From my adirondack on the porch this Friday evening, I look back on the week.
The impossible occurred yesterday. Laura's blood counts supported the decision for her last "significant" chemo treatment.
I watch an eagle pair circling lazily over the power lines and feel tensions melt. While we were fully prepared to be turned away from treatment Thursday based on low blood counts, we got the thumbs up.
Unbelievable.
Closing my eyes, I roll back the clock to yesterday. The chemo suite is quiet at lunchtime as patients, with blankets and fuzzy caps heaped on, doze, read, tap on laptops or squint at cellphones. It's an elongated dogleg of a room with recliners along the wall, alternating with less elaborate chairs for spouses or friends, all facing the nurse's station on the other side.
Between working on my laptop and watching the IV drip, I contemplate what it all means.
We haven't dared think about an end to this madness. The chemo treatments seemed to stretch out in front of us in an unbroken line, always with another waiting to be done. And in the wake of each, days of recovery.
Now suddenly the end is in sight. We started with early detection and surgical intervention. Our chemo treatment regimen has been stressful, but always with the knowledge that our goal of eradication was attainable -- even probable.
Yet a few hours to our west, my cousin Joe continues his fight against pancreatic cancer with courageous resolve despite unfavorable odds. With family surrounding and supporting him and his wife, their struggle is daily, and we carefully follow their poignant blog posts.
And a few blocks away on I-4, it's all about gabbing on cellphones and driving fast. Really fast.
I decide it's time to take a short walk down the hall to the cafe.
As quiet music plays from overhead speakers, my new friend Chad fixes yet another lunch for me. I utter a silent prayer and believe I feel for a brief moment the embrace of angels' wings.
This is the last of infusions causing the now familiar side effects. We'll continue to come back for Herceptin, but this one is very specific and doesn't attack all dividing cells indiscriminately.
Laura's recovery from the chemo will begin almost immediately. Her hair will start growing again, and her strength and stamina will return.
What have we learned? No one can be sure they won't face this scourge. We know we can't be sure we won't face it again.
Pray with us that the breakthroughs will come. That the research will finally uncover the secrets that have evaded us for so many painful years. Join us in raising awareness, and praying for those who continue to fight!
