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Hold On

Thursday August 28, 2003 09:29 PM

A few weeks ago, I was sitting on the sofa listening to “Hold On”, a song by Sarah McLaughlin. It goes like this:

Hold on,
Hold on to yourself for this is gonna hurt like hell.
Hold on,
Hold on to yourself.
You know that only time can tell.
What is it in me that refuses to believe
This isn't easier than the real thing?

My love,
You know that you're my best friend.
You know that I'd do anything for you and my love
Let nothing come between us.
My love for you is strong and true
Am I in heaven here or am I...
At the crossroads I am standing.

So now you're sleeping peaceful,
I lie awake and pray that you'll be strong tomorrow and will see another day
And we will praise it and love the light that brings a smile across your face...

Oh God, the man I love is leaving.
Won’t you take him when he comes to your door.

Hold on,
Hold on to yourself,
For this is gonna hurt like hell.


Tears started flowing down my cheeks as I listened to these haunting words. I thought, “How could she possibly know that this is exactly how I feel?”

On a number of fronts, Andrew is considerably better than he was earlier this month. To my delight he has started to enjoy food again. His hair is back, different from before - soft and fine like baby hair. And his energy is good and his mind is sharp.

The results of the MRI taken in early July lifted our spirits and were so good that the doctors considered going after the new tumour with stereotactic radiation. This is a fairly complex procedure which sends concentrated beams of radiation directly at the brain tumour.

During the past few weeks, we began to entertain the idea that, although we knew this cancer is terminal, maybe...just maybe...Andrew could beat the odds and be around longer than the statistics forecast. We even started thinking of returning to our favorite holiday getaway in British Columbia next summer.

With this in mind, on Tuesday this week, amidst the backdrop of celebrating my Dad’s 80th birthday with just about all my relatives in town, Andrew had a new MRI.

The procedure was conducted in the morning and Andrew returned to the cancer centre after lunch, to discuss the MRI results and meet with the stereotactic radiation team. I’ve always gone with Andrew to every doctor’s appointment and treatment - just to be there for him. This was the first time I was unable to accompany him, as I had to attend an orientation with David at his new school.

When I arrived home, I found Andrew sitting alone in the garden. He looked forlorn and miserable. He explained that the new MRI had shown that the tumours that had disappeared have re-grown. The other two original tumours are still very present and, in addition to the new tumour that had shown up behind his right eye during the June MRI, there is now another new one at the back of his brain. Six in total, for those who have lost count.

The doctors said that stereotactic radiation is now out of the question, as there are just too many tumours. New ones will keep coming and approaching them one at a time is not an effective treatment.

I must say, the wind was knocked out of our sails. As rays of sunshine tried to break through the massing cloud cover, we sat quietly in the garden and just held each other. For the first time in a long time, words failed us both.

I felt so bad that he had to go and hear this by himself, and then take the bus home alone because I had to be at the other appointment.

Anyone who lives with cancer realizes how perilous a journey it is. Nothing is predictable and nothing is certain. One day you feel like progress is being made and the next day you find out that the cancer has made further in-roads.
It is very disheartening.

So where do we go from here? A little while ago, I was doing research on the internet and read about some melanoma case studies similar to Andrew's. One man, about Andrew’s age, has been taking Temodal, a chemotherapy drug that has shown some benefit for brain tumours. He was first diagnosed with metastatic melanoma in 1995 and is still around.

I checked with the neuro-oncologist and, although he is uncertain as to the benefits this chemo may have for Andrew, he is willing to let him try it. This a palliative therapy, one which cannot cure or destroy the cancer, but might give Andrew more time. At this stage, it is really the only medical option available to us.

So, beginning next Tuesday, Andrew will start the Temodal. He will take it for five successive days each month. The main side effects are nausea and fatigue. His red and white blood cell counts may go down, as may his platelets, making him more susceptible to infection. After two months we will know whether or not the drug is beneficial.

