An Open Letter to My Wife

Shanda,

Writing a letter like this is much more than just nerve-wracking. It feels impossible. But as I near the end of my treatment, I want to publically (and quite inadequately) express my love and appreciation for what you’ve done for me the past six months.

From the very beginning you have been my rock. When I had my colonoscopy and the doctor told us I had a cancerous tumor, you kindly and calmly explained to me the results several times as my head cleared of the anesthesia and I tried to understand what was happening. As we talked to Dr. Reid about my kind of cancer and what the treatment was going to be like, you asked the important questions and took notes as my head was swimming. In the beginning, you drove me to all my appointments and hospitalizations and stayed with me to be sure I was OK. Toward the end, you let me drive myself or you dropped me off at the curb of the hospital and then let the church choir tease you about it. When I had a scary reaction to the immunotherapy (like crazy shivering and passing out), you held my hand. When I had the worst headache of my life and just couldn’t stand it anymore, you came in the middle of the night and brought me one hot wash cloth after another until we got it under control. When I was in the critical care unit for a ridiculously low heart rate, you were there to reassure me that everything was going to be OK. During my hospitalizations you brought me decent food every chance you had. You gave me my neupogen shots at home when I needed them and flushed my hickman catheter lines. When I felt like I was falling apart, you sat and held me and offered words of encouragement and hope.

You managed our three boys at home without much help from me. You kept them fed, got them off to school, and did all the hard work of raising a newborn. You gave them good experiences during Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas (for all of which I was absent). You were instrumental in Parker accepting Jesus as his Savior. You kept track of our insurance coverage and bills, even when it was exceedingly frustrating. You’ve done precious little grumbling or complaining when my treatment caused you more work and created chaos in our lives. You’ve made many sacrifices the past six months for my sake, some of which I know about and others that I’m sure I don’t. There’s much more to be said, but when it comes down to it, you gave me tremendous strength and you kept our family together.

I couldn’t have survived these past six months without you.

I will do my best to express my gratitude privately and for a long time to come, but right now I want my small, public world of blog readers to know what a wonderful woman I think you are. While you deserve the accolades of a Proverbs 31 woman, I’ve stumbled over my words and offered only a meager statement of appreciation. While you deserve the greatest of rewards, what you’ll end up getting is a trip to Larry’s Pizza.

Thank you, Shanda. There just aren’t enough words to express my love and appreciation for you. I’m sorry I can’t be at home with you and the boys this Christmas, but I’m looking forward to spending many, many more Christmases with you.

I love you more than I can say.

An Open Letter to My Nurses

To my nurses at Dr. Tsuda’s and Dr. Reid’s offices and to my nurses (& nurse's aides) on the 2nd floor at Conway Regional Medical Center:

Writing a letter like this is a bit nerve-wracking. I’m afraid that just as soon as I get started, I’ll forget someone or something important. But I cannot wrap up my treatment without expressing my gratitude to you all.

With the exception of 2 or 3 weekends, I’ve spent time with you (either at the clinics or at the hospital) every day for the past 6 months. Some of you I’ve gotten to know better than others – but I have enjoyed the company of all of you. As you heard stories of me and my family, you let me get to know you as well. Some of you love your kids and grandkids so much it oozes from you. Some of you almost burned your house down recently. Some of you laugh really loudly. Some of you have mended your marriages. Some of you like cookies and a good energy drink. Some of you are looking for a church to attend. Some of you never miss an episode of Heroes or The Office. Some of you have cool disco shoes and some of you have Batman earrings. Some of you have been oncology nurses for a long time and some of you are just getting started. Some of you have taken care of my milk jugs (you might need to read this post to understand). Some of you enjoy deer hunting with your husbands and some of you really, really love Christmas.

All of you have been both professional and yet personal in your care. Cancer is scary and hospitals are not particularly fun. You all have done an exceptional job in easing my worries, answering my questions, and tending to me through my chemotherapy.

Simply saying “thank you” doesn’t seem enough. But I’m not sure how to elaborate much more. Please know that I am extremely grateful for what you’ve done for me.

May God bless you all richly.

A Hospitally Christmas

Yes, I know “hospitally” isn’t a real word. My spell checker tells me so. But it looks like that’s the kind of Christmas I’ll have this year.

I was admitted to the hospital yesterday with a fever and I’m getting some much needed platelet transfusions, blood transfusions, and antibiotics. And I’ll likely be here until after Christmas. That makes Shanda and me a little sad, but it’s all going to be OK. Maybe it won’t be so different than being home….

