Behan here...breaking in to share a little about last week. I went with Joan to Swedish for the first of her post-mastectomy chemotherapy treatments…and offer here my perspective on the day, her journey, and in counterpoint to the challenges—some of the wonderful bright spots that have appeared in her life.
the “chemo day” process
There's a stunning amount of Nothing that takes place on these treatments. That sounds benign, doesn't it? It's not. On one hand, the cancer center is as easy on the eyes as I think it could possibly be...honey colored warmth of wooden floors, peaceful paintings of Northwest landscapes, languorous tropical fish drifting in large tanks. All signs point to RELAX. But we are there for a purpose: to beat the cancer, on a marathon that has had just had additional miles tacked on before the finish line.
The routine runs like this: check in, and wait in Benign Lobby #1 for the Lab to call her to get an external line connected to her portacath (Joan has a port installed under the skin on her torso, to give a direct line to her veins for treatment: it’s an alternative to hooking up to an IV for the drips that is faster and less uncomfortable). Return to Benign Lobby #1 and wait to be called for consultation with her oncologist, Dr Goodman. Move to Benign Lobby #2, and wait for nurses to call you for treatment. Transfer to treatment room, hook up to drip and wait while drugs course into her body.
There's a lot of time to think about where you are, and why you're there.
last week's visit
Joan led me through her routine, one I got the feeling she could have done blindfolded. I waited with the guilty pleasure of trashy magazines while her portacath was connected in the catacombs of the lab- "It's not a pretty." She wanted to protect me.
Dr Goodman had time for all questions. He talked about this new drug Joan's starting for this course of chemotherapy, Navelbine- it's hoped, if not expected, that this primary drug for the round she's beginning will make for an easier experience than the hard core AC she had to deal with for most of this year: less likely to induce nausea, less impact to her immune system. We laugh over little ironies: side effects of one drug in the mix include constipation; of another, diarrhea. I cannot begin to recall the lineup of meds being discussed to alternately tackle the cancer, and deal with the side effects…I marvel at how she does.
It's a Thursday afternoon, and things are a little backed up. We end up waiting considerably more than expected in the lobby adjacent the rooms for getting her chemo drip. Here, the weight of why were here presses down harder. Everyone in this room fights the cancer battle, and there’s no chance of compartmentalizing to stow away the realities that exist. Joan’s anxiety is palpable…I turn into a silly blabbermouth, wanting to say anything I can, tell whatever silly story hits my brain, to avoid mentally spiraling on the vibe of this sun-dappled room. When Rainer arrives to wait with us, Joan’s relaxation is palpable: his presence a gift for her peace of mind.
now what?
This cancer is truly ugly. As I understand it, the cells- microscopic little tubes- are floating around in her bloodstream, looking for a place to set up shop. For all the agony of her AC, it probably didn’t do much to help: there were more lymph nodes taken during surgery last month than anticipated, and growth in her breast that did not line up with the PET results.
The new therapy is an anti-microtubule agent, aligned specifically against this version of the enemy in her system: not just preventing the cells from collecting in any place, but removing them altogether by preventing replication. But their continued presence and growth is was not what was expected. Despite a clear path for treatment, to be told there is a longer journey ahead feels crushing.
bright spots
Lest this sound too gloomy, I want to share that for all the challenges—there are some glorious bright spots in Joan’s life right now.
This rockin’ woman been promoted at work. Who else can go through this intensely challenging personal battle, juggle it with motherhood and a full time job, and end up with a promotion?! She continues to amaze me.
And, she and Rainer have added to their family- Joan’s niece, Ashley, joined them in June. Ashley has moved from out of state, and is preparing to spend her last year of high school on Bainbridge. From the outside, it’s easy to question how they could add to their household right now- but Ashley feels to me like an unexpected gift. This is a girl who is lovely from the inside on out, and who in her short time so far has already done so much to make their lives easier at home.
keep on keeping on
There are 23 more weeks of chemo for Joan. For her friends keeping up through this blog, one of the best ways you can help is by coming with her on chemo days. And if you’re far away, consider “coming” by being present to her from afar: send jokes via email, mail stories to read in the waiting room, offer some light and distraction on these days of waiting.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Good things for now
I haven't written in a long while. I had my mastectomy and still am in a lot of pain. Plus, I don't want to write about bad things, so today I'm going write about a good thing that happened a while ago.
On June 14th, my son Dylan Michael Judge Hoff, graduated from Bainbridge High School. My first child, now 18 years old, finished high school. I still remember when my toe-headed little boy started school at Laurel Hill Nursery School in San Francisco. I was a work-at-home mom and Laurel Hill was Dylan's first time with organized education and daycare. He was shy and not used to being on his own. Laurel Hill was a Co-Op, with huge emphasis on parent participation. Dylan had been on the waiting list to get into the school since birth. His first teacher was Chris, I can't remember the last name. He had a master's in early education, with additional master's in psychology, but reminded me of a 60's hippie. He had long frizzy hair, wore Che Guevera t-shirts and faded blue jeans with holes in them. Remember this was 1993, it was after the Reagan years, the beginning of the Clinton years. I may have been been a San Francisco Liberal Yuppie, I was still used to downtown power suits and ties along with the 3 martini lunch. (Have you noticed how much has changed in the last 25 years, in the 80's, early 90's everyone would drink at business lunches - it went without saying. Now.....a big Not). I had enrolled my son in a political correct, yet totally family oriented school. (And I say that in a good way.....my little family split while Dylan was at Laurel Hill and without the staff and friends, my ex and I would never have worked together to create a new but separated happy family).