Please join with me in praying that Andrew will be able to tolerate the Temodal and that he will continue to feel well. Tolerate - that is an apt word. My thesaurus puts it in the same boat as: endure, put up with, suffer and bear.

Andrew and I are all too aware that we may be in for some stormy weather ahead. And yet, I have a picture of us lashed to the mast of the ship. The one sure thing we do know is that Christ is our ship and he’s the one carrying us. We have to go through these chemo waters. At the end of the day, if we don’t we’ll always wonder if it could have given us more time together.

On another note, I bought an inflatable punching bag the other day. It has a picture of the cartoon Tasmanian Devil on it. Michael and David blew it up today and we all proceeded to give it a good workout. I told the boys that when they are really mad at what the cancer is doing to Dad, they could punch the bag and take it out it. I hit that airbag as hard as I could and you know, it actually felt really good!

“Hold on... hold on to yourself, for this is gonna hurt like...”

Love,

Judy
 

 

Gone Fishin'

Tuesday August 12, 2003 11:19 PM

Judy and Andrew are taking a little break from the blog. Thank you for all your prayers and concern.

Andrew and Judy

click for a closeup
 

 

Planting for tomorrow

Tuesday August 05, 2003 09:42 PM

Yesterday we celebrated my 38th birthday. It was something of a milestone in our journey, given that when I was first diagnosed with malignant melanoma we didn’t know whether I would even make it this far. But I have and my next goal is to celebrate my three kids’ birthdays in October and early November.

My elder sister, Kim, tells me it is a good thing to have birthdays; that those who have lots of them can end up living a long time.

My parents are visiting us from Australia at the moment and it has been great having them around. The camaraderie and conversation that my Dad and I share is like a rare cabernet sauvignon -- rich and full of flavour. I am so glad that he is here.

No sooner had my mother arrived in Calgary than she donned her work clothes and set out to help me finish the back garden. All my life I have seen her attack and conquer major projects such as this with determination and perseverance. Some of the most important lessons in life I learned from my mum. She still manages to amaze me, as I watch this extraordinary woman move barrow after barrow of bricks and soil.

Landscaping the back garden has become quite the extended family experience. I started the project the summer of last year. After realizing the severity of my diagnosis, I was determined to somehow finish landscaping this summer. My brother in-law and my nephews concreted in the posts, my younger sister and Michael and David helped me dig the foundations while my mother helped me build up the walls and move a small mountain of soil.

It is a funny thing to be building a garden that you know you may never see come to flower. Whether I live to see another spring or not is immaterial. The important thing is that each day I remain here on earth I go on planting. Be they sunflower seeds or seeds of hope, it is vital that I daily sow for tomorrow and for the good of others.

As we have toiled away at this garden, I have often thought of that movie, “Life is a House’. In it, Kevin Kline plays George Monroe, a failed architect who discovers he has terminal cancer. He sets out to rebuild a dilapidated house he inherited from his estranged father and in so doing rebuilds his own relationships with his ex-wife and teenage son.

As the project gets underway, members of his family and then his neighbours come together to help make his goal a reality. He never lives to see the house completed, yet dies knowing that the process of building has changed his own life and the lives of those closest to him.

I guess the point I am making is that the Kline character began building the house knowing he would likely never taste the fruits of his labor. As his body deteriorated and his energies slipped away, he knew the house was not for him. Yet he continued to build.

And so with my garden, the physical labour of building the foundations, laying the brickwork and filling the gardens with soil has brought me such great pleasure because the people who have toiled beside me are amongst those that I love dearly. Does it really matter if I live to enjoy the garden in the years to come? Seeds have been planted that will bear fruit for a long, long time.

As Benjamin Franklin wrote, “If I thought I was going to die tomorrow, I should nevertheless plant a tree today.”

On another note, I’m pleased to report that I thoroughly enjoyed Judy’s culinary creations for my birthday. I still get tired, but I am gaining strength and the headaches are still under control.

My thanks to you all for your continued love and prayers.

Andrew
 

 
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