Day 41 Gunter vs Houston

 

David and I are seemingly in two different worlds on this beautiful sun-shiny Saturday. I, at the farm, and he, in Houston at the apartment. Each of us doing the things to keep our lives on track - together. 

Boys first

Good news! David was able to resume his treatments today at MD Anderson. They opened back up and let the show begin - again. With 5 treatments left, he's on the downhill slide back into life. Technically, today he's now left with 4. I'll attempt to illustrate what David learned this past week, from my viewpoint, not his. 

As this past week droned on with freezing temps and snow and not much else, David's body began to attempt to heal itself. His body said, "Hey! Nobody is burning, frying or chemically altering me. I think I should try and heal now". And it started. David got a glimpse into his future self after treatment. Maybe he thought it'd be all over and he'd go home. Maybe he thought since he couldn't technically see the damage inside, that it wasn't as bad as he'd thought. Yet, his body surprised him and gave him a friendly reminder of what it's going to take to heal from 30 rounds of radiation and 6 weeks of chemo - all at the same time. 

The lining of his nose started healing and began creating layers and layers of scabbing and new tissue. Then, it wants to sloth off, and maybe sneak down the back of his throat and if he's not careful, he'll swallow it - often times enough to rival chemo with the nausea it throws at him. The blood and scabs heading down his throat into his tummy 1) makes him sick just thinking about it, and 2) the physical effects of it creates a sickly feeling in his tummy - because that stuff is not supposed to be there. He's sinus rinsing to try and get most of it out, but the rocks and gravel (as David calls it) inside his nose decides what it wants to do - when it wants to do it. David is just along for the ride. His sinus passages rule right now. They are trying hard to heal and regenerate. Now, if only this radiation zaps all the remaining micro particles in his nasal passageways which is the ultimate goal of this cancer treatment. SNUC is sneaky. It's an aggressive and reoccurring type of cancer. MDA is attempting to radiate and chemo away any remaining cancer he has, after the initial portion was surgically removed (thank you, Dr Pahlavan!). 

His throat and mouth are trying to fix hot spots and sore areas. His lymph nodes are asking to return to their regular size. His skin on his face and neck is dry and flaky from the burns from radiation, and it's slow to come back. Everything is still dry. His mouth, his colon, his eyes, his body. Goodbye taste and smell. Will he get that back, you ask? David also asked that question to the doctor and got the generic answer, "Some get it back, while others do not". Oh, okay, thanks for that. 

What I'm trying to say is that since David had a week without treatment, all the areas affected by his treatment had started to try and heal itself. That's wonderful, except that now he's started back with treatment and all that hard work his body did all week will be destroyed, and it'll get a chance to start again in another week. David was happy to catch a break and recover a few days, but his psyche just wanted him to have this all finished. And now, that train has started again. What I saw him learn this past week is just how much it's going to take for his body to heal from all this. Time, and lots of time. 

While David is in Houston back on the treatment train on cancer island, he's in count down mode more than ever. 4, 3, 2, 1 and RING!!!

Girls next

I'm all bubbly inside thinking that David will get to come back home and heal. His outlook on life will never be the same. His clock has been reset by cancer, and what we have learned is beyond what any schooling ever taught us. 

Cancer is a wonderful teacher. If you let her, she'll teach lessons you never dreamed you needed to learn. In the beginning, we were eased into some of these lessons, but it could sometimes be hard to see them. As the days go by, it became easier to become aware of the important things cancer wanted to tell us. Granted, not everyone wants to discover the lessons, but that's actually part of the lesson. Leaning into this knowing, that cancer has lessons for us that we are not expecting, is part of what we end up learning. Everything is not obvious, at first. 

There were lessons we did not receive at first, although cancer tried several times to teach them. One was, it's okay to grieve. Sometimes, we didn't think we were grieving or need to grieve. I thought I was ok. I felt ok. But you know that moment when the lights go out at bedtime, and it's just you and you there, and I felt out-of-sorts, that's when I learned what I was feeling was grief. In the quiet of the night, I felt it, and learned to allow myself to feel the heaviness of it. Prayer was my answer. Gradually, over days and weeks, the heavy feeling grew less and less. Cancer taught me that even when I think I feel okay, I may not be. And leaning into the knowing of that, helped me process it and move forward. Getting stuck in all that heaviness is no fun. 

Another lesson I've learned from cancer is that life really is short. It's not just a line we say. It's short. And when someone tells you that you have something (excuse me while I clear my throat, cancer) that will make it even shorter, then I say Live Baby Live. Live that life, you do you, do what you want to do, stay away from people who do not serve you, do only the things you want to do, and lastly, never apologize for being selfish. That's just other people not living their life and making you feel like you shouldn't either. Live Baby Live that wonderfully awesome life. 

This all brings me to the next thought pattern of what is next. We will finish this, we'll go back home to the place we love, around the people we love, doing the work we love to do, and try try try hard not to focus on whether David's cancer will come back, or did they get it all. We will wake up each day, grateful for that day, and live it well. That's our plan. 

And before we come back home, I, myself have an appt at MDA to have my labs checked and see if any treatment is in store for me. If so, it will be same day, and I'm good to go. Cancer teaches me many things, but my big takeaway from her is that I'm so much more than cancer. She can come along for the ride of my life, but you can't try and hog up all my time. I ain't got time for that. You can hitch a ride, but let's Go Man Go. Better keep up. 

Cancer is a good teacher. I can't say I like her, but I do appreciate her. I'm grateful for all she's taught me - and the many more lessons she has in store for me. I might have learned those lessons without her, but with her, I think I learned them a little better, and maybe a little faster. I still don't know how David and I got cancer, and will likely never know. I have so much for which to be grateful that leaving that question behind is something I can do.

We have all been impacted by loved ones with cancer. It's never an easy road, and we all have our own views and feelings about it. I hope you understand my heart, and even with the horrible ugliness of cancer comes an unveiling of lessons to be learned from it. If we are willing to look for the lessons. They are not always apparent, but they do have a purpose. Here's to leaning into listening - and looking for - what cancer has to teach, as I still have a lot of learning to do over here. 

Joy and more joy,

Cyndi