Dear Mom
I am grateful for you because you take care of me
thank you for being so kind
Thank you for helping me mom
I really appritiate it because I love you
Tamara's treatment was on Tuesday this week and we've both decided that we like Mondays better. Our sample size of Mondays isn't enormous, but she never had to sit in the infusion center waiting room for two hours on a Monday. And I think Monday has spoiled us with seats near a window, allowing us to gaze at the Superstition Mountains for a few hours. Champagne problems, I know. We've truly been treated better than we could have expected through the first quarter of this treatment plan. I'm very grateful that seat placement and long wait times are the inconveniences we're noticing, because they're the things you notice when you're being spoiled.
The kind sister in our church congregation who volunteered to watch Evelyn for the morning was so accommodating as we were delayed longer than expected. And the feast that we were served that evening was exactly what we needed. You may remember from last week that Tamara's sense of taste is on the fritz and her bloodwork has been showing signs of anemia. She has tried to increase her consumption of greens and red meats for iron, and has been gravitating to mashed potatoes for nutritional enjoyment. Well, wouldn't you know it, the meal that was brought to us included roast beef and mashed potatoes. More gratitude.
The low hemoglobin count persists despite our efforts to boost it. But anemia is something that Tamara is familiar with. It's the cause of the ice-cold fingers and toes that I referenced in a previous update. Maybe we're just too familiar with it, but I'm not super concerned about the anemia. Also, that was really the only part of her blood work that was concerning. Crucially, the white blood cell counts actually increased a bit this week compared to last.
Tamara is trying to stay active and stick as close to her pre-cancer routine as possible. That includes morning walks when she's up for it - sunshine and exercise are good for all the measurables and great for all the intangibles. We feel incredibly blessed that we're 5 treatments in, and now that we're starting to get used to the hair loss, the biggest chemo side effect we've noticed is low-energy. But not to worry, Tamara is an expert napper, so she's well-equipped to address that particular side effect. I think part of the anxiety that comes with chemo is knowing that it can and probably will get worse. We're grateful to have been mostly spared thus far.
I'm of the opinion that Tamara's relative strength is showing in how her body is able to bounce back every week. To what does Tamara owe this strength? Well, I think she's got a little bit of hobbit in her. ...
...
Let me explain. The uninitiated can't help but be ignorant of the fact that hobbits are more resilient to evil than the other races of Middle Earth. For example, the main character of the Lord of the Rings is a hobbit named Frodo, who was stabbed by a blade infused with raw evil. Yet, not only was he able to resist turning into a devilish wraith as a result of that injury, but he was able to be mostly healed. Even more impressive, after carrying a ring radiating the will and malice of the devil himself, Frodo was (again) remarkably unaffected. In the movie, Elrond (a wise elf character) has a conversation with Gandalf (a wizard) on the subject of Frodo's surprising recovery.
Elrond: "His strength returns."
Gandalf: "That wound will never fully heal. He will carry it the rest of his life."
Elrond: "And yet, to have come so far still bearing the ring, the hobbit has shown an extraordinary resilience to its evil."
Make sense, now? No? Okay, so you can be forgiven for not subscribing to that particular theory. It is, after all, based in fantasy. It's almost December, so Lord of the Rings is on my mind. But, let me try another approach.
A couple weeks ago, while Tamara and I were still grappling with the prospect of a long chemo journey, we had a conversation. Despite several conversations with the oncologist, and several journeys down the rabbit hole of internet-based self-diagnosis (which actually supported the oncologist's recommended treatment plan), Tamara was not convinced that chemo was needed.
As I talked with her, it became clear to me that she didn't truly feel the weight of her prognosis. To paraphrase what she has told me a couple times, "When I feel normal and somebody tells me that I have a horrible illness, I just want to tell them to leave me alone." She couldn't reconcile the idea of poisoning herself to heal herself ... when she didn't feel sick in the first place.
I was at a loss ... kinda. If you know me well, you have probably experienced what happens when I'm "at a loss." When I don't know what to say, I say more. It's not always a useful instinct. So anyway, I launched into a diatribe about the many people we've lost to this infernal disease. This thing isn't here to have a conversation and depart in peace. It's Johnny Ringo, Heath Ledger's Joker, and Jekyll's Hyde all in one. It wants your blood and your soul. It's an agent of chaos. It's the evil that lives inside you. Eventually, I was able to approach a salient point - that when cancer actually makes you feel sick, it's too late to fight it.
That's when we got to the heart of it. She kind of broke down and expressed that she didn't know if she was strong enough to do this. I did what I could to tell her of the strength that I've seen in her. Alas, I haven't quite mastered inception yet, so my reassurances weren't as convincing as they needed to be. For the time being, she would remain in a state of faltering self-confidence. Keep this in mind as you read on.
