Evaporate

Jenny here.   We are at -3 days today until Wil's new immune system birthday on August 20, 2014. It's a rainy day, but I am excited to be cuddled up in Wil's room, Redbox movies and popcorn are waiting for me after I finish this blog!  I am so incredibly thankful to have this day of rest in my safe little BMT bubble.

It's been an up and down week.  Not medically speaking...that is well maintained...but more so emotionally.  

The chemo he is under going is strong, erase your bone marrow, stuff.  We are doing daily updates on the FB page, but in a nutshell, so far the side effects are minimal. This is "as expected" because the GI upsets (nausea, vomiting, diarhea, mouth sores, etc) are a cumulative result. What that means for Wil is that this coming week, 7-10 days post chemo, is when he will feel the worst effects.  Today concluded chemo and tomorrow is a treatment rest day.  In the meantime, although fatigued, he is active on the BMT floor, taking care of himself, walking, going to the gym, talking Dragon Ball Z to the clerk, entertaining the nurses with YouTube BatDad vidoes, and trying to eat well.  Tuesday, day -1, will conclude his pre-transplant treatments with one dose of total body irradiation.  

The day of admit was stressful.  Wil had been stressed and too quiet the few days beforehand. He couldn't hide his stress on his face or in his body.  He was worried, I was worried.  Worry was the word of the day.  His outpatient appointments that morning included genetics cousneling, blood draw, and his trifusion port placement in his chest (which ended up being delayed 3 hours, adding to the uneasiness).

I am still trying to balance work and counting on the fact I will need to use more PTO in upcoming weeks, so I had not taken off the whole day.  In retrospect, with all the emotions, I wish I had been off, but the money still needs to come in and Wil felt better with that in mind.  it just made for a hectic day.  I cried the whole way to my office after I left him.  He is in amazing hands.  Nothing big was happening.  Driving away alone never gets easy though.

So, to be honest, we were both on edge the morning of admit.  Wil and I rarely get into arguments, but like any couple, nerves get stepped on and words don't always come out in a loving fashion the first time around under stressful conditions.  I guess I say this to let you all know that 1.) We love each other and have an great marraige, but that 2.) Having cancer doesn't make you perfect or enlightned in your relationship all the time, and 3.) There are very few things in life that can't be re-done, tried again, talked out, forgiven, accepted...especially if you are open.

But it was one of those mornings when our feelings were spilling over and our thoughts were racing.  There were a few triggers for both us and, even though we knew we were not in a place of peace, understanding, and good timing for a heart to heart, we just didn't care!  And we broke.

Evaporation:  the process of a liquid or solid changing into a vapor by heat.  A cycle by which the earth's limited water supply is recycled through stages of transformation and renewal by way of molecular energy transfers.

As we drove around and around the crowded parking lot, looking for a space to park, the energy in our car was desperate.  As if a million thought molecules were bumping around, our feelings were colliding, expending energy.  We knew it, but the bubbling of the pot was set to boil.  Wil was getting ready to be admitted for so many unknowns, for a possible new life, but at what cost?  I was getting ready to check in my most loved and cherished human for an entire month of life saving, yet excruciating  treatment.  All we both wanted to do was escape, turn around, evaporate into the atmoshophere.

Condensation:  the process of vapor being cooled and changing back into liquid and forming clouds

Admit day was tough.  But the days following it have been soulful, playful, easy, and lovely with each other.  In some part, just getting going on the pre-ransplant process has made it finally real and given the opportunity for us to deal with the true underlying feelings of what all this means. 

We would not make it through this, however, without the nurses, doctors, and techs on the BMT unit.  Up here in the clouds, on the highest patient floor of the hospital, we have settled into this new part--a welcomed phase after feeling evaporated emotionally when we got here.  Somehow, things have cooled and condensed...we are focused and OK. 

Time and time again the staff up here saves us.  I try to tell them as often as I can how much they mean to us, how their few words or a smile are like little bursts of energy that ease us down this path.  As a therapist, clients sometimes tell me some of the same things I know feel towards these folks. Now...I get it at such a personally painful level that I am forever changed and forever grateful.  I have been on both sides now.   

There is no where we feel more affirmed than in the confines of these walls.  Not because we are not loved outside of the hospital and by our important safety net of people and cheerleaders.  No, it's just that there is a differnt level of understanding when you interact with BMT oncology staff and patients.  Unspoken understanding that is real.  No explanations needed. And in the moments I am under a pile of guilt for not being more, doing more, it's these special folks who tell me I'm ok...more than ok...and that Wil is loved...and that we aren't alone...and that they can see we really have something special between us...it's not that it means more from them, but it has some sort of sweet validation in it I can't get anywhere else.  They have seen it all, they have been with us through it all...every step, whether it was Dark December or now...they have been our witnesses.  

Precipitation:  the process by which there is so much condensed water that the air can no longer hold it, and water falls to the earth

We are moved to tears often these days, as expected!  My soul, however, is filled up and amazed when there are moments I see a glimpse of the staff's own parallel process, see their tears as they recount how scary and hard things were at first, feel the positive regard they have for us as people, and the prayerful hope they have for Wil.  They are just so genuine.  

I felt like a basket case on admit day and emotionally unstable...things were heating up...and then I hear from the ones who have spent nearly 90 admit days with us that we are more than OK.  That this HAS been crazy for us and them too.  That Wil's turn around is amazing.  And then I join in and feel the precipitation in my own eyes.  

This won't be our last cancer "water cycle."  But we are enjoying the warm stream of emotional H2O, letting it pool around us, soak deep into the ground of us, before transplant.  Most of us walk around thinking about the limited-ness of this life.  Water is limited.  Energy is limited.  I am limited.  But the process of life and love is actually cyclical. Evaporation is part of life.  But the rains will come again.  They are, in fact, already in process at the moment I no longer see the water. I hope I can keep that close to my heart the next time around.

Much love.