A Hide-a-Port, a Thief, and a Son Comes Home

It didn't seem like Thursday when we dismounted at 1:15 am, at least not that I noticed.

I was very thankful at that moment for our friend Dakota's offer to keep Laura company for her chemo treatment later that day. Of course I had no intention of missing it altogether, but being able to sleep in a bit seemed like a good plan.

The chemo, as before, was uneventful except for the nurse being unable to access Laura's subcutaneous port -- they had to set up an IV instead.

When I brought in the Arby's, Dakota and Laura's conversation about wigs turned to curiosity about the Oklahoma trip. I was happy to oblige as we ate.

The treatment was right on track and it seemed downright pleasant. The effects of chemo had taken a little more than a day to manifest before, and Dakota is a delight, so I left them to their girl talk and went to the cafeteria with my laptop to begin catching up on my inbox at work.

The day passed rapidly after that; I popped in for few visits to assure there were no changes, and before we knew it we were packing up and heading out. It's good to feel that those who are providing the services are not only competent but pleasant and helpful.

As the days following the treatment progressed, my fears of worsening effects meant that I was prepared to step up our game. From the beginning, I've been worried about a commonly repeated caution: that as the chemo course continues, the duration and severity of effects would increase. Thankfully, this round seemed a little easier, if anything. I know a part of it was the fact that it was all new and unknown the first time, but the typical side effects we all know about didn't seem any worse, either.

Unfortunately, Laura picked up a bit of a cold, so having to deal with a nagging cough has meant some lost sleep and a bit of weariness. Although she was planning to work on Friday, it was clear Thursday night it wasn't going to happen.

This was unfortunate, because it seemed it was going to be a nice, easy day. Laura was going to ride on a charter bus of kids to St. Augustine, take some leisurely strolls, and ride home. No lecturing, not much walking.

As it turned out, we were glad she didn't go, because the teachers who did go had to deal with a student who stole. Not exactly a low stress day for those involved.

Now we look forward to treatment three the day before Thanksgiving.

Based on the first two treatments, Thanksgiving should be fine, with Andrew home from Ft. Campbell to help provide some cooking assistance. We'll sit on Laura, if we have to, to have her conserve her energy, and Andy and I will get our celebratory meal ready around noon rather than in the afternoon, when we classically have had it. It won't involve stuffing a turkey or stressful complexities if we can help it.

We've been counting blessings approaching Thanksgiving -- that we found the cancer early, that we have such overwhelming support from family, church, and friends, and that the treatment regimen has been as well tolerated as it has.

Add to that my daily prayers of thanks for Laura, who has been riding this whole thing out like the champ she is. It is truly marvelous to see God working through her!

I'd also urge everyone this Thanksgiving to remember those who have given so much for our freedoms!

Hogs and A Mustang

Not an average vacation.

For one thing, I usually spend my time off with Laura, so hitting the road with a cement truck driver in the passenger seat was a bit different. We were in the cab of a sixteen foot rental truck with car trailer behind.

Put this together with the fact I was leaving Laura at home after her initial chemo treatment, and I think a bit of explanation is in order.

Okay, let's start with the truck and trailer. We had been talking about getting their things to Luke and Simon in Oklahoma this fall. Because of the circumstances of their moves to Oklahoma, they didn't have a chance take their stuff with them. The plan this year was that Simon would load up a truck and he and Laura would drive out when he left after his summer vacation.

Then came Laura's positive mammogram.

Simon was due back for classes, so he flew back, and together with our friends, we began to deal with ... well, you know the rest of that story.

So that was the truck.

As for the trailer, it was just after I had rented the truck that our son William won the bidding for a '66 Mustang on Ebay. The car was in Chiefland (west of Gainesville), and his plan was to have it shipped to him in Clarksville, Tennessee at no small expense. -- You see where this is going.

