Day 5,6, 7 No one fights alone

David wears his blue/green polycythemia vera wristband and I wear my maroon/white (head and neck cancer colors) No One Fights Alone wristband. It is our tribute to each other and all the other cancer soldiers/families/friends out there. Every day I think about all the other people who had walked in my shoes previously, now and even those who will be walking this walk in the future - and have no idea. Who are they? What is their story? I see them at MDA walking around, in wheelchairs and going through all the motions to try and save their life. What I know for sure is it's really hard to get it, until you get it. That sounds so dramatic insinuating that someone could not possibly understand until they have walked this walk. Which is precisely why I love to blog. It has the ability to allow others to step into their shoes and try them on. The details can be edgy at times and the personal moments very personal. Yet, knowing what goes on behind closed doors is something I've often wondered myself and have been offered the gift to illustrate it to other people who are wonderers as well. It takes time yes, but is so very therapeutic. It may not be a masterpiece of writing, but not all stories have to be well written to convey their message. So, I keep-on-keeping-on to tell the story of David, who has SNUC and has chosen to invest in what the experts at MD Anderson have recommended. Why would someone not? Money, time, denial, transportation, responsibilities and I could continue with all the "why's" but I'll stop here, as everyone has their reason(s) for what they do and I respect that. David has chosen to go to the edge of the earth and back to fight SNUC. Sure, it is easier to have the chemo and radiation separate but that was ill-advised. The cancer is too aggressive, they say. And time is not on our side for the microparticles left behind to move about the body and spread. Aggressive cancers need aggressive treatments. So here we are, blessed beyond our own belief that we are able to walk this walk. With Week 1 (of 7) down, we keep putting one foot in front of the other. 

When the rain is over, you bow

That rainbow will come, but first the storms. The hard driving rain, the hail, the cold winds and feeling like you're out in it all without your coat and umbrella, for hours, even days. David had his radiation on Friday and things are changing. He can feel the heat from it seemingly starting on the right side of his face and moving through his checks, around his eyes, across the bridge of his nose and on his neck from the radiation. He can feel the casual burning sensation on his skin, almost like he stayed out in the sun a little too long as if he's been outside laying in the sun, as if intentionally working on his tan. No sunscreen, no hat. Most all his senses are becoming affected. His eyes are too dry for his contacts much of the time. His nose is scabbing inside from the burning of the radiation. His hearing even lessened, so it seems, although he's unsure if it's less wearing of his hearing aids or the treatment. His throat is having that feeling you get when you first get a cold. It's scratchy and you know that the soreness is on it's way next and not because he has a cold. As he lies there with his mouthpiece and mask on, gazing at the ceiling, he has less saliva to manage. And David might even tell you that this is the best part of the side effects because he does not have to really worry as much about the swallowing-with-his-mouth-open mouthpiece now (although he was getting used to it). It's an indication that his salivary glands are not able to do their job like they used to. That's the radiation effect, and as we move forward, we prayer for safety for his eyes, ears, nose, and throat to have enough function to allow him to swallow. We find ourselves asking for God to spare his eyes and ears/hearing. Nothing is guaranteed, and we pray for his safety, as well as the health care workers caring for all the patients at risk, as the after-effects can be troublesome when it's all said and done.

Friday, Day Five was radiation only. It was enough though, as David came home and went straight to bed. The chemo was still causing nausea and fatigue, and his body is trying to manage all these new chemicals - and radiation - coming into it. He's afraid to eat or drink in the morning before radiation in hopes that he won't have a throwing-up incident with his mouthpiece in and mask on. It takes everything his body has to process all that's happening, and sleeping is his recharge and comfort. I wake him often asking him to hydrate and drink. He has this weird full-feeling all the time that makes it hard for him to want to drink, and quite frankly, he's never had to drink so much before. (Besides the occasional poker game). But the radiation is drying him out and the nausea from the chemo talks him into sleep instead of drinking and eating. 

Just Like Brooks

Sweet Brooks is wonderful. He's learning to sleep in his crib, process his environment, and keep his spitting-up under control. 

He's doing very well! He's adorable from every angle and in every picture. Even when he cries he's cute - or at least I think so. Lauren and Ryan spend every waking moment anticipating his every need while trying to keep their tiny human alive. Then, it hit me. OMGoodness, I'm doing the same thing over here, except my little Brooks is big David. Here, here's a smoothie. What sounds good to you? Just water? No? How about we try some Sprite Zero. Are you hungry? We need to eat, sweetie, at least something. Okay, let's try this different smoothie and see if your tummy handles it a little better. Burpy still, huh? Okay, have you potty'd today? Want to lay down? Okay then, let use the wedge pillow. More blankets? I know you're cold, so let's turn the heat up. Oppp, let's change you into something more comfortable. What? Whataburger sounds good? Are you sure? 

