Friday, August 14, 2015

Sandwich, Sammich

Jenny here. 

When you marry someone you take a vow of commitment. Financially. Emotionally. Physically. All will present you with opportunities to feel nuts. And grow. 

But let's face it. The hardest things about marriage can be the nitty gritty, day to day, lifestyle and family differences you face. After all, you're only taking two completely separate people, from two equally weird families, and trying to meld them into a cohesive unit!!  

I make lasagna with fresh parm and mozzarella. Wil grew up using American cheese. I believe the movie 8 mile needs to be alphabetized before "A", he thinks it should go in the "E" section. He likes mayo. I grew up on Miracle Whip. 

And then there are those handy meals between bread. I say they are sandwiches. Which Wil likes to be silly and call them sammiches. 

Tomato, tomatoe. Right?  

Side note:  Speaking of tomatoes, the first time Wil cooked for me, while we were dating, he made spaghetti marinara. With green koolaid. Upon the first bite, he asked how it tasted. I told him it was sweet, different than I was used to...almost like ketchup (I'm a huge ketchup lover, so this was not a deal breaker!). To which he replied, "it is ketchup."  Mouth. Open. I had never had spaghetti noodles covered with ketchup. But in Wil's world view, as I would learn, tomato products exist on a continuum. All interchangeable. 

Yesterday we received the results of Wil's bladder tumor biopsy. We had a great 2 weeks while we waited. Seriously great. I may have lost some sleep the last few days, and we both felt nauseated on our drive to Dallas, but overall we were ok. We made it. 

We were prepared either way. Peppered with joy for the extra chances we've already had and joyful...even though we know more possible cancer is a constant reality. 

This blip gave us more chances to talk about the future. About day to day goals. We organized the pantry and did meal planning as a team effort (Wil is quite the house husband these days!). We saw an animated movie. Hung out. Ate more eggs and toast and had coffee. Lived our life. I'm so proud of the "emotional space" progress we've made for ALL of the realities. 

So many life annoyances just aren't so important anymore when you carry with you the miracle that he's alive. And Wil 2.0 is on fire. He's a new man. 

But even in our OK-ness, we made sure to plan our day strategically yesterday. Lunch with family before the results and a visit to a friend afterwards.  The reality of the realities...I'd be crushed (for a while) if it were bladder cancer. I'm human. 

We may never agree on condiments or ingredients on an actual sandwich/sammich, but this we do agree on:  life is undoubtedly a series of struggles, so plan to cushion the inevitable pains with the goodness you can grasp...and hold on. Take a bite. Chew well before swallowing. Cancer or not, you'll constantly face heartaches, if you are lucky enough to be living. Don't be surprised. Pack a lunch for your hard stuff. 

And so we had lunch with little ones we love. And knew that no matter what the results of the biopsy, we'd be surrounded with support at our friend's house after.  Making the in-between, the whatever-it would-be, merely a middle ingredient to the day, to our life. 


On the way to the appointment yesterday (which Wil drove to in rush hour!) we talked about how this layering of goodness has actually been what saved us all along the way. Gosh...We've had to really look for it sometimes though. Reframe. Travel the darkness. But it always showed up. And kept us held together. For every time we felt "how the eff are we gonna handle this?" we somehow found a way to make it a middle and not an end. Even if that meant scheduling a walk before chemo and an ice cream and TV time after. It wasn't usually big stuff. Just constant. Sometimes you even get an extra surprise when the middle is pleasant. 

And the middle just happened to be sunshine this time around. 

The tumor was benign. 

He'll have a routine urology follow up in a few months. A few more weeks of healing. But he's ok. 

We are less than 2 months from the his stem cell anniversary. We've passed the anniversary he admitted last year. 
Next week would have been year 1 since the first transplant. We are still slowly decreasing his Prograf. Goodness. 

Our life is transforming daily. But isn't yours?  Courage isn't about not being afraid. It's finding the resolve to seek goodness anyway, to sandwich up your heartaches, and deliberately savoring all the collective elements as equal parts of this life's sustenance plan. 

Much love. 

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Awake

Jenny here. 

Yesterday was Wil's bladder surgery to remove the tumor they found during his cysto. We had been prepared that, after the surgery, he may need a catheter at home anywhere between 3 days to 2 weeks, depending on bladder function. I'm happy to report he peed, a big Facebook announcement last night hehehe, during his recovery room stay.  So he was released without one at all!

His pre-surgery EKG was described as "beautiful."  With all the pieces of his body that want to fall apart on us, I've never questioned the strength of his heart. It IS absolutely beautiful. That is true. 

The surgeon told me they removed a lesion a little bigger than a quarter. No others were found. While it doesn't look to have the classic appearance of bladder cancer, it (my words) looks funky. He said it's better it's been taken out, either way. 

The thing about cancer is that often the treatment that saves you, also puts you at higher risk for other cancers down the road. We know this is the reality. We hope for the best. 

Wil is doing well today, post-op, but not loving the restrictions on activity for the next 2 weeks. He had just felt so much more motivated to move in the last few weeks and now needs to rest. Just last week he had googled and researched household management and how often to do certain chores. One night he organized my shoe rack. And took me on a video tour of the walk-in closet while I was at work. Silly guy. He's also doing all the laundry. And dishes. I'm a kept woman. And he feels great helping our life be that much better by his efforts. So, cutting back now, for the time to heal, is bothering him a little. 

Some have mentioned the wait, for what this tumor could be, being hard. Waiting 2 weeks for results doesn't change life much at this point for us. Even the wait yesterday feels so different than it used to feel. I saw other people around me, in all places of their own process. And I thought, "I'm actually ok.  I've got this. We've been through worse." 

As I watched the opaque glass panels shift above me at the hospital while he was in surgery, reflecting surroundings, I felt a lot of peace. Not the absence of worry or fear or sadness, but peace all the same.  That glass reflected momentary images but it's general properties weren't changed by what was moving around it.  I hope to live, at my core self, this way. 

Sidenote:  I broke down and got a Fitbit too. It's been an interesting biofeedback experience. Yesterday, waiting, my pulse was as low as it is in deep sleep. The peace I felt was real. I've got a graph to prove it!

I often describe our life now as cloaked in the shadow of death. I hope you'll understand that this feeling, the knowledge, the reality, the fragility of life for all of us...it's powerful and, get this, positive. We savor more minutes than we used to and laugh more and hold on to goodness. It's not heavy (most days) unless I add more layers on to it myself...it's just one part of this experience that we have with us, daily. 

Last night Wil said he was so happy to be awake.  He was talking about coming out of anesthesia. Surgery or non surgery day, lately I see this sentiment in his eyes all the time. I saw it over and over again when we had nieces, nephew, and my sisters spending time with us this past week. Through neuropathy pain and limited (but improving!) mobility he walked the Perot Museum, played Just Dance for hours with the kids, cooked breakfast for everyone, drove us to the drive-in theater, and had a blast. 

This man. He loves life and the people who let him in...he doesn't let go praying and trying for those that shut him out either. I think this depth can be scary for some people to be around. Fearless love. That's how I would describe that beautiful heart. It's an amazing thing to experience when you are around him these days.  After the family left he said cancer has really opened his eyes to what matters. There's no time to wait on who and what's important either. 






A friend, who I was talking to about this centered living that comes with the death cloak, sent me the evening gatha they do every night at her temple. 

This. I think this is what I'm trying to articulate.  May we all live our days awake too. 

Much love.  

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Let me respectfully remind you

Life and death are of supreme importance 

Time swiftly passes by and opportunity is lost

Each of us should strive to awaken

Awaken

Take heed 

Do not squander your life