Downed Chemo Cocktail #2 (halfway through round 1 and still livin' on a prayer)

Dave here, filling in for Julie. She calls them chemo cocktails. I call them mis-treatments.

I took Julie to her second chemo mis-treatment today. This time her mom came, too. I think we know the drill now. About an hour before the appointment we put some numbing cream on the skin over the port and cover it with cling wrap. When we get to the office, first they take her vitals and stick her finger to draw some blood for a blood test. They have to make sure her blood counts, etc., are up to snuff for the chemo. Today the blood flowed slowly and she told the tech she blames them for taking wine away, which could act as a blood thinner.

Next we meet with the oncologist, Dr. Lower, who is excellent. She gives Julie an exam, reviews the blood counts, finds out how Julie has been and answers questions. This time she told Julie she could have a little wine later in the week, consistent with the Apostle Paul's teaching. Then we go upstairs and Julie sits in a plastic recliner and gets hooked up. Today we sat in a big room with a dozen other people getting mis-treated. Julie was nervous going in today and looking forward to getting the ativan to calm her nerves. Unfortunately they were out of ativan today (Julie said, "Figures."), which only added to her stress. But we had a wonderful nurse name Jennifer who did an excellent job sticking the needle into the port and pushing the meds in. So it actually went pretty well, and Julie did great. She even managed to read a chapter of Emma, which is the next book she is covering in her British Lit class that she teaches at our co-op. Julie's mom read the paper and I got a little work done.

The whole thing from start to finish took about 4 hours. We got home just in time for a delicious dinner with some good friends who had prepared it. This month the co-op is providing dinners for us during chemo weeks. This has been a real blessing - in fact, we don't know how we would manage otherwise. Julie has always cooked the meals for us and it puts a real kink in the system when she is out of commission. So "Thank You!" to all who have been sending meals, from the co-op and others. Bless you.

After dinner Julie went up to sleep off the chemo as much as possible; all the anti-nausea meds make her really tired. I'm not sure what I was sleeping off, but I joined her. I set the alarm for midnight to wake us up so she could take her next round of anti-nausea meds, which seem to be keeping things at bay today, and God-willing we won't fall behind and things will continue to go smoothly. She has a white blood cell shot tomorrow at noon. And we'll all be getting flu shots in the next couple weeks.

In other news, Julie's hair seems to be falling like rain, not in clumps, but one by one. Mikey noticed it first on her shirt this morning and I noticed it on the pillow. And then Amanda had a little too much fun running her fingers through her hair collecting loose strands. You still can't really tell by looking at her, but the thinning has begun. We'll see what tomorrow brings. We may be running out to get a razor.

We haven't named the port yet (these things take time), but we will post all the entries so far and make a decision soon. So stayed tuned. And if there are any other entries, you better get them in.

Thank you all for your love and support. Please continue to lift up Julie in prayer.

Blessings,
Dave

Sonnet Number 43 (the chemo cocktail mix)

For a number of years, I have working on a collection of sonnets; and for a number of years, I have been writing a sonnet for my birthday. This one is a wee bit late. It's been percolating on the old back burner. But I couldn't see the back burner for the trees. Or the fog in my brain. Or something like that. Anyway, let's just blame it on the chemo and leave it at that. The main thing, is that I got it done before my hair falls out. I'm on day 11 since the chemo, and my head has been tingling since Monday, so the oncologist said that's a sign of a head in need of a tan.

Sonnet Number 43

(The Chemo Cocktail Mix)

It's always been a curious thing to me
That the trees bare themselves before the big chill;
Seems a tree needs its leaves for a midwinter dream.
Truth is, I'm not ready for winter. Still

It's coming, like seasons are wont to do.
Last year there were no words, just wonder...and
Tennis balls were green; now they are pink, too.
It's a lot for me to comprehend.

There is no complaint, though, in my bones;
I hope I can still say that when it's cold
And I'm bare. All I know, is the One who runs
The weather is the One whose hand I hold.

So comes the winter. So I'll bundle up
With hats and friends. So "Cheers" as I drink this cup.

***

And for the curious, here are the rest of the birthday sonnets:


(There is no Sonnet Number 42. Pretty sure I was playing tennis instead that day. Plus, the following sonnet, which was, to be chronologically accurate, the previous one, could, technically, be remixed to work for forty-two as well. But I really hate getting all technical like that.)

***

Sonnet No. 40-Love

My tennis shoes have become nutcrackers
These days, acorns dripping like drops of dew
On the courts where I play. Little snackers
In overhanging trees, tossing a few

Back, and then comes the rain of empty hulls.
Littering, if you ask me. But they do not.
I doubt they'd even notice me at all
Except for my crunching shoes. Drunken lot

Of them, cracking themselves up as I skid
About on acorns. I can take a joke
And I'll take a laugh anywhere it's hid-
But they better watch out for my backhand stroke.

Though it's autumn now, my score: forty-one,
I'm calling it 40-Love, just for fun.

***

Sonnet No. 39's Sequel

I blew out an awful lot of candles
today, and the pressure to make a wish,
Prior, was almost too much to handle.
I begged my brain; it just drew blankish.

All those eyes upon me waxed levity
Like playing piggy-back on the burden
Of my future bliss, and mocking brevity
Of my shy breath, bare, behind the curtain.

If only I had a fortune cookie
Up my sleeve, that would have been, fortunate.
I'd simply show and tell: "Here, lookie."
Then I'd eat the crumbs and pocket my fate.

Instead, the candles sweat with me as the flame grew;
They they waned, with the chorus, and I just blew.

***

Sonnet Number Thirty-Nine

Fourteen thousand, two hundred and forty-five
Days. It was morning; it was evening. Methinks
It seems a blur, but good. Very, to be alive
And the apple of the eye of the One that blinks

Tender mercies that are new every day
Like dew. (And, the sleep I rub from my eyes
On Waking, smelling coffee.) Ah, I pray
To stand still in the middle of the roses

Along the way, and not to fear the thorns.
Nor tears fallen, still to fall upon my bed,
Kept in a jar, with the rest since I was born-
The sum of 39, broken and bled

As I have chased joy like no tomorrow,
Which comes sweetly after sipping on sorrow.

***