Instead of the boys waking me up at 6:00 am to open presents, the nurses will wake me up at 6:00 am to draw blood and get my vital signs.

And instead of hearing annoying, loud, and beeping toys for Cooper, I’ll hear annoying, loud, and beeping IV pumps by my bedside.

See, just the same as being home.

But as I’ve said before, I’ll willingly spend this Christmas at the hospital if it means I get to spend the next 50 at home.

Today's Headline

MY CHEMO IS OVER!
MY CHEMO IS OVER!
MY CHEMO IS OVER!

I'm still in the hospital tonight getting a blood transfusion. And I'll likely end up spending some more time in the hospital before and/or during Christmas - getting more blood or platelets or antibiotics or some such.

But today I'm celebrating......

MY CHEMO IS OVER!

The Home Stretch Gets Ugly

Grumble.

Nothing witty tonight - just an update as I try to knock out these last few days of treatment.

If you read my post on Monday, you know I got a bonus day in the hospital because Shanda and 2 of the boys had some kind of stomach bug. Well, Monday night I spiked a fever here at the hospital. Again, fevers are NEVER good for cancer patients whose immune systems are already taking a pounding. So, I got to stay in the hospital another day. In addition to the fever (that now has gone away), I've had a pretty persistent headache the past two days. That was a bit of a concern for my doctors, so I got to have a consultation with a neurologist and they did a MRI on my brain. (Good news - I have a brain and the MRI looked OK.)

Other people have those kind of headaches regularly. But since I've never really had a two-day headache before, the doctors were a little concerned. I get to have another MRI on my spinal column tomorrow. Then I get to have a spinal tap.

If things go as planned tomorrow and if the next few days go as they have in previous rounds, then here's how my near future looks....

I'll get my LAST - yes my very LAST - spinal tap tomorrow. That will be 16 since this summer and it will mark the end of my chemo treatment. Then after a few days, my white blood cell count will plummet and I'll get sick or run a fever or something and end up back in the hospital again. I'll be in the hospital to get antibiotics and stuff for several days and I'll be cutting it very close to get back out before Christmas. In fact, we are half-way planning on me spending Christmas here at the hospital. We'll just have to see, I guess.

So, I've tied a knot at the end of my rope and I'm hanging on for a little while longer.

Hope Deferred....

…..makes the heart sick (Proverbs 13:12)
…..makes the heart want to watch more UFC.
…..makes the heart want to eat more Snickers with Almonds.
…..makes the heart want to scream wildly at the top of his lungs and he would except that it would scare the other patients and upset the nurses and they might come running and inject him with Ativan or something to calm him down and if he kept screaming they might call security or try putting him in restraints.

I was scheduled to go home today. BUT, I have a house full of sick people. Two of the boys are just getting over some sort of stomach bug and Shanda just came down with it last night. I was a little concerned about going to a home steeped in germs and/or viruses, so I mentioned it to my doctor this morning. She recommended that I stay in the hospital another day to help avoid getting sick myself.

Did you catch that? Stay in the hospital. To avoid getting sick. That just seems weird.

But I understand. So I get the joy of at least one more day in the hospital. We are just going to play it by ear tomorrow. My last spinal tap is scheduled for Wednesday, so I suppose it is possible they will keep me until that is done. But if it is any longer than that, I’m gonna need the restraints.

How Many Shopping Days ‘Til Christmas?

Click here - Stupid Cancer

Resolutions

I am definitely NOT a New Year’s Resolution kind of guy. I don’t like setting myself up for that kind of failure. Plus, it just seems a little cheesy.

But I can’t help being a little reflective these days as my last round of chemo wraps up. I can’t help but think about the kind of life I’ve been living and wonder if any changes need to be made. I dunno – maybe that’s more related to a mid-life crisis than cancer.

(No worries – I have no plans to grow my hair long and buy a red convertible.)

And I have no real plans for major overhauls. But here are a few thoughts I’ve had lately, in no particular order. This isn’t an exhaustive list – I’m still contemplating.

I want to be more generous. Shanda and I have been EXTREMELY blessed by the generosity of others the past 6 months. We’ve had friends and family give, sometimes sacrificially I’m sure. And we’ve had Christians we don’t know from places we barely know give as well. In both cases, we have been reminded of God’s love for us through the love of others. And we have learned much about God’s provision through the generosity of others. I want to be a part of ministering to the real needs of other people like that.

