Good Health News Abounds
Today, on the ides of March 2024, many positive developments are taking place. I am making steady progress in healing. Notably, my immune system is improving as my Immunoglobulin G levels gradually reach the normal range. The IVIG transfusions that I have been receiving are proving to be effective, and I may not need them in the near future.
My first of three covid shots is behind me with little bother.
Red blood cells and hematocrit are still low but improving. Most of my metabolic panel is within the expected range, with abnormalities typical for stem cell transplant patients.
The nurse practitioner on my care team is pleased and has agreed to postpone discussions about further treatment for another month or so. It is a relief to have more time to heal without hammering my weary body with chemicals and “necessary poisons.” My son-in-law Mike would say, “Charlie Mike,” the phonetic military expression to say “continue the mission.”
Life is Better Every Day
We just celebrated our fourth anniversary as Washingtonians. The Covid shutdown and then my cancer treatment kept us from exploring our wonderous new backyard. However, since I now have fewer in-person appointments at the cancer clinic, Jackie and I have designated at least one day a week to go out and have fun. We take this opportunity to explore nearby places and shake off the cobwebs.
Poulsbo
Our first adventure was to Poulsbo, a charming little Viking town located about an hour and a half away from us. It is situated on Liberty Bay, with the magnificent, snow-peaked Olympic Mountains on its west side. The downtown historic district is easily walkable with museums and galleries to check out, but we went for the shopping and good eats. We’d been to Poulsbo and wanted to start our foray adventures oxymoronically with a known entity. We stopped in to pick up heavenly Orange Cardamom bread from the Sluys Poulsbo Bakery and then had a great date lunch before heading back home, happy.
She Found the Dress
Ah, but I’ve saved the best for last. At the beginning of this month, Jackie and I boarded a plane and headed to Colorado. Yup. That was flippin’ huge! We were on a mission, a “mom's mission.”
Background
The last time we visited Colorado was in January 2023. In October 2023, Ina and Mike's wedding was scheduled to take place. Jackie and I invited ourselves for a visit in January because we had figured out that my treatment was going to put me out of commission for about a year, a fact that had not sunk in with anyone except for Jackie and me. I was quietly determined that life, including weddings, needed to go on regardless of my situation. Nonetheless, or maybe because of that, I wanted to see the home Mike and Ina had made together and where they would be married.
I kept a cheerful face and reminded myself to embrace what I had, not to shine a light on what I would likely miss. It was an exciting time, with the engagement being new and the wedding plans intoxicating. But it fell apart—I fell apart—at the kitchen table the day before we were to leave Colorado. I could tell that Ina and Mike did not have a sense of the treatment timelines. There were lots of mentions that clearly assumed Jackie and I would be back in Colorado in October 2023 for the wedding, and I was pretty sure we would not. Sadness simply overwhelmed me. While I breathed deep, trying to compose myself, Jackie explained the situation to Ina and then Mike, who walked in wondering how the room that was abuzz with wedding giggles when he left only a few minutes before had become quite somber.
Jackie and I were barely back in Olympia when Mike and Ina called and said they would like to elope to our backyard in just three weeks, the day before my first treatment would begin, and that they would postpone the reception, the celebration until I was in remission. What a fantastic gift to a grieving mother. What a wonderful, compassionate couple who, most poignantly, started their married lives with a loving nod to “in sickness and in health.” This beautiful union, which took place quietly and nobly, will be celebrated “with bells on” as initially intended, just a year behind schedule.
Triumphant Return
Jackie and I returned to Colorado last week to pick up where we paused. We revisited the venue, this time without the snow, and enjoyed considering options. We discussed the notion that Mike and Ina could enter on a nearby zipline though, based on Ina’s reaction, I think that idea is a non-starter. Clearly, we all had some fun. We tasted goodies, considered florals, and, best of all, we shopped for the dress. It was a glorious experience. Ina said that when she walked out of the dressing room in THE dress, she looked at me, and my eyes looked comically wide. I tried not to influence her decision, but it was tough to keep my face from telling the tale. Ina is a beautiful woman, and that dress is worthy of her. I am thankful we have all come so far in 14 months, able to pick up where we left off with preparing for the celebration of Ina and Mike's marriage.