Tamara has been on a journey of self-discovery for some time now. She's been through a lot, and is learning to see herself as God sees her. We all have work to do in this regard, but her journey has been uniquely inspiring to observe. I referenced this in a previous update, which I guess I should just quote.
From the "Buzzed is Beautiful" update:
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.
Much of her personal revelation has been centered on her Grandma Packard, who passed away right before Tamara and I were married. She has felt support, guidance, acceptance, validation and pure love from the other side. These edifying messages have been conveyed through several uplifting songs, served to her Pandora playlist as she has been out running.
After the conversation described above, the one where she said she didn't feel strong enough, we went to sleep. She got up the next morning to go on a run and Pandora just happened to play a particularly-helpful song for her.
She'd say "You are so much stronger than you even think you areThose are a few of the lyrics to "She'd Say," an Andy Grammer song that has carried the love and support of Grandma Packard to Tamara's heart on a few prior occasions. Each has been just as timely as this one, but this one was unique. For one, Tamara isn't just battling to find herself anymore. She's battling a life-threatening disease. For another, the image that the lyrics caused to flash in her mind was different this time. Instead of just seeing her Grandma Packard's loving face, she saw an additional loving face - my mom's face.
Let your heart, let your heart lead the way"
That's what she'd say...
We received confirmation of Tamara's cancer diagnosis while we were planning my mom's funeral. My mom passed away in September after a year-long fight with kidney cancer. And on that November morning, after expressing self-doubt to her husband, Tamara was sent a message. When she heard the lyrics above, it was as if her grandma was speaking to her. Then in a different part of the song, she felt my mom speaking to her.
I'll be with you every step of the way... Remember God is like the sun, he always comes out just when you think the dark's here to stay.With those two lines, Tamara felt both Martha Packard and Shelley Ray as if they were standing behind her with their hands on her shoulders. Some day, I'm going to commission a painting of that vision. I never want to forget it.
So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, thank you. Thank you for your prayers. You have all called down miracles, and angels have ministered to us on your behalf. We're under no illusion that we'll be spared from all of the gritty hardship headed our way, but we're grateful for the grace we've been afforded so far. There is power in heaven and we thank you for calling it down.
If you thought the thanks were done, you'd be wrong. Not only have you all moved heaven for us, but you've moved some decidedly terrestrial forces as well. I've struggled with the best way to express my gratitude for all the financial support we've received, and with Thanksgiving drawing so close, I've decided to just start typing and see what happens.
Let me start by sharing some breaking news: cancer treatment is, like, super expensive, you guys. We've been told by several healthcare providers, in no uncertain terms and without hesitation, that we'll be paying our annual maximums in 2024 and 2025. Probably 2026 as well. And if it were just that, it would be a millstone around our necks for years, if not decades to come. But unfortunately, a life-altering disturbance like this comes with some aftershocks that, in some ways, cost more than what we'll pay to the doctors and hospitals.
With these financial realities in mind, and after reading the first of these blog updates, one of my golden-hearted uncles reached out to me. He asked me if I'd let him set up a fundraiser for our family. The diagnosis was still new, and we hadn't really seen any big bills yet. And ignorant of some of the aforementioned aftershocks, I politely declined - asserting that because we have pretty good insurance, I thought we'd be okay.
Where I was ignorant, my uncle was informed. Very informed. And very prepared for my pushback. He'd read all of GoFundMe's terms and conditions. He'd written an essay describing our situation. And he had some really solid arguments that left me with no rhetorical room to wiggle my way out of saying anything but, "Well, Chuck ... you're making a lot of sense." I told him I'd talk with Tamara about it and get back to him as soon as we could.
Skipping to the end, the fundraiser was created and is still going. And this is where my words are going to start to fall short. I've been typing. Words have been typed. Do any of these words approach worthiness of the generosity you've all demonstrated? No. Resoundingly, no.
Many of you didn't even need to be prompted with a GoFundMe campaign. You just hopped on Venmo and started sending numbers our way before we'd even thought about a fundraiser. And ... just ... wow.
I want you to understand what that has meant to me and my family. I have developed a big fear in adulthood that has been reinforced in big and small ways over my years of fatherhood. It's a fear of failing to provide for my family. Thanks to you all I have not had to confront that fear. Our family budget over the past month could have, and probably would have, served as a great Halloween decoration without you all. Instead, we're making it.
A very Happy Thanksgiving to you all. You've done more than you know, and we're more grateful than we can say. Our quiet prayer is that God will bless you for your generosity. I hope that my gratitude is amplified by His reward. I promise to pay it forward when we're able.
