Those of you who follow Top Comments will know it has been some time since my last diary. My family has been involved in a difficult fight - my brother’s battle with cancer, which I diaried on April 20. After a far more ominous initial diagnosis, we learned the fight was against a far more treatable (and beatable!) form of cancer, non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The course of treatment they set up for him was six chemo treatments with three weeks of recovery between treatments.
More below the fold.
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Our family has experienced chemo before. My Mom had it when she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1981 (she beat that), but my Father had it in 1980, along with radiation, for colon cancer. His chemo experience was very difficult. He was so sick he couldn’t keep any food down, and since he had been training for a marathon when he was diagnosed, his already very low body weight left him without reserves for his terrible fight. That formed my brother’s memory of chemotherapy, so he embarked on this course with more than a little apprehension and trepidation.
Our resolution (mine and my sister’s) was that one or both of us would accompany him to every doctor’s visit, and to every treatment. We didn’t want him to feel alone in this, ever. Kathy and I do some cleaning at his house every day (sweep the cat boxes, first and foremost, as the smell is very hard on him), and we get him basically anything he wants to eat, anytime he wants it. If there is an opportunity to spoil him, we take it, aggressively.
In any case, chemotherapy from the first treatment was not very scary. His infusionist, named Jason, has been just magnificent! But all the other patients have been incredibly supportive, as well, offering counsel and positive suggestions all along the way, encouraging words and fine energy, to make a nice environment positively reinforcing. I was not there for all six sessions, which take 6-8 hours each, but I was there for the entire first one and for the last hour of the last one, which was Wednesday.
The cancer center has a practice they’ve observed for years now. When a patient receives her or his final treatment, at the end of the treatment, when they are walking out of the infusion room for the last time, they ring a bell which is installed on a wall. Everyone in the room understands the significance of that bell, and everyone celebrates along with the patient in that small moment in time.
I had the privilege of accompanying my sister and brother as he walked out, that last time, and I had my phone out to record it, as I wanted a record of it. It was one of the most important, most emotional moments of my life, and I took the 7 second long video with tears in my eyes, and those same tears come anew each time I view it.
Congratulations to my dear brother, whom I love so much, on the completion of this phase of his recovery from cancer.
Thank you all for letting me share!
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Color boxes courtesy bronte17 |