Dear Friends and Family,
Nancy and I have always enjoyed and made the most of her airline’s employee travel benefits. Free travel has allowed us frequent family trips back east and made exotic beaches and wild jungles accessible. Historic sites and captivating museums have often been our “destinations” as we’ve ventured to various world nooks and crannies. Still, when I reflect on every trip we’ve ever taken, one thing remains constant: I’m never sad to return home.
Why?
Nancy and I are privileged to live in an exceptional locale—Park City, Utah. We have great friends nearby, majestic mountains in all directions, and four distinct seasons. Whether for skiing in winter or hiking and biking in summer, we live in a “destination” resort. People from the far reaches of this country and the far corners of the world come to our “neck of the woods” to spend their holidays.
Today, our “home” vacation ends.
And this time, I don’t want our retreat to be over.
Despite my misgivings, tomorrow we return to the “penthouse” at LDS Hospital for Nancy’s next round of chemotherapy. Room 844. We anticipate being there a full month. Our newest hospital address will be Nancy Winn, C/O LDS Hospital, 8th Avenue and C Street, Salt Lake City, Utah 84143. As before, Nancy’s white cells will come to be extinct. Only sterile plastic flowers will adorn her room, 844.
Nancy’s body and spirit are recharged.
Was it the soothing sounds of our real home?
Or the gurgling river?
Or the sweet smell of fresh flowers?
Or maybe it was the chirping birds?
Quite simply, there is no adjective worthy of Nancy’s facial expressions as she re-experienced the taste of home-cooked meals. (Again, many thanks to our “local” friends for the daily presents left anonymously on our doorstep.) So many “home” aspects have contributed to Nancy’s recuperation. Her mind is clear again and her spirit is back. The last seventeen days, we’ve laughed a lot and cried just a little.
In many ways, our previous hospitalization is a fog for Nancy. Much of it bypassed her memory bank, a condition that is quite fortunate. Since coming home, Nancy has discovered the one part of our last hospital stay I didn’t want her to miss—the many people who have cared about her and sent their love. When she first came to Woodland, I placed a huge stack of cards on the night table beside her. Today, as we prepare to leave, the stack has disappeared, now filed in a very special drawer.
Though I remain “in charge” of Nancy’s correspondence and sometimes have to read to her, during the past two weeks, Nancy has eagerly devoured your emails and letters. The effect has been crucial. Nancy’s mood has been lifted by the unwavering support you have “beamed” in her direction. She exhibits new resolve and is ready for tomorrow. Actually, more so than me. (I’d rather our present vacation extend indefinitely.)
Jaret and Jayna have also cherished the relative normalcy of the last two weeks. It has been a much-needed quiet period and a well-deserved intimate time for our family. Like Nancy, they seem ready—at least outwardly.
So we return to the hospital tomorrow with a clean slate. There is no leukemia detectable in Nancy’s body.
Before bed last night, Nancy flexed her biceps and flashed her arm muscles like Popeye (without either the pipe or can of spinach) and quipped, “I’m ready.”
I’m also ready to hold Nancy’s hand and absorb any and every squeeze.
And we’re both comforted that each of you is part of our team.
Thanks.
Summary: We return to the hospital tomorrow with Nancy focusing on the future—while tugging me in that direction, too.
Fondly,
Winnie