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| I can't imagine ever tiring of our glorious view |
Friday, August 23, 2013
What a Difference a Year Makes
Friday - August 23, 2013
Although my energy is flagging in the midst of this final full-focus push to Monday's start of the school year, I need to pause and blog, to memorialize my awareness and gratitude for the stark difference between August 23, 2013's inclusion in life and participation in community and August 23, 2012's (rare) episode of tears on a generally frustrating day. I was aware that a long-anticipated school year was starting without me and physically feeling the symptoms that would morph into an unexpected (and ninth!) hospitalization the following day. And today? Well, personally I am enjoying some comfort from yesterday's procedural lets-just-check-in oncology visit and professionally, I am enjoying the sweetest treat of all: making connections with my new students and parents visiting the classroom for the first time. What a difference a year makes :)
Saturday, August 17, 2013
A Better Kind of Summer
Saturday - August 17, 2013
Well, THAT was an improvement! Summer 2013 was a definite upgrade from the neutropenic, chemo-filled, no-hair, collapsed-on-the-couch, hospital-centric, mucositis-afflicted summer of 2012. Not that last summer harbors all bad associations. After all, here I am. Under the care and love of Joe, Jonathan, Megan, and Carolyn. With the hands-on support and emotional boost of my family, colleagues, and friends. I survived.
Yet, it isn't saying too much to say that I prefer life as it is this summer. Our children have regained weight and peace of mind, Joe and I are feeling more settled into California living (after a year's delay), I am embarking on a new classroom adventure in a fabulous community, and Andy Murray even won Wimbledon. Yup. Summer 2013 beat Summer 2012 hands down! I continue to REJOICE in my migraine-free, single-vision life. No constant crushing pain, no eye patch, no dizziness. No uncertainty about an imminent Bone Marrow Transplant. Am I still walking on broken glass every time I feel a speck of sweat? Of course. Does my stomach plummet if I think I might have the slightest twinge of a headache? You betcha. But another season has passed with my lymphoma still purged from my strengthening body. Every clear month breathes more hope into my prognosis. I am inching away from that Summer 2012 brink.
Summer 2013 is now officially over. Jonathan and Megan have returned to their studies after a week of play, hanging out, and eating here in Marin and San Francisco. Cancer was not hanging over us. The fatigue and hair loss that branded cancer into our lives has receded. I can hike and am not as visibly marked as I was even a few months ago. We can push our concerns back into our minds and just focus on finding the best pizza in the area, watching the America's Cup qualifier, going to a baseball game, laughing at the hounds as they shake off the wind, and appreciate the vista from our perch above Sausalito. Is there ever enough time to be with your children? As they establish their independent lives and schedules, our time together assumes even more importance, truly precious time. Only 14 more weeks until we see Jonathan (but who's counting?)....
Summer's end is also measured by a full return to work. In truth, I have been back at work, readying my classroom and lessons since we arrived in California. 17 days in the classroom and it is just about fully cleaned out and set up. I have also been forging a cheerful and satisfying collaboration with a teaching partner with whom I share similar energies, passions, and point of view. I am SO SO mindful of this gift of connection, opportunity, and community. As Joe points out, I have always enjoyed great good fortune in finding a collegial community - ISG and ISB in Beijing, PPA in Hong Kong, PS 183 in Manhattan, Rock Spring in Arlington, and Matoaka and DJ in Williamsburg. I am excited to see what's next.
Well, THAT was an improvement! Summer 2013 was a definite upgrade from the neutropenic, chemo-filled, no-hair, collapsed-on-the-couch, hospital-centric, mucositis-afflicted summer of 2012. Not that last summer harbors all bad associations. After all, here I am. Under the care and love of Joe, Jonathan, Megan, and Carolyn. With the hands-on support and emotional boost of my family, colleagues, and friends. I survived.Yet, it isn't saying too much to say that I prefer life as it is this summer. Our children have regained weight and peace of mind, Joe and I are feeling more settled into California living (after a year's delay), I am embarking on a new classroom adventure in a fabulous community, and Andy Murray even won Wimbledon. Yup. Summer 2013 beat Summer 2012 hands down! I continue to REJOICE in my migraine-free, single-vision life. No constant crushing pain, no eye patch, no dizziness. No uncertainty about an imminent Bone Marrow Transplant. Am I still walking on broken glass every time I feel a speck of sweat? Of course. Does my stomach plummet if I think I might have the slightest twinge of a headache? You betcha. But another season has passed with my lymphoma still purged from my strengthening body. Every clear month breathes more hope into my prognosis. I am inching away from that Summer 2012 brink.
