Jenny here.
Lately I can't force myself to sit down
and type out anything significant, despite the fact that life is ever evolving
around us. But today, I’m here. I
always have SO much to say, but I am just more quiet these days.
Last week I was talking with Wil and
asking him if he thought I should re-engage in therapy. I feel so blessed, so happy, so alive these
days. But I also just feel like staying at home and being with him. I get excited at the thought of seeing
people, now that we can do more, yet I am content with just him, in the quiet
of our house, snuggled with my little family.
If plans with other people change and we end up at home? I’m sometimes relieved. Relieved to be home??? Certainly there must be something clinically
wrong with me…I am the party planner, the fast talking, spirited, ready for
action, give up sleep for any chance of social fun, kind of person. In the past.
Now? It’s the exact
opposite. While I’ve always needed time
to process and think alone (one reason I love to write versus talk about
feelings sometimes), I am ever more happy in the solitude of home and him, my
big guy. Or with just small group of
close peeps.
So clearly, this shift made me think I
need therapy and overanalyze (LOL). Wil
was so sweet to assure me that if wanted therapy again it would be a good thing…but
that he could also diagnose me himself—cancer seems to have popped me over the
line, into what can only be described as, “selective introversion.” What a funny guy I married!
I’ve been middle of the road between E
and I in the past decade, and my Myers-Briggs type, ENFP, although extrovert,
is one that always requires more recharge time…but these new feelings? Wil says his introversion force is strong and
has brought me over to the other side, in his opinion. Is that even possible? New immune system for him, new introversion
tendencies for me?
Life is good though, truly. Life
is busy these days. Medically speaking, from a transplant perspective,
Wil is doing great. Counts continue to maintain or improve. There
has been a few blips on the radar, including continued swelling in his legs and
higher blood pressure, and they are working to treat those (probably a side effect
of some meds). But his list of meds continues to dwindle and he has not
used any insulin in weeks because glucose readings have been fantastic. His neuropathy is just constant, but he is
more active than before despite it.
Today his CBC showed elevate protein,
so we know his kidneys have not liked one of his medications (which is being
d/c now). This led to a urine sample,
which led to blood found in his urine sample (we won't know more about all of
this until we meet with a urologist). He
is doing well enough though that clinic appointments continue to be weeks apart
and his progress continues on all other fronts.
Side note: While I could google and freak about our new
urologist consult (ok, admittedly I already googled about the test result,
inquiring minds and all that jazz...), because cancer will always be a dark
passenger lingering in the shadows, it doesn’t hang over us with dread like
before. It could re-emerge at any time. We know this. It could never be seen again. We know
this too. It is true for any
of us! But the constant haze of death has lifted, not because it
isn’t there, but because we are progressing emotionally too. If only there were a test result to show
one's heart and the progress we're making on living life despite it all...it
would show good results too.
So our conversations aren’t only about
vital signs and blood work, and even today with this blip, we have hope and fun
plans in the present, over the next month, the next 6 months, and
beyond. We just had a much needed fun visit from Wil’s college
roomie that included visiting the Perot Museum and shopping in a mall (first
time in 2 years!). In June we are hosting
a small birthday celebration for a friend, and a college friend of mine is
visiting too. Not to mention we are headed out of town overnight,
a big leap in faith and a needed getaway. Close enough to rush home to
UTSW if needed, but a road trip over state lines for us and the critters.
A mental break we all need from the fight.
Life. It’s good.
As many of you know already, today is
our 15th anniversary. We have spent the day in a clash of life experiences
that we often find ourselves facing together on this journey...a day mixed with
the doctor clinic visit and blood work, ending the day with the results of the
urine sample. Sandwiched in
between post-cancer stuff? Starbucks,
breakfast out, shoe shopping, barber shop, an AMC Fork and Screen movie, and an evening nap
followed with BBQ leftovers from the fridge.
(Leftovers!!! It makes me tear. We eat some leftovers
now...remember when we couldn't??? I don't have to cook from scratch
every meal anymore, we risk a 48-72 hour window of meals from the past and
sometimes get take out.)
