Didn't See That Truck Coming

On Monday, Carol had a port put in to make it easier when she received treatment. This procedure went pretty smoothly; she was home napping it off a little after noon. Tuesday morning, bright and early, she went for treatment at the doctor's office, and that's when things went South. About halfway through, she started to feel nauseated, and by the end of her visit, she was really ready to lie down. That she did, in the back of the car until we got home, where she made her way to bed. She had a few crackers on Tuesday, some toast on Wednesday, and soup and toast tonight for dinner. So I think the worst is behind her for this round. She's now been up out of bed for well over an hour. Still, the nausea threw her for a loop, and medications didn't really seem to touch it. She said to say sorry that she hasn't gotten back to anyone.

Because she doesn't go again for treatment until two Tuesdays from now, we're hoping that the first days will be the worst, and that even those can be made more manageable.

Thanks to everyone for their generous offers of assistance, from a little liquid courage last weekend, to emergency doggy daycare, to this evening's dinner.

The Universe in Motion

Your spirit, your spunk, the expressiveness in your eyes, the "I'll pay you!" when the dog needs to go out in winter, your passion for connection, the pre-vet in you, true grit, mile 24, your infectious excitability, "I look so stoopid!" to every picture ever taken of you, our beautiful baby girl -- I could go on and on about the qualities that make you the person you are, the things that make us love you. In fact, I might. Just not right now.

Carol goes Monday to have a port put in for her next treatment. Up until now, Margaret has had to find a vein each time before hooking up the IV. Once the port is in place, she will just hook the IV line up straight through the port, taking needles out of the picture, which will be a relief.  This next round will begin on Tuesday. It will be a new treatment, so Carol's not sure how it will make her feel.  Right now, though, she feels good (well, actually, right now she's asleep); she's planning to head out cross-country skiing later today. Not a ton of snow out there, but enough. I'm sure it will be enough.

After a bit of a rough Thursday, Friday evening she was visibly in a much better place, saying, "I am just feeling so loved by my friends."  Really, to all of you, family and friends alike -- I could go on and on about the qualities that make you the people you are, the things that make us love you. In fact, I might.  Just not right now. Just know that I thank you every day for them.

Change, of Course

A week of expectation, that's what this was. From other family health issues, to Callie and the cone of shame, to figuring out a direction for Carol's treatment -- there was a lot on the table.

For Carol, today was a day off from treatment, but not from the IV. This one was to inject the contrast dye for the CT scan that Carol was having. Unfortunately, today's IV nurse at the hospital wasn't as experienced as Margaret, so it took some doing.

It turns out that the scan did show a little change in Carol's condition, so we'll meet with her oncologist in the morning to talk about a change in treatment and what that will look like. She's finished with her second round of the daily pills, and I know she's happy about that, but I know she's also anxious about how well she will take to a new treatment. My take on it? She has met each round of treatment in a way that only affirms her desire and her ability to stand up to this challenge, and not to lose her sense of self. I couldn't love her more.

L'Heure Exquise

Just a couple quick shots of the moon this week. Carol finished her round of treatment on Thursday, felt good enough Friday to go out for a six-mile run and go to the movies last night. 

It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. -- Tahereh Mafi

“Yours is the light by which my spirit's born: - you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.” 
― E.E. Cummings

2015 -- 4:3 -- old school

Last year ended on a high note, with the arrival of Eliza, home from school, then Sarah, Jon, Harper, and Bruce, for the holidays, a couple weeks' respite from treatment, a New Year's Eve spent with friends lovingly saying totally inappropriate things, and sing-along Irish songs.  And this year began, as it has for the last few, with First Run, a 5k (more my style than the half) through the streets of Burlington with 700+ others.

Also with the new year came a resumption of treatment.  That happened today, the beginning of Carol's 8th round of treatment. The weeks off put her in great shape for today's appointment. Of course, she would rather have been at the studio, or running, or doing many other things. But she wasn't. She was there, I was there, Eliza was there, and I know that in so many ways, as I've heard from several of you, you were all there with her, giving her strength. Thank you, and wishing you all a wonderful 2015.

Promise me you'll always remember: you're braver than you believe, 

and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.  

-- A. A. Milne