Lucky 18

Jenny here. Today is the day. Wil admitted at 1:30pm and Chapter Two of chemo begins.  So far all the preliminary tests have gone great and on time...so his cocktail of kick ass will be ready for him tonight right around 11:00pm.

I probably sound crazy to the folks up here on 8th floor when I excitedly said "it's good to be back!"  I don't wish anyone to be here, but let's face it, this is where we are blessed to be and need to be. After the horrors of the liver injury and almost a month at that wretched SNF, if we have to be anywhere, here is a good place to be...no, it's a miracle to be here, a miracle that his cancer stayed at a controlled level while his body healed.

I feel like I've had therapy every minute this afternoon. Routine questions about how things have been turn into stories about the last 2 months. To speak them out loud is like a burden being lifted.  They all fell in love with Wil when he first admitted in November, watched the decline, the sickness, wished him well as we left to the SNF.  Now they are all in awe as to how far he's come and that "the old Wil is back."  It's also a strange thing for Wil to hear the stories because so much of that time is foggy.  He said "it feels like someone else's story."

Even for me it's tough to believe. I muddled through so much of the last months just hoping I was adequate.  Gosh, 4 weeks ago I was thrown, headlong, into real caregiving. Sure, I had been there all along the way at the hospital and SNF, even helping him with any ADL's I could. Once we got home, it was just us. What I can only describe as bodily fluid scenes from Dexter, I went from (literally) throwing up on my slippers the first time he had incontinence, to the two of us finding a decent groove to his home care and being thankful I had the opportunity to be the one there.  Today, we were in the car and I kept asking things like "did you brush your teeth?" and had to apologize. It's not that I'm micromanaging, I'm just still adapting to the fact he can do it all himself again.

In truth, we picked the 18th for Wil to be readmitted because I, his wife, wanted one more regular weekend with him. We had the option to start chemo last week but I wanted to finish out work on Saturday and have 2 days with him before any changes (I'm kind of laughing out loud typing that. We are in the midst of constant changes, but each segment starts to feel routine, and having him at home created a new nest of "normal" for us).  So the 18th felt right to both of us and I believe that, despite all our "free will," we are drawn to choices that are far beyond our reach of influence for a reason.  Today is the day we get on with the business of preserving Wil's life.

When I announced the 18th as Chapter Two Chemo on Facebook, a dear, now virtual friend, told me we had "picked" a lucky day.  In Judaism, the number 18 "is the value of the Hebrew letters chet and yod, which together spell the word chai, life.  For this reason, 18 is considered the luckiest number.  God is mentioned 18 times in both Psalm 29 and the Song of the Sea (Exodus 15:1-21), giving these verses special protective power." (Thank you http://www.myjewishlearning.com).

That simple thought has stuck with me all day today. We ARE lucky. We continue to find protection, often in the most important emotional sense, in each other and our circle of warriors.  No lie, we are battling fear, anxiety, crossing every finger, and sending up prayers.  Today is a reminder that Wil has cancer...that we are all mortal.

But today, the 18th, the second chapter, the night chemo begins...is not defined by those facts.  Today is a day of LIFE and the promise and hope of a long one at that!  We have been to the depths and are on our way back up the mountain. Let the journey continue.