The contrast of life couldn’t be bigger, and the milestone of this anniversary spotlights it so well.
Two years ago, we were half way through
our eight month journey to Wil’s diagnosis.
It was the first year, year thirteen of our marriage, I cried on our
anniversary, unsure if I’d have even one more with him.
Last year, in the middle of chemo, in talks about
transplant, I cried too. We had made it
to year fourteen, but not unscathed. By
this time I had long given up on big yearly anticipations and long term plans,
instead, exchanged for the daily joys of just being in the same room with him,
whether at the hospital or at home. I
lived for, draped my soul over, the little opportunities most of us miss with
those we love when life is less complicated…I was content to watch him breathe,
to hold his hand, walk the halls of BMT, and sleep in the chair next to him. Happy for every small victory. So painfully aware of the full spectrum of
feelings a love and life like ours contains.
Honestly, I’ve continued to cry a lot this past year! After transplant, the tears never stopped,
but they have changed. In the car, at
the bank, in stores, in my shower…so I could hold it together in the places I
had no choice. Holding it together is
over rated though, and my tears come all the time now in post-transplant land. Last night at work I was crying at my desk,
never for no reason, and not for any fear or sadness. All the thoughts about celebrating our
anniversary, ALIVE, just hit me hard. A
coworker had come to say hello and there I was, snotty, red, and ridiculous! I’m just so effing happy and content with
life that the tears spill over at the most random times. And I cry.
I cry with the amazement and hope that floods me waking up
next to him, watching his hair grow (and today be cut for the first time…I was
the last person to cut it as it was falling out from chemo), seeing him walk
the mall, take the stairs at clinic today, talk trash with Cowboy fans while wearing his Packer
Jersey, and even give me some grief in his goofy, geeky ways. Last week I cried in the leafy green cooler
at Kroger, buying pre-packed lettuce again.
I’m a total spectacle in public places and I just don’t care! Every experiences brings the, never far away,
happy tears…Seeing him carry groceries in from the car, shop for his own
clothes, cook me breakfast…the list is never ending and now photographable
moments to savor and remember. (Wil is not always so sure it should be documented, LOL).
The thing that no one tells you about the cancer journey is
that you will lose some family and friends along the way, people who just can’t
be there for a myriad of reasons, most of which, I imagine, involve the fear of
death. No one tells you will feel lost,
more often than not, under the weight of it all.
We didn’t know that although we would lose so much, we would
find ourselves along the way too, surrounded by, perhaps a more selective, yet sometimes
larger circle of the people and near strangers, who have supported us and
brought us to year fifteen...two years longer than my worst fears, and now with
hope for many more. Another strangely
wonderful intersection of this life.
Traditionally, this year is celebrated with crystal, the first
truly expensive present on those lists of symbolic gifts. Crystal represents sacrifice and investment,
clarity and transparency…of knowing each other as well as we know ourselves.
After fifteen years I think we would have that regardless,
even without cancer and transplant. Yet
I can’t pretend those two things have not given me the greatest clarity of my life
so far. Crystal just can’t compare to
our truly most expensive gift for year 15—life—lent to us by the Universe, once
again, on October 9, 2014.
The past two years have been our hardest and greatest part
of our story. So today, we toast the
state of our relationship, our vows…in sickness and in health…ever so crystal clear...but we also raise
a glass to you all, for getting these two soulmates here, and especially to our UTSW BMT family
who continues to fight alongside us and give so tirelessly of their
hearts. Cheers to making it to year 15…alive. To health, however it shakes out physically… emotionally,
spiritually, mentally, we are so very intact and cemented, which is also a gift all on its own.
[Insert ugly cry…you know, the kind I’ve perfected, the deserved tears
that show just how much this life can contain if you let it grow and swell and
overtake you…evidence that I can hold so much more love for one person than I ever
imagined 15 years ago when I said “I Do”…even if it means the tears are
guaranteed to splash over to constantly make room for it J)
Much Love.
