"In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that laid him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
'I am leaving, I am leaving'
But the fighter still remains"
- Simon and Garfunkel, "The Boxer"
If you would have told me at the start of this year that my wife would be battling breast cancer I would have said you were crazy. Actually, I probably would have punched you in the face for suggesting something so awful, then...then I would have called you crazy (and probably a few other things too).
But here we are. My wife is battling breast cancer and here I am, her co-survivor. I still get a bit weirded out by that term. I feel it's a tad selfish. She's the one who has to go through the hell of having surgeries and treatments. I feel like I haven't earned the "right" to call myself a "co-survivor."
Right from the start of this whole ordeal Sarah & I made a pact: "Cry once every two weeks and that's it. Have one cathartic release of emotions and then move on." Recently, it seems we've been breaking that rule quite a bit. To be honest with you, it's completely warranted. Cancer is no picnic. It's hell. It tries to consume the body and the human spirit. But it can't destroy love. It can't break the stone-cold will and determination of a girl named Sarah. Sure, it may rattle her, but try as it may, it can't bring her down. She's better than that. She's stronger than some disease. She's relentless.
I've said it several times, this girl is tough. She's a fighter. And I know it might be redundant for me to keep bringing it up, but her resolve is nothing short of amazing. Here you have a girl who had her entire world rattled no more than five months ago. She's gone through surgery, treatments and a twelve day stay in a hospital. And still, she trucks on.
Tomorrow she goes back in for chemotherapy. After that she has nine more weeks. That's it. NINE. MORE. WEEKS. In any other condition that would seem like an eternity, but we've come so far that nine weeks seems like it's nothing. Soon that nine weeks will be down to five weeks. Then four weeks, then three, then two...then one. Then a return to something that resembles a sense of normalcy.
While I have your attention, please check these links below:
I'm running in the Susan G Komen Race for the Cure (yeah, stop laughing...yes, I'm really going to run). You can donate below:
http://komenwny.kintera.org/faf/donorReg/donorPledge.asp?ievent=332266&supId=293617517
Also. it's not too late to donate to my Ride for Roswell page:
http://giving.roswellpark.org/beanzbrigade
Thank you all for all the support & as always: BE RELENTLESS.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
To hell and back...(or how we spent our BUMMER vacation)
A lot has happened since that last blog update. The fever that had sent me into a late night scramble two weeks ago didn't go away, in fact it got much worse and Sarah wound up going to the emergency room that Friday, which was the 7th. What we thought was going to be a routine visit for a minor case of pneumonia wound up being a twelve day Hell Ride.
It was scary shit. I think I may have slept a total of ten hours in the span of those twelve days. During her twelve day stay she had a battery of tests, scans and biopsies. Her will to forge on was pushed to its limits and beyond. There were times when she questioned herself. There were times when she didn't know how much more she could take. There were times when she didn't think she'd make it out. But in the end her motto of "be relentless" rang true. She's a cancer warrior. A tough cookie and the most remarkable person I know.
She was immediately given a arsenal of antibiotics, one of which was a nasty little fucker called Vancomycin. This stuff was absolute garbage. It gave her what's known as Red Man Syndrome, a condition that caused her skin to become beet red and actually INCREASED her body temperature. I hated when she was on that. She hated it.
I went to work Monday, got out a bit earlier then expected and went home to prepare things around the house thinking she'd be home by Tuesday. I went back to the hospital and saw her at her worst. She had these awful chills that would cause her whole body to shake violently. Her head felt super hot yet she kept saying how cold she was. It was terrifying. Then out of nowhere the chills would stop and her fever would drop a few degrees. This happened a few times each day for the first few days.
After a few days of antibiotics bringing about no solutions, they moved to the option of performing a bronchoscopy. Basically they put a camera down your airway and into the lungs to check for foreign bodies, inflammation or fluid. That procedure went well. It didn't produce an answer, but rather ruled out a few things. After she was wheeled out she mistook an Aquafina machine for a Good Humor Ice Cream machine...ah, the wonders of anesthesia.
While waiting on the biopsy from that test, we learned that her kidneys were coming back with high levels of creatinine. Just what we needed to hear, right? More medical jargon. More scary terminology. When you hear things like: "renal failure" your mind goes into overdrive. "What the hell is creatinine?" I wondered. Good thing I have an iPhone. I was able to use the Google machine to it's fullest. Turns out, those high creatinine levels were do in large to that Vancomycin garbage, so thanks Internet. As soon as she was pulled off of that her levels returned to normal.
After it was determined that it was not in fact pneumonia or an infection in the lungs, they went to a transesophageal echocardiogram. Again, she had to basically swallow an extension cord so they can get a good view of the heart. They wound up finding a clot in her heart which was being caused by her Medi-Port where she gets her chemo injections. Turns out the catheter from the port was causing the thrombus (blood clot). The port was removed and she has been put on blood thinners. She'll remain on them for some time now and they'll reexamine the blood clot in a few months.
I can't imagine the utter hell she went through. I know it was tough enough for me just seeing her go through it. Twelve days, man. Can you imagine? She told me chemotherapy is nothing compared to what she was going through with the fevers and chills.
I've stated several times now that the most frustrating part of my wife having cancer is the utter helplessness on my end. The fact that i can't do anything to make it better and this stint in the hospital only amplified that dread. At night I would stay there and just stare at her while she attempted to sleep. I'd count her breaths. I'd check her head for a fever every hour. When I'd go home to go take care of the pets, I'd drive in silence. I wanted to shut myself off from the world outside. I just wanted her to get better. And somehow, she did.
