it seems like ages since I've posted on here, though I think it's been less than a week. The first two weeks of this experience were inexplicable, though I've done my best to dictate the events to all of you. What came next was unexpected.
From the time we first learned of Sarah's condition, to the day her treatment started, we were living in a bubble. On the inside, time became irrelevant as we rushed from point to point, finding milestones left and right. I last wrote to you from the chemotherapy center, while Sarah was receiving her first of 12 treatments. Four hours later we were on our way home, accompanied by a strange uncertainty.
What's next?
The nurse had forewarned us that Thursday and Friday would most likely be the days when the treatment would catch up with Sarah. Chemo affects everyone differently, so for the first time in what seems like a lifetime, we were left to wait and see. The inertia that had been propelling us forward was now gone. We were no longer preparing, but instead we were there, right in the middle of the storm.
Calm crept upon us, and slowly but surely we gave in to it. The noise filtered out and everything around us slowed. It was almost like slipping under water. Time had stopped, and then Sarah fell asleep.
In the near decade I have been with Sarah, I have never seen her like this, but I suppose this is something we will all find ourselves saying. She could not keep her eyes open. Days past, and she slept. We took this as a sign that the treatment was working, but it was also the first real visible sign of what lay ahead for her, and for all of us.
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday; all passed us by. Three long days suspended under water. She would snap out of it for bits and pieces, but never all the way. On the fourth day her eyes opened, and the fog lifted. As a family, we collectively broke the surface of the water and took a deep, and thankful breath.
This was the first of 12 treatments, and for a first experience it was pretty gentle. We are now on the path, and Sarah is on her way to recovery. I think that many of us face our worst fears in the calm and quiet moments of our lives. What Sarah taught me this week is that I, my family, and all of us need to remember to take that deep breath and be thankful that we're moving forward.
that's all for now, but I'll be back soon.
Thank you for all of the love support,
Dan
6 comments:
Reading this gives me a good idea of what it must be like to have a wife fighting cancer. Seriously.
Here's hopin' we all get to hang together soon...
-Howie
You guys inspire me to be more positive. Thank you for that! Check this out...my word verification is chemo!?! WTF?!?
One day at at time..one moment at a time...one step at a time..one breath at a time.
Dan, you and I don't know eachother but I am an online acquaintance of Sarah's (through Erin and other baby related websites).
My Mother battled and survived (10+ years now!) Hodgkin's Lymphoma. She and I have had a lot of conversations recently about it all- lots of emotions brought back! I'm so glad Sarah's first chemo treatment was restful- I can only hope that it continues to be that way for her.
I think of you guys often and will continue to send good healing positive vibes your way!
Sending love from the sisterhood to Sarah and family.
Dan and Sarah, Dan you are a gifted writer with the ability to take us all with you as you all kept vigil for Sarah as she slept and healed. I'm hoping now that the fog has lifted from this session for Sarah that small moments of life with Marek and each other will creep back in. Take care all of you.
Sue
Post a Comment