I want to be slightly more spontaneous. Some of the best times I’ve had were born out of spontaneity. Frankly, spontaneity can drive Shanda crazy, so I have to be careful. But I sometimes like getting caught up in the moment and flying by the seat of my pants.

I want to splurge more – on the small things. I’m not a fan of wasting money or spending it frivolously. But I’d like to upgrade to the New York Strip when I go to Outback Steakhouse, you know?

I want to give more hugs. That sounds weird. But I grew up in a very affectionate home and I’m finding this desire to give more people more hugs these days. Maybe that’s just because I’m wrapping up chemo and I’m anticipating saying “good-bye” or “thank-you” to a good many people – health care providers and others. So if you find yourself getting a big hug from me anytime soon and it weirds you out, please just humor me.

I want to go to a Duke / North Carolina basketball game someday. Yes, this is pretty specific. But this is the ultimate sporting event for me. (BOBBY! COME ON, MAN!)

And I want to eat more Snickers bars with almonds. Because, dude, those things are really, really, good.

10-15 (Revisited)

So… for a while now I’ve been able to forget about the whole recovery rate thing. I’ve just assumed that I’m going to be cured of this stupid cancer. Honestly, I don’t know how much of that was/is faith and how much was/is burying my head in the sand like an ostrich. But ignoring it has served me well – it reduces the stress of worrying about things I have little to no control over.

But now that I’m in my last round of chemo, I’ve started thinking about my odds again. Surely my odds are at least slightly better than the 85-90 percent typical for Burkitt’s Lymphoma since I’ve had good results from chemo so far. That is, within that 10-15 percent of folks who do not make it, some of them probably do not get good results from the very beginning. That I have tolerated chemo well and haven’t had any symptoms has got to be a good sign. Still, I wonder who finds themselves in the 10-15 percent. And I wonder if I could be in that group.

The end of round 8 marks the beginning of a very long waiting game. And if you have followed my journey at all, you probably recognize that I’m not good at waiting – even through delays that last only a few days. I will have my first major set of scan 6 weeks after round 8 is over. Then, if memory serves me correctly, I’ll have scans at 3 months, 6 months, 1 year, 2 years, and 5 years. Each of these are milestones – and I’m not sure I’ll feel like I’m really out of the woods (or out of the 10-15 percent) until 5 years is up.

So in a feeble attempt to give new meaning to the numbers 10-15, I’ve decided to come up with a list of alternatives. Here’s my list. Be ready to give me your ideas.

10-15 = percent of readers who “got” all of my 80s songs/milk jug references.
10-15 = number of months my doctor has said it will take to gain all of my strength and stamina back. I’m gonna cut that down to 6 months, though.
10-15 = percent of body hair I have left after 8 rounds of chemo.
10-15 = total number of hospital meals I’ve eaten. All other meals have been
brought in from the outside.
10-15 = number of requests for poop references. Weirdos.

OK. Your turn. Redefine 10-15 for me……….

The Home Stretch, Again

My lab results were good this morning! So I'm off to the hospital this evening to start my last round of chemotherapy - for real this time, I hope. I told my doctor today that I'm glad to not have to wait a week. As it is, I felt a little like I was running a race and having just turned a corner and laid eyes on the ribbon at the finish line, I was made to stop and wait.

It sounds odd to say I'm looking forward to going to the hospital and getting chemo, but I am. The delay will mean I'll be in the hospital on my birthday, but like my doctor said about being in the hospital on Thanksgiving Day, I'll gladly be in the hospital that day so I can spend the next 50 at home.

Ready, Set, WAIT

Well, I was admitted to the hospital yesterday evening to start round 8. Unfortunately, when they did labwork this morning, my white blood cell count was too low. So my chemo has been delayed at the very last minute. I’m back at home now – hoping that my white blood cells rebound enough so that tomorrow I can go back in. If they don’t, then the doctor will start me on some medication for a week that will boost my white blood cells. I don’t like being delayed for a day – let alone for a week. But I suppose some delays are inevitable and should be expected. Pray that my white blood cells will get their act together by tomorrow morning and pray for me to have patience if they don’t.

One other item…..

What do you get when you add one NC State basketball coach wildly looking for someone to celebrate with after he won the 1983 National Championship and over $80 million for cancer research? You get the JimmyV Foundation.

The Home Stretch

I am going to the hospital tonight to start round 8 - my LAST round of chemotherapy. And there is much rejoicing in the land. Will post again soon.

Home Sweet Home

I'm home again. I love home. I'm feeling well and looking forward to a few good days before I head back to the hospital for my next (*ahem* - LAST) round of chemotherapy.