Melt

Jenny here. A few updates on Wil.

He discharged from his second hospital stay, on the new protocol (part B), over the weekend. Other than a few levels taking longer to regulate, he tolerated it well.  Yesterday, at his clinic appointment, his labs were pretty good too.  His WBC, of course, is getting lower so he had a Neulasta shot (usually given about 24-48 hours after chemotherapy to help stimulate WBC growth and help keep him from bottoming out as bad).

So far, Wil feels more achy and tired then at the end of part A. They say part B is easier because there is no outpatient chemo in between the hospital stays. We are hoping that is true, but so far his appetite and neuropathy in his feet are worse than it was a few weeks ago. He is hanging in there as best he can and looking forward to trying an outing to the store and maybe taking a spin around our neighborhood to practice driving. His oncology team is supportive of him getting out, as long as we take precautions, go at non peak times, wear a mask, etc. I know he's been worried about being out and about, but I'm hoping a few times will be good for his spirits.

Wil also had his mediport tested and it's working great. And with that, they pulled his PICC line. It's amazing just how many feet of small tubing was running inside his body from his elbow to his heart. I'm fascinated and like to watch and take pictures. Wil, not so much.

Towards the end of Wil's appointment yesterday, we had a surprise visitor. The doctor who had been the attending on the BMT floor, during dark December, had heard Wil was at clinic and had not seen him since the day he discharged to the SNF.  She came in, introduced herself, and said "do you remember me?"  Wil, being honest as always, said "no."  Her face, like so many others, was pleasantly shocked to see Wil's turn around. She smiled ear to ear. We talked briefly. I thanked her for that day she knelt by his bed and held his hand and told him not to give up, that we had more work to do, that she was not giving up. Not even his regular oncologist can ever truly understand his progress because she wasn't on the floor that month. But in the stillness between updates on his progress yesterday, looking at this caring doctor, and seeing her eyes, her facial expressions. She knows the night we went through. She really appreciated and was just as amazed as I am about where we are now.

I felt the tears well up in my eyes as she walked out the door.  She really meant a lot to me that month.  I heard her turn to the nurse to say, "wow, he doesn't even remember me, just wow."  I may have seen a tear in her eye too.

The tears continued all the way home. I know it pains Wil to see me in my rare moments of meltdown.  He said, "you must be angry with me."  Angry with him?  No. I've had those angry, hurt days about other people along the way, but never him. It's hard, for me, to describe for him what seeing the attending doctor from dark December triggered.  It was if all the memories of that month, the ones I've had to bury to keep moving, the loneliness, the fear, the trauma of it all...melted me into a flood of emotion. Wil doesn't remember. Thank God. But forever, that month will be one of the hardest of my life, certainly of my married life, and one I will carry alone. There are a few folks in our life, like this doctor, that experienced it from their vantage point too.  That remember. My kindred few. But in my marriage, it's a month I will always carry the weight of, without Wil. I guess yesterday just reminded me of that.

The deep pain of cancer is often experienced in unpredictable way. We are still standing. There are just moments of profound sadness too.

I told Wil that I know he gets weary of my wonder, my amazement, my pictures, my excitement in this leg of the journey. I see his eyes roll. (I know a PICC line pull is not a photo opp for most people, for me I'm happy to see one more step happening).

For him, this part, right now, is the hard part. For me, this part feels, in comparison, so much lighter. I am a mix of feelings, but mostly I feel good lately.

We are in different places. But I get it now. I knew he didn't remember that month. But I think, after yesterday, I actually get it.  I wish I could say that having that "aha" moment would make it easier. I wish Wil could feel the lightness of this segment. I wish I didn't have to deal with the weight of it alone. Yet, I am so glad he won't have to carry with him the heaviness I am sometimes strongly reminded of in regards to that month.

Trauma.  It pops up in unexpected ways... a melt of feelings...the liquified, dissolved, outpouring of memories...reminding me I still have healing of my own to do, because those moments are not yet that far away.