many of you, i know, have been waiting (im)patiently for word from Andrew about our last chemo. frustrated, perhaps, by the lengthening quiet between posts, but understanding that you really cannot ask that much of a guy who’s seen more drugs in six months than Keith Richard’s liver has in a lifetime.

well, Andrew is busy today so you are stuck with me.

suck it up.

things have been hard, we will not deny, these last several months as the cumulative effects of the drugs weary every footstep and the prolonged isolation dampens most every smile.

as our comrades-in-arms, and now dear friends, Sarah of Drake and Doug of Bean Station have ‘graduated’ from chemo, the trek has gotten steeper and the path more lonesome – but it is still always filled with love and little sparkles of joy and Light.

many nights we have muddled through with the knowledge that brighter days would come in January – as we are certain they will. the chemo will end and with it, the counting of days to Saturday, days to the end of toxicity. then counting days till the following Friday, when things are really most normal. then counting down days till the next treatment.

instead, there will be…

trips to the gym. weekends hiking with our clan, the Highlanders. fulsome salads, dripping with vinegar and overflowing with fresh vegetables. the privilege of work. dancing together and with our friends at the KMA and KSDA. the knowledge that we have walked through the valley in the shadow and emerged into the sparkling light of tomorrow.

yesterday, we had that last trip to chemo. K.T. was there to access the port, to call us her kids. to meet my parents and unexpectedly (for him) hug my dad. Shanda was awesome and on her game, safeguarding my love as he threads this needle. the chemo nurses were happy to see us, and happier to know they wouldn’t likely see us soon. it was all wonderful, and as it should have been, except for one pesky little thing…

Andrew is not cancer-free.

yet.

the results of the restaging PET-CT scan are back, and one stalwart bunker of cancer remains. 2 centimeters (that is less than an inch, yet so much bigger than a mile) of cancer nestle in his chest, deaf to the madding din of the chemo.

we will not meet with the oncologist for another two weeks, so we cannot confirm yet the plan of attack, but it is likely to be involved-field radiation to the offending node.

as Kate has said more than once, the oncologist is very motivated by his stats and will take good care of Andrew for that reason if no other. based on our last visit, he was not expecting this, and so i anticipate he will be very motivated to blight this scourge most thoroughly.

in short, we will not be starting 2011 cancer-free but plan to rectify the matter forthwith. please send happy, hopeful energy (and cards, emails, calls, telegrams, what-have-you) to carry us through this setback into a sparkling and glorious new year.

ps. just in case you are overcome with melancholy, i would hasten to point out that radiation should not frag Andrew’s white cells. this means that hiking, salad, work,* and dancing are all still there for the picking – in 4-6 weeks – as the neutrophils rebound.

with great love and hope and faith,

jacqui

*did i mention that Andrew is out of pocket, because he is at training for a new JOB??? do let him know if you need help with your taxes!!