Undetected

Jenny here.

This time of year will always bring back memories for me and Wil.  Two years ago we had just moved into our house, full of excitment for a new chapter in our lives.

I often think about how starry eyed we were.  Wil was turning 40, back in college finally, pursuing his dreams that all of a sudden felt so clear to him.  He had just finished his associates degree and had transferred   into his 4 year college.  I thought to myself, in 5 years, by the time I am 40, Wil will be done with his degree, we will have a baby, and I might just convince him to move back to Minnesota to start his teaching career.  

Little did we know that, undetected, cancer was already in the works.  And within a month I'd be rushing to the doctor's office, Wil doubled over in pain.  But 2 years ago, on his 40th birthday, anything and everything in life seemed possible.  And then for over 8 months cancer would continue to be undetectable by biopsies and we'd ride the pre-diagnosis roller coaster.  I would feel like we had made it around several twists on that ride.  Little did we know that the major climb and gut wrenching first drop hadn't even happended yet.

So Wil's birthday, one of my favorite dates in in history, other than our anniversary,  is also the marker of how many years its been since I lost my innocent view of what was to come in life for us.  I don't know why, but I often wonder about how long and when cancer started before it was on our radar.

Yesterday was Wil's birthday and it started out with living life on the edge and picking up breakfast at the local donut shop on our way to clinic. I know, we sound like real rebels!!!  But we don't often risk any outside food no matter what the celebration.  Risk takers.  That's how we roll!

At clinic during Wil's blood draw, the nurses, who had been so sneaky last week to ask him what kind of cupcakes he liked, surprised him with red velvet and song.  Wil is genuinely a pretty happy person, but a tough crowd.  He's even and steady but that also means he isn't in need of big productions.  It takes a lot to get him upset or rattled or even surprised.  Despite that, he was very taken a back by the team effort and they had him smiling ear to ear.  And touched.  His motto, ever since I have known him, is "I'm just happy to see another year."  No presents or party needed.  This year that motto means even more.  But the enthusiasm of the staff, their genuine happiness for us, it swept him away too.  It was fun to see.  We deeply appreciate these people who care for us all along this way.

And then we met with Wil's doctor, nurse, fellow, and mid level provider.  We knew the day would include results from all the post transplant, day +100 testing:  the extra blood work, MRI, lumbar punture (spinal fluid), and bone marrow aspiration (marrow and fluid flow study).  And do you know what I love?  The fact that none of them could keep a straight face until they presented the results to us.  Smiles.  Happiness.  Disagreements about who would meet with us first to go over the tests.  Before the fellow even said hello to us, she burst out with "we have good news today."  The rest, the details, important I guess.  In their faces, however, I could already see what I needed to know--hope.

Side note:  It's easy to forget how much days like yesterday mean to those around us too.  The oncologist's nurse said that she was beyond excited and had been checking on results all last week as they rolled in, sneak peeking.  She said the night before her and our transplant coordinator looked through the packet of results.  She said "We hold on to days like this because it's not often we get a day filled with good news to share."  She had gotten to work early and was excited to see us.  

And so the results:

Bone marrow aspiration (BMA):  Leukemia undetected.

Spinal fluid:  Leukemia undetected.

MRI:  T6 mass, no longer detected (some structural damage, evidence that something 2 years ago had grown there, but the mass itself?  Gone.)

Blood Typing:  100% B+ (donor) and Wil's original DNA?   Now undetected

Undetected.

"Complete Remission."

Just as queitly as cancer creeped and came into existence, so do we now move into the next chapter of this journey.  

Our old BC life?  Well, I think I'd have to say it's  undetected now too.  We are new.  Wil on the inside, but also outside.  As his body and medical team have worked to shrink that which has changed us forever into an undetection, so has our former existence shrunk and disappeared.  Life has evolved and there is some sort of real joy we can't explain.  Joy that has nothing to do with the results of today.  Yes, a million times yes, we are happy that we are on the right track, that treatment seems to be workng.  But lately we have come to a place where the desired outcomes, although important, are not as interwined with how much we love this life...how much we enjoy each day...or how much we appreciate each moment.  

We are living life with less fear.  We are not as shackled to those starry eyed dreams because this...this day, every minute with each other...is the best I could ask for...and not overshadowed by circumstances beyond our control (or at least not as often anymore).  

It doesn't end here.  The road is still long.  But that's the point.  It.  doesn't.  end.  here.  Not yet.  

Wil is starting to ween off his last immunosuppressants.  Now is the time to really monitor, even more, for any chronic GvHD.  His blood work looks amazing.  Those cells are growing!  We still have to be ever so careful about him contracting flu or infection.  There are still unknowns and no promises.  Hugging on those nieces and nephews will have to wait a few more months.  But we are on our way to that being a reality by getting off more of the meds.  There is road ahead and we will take that, and whatever it holds, every time.

Wil is OK now to have a few non-crowded community adventures...with precautions he can have a little regular fun at non-peak times.  It's still flu season so we are mindful.

So what did we do on our way home from clinic to celebrate his birthday?  I mean, WHAT do you get a guy who right now, in this day, has been given all he needs...the best gift EVER...the gift of continued life...???

(I know you all had been anxious for this blog and results, but life deosn't wait, so these pictures are the reason we didn't post earlier...immediate fun had to ensue first).

A movie of his choice.  In a  theater...with snacks.  We saw the Hobbit, in 3D...a movie that we missed and that is about to leave theaters.  No crowds.  Just us.  A little piece of normal.

I sat there, snuggled up against Wil, snacks and a geeky movie a-plenty.  I can't lie.  I want so many more of these moments and years with him.  I am not always in this moment.  I still dream of growing old with him.  But I will take whatever this life and Universe affords us and not look back.  And in my head, the last and most important addition to the birthday song that staff sang to him at clinic reverberated again:  "And many more."

We will enjoy these moments, every last one.  I know it, beacause the old life is no longer there, cancer took that, and in its place came a presence, a grounding, to live the life we are given.  No regrets.  No checklists for a perfect future needed.  All we need is here.  Right now.  In is, between us, around us.

Much love.