone, but I also felt I needed to write to clarify that my non-celebratory mood is more than just me being me.

Treatment is over, but we still can't be sure that cancer is. Cancer is definitely over for now, but just how long "for now" covers isn't yet clear. It is not impossible that we might find ourselves going back down the same road, only darker, in the coming months or years. Do I think that will happen? No. But when it comes down to it, the absolute last thing I want is to begin treatment again, while looking back on a celebration with the taste of ashes in my mouth because it turned out to be seriously premature.

So, you won't see me jumping for joy. What you will see, I hope, is me getting down to the business of living life again, free of the many constraints imposed by frequent hospitalizations and toxic medicines. You should also see me giving handshakes, hugs and words of gratitude to everyone who has been there for us in big ways and small in the last few months. We're planning on having a party at some point, but I won't be there to commemorate the end of cancer. I'll be there to celebrate (1). Katina and (2). everyone else whose kindness and care sustained us through this process. Thanks, guys.