I wonder where we were at the moment it began, when the first cell of this dreadful disease mutated in Jim's body and refused to die. Because of his involvement in RSH (Radiation, Science, and Health), I have sat through lectures and read papers explaining apoptosis (the cellular suicide going on millions of times in your body each day) among other details of cellular biology. At some random moment, one cell begins to grow and multiply out of control. It seems somehow unfair that we were unaware of instant such a monumental change taking place in our lives. In my heart, I know it was at least 3 years ago, but most likely much longer ago than that. We are already coming up on the late-August first anniversary of his diagnosis.
I remember a few years ago he was complaining about his legs and hips. Jim rarely complains (whereas I find complaining of a headache almost as effective as taking Alleve). But this kept him in bed off and on, and we chalked it up to not enough exercise and the ravages of time. Not long after, he had several trips to the emergency room because his fever spiked, his heart and BP were crazy and he was just a mess. They tested for lyme disease the first time, then the next time, they sent him home with no particular diagnosis. Finally I demanded that our family doctor keep him in the hospital until she could tell me what was going on. After many tests, they decided he had celiac, which, while true, didn't feel right to me. Celiacs manifest all kinds of symptoms, but fever was not among them.
We changed doctors, and lost another 6 months making the adjustment, and concentrating on his blood pressure, the benefits of walking, and diabetes meds. If not for the ER doctor who noticed broken vertebrae on a routine chest x-ray, we might have lost more time discovering the beast. I kept pleading with them to consider his abject exhaustion, only to be dismissed with "well, you know, when you get older, you start to slow down. Maybe you should nap too." Like I need encouragement.
Yesterday Jim did eat a little food, for the first time in over a month. But my fear that he would become too weak for the stem cell transplant has been realized. Until we can get him up and walking around, he is a poor candidate for the SCT according to his oncologist. This isn't the end of the road by any means... tons of people keep the disease at bay with ongoing chemo. We have known from get-go that this would always be a game of pushing the disease back, not curing it.
And so we go on from here, accepting what is, and clinging to faith that things will work out as they are meant to.
5 comments:
I feel I should clarify the title. Que Sera sera sound more laissez-faire on its surface than I really mean. My intent was to say, whatever will be will be, since the future is not ours to see. We will continue to fight "the beast" in every way possible.
This really should have had a "not to be read at work" clause preceeding it... :o\
Sorry honey. Not exactly a knee slapper. Maybe I will find my sense of humor while cleaning in the cellar. ( maybe the theater of the absurd type) Or then again, maybe I will just end up smelling like old, damp cardboard. I have plates from someone Matt doesn't know any more, an old washing machine from Lynn, a huge bottle of Mark Walkers sand from Bailey Island, Lou's King chair... and all the cataclysm supplies the mice have been noshing on. Ummm... how do you spell giant dumpster?
How's an 18-wheel "Dump-Trailer" sound??? This guy I know would even do all the heavy lifting to help load it for you! :o9 You should be the one to ask him though... he ALWAYS likes YOU!! :o\
So sorry to hear the prognosis that you are keeping the beast at bay but no cure. My fiance has been diagnosed with bladder cancer--2 surgeries down; 1 to go. You are a rock. Thank you for taking care of Jim. You deserve a spa weekend.
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