Chrysalis

Jenny here.  Wil is half way through his second cocktail.  The first one last night went well.  During our 5 days here he will have a total of 9 cocktails, 8 through his central line and one through a spinal tap tomorrow.  About 21 hours of chemo total.  If all goes as planned, he will discharge on Saturday.  In about a week from now the side effects will hit him harder.  So far he is tired, but not exhausted.  He is eating and sleeping well, in good spirits, and still doing PT/OT and ADL’s. 

I spent the night last night.  It’s not restful sleep, but while we are here, I feel at ease…that in and of itself is respite.   I am able to have a “quiet” space to think or, gasp, NOT think!  Yes, there are machines, pressurized rooms, staff coming and going, masks, gloves, assessments galore.  It’s “quiet” though, in that there is not much else I can worry about because life slows down and we focus our energy to the treatment at hand.  And we shift focus to just being together, no distractions. 

Last night we watched the Olympics for the first time of 2014.  We laughed.  We sat together and had dinner.  The irony is that, sometimes, it feels more like our old life here than it does at home.  I am not sure if that is because we have made some adjustments to a new normal or because I am less a caregiver while he is inpatient, leaving me freedom to be more of his wife.  And because the staff always makes sure I am getting anything I need too.

I drifted off to sleep thinking about this “cocoon” we have here and how safe it feels.  I am no scientist, so if you are reading this and you are, note my disclaimer that my understanding of these concepts is at about a 3^rd grade level!  I do, however, remember learning about the transformation of a caterpillar into a butterfly.  I knew it was called something other than a cocoon, so this morning I googled it.  (By the way, what did we ever do without the internet?).  There it was with one click, the word I was looking for, with a definition and a few articles that looked interesting. 

Chrysalis=the transformation stage, when a caterpillar’s tissues break down to allow for new parts to be formed and, ultimately, emerge a butterfly. 

What I didn’t realize is that the caterpillar releases enzymes that literally melt the bug into a glob of goo.  In research at Georgetown University, however, they came to believe that certain neurons are preserved and become part of the new body parts of the butterfly.  It’s not that the slate was wiped clean, but a new creature was made out of the remnants.

I have butterfly pictures in my office.  I have always loved what they symbolize:  Change.  Transformation.  I was blown away to know that chemically created goo comes together to create wings, antennae, a body.  A larger, yet more agile and sophisticated, being emerges.

It’s hard to see chemicals pumped through my sweet hubby’s body, to see nurses suit up as precaution because the drugs are toxic…knowing those are the same ones we are hoping will kill the cancer.  Knowing that these cocktails will take his immune system down to nothing...to proverbial goo. 

As I sit here and gaze at Wil over my laptop, while he’s all wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets, bags hanging over head, liquids dripping, machines beeping…as cheesy as it sounds, I feel it.  We are in Chrysalis.  A better “C” word than chemo or cancer.  Just waiting for wings to form out of the meltdown we have felt.  It will take time, which can be frustrating and sad, scary and agonizing, but we can’t go back to being a caterpillar either.  That part of him, of me, of us…goo.   So for now we try to keep the faith that a transformation is in the works.  That this process has meaning beyond what we can see from the day to day hurdles.  And that sometime soon, we too, will emerge into a new life that is even more beautiful. Although more beauty than we have already had, is hard to imagine.