Chapter 2: And So It Begins

Well, here we are again, at Alvarado Hospital on 3 South, such familiar surroundings.  With the non-descript wallpaper, the tile floors, the blue bedspread, the smell of hand sanitizer, the pump humming along in the background as it delivers the meds, and the same lame-o food.  Thankfully, we also have the same friendly and welcoming nurses and staff.  Abby our nurse for today was also our nurse the first day Phil started chemo way back in August, so it is with a bit of deja vu that we begin Chapter Two. 


It's been three months since I was last here; me and many more of us, holding vigil and praying that Phil would survive the surgeries and complications that attended his first full round of chemotherapy.  What a difference time makes and what a testament to the power of prayer he is just walking in here again.  Although Phil says he never felt like he was going to die, there was ample testimony given us by his doctors regarding that very possibility that it is nothing short of a miracle that he is with us and has returned to his current state of fitness.


There are things that feel very familiar to me about this first day of chemo ~ the getting up early to be admitted, the whole intake process and paperwork, the changing of Phil's port access lines and the starting of fluids before the big guns of chemo start.  The many heads popping in the door to check in on things.  The fashionable attire.  And, just like last time, the "canoodling" in his oh-so-comfy hospital bed, napping off and on while everything was mixed up and made ready down in the pharmacy. 


What is different this time is my perspective.  The first time around I was shell shocked and reeling from the pace and seriousness our lives had suddenly taken on.  We had just left our lives behind in Washington and though my family was here, there was barely a foundation under our feet to stand on yet.  We thought we knew what to expect from chemotherapy so we hoped for the best.  We were very well informed and educated and we were prayerful.  But as you know, things went awry and the complications began and continued to pile up.  The reeling continued and didn't abate for me for about 5 months, until right around Christmas.  


And now here I am again.  It is difficult to fully put into words what I feel today because I am still coming to understand what I have been through these last months.  Suffice it to say I feel a mild sense of apprehension mixed with relief that we are moving forward again in treating the lymphoma.  This time I know exactly what to expect from chemotherapy ~ just about anything.  I feel thankfulness about Phil's recovery thus far, joyous that he has come back so strong ~ stronger in fact than when he first had chemo.   But mostly, I feel at peace.  At peace because I know that all of this is out of my control.  It is so far beyond my reach that all I can do is respond to it as it happens and not let myself get caught up in building scenarios that haven't happened yet or may never happen.  I'm taking life One Day At A Time ~ an adage from AA that holds truth for anyone in crisis certainly, but has wisdom for all of us.  


At bedtime the other night Bennett was asking me what would happen if Daddy died.  I told him we'd be OK.  I told him he'd be OK.  Then I paraphrased the bible and told him "Don't worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will take care of itself.  Today has enough trouble of it's own."  He smiled at me and said, "That's pretty good Mom, can I use that?"  I told him of course he could and that it was God, not me who was the genius behind it.  God's been the genius behind all of this whether we understand what He's up to or not.  He's brought Phil out of the valley of the shadow of death once so my money's on Him. Whatever His plan, we'll be OK.