" It's official! Chemo is working - Phil was transfused last night with RBC's. He's feeling a bit low but kicking butt and taking names! "
By posting the words "It's Official! Chemo is working", at least 30 people had read words they "liked" and the post earned over 10 comments regarding Phil's continued battle with cancer. Reading the comments showed me that our friends were still engaged in this drama in a big way and I was frankly shocked by the number of responses. I quickly realized they were just happy to be hearing good news.
When I posted, I was merely trying to convey the start of another session of chemotherapy. I wasn't expecting to garner that much attention. After all, my blog hasn't generated many comments lately. Being in the middle of this heroic journey, I am a bit fatigued and numbed to a lot of things. For instance, in posting that chemotherapy was working, I failed to anticipate the response of joy and happiness on your part. I don't experience the highs of joyousness so much because I am usually on guard for the inevitable lows and have grown accustomed to the roller coaster, having seen it up close and personal. You don't live it intensely and intimately day in and day out and so of course are counting on the updates and are checking in for the newest details. I wrongly assume you have grown tired of hearing the repeating details like we have grown tired of living them. Sorry that I forget these things and again, have been too long in keeping you up to date on Phil's progress, good, bad or ugly.
Now, concerning the inevitable... Last night Phil ran a temp of 100.7 which has to be dealt with when you're on chemotherapy. His head hurts, he feels nauseated and his appetite is down. So today brings urine and blood cultures, a chest x-ray and the loud banging in the MRI to check out his sinuses and brain once again. There is no obvious explanation for his fever so they'll look everywhere. His phone rang just awhile ago and it seems even Dr. Mansfield would like to seem him today. So, at 4:00 p.m. we'll wheelchair across to his office so the good doctor can take a look in Phil's sinus. Poor guys going to have a rough one today. He's really feeling up to it at that, don't cha know. Just yesterday he was thinking he might be going home today too. Sorry Charlie, you just bought yourself at least a weekend stay in Club Med. All food and drinks are on-the-house you lucky son-of-a-gun!
While my initial intent was to alert you to Phil beginning chemotherapy again, perhaps this responsiveness to Phil's chemo status will serve a greater purpose. Once again, we each have an invitation, an opportunity. For some it's to join in with us who stand shoulder to shoulder, as we carry the burden and lift up our brother and friend in prayer as he fights one more time with the intruder. For others it's to deepen the commitment of prayer and friendship and connection.
For me it's to remember that I have a life and that I am not alone in it. I have incredible friends even if they feel far away at times, or my life is off the normal tracks and I don't have time or energy to see the ones who are near. Lastly and importantly, it's also to remember that I have a say in what my perspective on my life will be.