Which brings us to leaving Laura after her first chemo. This isn't as bad as it might seem. We knew from talking to people who had experience with the treatment that the first week after chemo was rough, but that by the time the next treatment rolled around, she could expect to feel like her old self again.

So we made plans for me to get the trip done in that final week before her next treatment, which pretty much brings us up to date.

Oh, except for the cement truck driver in the passenger seat. My cousin's husband. He volunteered to go with me as a riding partner, partly because the return trip once we dropped the truck off was via motorcycle. We just loaded our bikes right into the truck along with the stuff going to Oklahoma. When we got the truck unloaded out there, we rolled them out and hopped on for the ride back.

Almost 1400 miles back, in two and a half days. And for you riders out there, you know the routine on long rides. You ride about a hundred miles, then you just have to climb off and walk around for circulation.

They were long but satisfying days.

Laura's next chemo was the same day we arrived back home, and our 1:15 am arrival didn't interfere much.

So, our Oklahoma boys got their stuff, one of our Ft. Campbell boys got his Mustang, and I got a great break from work and a cross-country ride with my new best friend as the leaves were changing.

Next time: Chemo round two.

Toxic Cocktails - Act Two.

You read, you talk to survivors, you ask questions.

Chemotherapy has that effect on people. It definitely did us. You hear of horrific consequences, of hair loss, weight loss ... you know the drill. You've heard it, too, right?

What we weren't prepared for in the first chemo session was ... boredom. That's right. We sat through the chemo all day long, waiting. Intermittently checking the relentless dripping in the little round vial, we did our best to distract ourselves. Then suddenly, it was over.

The nurse unplugged the IV and wished us well.

We gathered our stuff and shuffled out in a sort of daze. Was it really that simple? We went home in the almost certain knowledge that the pleasant doldrum wasn't going to last.

Reminds me of the time I thought our son Will had swallowed a partial bottle of Tylenol when he was about four. Following poison control instructions, I gave him the Syrup of Ipecac chaser. He downed it with an appreciative smile and turned to leave the bathroom without a second thought, blissfully unaware the curtain was about to open on act two.

The curtain parted for us Saturday afternoon.

Laura went fishing in the morning, meeting my sister Beth on Merritt Island, while I went to enjoy a ride on my motorcycle. She came home in the early afternoon, low on energy, and was soon napping.

Now it's Tuesday. Laura was able to work a half day after missing the whole day yesterday.

Bouncing back? We can only hope.

A bold adventure. Allies required.

I didn't know how long the "Lose the Locks" party at the salon would last, but I knew I wouldn't have much time. My sister Beth was on her way into town with her son and I needed to be back to take Bobby into Gators while she joined Laura's support group at the salon.

I dropped Laura at the salon and drove casually toward Gators until I was out of sight. A few quick turns later and I parked in front of the barber.

As soon as she'd laid out her plans for the salon party, I'd formulated my secret plan to shave my head at the same time. She would come to Gators with her friends from the salon, feeling a bit conspicuous with her short hair, and I'd surprise her with my own. It was calculated to relieve some of her stress at looking so different.

Her hair had been long -- shoulder length at least -- since we were married more than three decades ago.

I was a little early for my appointment, but happily, Gina took me to a chair right away. It didn't take long, and as I looked in the mirror, I surprised myself. I could live with that, at least for awhile.

A quick swipe of my card, and I was on my way back.

Beth's double-take at the Gators parking lot made me smile, though the patrons inside didn't know me and didn't give me a second glance. I guessed I didn't look so freaky after all.

The conversation with Bobby about his week at middle school occupied us. Time dragged. We ordered appetizers and found other topics.

I was a little distracted. Every time the door opened, I was ready to see Laura and her entourage coming in from the salon. Time after time, I was disappointed. How long does it take to get a haircut?

Finally she appeared in the doorway, scanning. It was dark compared to outside and at least thirty feet from the door to where we sat, but soon she saw us and headed over. I was able to conceal my surprise under my baseball cap most of the way.

