Not Superman, but...

by Dave

Most of you who have been following our blog know that last Thursday I had an unexpected setback in this battle.  A blood clot developed behind my right knee (common for cancer patients, I learned) and threatened my life. 

I was directed to go immediately to the hospital where I spent the last 4 days.  I learned much in four "short" days:

- that I'm not "Superman" in this fight with cancer.  Things CAN go sideways (and likely WILL from time to time).

- to appreciate - even more - how well things have been going.

- that my family is beyond comparison (OK...I knew that already).

- that my wonderful friends will never let me fall.

- that my years investing myself in my students on a personal level has paid off and continues to pay off.

- that my colleagues, my co-workers, have a depth of compassion and love for me that I truly wish EVERYONE had at work.

My little girl is a MASTER organizer, and one of the events she enjoys organizing most is a surprise party.  She had a wonderful Chicago-themed party planned for me this weekend, and she had the best co-conspirator possible, our Departmental Office Manager, Michelle.  The only problem was, I had been rushed to the hospital two days before.  Somehow, she got a hold of all the attendees...many from out of town (including a former student who came all the way from Minnesota) and informed them that the party had been moved - to the hospital.

There were probably 70 people waiting for me as the head nurse of Union Hospital wheeled me - in full hospital garb - into the party.

I had never been so surprised in my life.  Family, church friends, work colleagues, current and former students PACKED the room.  How I didn't cry, I'll never know.

It was the most humbling event of my life, and obviously a huge blessing.  I made sure to greet every single person there, despite some physical discomfort.  How could I NOT? 

There were countless cards, and one VERY special gift...the gift of a lifetime, in fact.  My friends at work got together and bought two tickets to the Beach Boys 50th Anniversary Concert in Chicago!!  There was never a more perfect gift given at a more perfect time.  I was and still am at a loss for words at their generosity.  It's something I will remember forever.

Finally, I learned that the most important weapon anyone can have in a battle with cancer is a rock-solid certainty that they are not alone in their fight.  After last night, I KNOW I'm never alone, and I'm so very, very thankful - and STRONG.

.......................................

Dear Mouse,

You absolutely amaze me.  What did I ever do to deserve a daughter as wonderful as you?

Love, Daddy



"You Confuse Me"

by Dave

That's what the oncologist said as he walked in the room today.

"You confuse me."

That's not the first time he or his NP has said that to me.

They can't explain me.  For now, I can live with that quite nicely.

Today I received the results of my first mid-chemo CT scan, along with the first set of cancer marker results.  It couldn't have gone much better.

While the CT showed a couple of additional spots on my liver, the doctor believes that they may well have been there all along but just showed up because this most recent CT was the first "contrast CT" that I had.  But the REAL good news is that the cancer markers are WAY down: from 13,500 to 11,500.  Add to this that I haven't had a single pain pill in 22 days, and have only taken 4 anti-nausea pills EVER, and the fact that both my liver AND the cancer have shrunk, and it adds up to one thing:

My oncologist is confused.

I can live with that.

I thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for your prayers, notes and phone calls.  You never know how much they mean until you find yourself in a situation like this (and I pray you never do), but they are such a source of strength for me.

Please keep them coming.

To God be the Glory!

Dear Mouse,

I feel like I have given this cancer a hard right punch in the mouth, and it feels SO good!  I hope it won't be the last good shot I give it, but by God, I at least landed ONE.  You know that you give me so much strength.  I think about my family and I just want to fight as hard as I can until the bell rings.  You would expect that from your daddy, and I never want to let you down again.

Love, Daddy

Numb

I've been evaluating myself lately. Trying to figure out what has changed in me because of what has changed around me. Daddy and I have both talked about the ups and downs, the sunshine and the shadows, the roller coaster. For me, though, something has changed more than I had realized. I just figured it out yesterday after a woman finished yelling in my face. As I stood watching her mouth move as she ranted and raved, I thought very briefly about saying some ugly things to her. In November I would have. She would really have gotten under my skin. I was upset afterwards,  but not really because of her. I think it just activated my emotions which, for several weeks, have been pushed down to a place so deep that I didn't know it was even there. A place so deep that even when my throat starts to burn like fire and my eyes sting like knives, I can stop the tears because their journey from that depth of my heart is so long. I never used to be able to do that. I started thinking about it and realized that I really didn't care. I didn't care what she said to me and about me. In fact, I don't care about the vast majority of the things I cared about a month and a half ago. It's not that I have negative emotions about people or things- I just don't have positive ones either- I'm numb.

That shadow and sunshine thing- you can only take it for so long. Eventually, it seems, it turns to just shades of gray. I know this sounds like a bad thing, and I suppose in some ways it is. I can't say that I've been truly happy since December 15th. That's not to say that I'm walking in the constant pain and sorrow that I was during those first few weeks- that would kill me and destroy my family. I appreciate my husband, children and my few close friends more than I ever imagined possible. What has happened is that, instead of that constant pain, I'm just numb. In situations like the other day, it turns out to be quite a good thing. It's like my 'shield of numbness.' It protects me from issues that don't really matter.

