This family is amazing. This family is strong. This family is struggling. This family will persevere.
I arrived Thursday on a non-chemo week. I walked off the plane and was greeted by my best friend, bald and smiling. I knew she would be bald but seeing it in person still took me aback. Albeit some of the light in her eyes had dimmed, staring back at me was my friend of almost 12 years. Her smile and hug were the same but her energy was different, not bad, just different. During the duration of my stay I learned how living with cancer has altered my friend.
On Friday we went to Stanford for Sarah to have her PET scan. While Sarah went radioactive, Dan and I had the chance to walk around Palo Alto and chat. Dan Fulop is the most wonderful, loving and courageous husband I have ever met. He has endured this journey with grace and patience. He is a wonderful provider and caregiver. As a father he is patient, loving and Marek’s hero. But his world is dictated by cancer, and it is exhausting.
The results of the PET scan came back clear, the cancer is loosing! However there is potentially a teratoma tumor by Sarah’s ovary. Having the tumor would mean that Sarah would need yet another surgery after the chemo and radiation. SERIOUSLY how much more can my friend be asked to endure at the moment?
On Saturday we spent the day enjoying California and each other. Sunday Sarah and I spent the day at the Spa (thank you Dan for the mother’s day gift). I could not have asked for a more precious day. We relaxed and enjoyed the wonderful sunshine. We talked about all that is going on and I was able to hear in person just how very hard this experience has been on the whole family.
Monday we attended Marek’s preschool graduation. As wonderful as the day was, the knowledge that chemo was less that 24 hours away was palpable. Dan and Sarah filled me in on what to expect both at chemo and the days to follow.
Tuesday - chemo day. I sat with Sarah as the chemo entered the port in her chest and I saw first hand why the light in her eyes had dimmed. For three hours every two weeks poison is pumped into her veins. This day was her 9th time enduring the steroids that make her want to jump out of her skin, but are necessary to help stave off the nausea. This was the 9th time she had to have three different drugs designed to kill everything in her body forced in through a catheter in her chest. This was the 9th time she had to sit still knowing the pain and exhaustion that would follow for the next couple days.
She still has 3 more to go.
We left chemo and headed home. Sarah was beyond exhausted. We had some lunch and she fell asleep in the couch. She spent the remainder of the day in and out of consciousness. Marek and I walked to the market and down to the beach.
As we walked he quietly contemplated what was going on. Every once in a while he would state “mommy doesn’t feel good” and each time my response would be the same, “no honey she doesn’t”. As a two year Marek is very smart. He is a problem solver, a linear thinker. He loves puzzles and can put together a 24 piece puzzle by himself. He likes to line up his toys in a straight line. He tries very hard to understand what is going on with is mom.
But he is still a two year old and when he is tired all he desires is “a baba, a boobie, a blanket and a rock-a-bye, all those stuff”. On chemo days Sarah cannot give him a rock-a-bye because she cannot sit up. As Marek began to melt down and beg for "all those stuff" I had to sit back helpless and watch this poor little boy sob as he grappled with wanting the rock-a-bye and not be able to have it. I had to watch his mother agonize over not being able to give him what he needs.
Wednesday morning I woke up and went upstairs to find Sarah and Dan getting ready to go into the clinic to get the dreaded shot. The shot that makes every joint in her body hurt as her bone marrow is forced into producing new blood cells. Upon their return Sarah sat on the couch and tears came to her eyes. I sat next to her, held her and cried along with her. Our friendship has always been one where if one of us is crying the other cannot help but cry along. For the past few months Sarah and I have cried on the phone more times that I can remember. It has been torture to be so far away from each other during this process. It felt beyond amazing to be able to sit and hold her as we cried.
Dan stayed home from work to care for Sarah and I took Marek to the Aquarium, or as he says “the baquarium”.
This day trip was wonderful for all of us. Sarah and Dan had the time to just be together and Marek and I had the chance to have some time alone. Sarah and I decided when she was pregnant that Marek would call me “ciotka Molly” (pronounced chuch-cha) which is polish for aunt Molly. There is nothing sweeter in this world than to have a two-year-old holding your hand and look up at you to say “we having Marek and ciotka Molly time”.
Thursday came and Sarah began to return to her self. Still groggy, but able to keep her eyes open for longer periods of time. Mostly we spent time in the same room as each other enjoying the close proximity. Friday we were able to go the resort for lunch, enjoy the weather and have dinner with a friend.
On Saturday morning before I left we walked the beach and talked about the future. Once this chapter is over, Sarah will continue to have scans every 3 months and then every six months for the next two years. Once two years has passed she will have scans once a year.
The chemo itself makes her more susceptible to leukemia and other types of cancers. As we talk about the future we acknowledge that Sarah will always be living with cancer. This fact is what has truly changed my friend, but in my opinion it has only made her stronger, more grounded and if possible, more loving.
Sarah, Dan and Marek, I love you more than words can express. I am honored to have spent this time with you.
Love
Molly