This makes me realize that using my experience as a mother will help with the anticipation of what David's needs are or might be. Yeah, that's a shift in how I was seeing this. Now I get it. Okay, now that you've put it that way, it sounds easier. And the best part is David hasn't cried....yet. So that's a plus that Lauren and Ryan will not be able to eliminate the crying for many years to come. That very loud cry of a healthy baby boy. What a blessing, though, right?

Home Alone

It was difficult to head out to Gunter for the weekend leaving David in Houston. We had expected that he would feel up to going. Some of my plans were to give heartworm meds to the dogs back home, clean the barn, check on the projects that were completed this past week (while we were gone) and pick up some of the things we left behind that we decided we needed. The trip would prove too much for David, and I knew this early in the day on Friday, as he made a difficult decision to put his notice into work that starting Monday, he was on PTO/leave until the beginning of March. His body is not going to allow him to work, as the schedule for what's to come next week treatment-wise is just not going to allow his body to cooperate at work. As of Jan 18, 21, he's now a full-time healer. That's his one and only job. Attempt to do as much as he can to allow his body the ability to heal (as much as it can). Drink, hydrate, drink some more. Eat too (even if it means drinking a meal), take his medication, speak his needs, and focus on healing. He says he'll drive himself to the cancer treatments, until he doesn't feel comfortable doing so, then I will drive him each day. We will take this day by day. Our intention to communicate and work together stays strong, and as each day passes, the importance of that is more and more apparent. We need to stay focused and not let our guard down. What we do now is important in regards to what the next day will bring. Hydrate today to stay ahead of the game as long as possible. That slippery slope is slick. We are working hard to not let that barking, ravenous dog chasing us to catch us - and bite us. 

Chickens are magical

While home this weekend, my first order of business is barn therapy. Seeing all my chickens happy and healthy makes me smile. When they are happy, I am happy.

How many chickens is too many? Well, I think I've determined that answer now. There's too many when you can't keep your barn clean. Luckily, I can keep my barn clean, but it's harder when you're not there to clean it. The caretaker who comes to feed morning and night feeds all the animals and also makes sure they have water. But there's not enough time in her own day to really keep the barn clean, it's just not feasible, nor what most people even want to do. So, we have two dear friends in Gunter, Angela and Paul who are going to come and take on the task of helping keep the barn clean. Technically that translates to cleaning up chicken poo - let's call it for what it is. It's about to rain for 4-5 days straight (according to the weather) and that barn is going to get bad real quick-like. I cannot begin to express my gratitude for this, as if anybody were to ask me what I need right now in all this going-ons in our life.....it's to have my barn cleaned for my chickens and guard dogs. My soul needs that. What brings me the most joy is calling my chickens and that they actually come. Or better yet, when I don't even call them and they follow me around like that one ex-boyfriend used to. They each have their own personalities, their own voice, and preferences on being picked up and/or petted. I'm so far down the crazy-chicken-lady road that I add complete strangers who are into chickens on social media. You like chickens? Me tooooo! Hi, I'm Cyndi. I mean, I even had an electrician over a month ago (or so) and as he worked on an electrical outlet, he was commenting on my chickens. Turns out his wife is as coocoo for chickens as I am. Our conversation went something like this:

HIM: My wife is looking for a silkie hen, and she can't find an affordable one. We have a silkie rooster and she would like to have silkie chicks.

ME: Oh, have her call or text me and I'll give her one of my silkie hens.

HIM: Great! She'll be thrilled and she's been looking for one for some time now.

20 minutes later, his wife texted me (Amber) and 1 hour later she was at our farm. I proudly presented her with one of my all-white silkie chicks whose now grown into a beautiful teenager (all white, phoofy and luscious). She cried. Free.99 for you, Amber, because she is one of my people, and I hers. She carried her precious one in her arms the whole way driving home. Once she made it back home, she texted me to say she named her Cinderella. My heart was soaring with happiness and what a fabulous name for that beautiful chicken. Then, about a week ago she texted me this update: 

😭😭Amber calls her little silkie hen Cindy, for short. Crying over here. I love life as much as I love chickens. 