Summer 2013 is now officially over. Jonathan and Megan have returned to their studies after a week of play, hanging out, and eating here in Marin and San Francisco. Cancer was not hanging over us. The fatigue and hair loss that branded cancer into our lives has receded. I can hike and am not as visibly marked as I was even a few months ago. We can push our concerns back into our minds and just focus on finding the best pizza in the area, watching the America's Cup qualifier, going to a baseball game, laughing at the hounds as they shake off the wind, and appreciate the vista from our perch above Sausalito. Is there ever enough time to be with your children? As they establish their independent lives and schedules, our time together assumes even more importance, truly precious time. Only 14 more weeks until we see Jonathan (but who's counting?).... Summer's end is also measured by a full return to work. In truth, I have been back at work, readying my classroom and lessons since we arrived in California. 17 days in the classroom and it is just about fully cleaned out and set up. I have also been forging a cheerful and satisfying collaboration with a teaching partner with whom I share similar energies, passions, and point of view. I am SO SO mindful of this gift of connection, opportunity, and community. As Joe points out, I have always enjoyed great good fortune in finding a collegial community - ISG and ISB in Beijing, PPA in Hong Kong, PS 183 in Manhattan, Rock Spring in Arlington, and Matoaka and DJ in Williamsburg. I am excited to see what's next.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
(Calmly) Resetting the Clock
Saturday - August 3, 2013
Thursday's visit to UCSF brought the comforting confirmation of last week's phone call from the oncologist: the scans are clear; nothing has changed; no lymphoma is visible. And THAT's a true relief! Hurrah! Normalcy is not just an illusion. It's confirmed.
When Megan and I asked about port removal, continued anti-shingles medication, and - most importantly - how have the odds of relapse shifted from the 50/50 of last autumn, we learned that dates are all relative. That is, my new oncologist is dating my current status from the end of my last treatment (Halloween) rather than VCU's dating protocol of from my "all clear" PET scan of early August. Joe has his own dating standard of late May/early June when my migraines abated and my double vision vanished. But dates are just dates and who really knows when I transitioned from cancer-afflicted to cancer-free? It's a mystery at the molecular level and I'm just riding this welcome wave of restored good health and function. So the port? Well, the goal is to get it out when it is clear that it will NOT have to be surgically re-implanted. The oncologist wants us to hold off until Halloween? Fine by me :)
And, as for those odds ... every month of health and each round of clear scans improve the likelihood that my lymphoma is either beaten into remission OR upon relapse CAN be beaten into remission through salvage therapy. My oncologist kept citing "presumed CNS involvement" in my medical records rather than definitive CNS complications so that's also very good news. While I have always had some doubts about CNS involvement (dictated by the presence of lymphoma in my left eye socket and trace lymphocytes in my initial spinal tap), I am grateful that we attacked my disease with CNS in mind, slamming it with methotrexate in reversed Hyper-CVAD rounds and then piling on two extra-intense methotrexate cycles after the initial protocol of six chemo rounds. Whatever it took. That being said, I do like the word "presumed" - it makes everything seem rosier.
Last - but certainly not least - I do so enjoy when an oncologist uses the word "cure." This lymphoma can be cured. I like hearing that. Say it as much as you like, doctors. "Cure." And that's the goal ladies and gentlemen. Cure. Health. Many more years.
Thursday's visit to UCSF brought the comforting confirmation of last week's phone call from the oncologist: the scans are clear; nothing has changed; no lymphoma is visible. And THAT's a true relief! Hurrah! Normalcy is not just an illusion. It's confirmed.
.JPG) |
| What a nice ride home! |
And, as for those odds ... every month of health and each round of clear scans improve the likelihood that my lymphoma is either beaten into remission OR upon relapse CAN be beaten into remission through salvage therapy. My oncologist kept citing "presumed CNS involvement" in my medical records rather than definitive CNS complications so that's also very good news. While I have always had some doubts about CNS involvement (dictated by the presence of lymphoma in my left eye socket and trace lymphocytes in my initial spinal tap), I am grateful that we attacked my disease with CNS in mind, slamming it with methotrexate in reversed Hyper-CVAD rounds and then piling on two extra-intense methotrexate cycles after the initial protocol of six chemo rounds. Whatever it took. That being said, I do like the word "presumed" - it makes everything seem rosier.
Last - but certainly not least - I do so enjoy when an oncologist uses the word "cure." This lymphoma can be cured. I like hearing that. Say it as much as you like, doctors. "Cure." And that's the goal ladies and gentlemen. Cure. Health. Many more years.
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