The fact is that I just don't care as much. You name it and, except for my family, I don't care as much about it now as I did a month and a half ago. Some of it is the little stuff like the 50 million committments I had for my time. Some of it is bigger- like my persistant need to work to get people to like me. I just don't have the time or the heart for it anymore, and maybe that's not such a bad thing.

Some days, though, I miss the colors. The gray is exhausting in it's own ways. You have to pretend that the gray is normal. That it's always been that way. You have to forget that you ever saw the colors because thinking about them will hurt in such indescribible ways. You get tired of feeling guilty everytime you laugh, so you laugh less. You get tired of talking about it, so you talk less. You get tired of feeling like nobody understands, so you stop trying to explain. I believe that the colors (the sunshine) will come back some day- I have to believe that- but during this transition period I just have to be- numb. I prefer it that way. It hurts less.

Dear Daddy,
Let me give you the first two examples that come to my mind after just reading your letter. The first is my favorite. When those girls were tormenting me in high school, I didn't know who else to go to. Unfortunately for you, you were always the one I would turn to in the difficult times. I was so scared of them and what they might do to me. What you did that night didn't just prove to me that you can do an awesome impression of a big, scary black boyfriend on the phone. What you did showed me that I had nothing to be afraid of. That I was capable of protecting myself. That the words bullies use to scare you are just that- words. You didn't just think like a parent that night. You thought like. . well, exactly like I needed you to. Do you know how much that taught me that I have taken with me into motherhood? No, you probably don't know. The love, courage and humor that you taught me that night made me a better person.
If that's not enough for you, let me tell you the other thing. You found a way to push me to finish college. You get mad at me so rarely. There's nothing I hate more than disappointing you. Even though it wasn't easy for you to get mad and make it clear that I was disappointing you, you did what you had to do. If you had not done that, I would not be where I am today. I wouldn't have had the career opportunities that made me who I am. I may not even have met my husband. That push changed my life forever. I am forever grateful.
You have always known what I need. Whether it's agreement, support, rebuke or a big, black pretend boyfriend; you have always been there when I needed someone or something. You have encouraged me and taught me things too numerous to count. Have no doubts. I love you.

The Shadow vs. The Sunshine

(From Dave)

If it's all the same to you, I've had enough of this cancer, OK?

Don't misunderstand: I am grateful for the (so far) good news on chemo treatments; the love, compassion and prayers of so very many; the good days I've been blessed with lately; the visits to and from family; the lunches with former students; the support and protection of current students - and so many other expressions of love on Facebook, on the phone and in cards.

That's the Sunshine.

But The Shadow, the spectre and reality of cancer, is ALWAYS right behind it.

The Shadow is turning me from a perpetual optimist into someone who can't smile for very long out of a sense of self-preservation.

I'll tell you what: if you ever are considering buying a used car, buy one from an oncologist.  They don't really know how to sugar-coat things.  Even on good days, my mind goes back to what one of the doctors told me within a few days of my diagnosis: "even if the chemo works for a while, eventually the cancer will win."

The Shadow.

So that's where I am every single day: enjoying (within strict, personally set limits) whatever Sunshine I get, but ALWAYS with an awareness of the imminent arrival of The Shadow.

In four hours, I'll have my first post-chemo CT scan.  You can imagine the Shadow vs. Sunshine Battle this morning.

I know that my liver has shrunk noticeably and that I have felt great for over a week (Sunshine), but like an oncologist, a CT scan can't lie.  Will other cancer be detected (Shadow)?  That's where I am.

I would love to always be positive and inspirational here for those of you who are sharing this journey with Angela and me, but that's not really the purpose of this blog.  I will say that it HAS been a great week in terms of how I've been feeling, and I thank God daily for His mercies.  (FOOTNOTE: What would people without faith do in a battle like this?  I can't even begin to imagine.) 

But know this: sometimes the smiles come slowly from me, and sometimes they're forced.  I WANT you to see the strong, "hangin'-in-there" side of me.  Heck, I WANT to be that guy!  But if I've learned anything at all since December 15, it's that The Shadow is due shortly after your words of encouragement, your hug or your note.

That's why I need you all so very badly....YOU are my Sunshine.

.......................................

Dear Mouse,

I tried thinking of times (or even A time) when I encouraged you in a significant way when you were facing something tough when you were little (FOOTNOTE: My daughter is my primary source of strength).  It scared me a bit that I couldn't recall a specific time except for the time when you were having a little trouble keeping the "chatting" down in school.  You and I developed the "Go to school-Go to Work" goodbye every day until the problem passed.

I still want to encourage and inspire you, and pray that this damned disease doesn't prevent that.  Love, Daddy