Dear Friends and Family,
A story from yesterday.
“All right Winnie, visualization time.” Our nurse for the day, Wendy, has just hung Nancy’s chemotherapy medicine. Nancy closes her eyes, but I’m not ready and I can only look at her. Some place deep inside her body, she is fighting a battle.
Is it the “Pac-Men” eating the “bad” guys?
Soldiers in white against soldiers in red or black?
A gold potion or a magical wand?
Nancy is in her zone, imagining her Vitamin C (our nickname for the AraC, chemotherapy drug) searching out any residual leukemia cells. But on the outside, there is no battle. Nancy looks beautiful. Relaxed. Peaceful. My bride’s fuzzy dome sparkles in the early morning sunlight that streams through our tiny mountain-facing window. I want to rub that head, just like I do so many times each day.
Before I decide if such a foolish action might break her concentration, there is a telltale sound. A snort. This now all-too-familiar noise is the prelude to Nancy snoring, which occurs seconds later. Her battle is over. I’m certain she’s won; she’s now fast asleep.
The medicine continues to run, barely halfway finished. The powerful chemotherapy drug, still flowing into the new central IV line just below Nancy’s right clavicle, needs my help. I close my eyes. I pick up the baton from Nancy. It is my turn for adventures (and battles) in Cancerland.
I think I’ll imagine gladiators this time.
Schedules. Though I attempt to live in the present, I sometimes am forced to plan a few days in advance. For example, I knew that last Tuesday and Wednesday, I wasn’t going to have to work in Park City. Therefore, for those entire two days and nights, Nancy would find me by her side or just south of her feet.
Thursday, however, was a different story. My day job at the clinic would require my attendance. I was scheduled for the late 12:30–9:00 p.m. shift as well as being on call. By the time I realized my problem, it was too late to trade shifts. Jayna, unfortunately, was asleep at Woodland after having spent more than twenty-four hours traveling back from Peru, where she had attended the wedding of her boyfriend’s brother. Though her travel was free (as a result of Nancy’s past employment), several of the planes from Dallas to Salt Lake City had been full, and Jayna had spent the previous night stretched out on an airport bench, attempting to sleep. For that reason, she was “out for the count” Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday wasn’t any better either. It was her first day of school at the University of Utah, and she would have to be gone at least part of the day—if not all of it. To make matters even worse, Linda was back in Georgia teaching ESL.
After only a brief pause, I somewhat hesitantly picked up the phone: “Jaret, what would you think of spending the day with Mom on Thursday? You’ll just have to be with her until Jayna finishes school and gets her books.”
Jaret had stayed alone with his mom once before without a problem. Still I was hesitant about putting him in a position where he might be uncomfortable. He still hated blood. He didn’t like me to talk about diseases with Jayna. In reality, he pretty much avoided everything medical—especially hospitals. Growing up, I all-too-well remember him saying, “Hospitals give me the creeps, Dad. I don’t know how you do it.”
Without a second’s hesitation, Jaret answered, “Dad, it’s my turn. And I can sleep over, too. I want to help Mom. And you.”
And so it was that Jaret had his first “sleepover” with Nancy.
When I finally made it home around midnight and climbed between the sheets exhausted, I tossed and turned. I worried about Jaret not sleeping. I worried if his presence was a strain for Nancy, who needs every bit of sleep she can get. Instead, Jaret answered Nancy’s phone when I nervously called the next morning for a progress report.
“It wasn’t a big a deal, Dad. I slept really well. And Mom did, too. Didn’t you, Mom?” Pride radiated from my son like the mouthwatering smell emanating from a kitchen on Thanksgiving. And I truly and thankfully appreciated it just as much.
Summary: Jaret continues to grow and mature. Not everything about Nancy having leukemia has been bad. Some things have been good.
Much love,
Winnie