Brian's 5th treatment was this week. 5th of six.
I didn't take the day off this time to sit with him, but I had to be there when Dr. Redrow told Brian about his pet scan.
His weight is good; fortunately his appetite has stayed normal despite losing taste buds. His initial weight loss was one of the things that scared me the most.
His blood pressure was up a little, but I expected that; he was nervous about what we would hear about the scan. What would our future hold?
Dr. Redrow came in, his usual, unflappable self and declared that the scan looked good. After these next two treatments, Brian would be finished. A death sentence commuted. A sigh of relief that comes from the toes.
It was wonderful to see Brian look so happy. No matter how supportive I try to be, as I have said many times, ultimately, this is his fight. And it looks like he has won.
His last treatment will be on Dec. 22. What a Christmas gift that will be.
The 5th treatment was very long; his port was clogged and so he had to be "unplugged" with some liquid draino type stuff before the sweet nurse could get him started.
The guys in the office took care of his lunch for him this time and he took his nap. A nice long one. The sleep of a man who knows he will live to fight another day.
I won't have school on his last treatment and though it's clear he can handle going on his own, I want to be there for his last one. We've been such a team through this, I don't want to miss the last one. I think I'll bring a champagne bottle to pop in the parking lot when we finish.
It's not a persistent, pervasive thought, but I do sometimes think about relapses. It scares me more than I can tell you. I know I wouldn't be human if I didn't think about it. I know for now I just need to be thankful that we've got Brian healthy so we can start focusing on other, fun things. Like our house and starting our family...I just don't like stuff sneaking up on me.
Although I truly preferred to be alone during my treatments (respite from 6th graders...ahhh) my mother wanted to be with me. The idea of being absorbed into a book, movie, or to simply sleep sounded heavenly. However, my wise friends asked, "If your daughter was undergoing chemo..." Ok, I get it. Even though this cancer was about me, I realized it was also about other people. Being the kind, generous, selfless person that I am, I never let on my desire to go solo on these occassions. But my LAST treatment...well, that was a semi-party. I was presented with flowers along with other thoughtful gifts and most of my family was there. I came across a picture we had taken of all of us together and I realized everyone had worn pink, something I didn't notice at the time. It is truly a celebratory event. I know of one clinic that has a bell and the patient rings it at the end of that last treatment. What a fun way to finish things up! One of these days I plan to donate a bell to my treatment center. As strange as it may sound, I found myself missing my chemos. Not the meds, side effects, $15,000 worth of injections I received after each one to keep my blood levels up, or that dreaded poke into my port, but rather, the comraderie, kindness, empathy and feeling of security I felt as I sat there during those long hours of infusion. I was told many cancer patients feel a bit out of control when treatment is over. They feel they are no longer "doing anything" to fight the foe that is no longer there. I am not sure if that is what I experienced but I did feel a void. That did dissipate after I began the daily radiations for 33 days. I think my car could have driven itself there. When that was done I felt that same sort of pang of anxiety that I did when chemo ended. All of this is the main focus of your life for so long-10 months from start to finish of all my treatments. It just feels odd to suddenly have that removed. What-weekly trip for blood work? I won't see my onc each month? I have grown to love all of these people who I felt held my life in their hands. And poof-they are gone. I suppose it's a "good" gone. But it was an adjustment. I was a bit taken about that I forgot what floor the clinic was on at my last appointment. That spoke volumes to me. And now...I only get to visit them once a year. I guess they will go on without me and hopefully me without them!!! Miss them as I may, I am glad I have no need to pay them frequent visits. Moral to my story: a BIG celebration is definitely in order on Dec. 22!! Congrats to both of you. Looks like you made it (Barry Manilow voice...)!!!!
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