Moving in & Moving on
Did you ever get a vibe from my writing that I thought for sure that I was a goner when I relapsed? I mean, power of positive thinking, thoughts ‘n’ prayers, and all that but everyone I’ve known or heard of where cancer went to the bones has beamed up. Back in February, when I heard 90% of my bone marrow had Lymphoma, I thought fuuuuuuuckk. I called work and told them I was selling my part of the business. I started a funeral playlist. I got a library card for God’s sake. Nope - no more buying books that would sit sadly unread on the shelves reminding my loved ones of all my unfinished business, and how much life I had left to live. In the quiet moments between pain, appointments, and various medical disruptions I’d simply stare quietly at the trees and replay what I've loved and love.
The moments before we heard the life-changing news.
So after two days of waiting for test results after a gauntlet of a day filled with scans and another horrific biopsy, I wasn’t expecting my mild-mannered transplant doctor to tell me in too many complicated words that I was normal. Bone marrow: normal. PET scan: normal. No signs of Lymphoma. “Does this mean remission?” I asked. “Yes, we can call this complete remission. Most people who don’t have a relapse in the first year have an 80% chance of durable remission [cure],” he softly but enthusiastically explained. Spinning the monitor around he showed me my insides from four months ago side-by-side with a picture from today. Lightness where there was once dark. For the second time in a year, I heard that I dodged death.
Evan and I touched each other but there was no real talking. We held hands on the walk to the car, something we rarely do and our sign of tender, unspoken Knowing. In the parking lot, I called both our moms who wept in their ways and said words I cannot remember now. They both asked how I was feeling and the best I had to give them was “relief”. Today, five days since the news, that is still the best word I have. Relief and awe. How did I survive this? Why did I? Why me and not so many others? Thank you, scientists. Thank you clinical trial patients who tested the therapies that saved me. My fingers got to work messaging everyone I could think of to thank as we drove out of the parking garage. Out on the highway we’ve taken hundreds of times for hundreds of appointments or emergencies where we’ve had hundreds of conversations about how I’m feeling or what will our life look like. Now it was quiet in the car. What questions do we ask each other now?
Dope photo. Really take it all in. The pee bags really pull this look together, don’t ya think?
You see, we’ve had our heads down for so long just doing the work. Hearing it may be done is disorienting. Our cancer life, as often agonizing and consuming and unpredictable as it has been, it’s also been our full-time job. Our social life. Our predictable topic of conversation. Our singular priority and focus. Now the job is complete and we find ourselves in a new state, in a new mid-century fixer house that we bought in the midst of this mess (more on that later), in limbo with when/how/if to go back to my day job while still problem solving the symptoms of the transplant, and a year of chemo and various other treatments. Now there are to-do lists, windows to wash, and groceries to grab. Oh, and lest we forget the processing of the mind and body of what we just went through. Shoot, I’m still detoxing off morphine which I’ve been on for four straight months. At least for us, we’re not ready to go out and throw a party for miraculously surviving - organizing it sounds exhausting. (Drive through ice cream on the other hand? On the daily.)
Happy to be alive…and about to get either a matcha or ice cream. Celebration!
Evan and I did end up talking on that familiar highway home after we got the news. It took ten miles of staring out the window until I held his hand and asked, “what now?” “I don’t know,” he said, “we will figure it out.” I pulled out my phone to the note titled Living Again and started reading.
Set up the new house and greet our neighbors
Chicago Cubs game
New Orleans bikes and food
Hawaii family vacation
Visit all the members of the distance healing group
Evan chimed in “I have a few races I’d like to do this summer. Nothing fancy, just small local-ish bike races. Maybe get a new grill and lawn mower.”
And so it begins.
One of the two moms in full window cleaning mode.
Begins with hiring cleaners.
It was beginning to feel like we’d never be able to find a house at all. We had added escalation clauses to the first two houses we put offers on for up to $30k over asking and still didn’t get them. Meanwhile, we’re living in suitcases since January between our folks’ house and a tiny studio apartment we rented across the street from the hospital. We decided to go off-grid with the real estate “off-griders” over to the For Sale By Owners houses which is where we first came across what is now our cute mid-century modern house on Shasta Court in Cedar Rapids. There is no other home like it. A quirky wrap-around porch that extends back to a 4-seasons porch yet doesn’t connect with another porch just a few feet away. No overhead lights, instead a KYLE lighting system where half the outlets go to other rooms or outlets, some of which we have yet to find. Vaulted ceilings with beams in each room, LOTS of saloon-style doors (which were immediately removed) including one in the bathroom. A 100-square-foot coat closet that is a must-see, and a cement bird feeder on a cement platform smack in the middle of the backyard. We fell in love. We made an offer on Easter evening before family dinner and by dessert, we were homeowners. I completed all the financing paperwork while in the hospital for the transplant, which really deserves some kind of trophy. Tracking down my 2019 business K-1 tax return while chemo-blind? Will anything ever feel hard again?
A mightly fine selection of old man chairs for the old man.
We’ve affectionately dubbed her The Treehouse as the whole back of the house is elevated and pushed towards a tree-filled ravine filled with birds, bunnies, deer, turkeys, and other wildlife. We expected the quirk. We expected work and were ready to pour our love into the house. What we did not expect was how little love it had received. Two weeks in, even after professional cleaners, we’re still scrubbing ketchup off the ceiling and grease off windows. Now the entire family seems to be living with us. Evan’s folks have been making the 2-hour drive to work 12-hour days then drive home. My mom stops by daily to put in the work and assist in the newest project to hit the list. I help as much as I can on the days that I can, having grace for myself on those “no bones” days when I can only lay on the couch and order Door Dash.
Last night we sat out in the four-season porch with the windows open listening to a thunderstorm roll in, and rain beating against the windows. We counted the seconds between lightning and thunder to calculate the number of miles away the eye of the storm was from our Treehouse. My favorite memory as a child was doing this; going out on the porch to watch a thunderstorm roll in, snuggling under a blanket with my mom and brother. In the twilight, Evan and I locked eyes and smiled, that same silent Knowing between us. We’re going to be okay. The answer to “what now” matters very little. This is enough. THIS.
This.