Her new cut was really good. The original idea was to shave her head, but she decided on short hair for the interim. It took a little adjustment since I'd never seen it on her before, but definitely made her look younger.

You can guess the rest. About ten feet away, her eyes widened. I took off the cap. Her jaw dropped.

Mission accomplished. A momentary diversion, at least.

Now we can share the future with something akin to a united perspective, though I don't kid myself about the difference between her hair loss and my shaved head. A guy can pretty easily convince himself he's rockin' that look, and now I notice guys with shaved heads everywhere. But of course it's different for women.

We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.

Her heart's not on her sleeve, but just under it.

Laura and I had no trouble at all finding the right room in the long quiet corridor of plain doors, thanks to tastefully understated signs.

Ambulatory Surgery.

I looked at Laura as we approached the door. She knew what was coming.

"You'd think they'd want people to hold still while they operate on them, not to have them walking around."

"Oh, I don't know. Doctors are often Type A personalities. They like challenges."

I opened the door and followed her in.

It was a pleasant enough waiting room with the requisite elements. There were the usual semi-comfortable chairs along the walls, the carefully spaced relatives and friends using their cell phones, novels, and knitting to do their best to distract themselves. This one was well designed, with some of the creature comforts of a living room. A large flatscreen flashed images and deep muted voices, and subliminal overtones of coffee mixed with quiet conversations.

Laura's procedure was to put in a funnel to her heart.

The toxins they will be feeding into her body by IV will need to go directly into the superior vena cava. Like the mouth of a funnel, the injection port itself is a 1.5 cm target that will reside directly under the skin on the inside of her right arm. From there, the tube from the port enters a major arm vein and travels all the way to where it empties outside her heart.

Other than starting late, the surgery went as expected, and besides a nice bruise and a little leakage and pain at the incision, we moved on to a spectacular "Lose the Locks" party.

Next: About Losing the Locks...

Behind the rainbow? It's very still.

I unlocked and opened Laura's door, and she climbed into the van without a word. Our parking lot conversation about the cost of head scarves had reached its natural conclusion. As I circled around the front in this private moment, I was ready for her emotional release. She'd been able to roll with it so far, but I didn't expect her to internalize everything we had just taken in, while still healing from the surgery.

I glanced up at her as I unlocked my side. She was lost in thought.

"I think I'm just going to go ahead and get my hair cut off before the first chemo treatment. Janet did that to avoid having it come out in hunks in the shower."

Ah, the unbelievable Janet. Janet, who had dealt not only with breast cancer, but bone cancer before that.

I shrugged. "Makes all kinds of sense to me. Sure more proactive and puts you in control. Yeah! I like it!"

"We can call it a 'Lose the Locks' party and invite friends. We'll drop the husbands at Gators and the wives can troupe over next door to the spa for the big event. Then we'll all toast to facing it head on."

I put the key in the ignition and fired it up. That's my Laura.

Don't like my worn out shoes, but at least I have some.

Perspective. It's a kind of magic, really.

I was sitting in my adirondack chair in the back yard trying to understand how it had gone so wrong. The week, now behind me, ended far from how I'd hoped.

Having worked hard for days to get the right results, I found out suddenly and unpleasantly I had gone in the wrong direction. My expectations for a happy conclusion turned into a crushing disappointment. It had been a long time since I had been so deflated in my work.

This is where perspective comes into play.

Laura and I had just gone through the same thing, but with much more significant consequences. Going into her surgery, our expectation was that negative results on the sentinel lymph nodes would mean that the ordeal was all but over.

When the doctor appeared in the waiting room after the surgery to let my sister and me know the nodes were negative, I felt like dancing, and I know Laura felt the same way when she found out.

Then we got the initial results from the pathology.

Finding invasive cancer, I'm sure, is never good news, even in small quantities. But imagine when you think you're at the finish line only to find the race may have just begun.

I looked out across the yard, and my work week settled into its proper place.