“Don’t you dare let our best memories bring you sorrow.”

It’s a line in the song Lost Stars by Maroon 5 (from the movie Begin Again).

Music has such remarkable power to sooth. Ian was listening recently to the Guardians of the Galaxy soundtrack and he said that the songs on the playlist were much better than what’s on the radio, that these “old” songs tell stories. He asked for more and now, as he’s doing his chores, he’ll come over and share an earbud so I can hear the song that’s playing:  Barry White, BTO, Abba, Diana Ross, Jackson 5, Rupert Holmes, Carol Burnett, the Commodores, Julie Andrews, Player, Barbra Streisand, Peter Paul & Mary, and our wedding song, When I’m Sixty-four.

My “just for walking” playlist is essential to my nearly daily walks with our sweet pitbull, Poppy. (They would be daily if she didn’t object strenuously to walks in the rain!) We go all around the nearby neighborhoods and occasionally into Panther Hollow, a lovely wooded trail (though that’s a 5-miler, so we have to save it for the weekends).

After our recent rough day, she and I walked briskly through Squirrel Hill in the early morning light and, as the music played, I cried and cried and cried. It was oddly private, on those very public streets.

We learned yesterday that Ken will be done with those radiation boosts this week. That’s good, as the pain has been difficult. The nurse asked, “scale of 1 to 10” what his pain level was. I said, “11;” Ken said, “9.” We only have two days until his chemo break. In three weeks, all the damaged cells will be replaced and the radiation pain will be mostly gone. Three weeks after that, Ken will have his third PET scan.

So we thought. Unfortunately, though, The Plan has changed again. The doctor said he’s concerned about Ken’s abdominal lymph nodes, above the treatment area. He thinks they are “engaged.” Ken will still be done with radiation this week but his chemo break has been canceled. He’ll be staying on Xeloda until his next oncology appointment, September 1st.

Rough day, today.

Have you ever read a news articles about those teams that start celebrating before the final whistle?  Yep; that would be us.  Ken’s radiation treatment is being extended and the dosage increased. You don’t need me to tell you why.

A friend I haven’t talked to in years texted me unexpectedly recently. “How’s the family?” I honestly don’t know how to answer. Ken says that he doesn’t want to sugarcoat his responses anymore but the truth — the actual, honest-to-God, whole enchilada — is not for the unprepared. This is the stuff of Google searches, the link you can’t unclick.

What more is there to say?

 

 

Ken finally got some good news today at his monthly check-in with the oncologist. Here’s how the appointment generally occurs: the nurse goes over Ken’s vitals, checks his medication list for changes, and asks about symptoms and pain level. Then, we sit side by side in the coldest exam room this side of a freezer (I swear it was like 60 degrees in there) and we await the doctor.

When he arrives, he asks a bunch of questions about Ken’s symptoms and treatment. Then, he has Ken get up on the exam table where he conducts a brief exam (listens to Ken’s lungs and heart) and looks at the visible tumors. Today, we also talked about the radiation symptoms: the skin damage, abdominal pain, shortness of breath, and exhaustion, among others.

After that, each visit, Ken gets dressed and we go over “The Plan.” Right now, The Plan is to finish radiation (and the chemo pill) in the middle of August and then put Ken on Avastin. Today, the oncologist also added a PET scan 6 weeks after the end of radiation (Apparently, having a PET scan immediately after radiation can cause false positive results.) and asked Ken to meet with the surgeon. We haven’t met his new surgeon yet but we learned today that he is ALSO on the tumor board and is very familiar with Ken’s treatment plan.

And he gave us some good news —  Ken can have a two to three week break from chemo after radiation is over!  Unfortunately, the doctor said that we can’t risk a break longer than three weeks. As it is, Ken has two (probably three) new tumors, just since the start of radiation. But a break! Two or three weeks without chemo or radiation! I am anxious and happy for Ken at the same time. He really needs some time away from doctors, hospitals, needles, and toxic medication.

We’ll have our 24th wedding anniversary during his break.  When we heard the diagnosis back on February 2nd, there was no telling where his cancer journey would take us. We didn’t know if we’d even have a 24th wedding anniversary.

So … Ken’s getting a break. Celebrate with us.