Dear Friends and Family,
Do you remember this?
“If Nancy makes it two years beyond her transplant, have a party. A BIG PARTY.”
I do—as clear today as when it was said nearly a year ago.
Nancy’s transplant doctor made this statement in response to my question, “When can we feel comfortable Nancy has beaten her disease?”
Actually, I doubt you remember my October 27 update on her one-year transplant “birthday.” In fact, I doubt you distinctly remember many of my past updates, since it has been over six months since I last communicated with you. As with many of you, I went silent once Nancy “got well” for a purpose. I hoped to save my final update to invite you to the BIG PARTY.
As a matter of fact, Nancy’s two-year post-transplant anniversary is next week—October 27. I had planned to use this final communiqué as the invitation to the BIG PARTY where we would offer our heartfelt thanks to everyone who helped these past few years. Instead, Nancy will be in Georgia, visiting her family and friends. So I won’t even be at the small party that will be occurring several thousand miles away. (I guess somebody has to work.) Nonetheless I hope, like me, that you’ll take a moment to smile or a make toast (or both) at the thought of Nancy reaching the noteworthy two-year mark. And I hope you know that both she and I will be thinking of you because we are forever grateful. Two years is a very long time, and you have been with us the entire way.
So, what is life like now that we have reached our final milestone?
It is still early in the evening, but Nancy sits beside me, already in dreamland. A gentle grin is splashed across her lips. It has been like this hundreds of times during our thirty years together. Me, in the dimming light, looking past her through the tiny oval window, trying to decipher what images I can make out of clouds that too swiftly pass by us. I often wonder what images are playing in her mind’s theatre as she peacefully sleeps on my shoulder. But this time is more noteworthy than any of the previous occasions.
Yes, we’ve reached our cruising altitude of 39,000 feet.
Yes, the seatbelt sign has gone off, and I feel just a touch safer.
Yes, I savor the freedom of feeling no phones or distractions.
We are finally airborne and I delight in the anticipation of being “on our way.”
Instead of laughing quietly to myself at how quickly Nancy has fallen asleep, I am overwhelmed with emotion and fight my likely tears. Two years and five months ago, it was beyond my wildest dreams that Nancy would ever again be healthy enough to travel—actually, that she would even still be with me.
So where did Nancy choose for her first big trip after her battle with death?
Chicago.
Chicago, you say?
I know Chicago has famous deep-dish pizza and an adored (though highly unsuccessful) baseball team, but Nancy doesn’t even like baseball. Worse yet, Chicago’s basketball team robbed our Utah Jazz of an NBA Championship not once, but twice.
So why then are we not heading to an exotic Caribbean beach or a mysterious African safari?
“Dad, guess what? I’m moving to Chicago. You know how I’m an English geek and how I love to read. I found an editing program at the University of Chicago that accepts college graduates and only takes one year to get a master’s degree. What do you think?”
“I think it’s great,” I whisper into the telephone. I don’t tell Jayna that there are tears in my eyes and that they are not from sadness. Though I will miss you my dear Jayna, I am so happy you feel good enough about your mother’s health to move forward. You donated two years of your life to assist me with Mom. But then again, you are like her. How can I thank you? The words are silent, in my head.
Much has taken place in the two months since my conversation took place with Jayna. She is already living in her own apartment in Lincoln Park (Chicago), working as a search analyst at a Google company, and poised to start her night classes. And today, Jayna is preparing for her first visit from her mother and me. Significantly, the trip to Chicago will be our first trip together since Nancy’s illness. (Today is also filled with joy because Jayna, like her mom, is finally recovering.)
Although my life has emerged from a pitch-black dark cave into almost blinding sunshine, there is still an occasional cloud. A few weeks ago, Nancy was enjoying the mundane, taking her car in for an oil change. For her, every trip is still an adventure, every small detail still an extra opportunity for an encounter. She and Jaret had dropped off the car and headed to a nearby shopping area on foot. They were distracted by a distinctive sports car, and while discussing its color and examining its shape, Nancy tripped and fell.
The result?
Forty minutes later, Nancy was in our office getting two broken fingers splinted. Selflessly, Jaret took me aside. “Dad, will Mom’s broken fingers cause graft-versus-host disease?”
During Nancy’s illness Jaret was often the forgotten one. Not verbal like his sister, during the really tough times when I only left the hospital for my work shifts, my face-to-face interactions with my son were few. He was in college finishing his last year and not often at home. Although he did spend several “hospital” nights with Nancy along the way, he wasn’t in the regular rotation with Jayna and me. Still it was clear he had the same worries, the same ups and downs, and now, the same scars. When Nancy sneezes, isn’t as hungry as usual, looks tired, or, in this case, falls, Jaret (like Jayna and me) immediately become concerned and think the worst.
In reality, it will be a very long time before the despair, concern, and grief of our past nightmares totally subside. But we are making positive, albeit slow, progress.
“No, Jaret. Breaking a bone should have no effect on Mom’s immune system. Normal people break bones all the time and they heal quickly.”
Jaret, his finest smile easing the tightness from his brow, replies, “I didn’t think so, Dad. I just wanted to be sure.”
Summary: Nancy recovery’s is going well. It has been nearly two years since Nancy’s transplant and the news continues to be favorable.
With love,
Winnie