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

Now It's the Real End of Round 7. That last one was a little premature...

Carol threw me for a bit of a loop this week when she suggested that, if all of her numbers looked good, maybe she'd get a third weekly IV treatment, since she's going to have the holidays off. Of course, they did look good, since she's a rock star, so she did get treatment today. And tomorrow ends her first two-week round of the new daily pills. So that will be the official end to Round 7 of her treatments.

Here's to a holiday season that is filled with an appetite, running shoes, x-country skis, and the joy of pleasant company. Eliza comes in tomorrow evening, and visitors from Southern climes get in next week.

To all of you who have been such a source of support these past several months, we wish you the merriest of holidays. Thank you so much.

Round 7 -- Like 2014 -- Almost Over and On Its Way Out

Once this two-step storm had worked its way through our region, it was time to bundle up this morning and head to see good nurse Margaret for this week's treatment. Scout had an uncommonly early appointment, so it was quiet when we first arrived. With a little time to look around, we noticed that someone had been busy; each piece of artwork on the walls had been taken down, wrapped, then rehung. Interesting. When we commented on the new decor, Doc Paul recounted his 50th birthday present from the staff -- his entire office -- walls, pens, phone, computer, everything -- wrapped in aluminum foil. They take great care of their patients, and they have fun as well.

Still, it's not all fun. The effects of Carol's additional medication have begun to show themselves a bit. While it used to be that she would have a brief period of feeling alright after a Thursday treatment, feel it most during the weekend, and then begin to feel better sometime on Monday, the daily medication has taken away the delayed onset this week. This afternoon, the best psychological medicine was the constant reminder that she had gone out yesterday, in a snowstorm, and run eight miles. And that tomorrow there would still be fresh snow for skiing. These things will continue to happen. And this evening, I can say that much of that ill feeling has passed.

Finally, with the change in treatment comes a change in schedule. While it will normally be two weeks on, one week off, with the holidays coming up today was the last scheduled treatment of this year. For that, and for so much more, we are thankful.

Eat More, Drink More...

Mixed messages alert:

         Sitting in the doctor's office today, I pick up a magazine from my new stalker: AARP. (Don't get me started.) Inside, Melissa Etheridge is touting the benefits of an ultra-healthy diet in combating a particular condition. Carol and I talk about it, since she has been so good forever with what she eats. Of course the ideas are good, but would we really go dairy-free? Gluten-free? Not sure.
         Cut to the infusion area. Carol's receiving her treatment, starting a new cycle, resting while the medicine starts to do its work, when I hear, "And get one for them out there, too!" from inside the one semi-private treatment room. Out walks a woman, who says to us, "I'm heading to Dunkin Donuts, and you're getting a doughnut. What kind do you want?" About five minutes later, we're both biting into a Boston creme. Knowing that our benefactor is an 18-year survivor helps them go down a little more easily.

Carol's treatment is changing a little starting this cycle.  Her latest scan showed a slight change, and the doctor has modified her treatment, adding a pill she'll take daily in addition to her treatments at the office. One of the side effects of this new medication can be dehydration, so Carol's challenge will be keeping enough fluids in her system.  For any of you who have noticed how seldom she speaks of thirst, you know that getting "two to three quarts of fluid per 24 hours" seems an insurmountable task to her. But, as she has with every other new challenge in this process, I'm sure she will rise to the occasion (though not without a little complaining).

“It's unpleasantly like being drunk." 

"What's so unpleasant about being drunk?" 

"You ask a glass of water.” 

― Douglas Adams

Thanksgiving Week -- tryptophan and no treatment!

Very thankful to have this week off from treatment, Carol and I are so looking forward to having Eliza home for much of this Thanksgiving week. It will be tempered with sadness that we won't be heading down to my Mom's in Connecticut this year -- the first time in many years that we will not make the trip. Instead, we will have a low-key, quiet Thanksgiving here in Burlington.

We will still be connected with family, though; I'm sure that our niece Harper will learn the mysteries of cranberry ice this year, and we'll Facetime with her to see just how much sugar she's pouring in the mix.

Of course, with late November come thoughts of First Run, the only (other) time in the year that I run. Carol and I haven't committed to it yet, but costume ideas are starting to swirl around.

That's about it. Hope everyone has a wonderful holiday. On so many levels, we are thankful to you all.

For me, every hour is grace. 

And I feel gratitude in my heart 

each time I can meet someone 

and look at his or her smile.

Elie Wiesel

Early Thanksgiving season

Ordinarily, this would be a week off from treatment for Scout. But with Thanksgiving around the corner, she asked to have an extra day of treatment this week in order to be free from it during the week of the holiday. So far this round, all of her bloodwork has been good there shouldn't be any problem this week for her to get treatment.  Still, it is seeming to have a little of a cumulative effect on her in the days following a treatment. I know she's looking forward to having a short break from it; I can't imagine having the physical strength to walk around the block after one of these rounds, let alone go for a twelve-mile run, which Carol did today. And the same inner strength that gets her out to run is getting her through all of this.

An early Thanksgiving wish to all of you.  You have no idea how thankful we are for you, our friends and family. Now get out there and run in a Turkey Trot!

Long-distance running

the long-distance run of an early morning 

makes me think that every run like this is a life -- 

a little life, I know -- 

but a life as full of misery and happiness 

and things happening as you can ever get really around yourself

                                                   -- John Sillitoe, The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner

Carol's doctor has said on more than one occasion in the last several months, "it's not a sprint; it's a marathon." And just as in a marathon, Carol's experience changes as she goes through it. There are times when she has felt energized by the support and love from others, and there are other times when she has had to draw upon reservoirs of faith, hope, and optimism she has inside herself. 

This week, when a blood test came back not as positive as she had hoped it would, was one of those times. Reminding herself that she just ran a half-marathon on Sunday, that she is able to get out and do all the things she loves to do physically, that her recent scan bore positive news, that all other blood tests to this point have gone in the right direction -- that all was a little harder this week. But she's doing it. She amazes me. Again and again.

And as for all of you -- you are all taiko drummers, at the bottom of the hill on Battery Street at the Vermont City Marathon in Burlington, beating the hell out of those big drums and helping to propel Carol up the hill while she goes through her own journey. Thank you so much.

One of my uncles gave me The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner when I was eleven or twelve, and I remember wondering why he gave it to me and whether he thought I was a runner (I wasn't), or if he thought I might be a runner at some point, so I had better be prepared for those bouts of loneliness that came to all long-distance runners at some point.  

Thanks to Uncle Vin, Jerry, John, Jack, Rich, or Bob for the book, and to all of you, for lessening the impact of that loneliness.