Black Ice

Yesterday, on the lake, about a 1/4 mile out

There have been times when I've been moving right along, whether walking, running, or biking, when WHAM! I've gone down more quickly, and with less warning, than any reasonable person should. Maybe I had not had sufficient respect for the conditions, maybe it was just a matter of not seeing what was under the snow, or maybe it was just damn bad luck.

That's how today has been for Carol. She had treatment on Tuesday, and it seemed to have gone better than her previous rounds.  Wednesday and Thursday were sleeping days, which have become the norm after treatment, and Friday we went to the movies. Then, this morning, it was like that black ice that I've hit too many times -- the nausea threw her for a loop all over again. It was unexpected; she thought she understood the pattern of this particular treatment. Instead, she realizes that there may be no discernible pattern. Here's to a better day tomorrow.

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

Rideau Canal

Before starting her next round of treatment (tomorrow), Carol wanted to get away for a bit. Although a bigger trip to someplace warm was out, she was feeling good enough for us to head to Ottawa for the weekend. On Saturday, we donned most of the layers we own, walked to the Rideau Canal, laced up our skates, and skated about 5 miles. On Sunday, we put many of those layers back on, laced up our sneakers, jogged to the Rideau Canal, and ran the same distance on the canal. It felt like a dream. 

Jeff, thanks for the skates -- I tried to be worthy of them.

Beginning of a new round

If day-of-treatment reaction is anything to go by, Carol is doing much better with this round of her new regimen. She even sat in the front seat on the way home! Of course, the nausea is there, but it just seems to be this side of manageable this time around. After her last treatment, I'm not sure she really said much of anything to me until late Wednesday; she was just concentrating on trying to feel better. Today, we've carried on whole conversations. Thanks to the great care of everyone at the doctor's office, it seems that between tweaking medications for side effects and dosages of the various treatments, they should be able to come to a formula that will work without laying Carol out flat.

Of course, that's not to say that she still didn't go out skiing and running last week. She was putting in more outdoor time than I was. How she does all of this -- gears herself up for the next treatment, works herself out of hard places, and rediscovers the elements that make Carol who she really is -- wow.

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