Taking a dog named Shark to the beach is a bad idea

Ahhhh, all the dogs. It seems I have just the right amount of dogs. On my way home to Gunter Friday night, I stopped by Lauren and Ryan's house to pick up their dog, Tula. David and I had agreed that it’s best for me not to be around people due to the exposure with the covid pandemic. In our effort to keep covid away from him while he is having his cancer treatments, I would not be holding Brooks, hugging Lauren, seeing my sister, or any friends. Lauren‘s husband Ryan brought Tula out to the car for me. He loaded her up in my truck and we visited a quick minute outside and then I left to continue my journey back home. I would not be seeing Lauren, Ryan, and Brooks the way that I would normally see and visit with them. We are FaceTime-ing for this time period as we move through the next 6-7 weeks. This was going to prove quite challenging, as I made my way back home that’s the first thing I want to do is put baby Brooks in my arms and give Lauren a huge hug. It will have to wait. I figured since I'd be at the farm for the weekend, Tula could have a mini vaca though. She's an Aussie with lots of energy, and does well at the farm running around like she's been cooped up in an apartment, or something. Winston (stray who is now a resident) loves Tula but cannot possibly keep up with Tula. Their interactions are fun to watch as a youngster vs oldie-but-goodie worlds collide. 

Winston is glad to see us, and Tula is glad to be out running, oh and glad to see everyone at the farm, too. Maybe and Sugar are in the mix of it all, as well as Levi and Whisper doing their guard dog thing. All is well in the dog world. I even had Tula shaved (Lauren approved) along with Sugar. Less dog hair in an apartment with a new baby is always nice. Tula will go back home Sunday night as I drive back to Houston, and Winston will await our arrival again for another week. But wow, it’s good to be with them for even a short period of time. 

This girl needs a sweater 

HOCO

David and I had decided awhile back that having a few home projects completed while we were away would be fun to come home to in March. Nothing big, mind you. So we decided on having the front deck redone and replace the wood railing with wrought iron. 

Our little KOA-looking house

The folks that did this are C.A Decking and Construction and simply put - amazing. They have done so much work for us around the farm that we consider them family friends. They are a sweet family with 3 young children and we adore them all. The work they do is first class and the other best part is that it gets done in a very timely manner. And that's what I (we) always want, "Can you do it now/soon?"

David and I have both been wanting a flag pole placed out front for some time now. We ordered it and were planning on putting it in ourselves. Then, a inguinal hernia showed up for David which eliminated him from being able to do that sort of thing, just weeks before we were to leave for Houston. He cannot have it surgically repaired (as is needed) until after his cancer treatments and he's healthy again. Luckily, they were able to get the flag pole placed and up, and I sent pictures to David of it. We've been talking about doing that for about 4 years and it's finally up. Not sure if a UT or Texas A&M flag will fly - or both - but we'll see what arrangements we make for that. There will be negotiations, I'm sure, revolving around that situation. What I do know is that I need to review my flag etiquette now that I'm responsible for the flag pole.  

Time travel

As time approaches to make the trek back to Houston, my own mini vaca comes to a close. I am fully recharged. I had my barn therapy, abundance of loving on my animals on the farm, and comfort that all is well at the Graves Farm. The drive is not too bad really, as I'm reminded often of how close we live to the DisneyWorld of Cancer. We are strapped in tight on this ride, and the rollercoaster has not only climbed that first big loud-ticking-sound climb, but we are in the first free fall heading for the double loop. I'm not so sure that our hands are still waving in the air like we just-don't-care. I'm pretty sure our hands are squeezing the guard rail that's holding our bodies in the ride tightly. Our fingers blue, and our eyes wide. 

David layed low this weekend, all while reporting his hydration and mediation status here and there. He rested this weekend as he gears up for another week of gazing at the ceiling and having first class room service in his chemo suite. I've got the NutriBullet Pro blender in my possession to blend my potions, along with various groceries all in the cooler while driving back to my little Brooks, I mean my big David. I love them both dearly. I will continue to quiz David and monitor his needs as his body takes a beating. As unfair as this all seems, I find peace in knowing this is but a chapter in the book of our lives. I'm going to feel it, live it, and do my very best to make this chapter one we will remember in a positive way. Humor helps. Our community of family, friends, co-workers (who are friends!), and friendly people we meet along the way ALL fill our soul with love, comfort and peace. We also pray for the others in the world who are struggling or suffering, as we are just a grain of sand. Together, we make a beautiful beach. 

Godspeed,

Cyndi