Here We Go Again

Our first & only real vacation together as a family! 

When chemotherapy came to an end in late winter of 2010, we felt that we could breathe again. Winter was rough, as I’d said in my last post. We took each chemo cycle one at a time, bit by bit and just as we got it figured out, just as Jason understood how to manage those symptoms – we were just about finished. That was fine with us, we couldn't wait to have the whole experience behind us, and move on with our lives. Little did we know, it wasn't done with us – as much as we wanted to move on, we had more work to do.

Chemo ended close to Jason’s birthday that year, so for me it meant a lot that we had him done with chemo and that well, we had him. Even when Jason said to me, “I’m not going to die from cancer,” worry tore through me each time I saw him in those chemo chairs tied up to those machines, or even in the happy times, playing with Maddy – wondering every time just how many of those times we had left. My mind did go there from time to time and it killed me to think about what would happen to Maddy, to us, to me - without him. My heart still breaks when I think about it. And I’ll be honest - it still goes there from time to time. Unfortunately.

En route to Disney - we took the long way!

As people do when they “hit it big,” we wanted to do something big. People asked us, “Now that you've had cancer, what are you going to do?” How else can you answer that - “We’re going to Disney World!” And so we booked a trip, then scrimped, and saved and planned to take Maddy for her 5^th birthday, as a big surprise to her and all in celebration for “getting over” the worst year of our lives. Something we all deserved. We felt like we’d won the lotto and we had so much ahead of us, much to rejoice!

It was a wonderful spring. We spent time with family and friends and Jason let his hair grow back. We involved ourselves in church, in the community, and in having fun… and we planned for that Disney trip. Jason was able to go to work symptom free for a while, and I was able to end the school year without the stress of making sub plans every other week in preparation for his treatments or without worry or the pressure of having a sick husband at home to take care, or so I thought.

So glad we had these memories. 

Fast forward to the very last day of my school year, 2010. Jason called with results from the most recent PET scan that had been ordered from Dr. Rapson. The PET scan covered his whole body from neck down - a small bit of activity had been found in his left lower lobe of his lung. And to think I thought we were all done with this cancer thing.  I literally quit talking for a moment.  What could I say? Even as I type this it takes me back to that moment in time. I can see exactly where I am, exactly what was happening as if I am outside of my body. My friend Tanya and I share a wall between our classrooms that collapses. That day it was separated. I remember getting off the phone and avoiding her because I simply didn't know what to say, didn't know how to say anything just yet. Tanya and I rarely quit talking.

Eventually I had to speak and tell. Telling made it real. Real made it awful.

The next few weeks Jason may as well have been abducted by aliens, he was poked and prodded so many times. His next step was a biopsy of the lung and then a number of other scans and tests. It was necessary to determine where that little spot came from – was it metastasized from the colon cancer or was it newly developed lung cancer?  Dr. Rapson wanted an MRI of his brain to check for possible tumors there – a scary thought to be sure, and a few other tests to be certain he was clean, that there were no other tumors anywhere else in his body.

I've said it before and I’ll say it again – the wait that comes with cancer is dreadful! At this time we were waiting for so much at one time. We hoped that the cancer wasn't a new one, for if it was it seemed anything was possible. We prayed that there was nothing growing in his brain (I tried to tell them the answer to that one!) and we had faith that nothing new was in his colon or surrounding organs. But still, the wait was insane!

Involving ourselves in everything!

In my life, only a few times have I melted to the floor in sobbing tears. Because of Jason’s illness and this life we've been living, I've shed many tears – plenty of times I have just cried and cried. I've cried silently, I've blubbered tears of stress, I have wept with Maddy, with Jason, with family and friends, and plenty of times I've suddenly burst into tears - letdown from it all, I suppose. I have held many back as I have cared for him and cared for Maddy. It is amazing how a person is able to wipe tears away when a job needs to get done, saving them for later. But when Jason called me to tell me that his brain was clear, there were no tumors, I got off the phone with him and sobbed. There was a weight on my shoulders that when I sat down and let it out – it all came out, in great, big sobbing waves of tears. It was such a relief!

Within days we found out that Jason’s tumor was quite small, barely able to even have biopsied. Nevertheless, it was and it was cancer. The results were in his favor as far as cancer goes, I suppose. As it turns out the colon cancer had metastasized and made its way up to his lung. Darn cancer. The other good news was there were no other tumors to be found. And something had to be done and the quicker the better. 

Once again our life would be turned upside down all thanks to cancer.

Major surgery number 2… here we go again.