There's much more I want to cover, but right now her and I have some serious cuddling time to catch up on. And that to me is the biggest thing I've missed over the past week and a half.
As always, BE RELENTLESS.
It was scary shit. I think I may have slept a total of ten hours in the span of those twelve days. During her twelve day stay she had a battery of tests, scans and biopsies. Her will to forge on was pushed to its limits and beyond. There were times when she questioned herself. There were times when she didn't know how much more she could take. There were times when she didn't think she'd make it out. But in the end her motto of "be relentless" rang true. She's a cancer warrior. A tough cookie and the most remarkable person I know.
She was immediately given a arsenal of antibiotics, one of which was a nasty little fucker called Vancomycin. This stuff was absolute garbage. It gave her what's known as Red Man Syndrome, a condition that caused her skin to become beet red and actually INCREASED her body temperature. I hated when she was on that. She hated it.
I went to work Monday, got out a bit earlier then expected and went home to prepare things around the house thinking she'd be home by Tuesday. I went back to the hospital and saw her at her worst. She had these awful chills that would cause her whole body to shake violently. Her head felt super hot yet she kept saying how cold she was. It was terrifying. Then out of nowhere the chills would stop and her fever would drop a few degrees. This happened a few times each day for the first few days.
After a few days of antibiotics bringing about no solutions, they moved to the option of performing a bronchoscopy. Basically they put a camera down your airway and into the lungs to check for foreign bodies, inflammation or fluid. That procedure went well. It didn't produce an answer, but rather ruled out a few things. After she was wheeled out she mistook an Aquafina machine for a Good Humor Ice Cream machine...ah, the wonders of anesthesia.
While waiting on the biopsy from that test, we learned that her kidneys were coming back with high levels of creatinine. Just what we needed to hear, right? More medical jargon. More scary terminology. When you hear things like: "renal failure" your mind goes into overdrive. "What the hell is creatinine?" I wondered. Good thing I have an iPhone. I was able to use the Google machine to it's fullest. Turns out, those high creatinine levels were do in large to that Vancomycin garbage, so thanks Internet. As soon as she was pulled off of that her levels returned to normal.
After it was determined that it was not in fact pneumonia or an infection in the lungs, they went to a transesophageal echocardiogram. Again, she had to basically swallow an extension cord so they can get a good view of the heart. They wound up finding a clot in her heart which was being caused by her Medi-Port where she gets her chemo injections. Turns out the catheter from the port was causing the thrombus (blood clot). The port was removed and she has been put on blood thinners. She'll remain on them for some time now and they'll reexamine the blood clot in a few months.
I can't imagine the utter hell she went through. I know it was tough enough for me just seeing her go through it. Twelve days, man. Can you imagine? She told me chemotherapy is nothing compared to what she was going through with the fevers and chills.
I've stated several times now that the most frustrating part of my wife having cancer is the utter helplessness on my end. The fact that i can't do anything to make it better and this stint in the hospital only amplified that dread. At night I would stay there and just stare at her while she attempted to sleep. I'd count her breaths. I'd check her head for a fever every hour. When I'd go home to go take care of the pets, I'd drive in silence. I wanted to shut myself off from the world outside. I just wanted her to get better. And somehow, she did.
There's much more I want to cover, but right now her and I have some serious cuddling time to catch up on. And that to me is the biggest thing I've missed over the past week and a half.
As always, BE RELENTLESS.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
We've come a long way, baby
The past few days have been a little hectic in our household. Sarah came down with a pretty nasty fever on Sunday night. Truth be told, it was some scary shit. The weekend that started with so much promise, it ended with a late night dash to a 24-hour pharmacist and a sense of worry that stretched to the next day.
That fever couldn't come at a worse time; just days before she was slated to begin her next round of chemotherapy. Tests were run to see if she was OK to proceed . And she was. Because she's Sarah and she's tough as nails. So she went ahead with week #1 of this 12-week run. Eleven more weeks left. Eleven more weeks of hell. Eleven weeks is a long time on the calendar, but it's nice to be at this mile-marker. Then on to radiation and then we can put all this garbage behind us and try to get back to some sense of normalcy.
It's frustrating to see her go through this. I just want to hold her and make all this awfulness go away. And I think that's the hardest part for me, just the feeling of helplessness. I can't make her better. I can't make it go away. I can only be there by her side. And I guess that will have to do.
Last week while mowing the lawn I had a moment of clarity. I've never really considered myself a grown-up. Even at 32 years old I'm still in denial that I'm an adult. It's a scary world out there and this is the scariest thing I've ever had to face up to. I'm facing some grown man shit right now and how I handle it will be the measuring stick of what type of man I truly am.
That fever couldn't come at a worse time; just days before she was slated to begin her next round of chemotherapy. Tests were run to see if she was OK to proceed . And she was. Because she's Sarah and she's tough as nails. So she went ahead with week #1 of this 12-week run. Eleven more weeks left. Eleven more weeks of hell. Eleven weeks is a long time on the calendar, but it's nice to be at this mile-marker. Then on to radiation and then we can put all this garbage behind us and try to get back to some sense of normalcy.
It's frustrating to see her go through this. I just want to hold her and make all this awfulness go away. And I think that's the hardest part for me, just the feeling of helplessness. I can't make her better. I can't make it go away. I can only be there by her side. And I guess that will have to do.
Last week while mowing the lawn I had a moment of clarity. I've never really considered myself a grown-up. Even at 32 years old I'm still in denial that I'm an adult. It's a scary world out there and this is the scariest thing I've ever had to face up to. I'm facing some grown man shit right now and how I handle it will be the measuring stick of what type of man I truly am.
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