Dylan ended up attending public school, private school, followed by six years of public school on Bainbridge Island. Dylan is now a shy young man, but I, his dad, and my current husband, made a point of making sure that he had the best education that we could provide, making sure that we participated in his education. I remember when he was a sophomore at Bainbridge and he and another student were given cardboard and duct tape. They had to make a floating device that could go two lengths of the swimming pool - with them in it. Rainer, Dylan, the other student and his dad went to work and came up with the coolest boat ever. I went and watched the sink or swim race. Their boat was the fastest boat, beating all others in his class. He was never so proud or happy to have had our help and support him in his project.
And on Saturday, June 14th, Dylan graduated. It was a sunny day. His dad and cousin had flew up from San Francisco and Sacramento respectively for the graduation. My parents were in attendance. There was a total of eight people in his little cheering section of the football stands. I remember him marching onto the football field, ending up in the first row, sitting next to Abby. I smiled and thought it was a good thing that he was sitting next to Abby. He and Abby had been in the Y.A.C. (Young Adults in Church) Group from St. Barnabas for the last six years. The YAC's really didn't hang out together during Jr. High and High School but were a close knit of friends that supported each other during the agonizing period of puberty to young adulthood. And so Dylan graduated. We flashed photographs and yelled out a little yeahs when he walked up in a blue robe with gold scarf to get his diploma. Just as a few days earlier, his dad, Rainer and I yelled out a little yeahs when he had received a senior scholarship award. My son had graduated.
It was hard for me to watch my son graduate. I still had chemo sickness and had to leave promptly after the ceremony. Plus he was my first child and I, with sadness, knew he was soon to leave on his mission to become a writer. He's gone now, visiting his dad before he goes off to college. I have a photograph of the little shy boy on his first day of school and I now have a photograph of the shy young man on his last day of school. My, the time went by fast. But I love my son - as the little boy and now the young man.
On June 14th, my son Dylan Michael Judge Hoff, graduated from Bainbridge High School. My first child, now 18 years old, finished high school. I still remember when my toe-headed little boy started school at Laurel Hill Nursery School in San Francisco. I was a work-at-home mom and Laurel Hill was Dylan's first time with organized education and daycare. He was shy and not used to being on his own. Laurel Hill was a Co-Op, with huge emphasis on parent participation. Dylan had been on the waiting list to get into the school since birth. His first teacher was Chris, I can't remember the last name. He had a master's in early education, with additional master's in psychology, but reminded me of a 60's hippie. He had long frizzy hair, wore Che Guevera t-shirts and faded blue jeans with holes in them. Remember this was 1993, it was after the Reagan years, the beginning of the Clinton years. I may have been been a San Francisco Liberal Yuppie, I was still used to downtown power suits and ties along with the 3 martini lunch. (Have you noticed how much has changed in the last 25 years, in the 80's, early 90's everyone would drink at business lunches - it went without saying. Now.....a big Not). I had enrolled my son in a political correct, yet totally family oriented school. (And I say that in a good way.....my little family split while Dylan was at Laurel Hill and without the staff and friends, my ex and I would never have worked together to create a new but separated happy family).
Dylan ended up attending public school, private school, followed by six years of public school on Bainbridge Island. Dylan is now a shy young man, but I, his dad, and my current husband, made a point of making sure that he had the best education that we could provide, making sure that we participated in his education. I remember when he was a sophomore at Bainbridge and he and another student were given cardboard and duct tape. They had to make a floating device that could go two lengths of the swimming pool - with them in it. Rainer, Dylan, the other student and his dad went to work and came up with the coolest boat ever. I went and watched the sink or swim race. Their boat was the fastest boat, beating all others in his class. He was never so proud or happy to have had our help and support him in his project.
And on Saturday, June 14th, Dylan graduated. It was a sunny day. His dad and cousin had flew up from San Francisco and Sacramento respectively for the graduation. My parents were in attendance. There was a total of eight people in his little cheering section of the football stands. I remember him marching onto the football field, ending up in the first row, sitting next to Abby. I smiled and thought it was a good thing that he was sitting next to Abby. He and Abby had been in the Y.A.C. (Young Adults in Church) Group from St. Barnabas for the last six years. The YAC's really didn't hang out together during Jr. High and High School but were a close knit of friends that supported each other during the agonizing period of puberty to young adulthood. And so Dylan graduated. We flashed photographs and yelled out a little yeahs when he walked up in a blue robe with gold scarf to get his diploma. Just as a few days earlier, his dad, Rainer and I yelled out a little yeahs when he had received a senior scholarship award. My son had graduated.
It was hard for me to watch my son graduate. I still had chemo sickness and had to leave promptly after the ceremony. Plus he was my first child and I, with sadness, knew he was soon to leave on his mission to become a writer. He's gone now, visiting his dad before he goes off to college. I have a photograph of the little shy boy on his first day of school and I now have a photograph of the shy young man on his last day of school. My, the time went by fast. But I love my son - as the little boy and now the young man.
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