Recovery and Discovery
It’s a lazy, mostly unstructured day, and, as is typical for me, I may have too many things going on. A pot of pasta sauce simmers on the stove, almost ready to be portioned into freezer packages. The Instant Pot™ ferments my own delicious non-fat Greek yogurt. In between these tasks, my fingers dance on the keyboard. This is a much better day than I had even as recently as two months ago. I enjoy this pace. It feels like a graceful dance.
During my youth, I existed in a fog, surviving from one day to the next. When that fog lifted, I realized I had much catching up to do. For many years, I was driven by the self-command, “Hurry!” It seems I am a little slower now, taking things with a bit more purpose. Interestingly, when I settle in for an afternoon of reading, I often wake an hour or more later, realizing I've had an impromptu nap.
"Cancer brought my life to a halt for a while, but it didn't dampen my spirit. It's often said that cancer changes people, and it was true in my case. The period of recovery from a near-fatal chemotherapy treatment meant to extend my life has altered my outlook on life. While I still desire to seize every moment, I now do so with a greater appreciation for life.
In 1994, my friend Greg survived the same procedure I just had. I was there with him every day during his treatment, and I saw his recovery unfold. When Greg returned to work and captured the gold ring while riding the Silicon Valley IPO (initial public offering) carousel of winners and losers, I said to him, “With all that has happened to you, if I were you, and of course I’m not, I’d be asking, ‘Why me?’” I reframed a question of lament into a reflection on purpose and quality of life. I watched Greg spend his remaining 24 years with a better quality of life, achieved by some significant changes and many more subtle ones.
Now, I ask myself, “Why me?” I wonder what I am still meant to do, given that my life has been spared for a while longer.
A Book in the Works
Like many before me, I, too, am leaving breadcrumbs of my story to help guide others through their myeloma or other cancer experiences.
The collection of updates on Love Heals has become rich soil for the memoir I am now writing. Not surprisingly, it is a book about transforming an incurable disease into a livable chronic illness, emphasizing effective self-advocacy and quality of life. The twist is that there is a gentle undertone that speaks to managing treatment in the shadow of early-life trauma.
Unfortunately, trauma is an area where I am far from alone.
In the United States alone, over ten million adults who are currently dealing with various health conditions such as cancer, heart disease, neurological disorders, infectious diseases, respiratory illnesses, and renal failure have also experienced early-life trauma. Those of us who were mistreated as children are now vulnerable again and struggling to navigate the imperfect and stressed medical system, which can sometimes feel like the horrors we experienced in the past. The potential psychological and emotional pitfalls are often overlooked or not approached in a trauma-informed way.
I spent my career as a corporate storyteller. Transitioning to writing personal narratives has blown the doors off a million words that want to be written. It is time to use my skills to "pay it forward” and make a difference.
This newsletter, Love Heals, does not dig into the traumatic experiences of my past or my current vulnerability related to it. These aspects of my life are beyond the scope of the fundamental questions addressed here: "How are you?" or "How is your treatment going?" or “What is a ‘new normal’?” However, I want to let anyone going through a similar situation know they are not alone. I am here. Please get in touch with me via DM, email, or call if you want to talk.
Not a day goes by that we don’t feel the tremendous power of the love, care, and concern sent to us in prayers, “sparkles,” and innumerable good thoughts and deeds. We are grateful to be a part of a community of caring, loving souls.
May you stay safe, be well, love much and be loved, and have a life of ease. 💕
With all our love,
Mary & Jackie
sending heaps of love as you delve into a fully packed present containing more than medical appointments and waiting for news, and take steps into the future - life is good ✨