As I write this, afternoon sunshine fills ours porch—and it warms my skin, the borrowed blood and platelets in my veins, my bones. The last few days, in fact, have brought an unexpected amount of sunshine and good news:
- My last IT chemotherapy infusion through my Ommaya Reservoir (unicorn horn) came back cancer-free—meaning I now only have to have one IT infusion per week for the remainder of Course II. We are now one step closer to Boston and one step closer to bone marrow transplant!
- I had my first ice cream of the summer and it was delicious.
- They weren’t impressed by us, but we were able to visit with Wallace the Wonderful and Alderaan this weekend.
- Seth and I are now engaged!!!!!!! For a variety of reasons, I was having a rough afternoon emotionally this past Friday. Sometimes the ugliness of this situation sneaks up on you, but it’s those moments—when things seem at their toughest—that the really good things happen. My (now) fiancé got down on one knee and proposed to me (with a ring that has apparently been hidden somewhere in this apartment for a while. Considering that I fold and put away the laundry, I know the ring wasn’t in his sock drawer).
All of these good things—combined with the warm sunshine—they are utterly overwhelming and wonderful. In many ways, I feel as though I have grown accustomed to hardships, to disappointment, and yet, in the course of a few days, my heart has swollen up with happiness again. April’s showers might just bring May flowers after all.
Seth and I ask, though, that you continue to keep us in your thoughts. While any step closer to Boston is a positive step, it is also tremendously terrifying. I discovered late this past week that upon my arrival in Boston, I will have to have a Hickman Catheter placed on the other side of my chest. It’s my understanding that the Hickman Catheter looks like a super-sized IV. It will have three nozzles hanging off of it; two of these nozzles will be in constant use (chemotherapy, the actual transplant, while the third will be used only if I have difficulty with nutritional in-take). My power port will also be accessed at all times. I hate the idea of having yet another device—especially an external one—but in this instance, I have no choice.
(I will have to, at some point, write about the hit your self-esteem takes during cancer treatment—just not today.)
We also ask that you send good vibes that a donor is found. Unfortunately, my brother was not a match for me, but we have been informed that there are multiple potential matches in the National Bone Marrow Registry. The search is on!
Please continue sending light and love. It is so, so appreciated.
With Love, Laura