November 16, 2007
Yesterday morning John-Paul left for Seattle after spending two weeks with us; we were reeling from the hospitalization and its implications for our lives when he flew in and provided light and delight and wonderful support, but the time had come when he needed to return home. Alphie, in the psychic manner of dogs, started the day with “acting out” because he knew at some level that the grand times of running through woods and fields with this new member of the pack were coming to an end. He went upstairs and threw blankets on the floor and lifted a velvet pillow off a sofa in order to rearrange its texture and cover it with dog spit. When I rushed up the stairs at the sounds of the commotion, he had flung himself into his crate and was lying there looking excessively sad.
I am better now, and I know that as before, there were many praying people pushing and pulling me out of the dark places of pain and unknowable outcomes. I kept thinking of the hymn verse from “Earth and All Stars” where the hymn writer says, “Daughter and son, Loud praying members, sing to the Lord a new song. . . he has done marvelous things, I too will praise him with a new song!” It’s the “loud praying members” that I heard though congregations and cards and spoken words of encouragement.
Now we are at a crossroads in this very strange journey – it appears that for a while, I must part company with the chemotherapy Vidaza that carried me forward for nearly two years. An option is moving to a costly medicine called Revlimid that is taken by mouth for 21 days each month. After experiencing life with the ingestion of the powerful poisons that are chemotherapy, I know that the side effects will appear in abundance since my body has already sustained some hits – damaged intestinal lining, taste bud loss, aches in bone and muscle to name a few. According to the information given, fatigue, diarrhea, rash, runny nose, and blood clots are the most common. The reason for taking the drug would be the hope that the proliferation of blasts in the blood stream would be delayed or stopped. Charles and I have had many conversations and we agree that quality of life trumps quantity of days, so at this moment, we are resolved to stop chemotherapies until early next year. The body has begun to make white blood cells again and while the marrow isn’t flinging out huge numbers of them, just a bit of a comeback is very encouraging. As I have mentioned, as the options become fewer, the need to “live by faith” becomes greater and so we do.
Today it is perfectly beautiful at Sanctuary and with Thanksgiving Day less than a week away, we once again count our blessings heaped up and running over. My hope is that those of you who are reading this will also have grand celebrations of the good things, good foods and good people in your lives. Happy Thanksgiving!