Buzzed is Beautiful

This one comes to you a little late, and for that I apologize. While our family calendar has calmed down significantly since the insanity of a couple weeks ago, my calendar and condition has not. Work is pretty busy and we're still trying to figure out how to fit in a home remodel into all this. Both of our energy levels have been pretty low over the past two weeks. Tamara probably lays claim to a better excuse than I do, but I don't think the man cold that has waged war on my sinuses over the past two weeks is too far behind. 

But seriously, its been a rough week and a half for a few reasons. Knowing that the chemo is expected to weaken her immune system makes any close contact with me a risk. So, I've had to keep my distance, and wasn't able to be with her during her latest chemo treatment ... again. She went alone and I joined the oncologist appointment via video call (I wasn't about to parade into a building full of immunocompromised people, sniffling and trumpeting my obnoxious dad sneezes). 

The good news is that Tamara's labs were "beautiful," as the PA described them. Her white blood cell counts had only decreased 0.1 since the week prior - a relief to both of us. We were both pretty encouraged to hear some good news.

Chemo was still annoying - mostly because of the Benadryl. But - more good news - I believe Tamara will be able to switch to a version of Taxol that doesn't require Benadryl. "You may be asking, 'Why didn't we start with that?'" the PA accurately observed. Apparently, they save this less allergenic version for those who have severe reactions ... ya know like near-asphyxiation  and muscle spasms. Here's hoping that the next round will be Benadryl-free.

We've come to find that, as we were warned, Thursday and Friday have been the "bad days" while Tuesday, and Sunday have been the "good days". Last week, Tamara's scalp pain was one of the main complaints during the "bad days", so we got a scalp-specific SuzziPad for her to wear during Monday's Taxol infusion. She said that she was glad to have it because when she would take it off to readjust, she was more aware of the intense heat radiating on her scalp.

Speaking of her scalp, Monday was also the day that she really started to notice her hair falling out. This has been a real source of dread since the beginning. Tamara's hair means a lot to her, maybe even more-so than most women. And that has been the other thing that made this week rough. After a very frustrating shower in which she felt like she couldn't wash her own loose hair off fast enough, she suggested to me that we should just buzz it all of.

Knowing what that meant, I tried to offer some alternatives to going all-in with the buzz. But after trying my suggestion on Tuesday, she decided on Wednesday to just get it over with. There was a lot of crying that day. We have the sweetest kids who are very sensitive to their mother's mood. When she cries, they cry.

Tamara sat down on a chair and we took a "before" photo. Then, each of the kids snipped off a lock of their mom's hair as a keepsake. We told them that when they're all old people, and Mom and Dad are long gone, they might like having a little keepsake. I have it on good authority that it can provide comfort in moments of lonely home-sickness (... mom-sickness?).

Once that was done, I hesitantly started cutting off large locks of her hair. We knew the end result would be a buzz, but for some reason I had a hard time jumping right in the deep end. So, I kind of just cut it short-ish to start. Tamara has always been convinced that she wouldn't be able to pull off short hair. And man what a victory it was for both of us when she looked in the mirror and said "It's not as bad as I thought it would be." Sounds like a backhanded self-compliment, but I promise it was a win. And I felt like her spirit lifted a little bit after that.

We did eventually get to the electric clippers, and that wasn't so bad either. It was done. She'd talked about being brave and doing something crazy with her hair for years, but never was able to muster the gumption to do it. It's not really fair that cancer took the initiative from her. On the bright side, though, she did say that it was a huge relief. The chemo has made her scalp really sensitive, so the sheer weight of her hair tugging on that sensitive scalp was painful. She's not dealing with that anymore, at least.

Yesterday though, we were kind of back to her not feeling like herself. She seems to be searching for ways to regain her sense of self and has even suggested starting a weight-lifting regimen at the gym. We have slightly differing views on the practicality of such a course of action. But I'm trying to stay open minded. On her good days, maybe it would be good to work up a sweat and get some extra oxygen flowing through her system. Who knows?

One of the phrases that has most-often flashed across my consciousness in the past few weeks is "No one ever tells you ..." We weren't prepared for any of this, and I don't expect to be handed a manual on how to navigate your wife's cancer diagnosis. But I'm a verbal processor. I learn things as I type and/or say them.

No one ever tells you how much time you'll spend discussing, second guessing, over-thinking, and wondering about every facet of cancer. I think I can speak for her when I say that we're both finding that focused attention is hard to offer to anyone or anything. We got out of the house for a bit yesterday evening and talked for a while about how each of us is doing.

As for me, after a few minutes of verbal diarrhea, I landed on a comparison that describes my state of being pretty well. I feel like a pregnant woman going through the nesting phase. Weird, right? But it's perfect. I'm completely exhausted, but I also have this drive to do more. I spend more time than you might guess planning my next steps in the remodel so that Tamara has a master bedroom oasis to relax in, and the baby has a non-construction zone to explore. I live in perpetual anxiety that Tamara is doing stuff ... any stuff. I want to get all the stuff done first so that there isn't any more stuff for her to do. (I didn't do a very good job of that this week, but I blame all the antihistamines.) I want all of her surplus energy going towards fighting off the effects the chemo and killing the cancer. It almost feels manic and I can't help but wonder how long it will last before I end up in the fetal position on the floor somewhere.

For her part, she's going through somewhat of an identity crisis. Cancer keeps taking things away from her - things that feed her sense of self-worth - things that ground her and refresh her spirit. So, she's a little lost about how to keep all of that going. Life has a way of challenging all of our assumptions about ourselves. It's a painful process, but there is a part of me that can't wait to see the result of this particular refiner's fire. I told her in our conversation yesterday that, once I really started to get to know her when we were dating, I saw a fettered deity inside of her. (To illustrate what I meant, I showed her the scene from Disney's Hercules when Hades takes over Olympus and Zeus gets buried in hardened lava.) Slowly, over the past 15 years, I've been privileged enough to watch as she's started to catch glimpses of that deity and loosen her restraints. Through some personal, spiritual experiences (usually involving music) The Father has helped her see what a prized daughter she is. Yes, we're all equally prized children of Deity and we all have a similarly impressive potential, but it has been the joy of my married life to watch Tamara shed her shackles.

And I guess that's what hope looks like. None of this is fine. But I hope we're okay in the end, and maybe we'll be just a little bit better for it, too.

Thanks again, to you all. Your generosity and kindness have astounded us regularly. We're blessed to know you.

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