Stories, Books and Life

March 2008--A printed out Lenten reflection is on my nightstand along with the current Photoshop User magazine. Kevin is back in chemotherapy and a folder thick with lab results is next to my computer desk. Kevin's iTouch and rosary sit on his side of the bed. He's been re-reading one of the Harry Potter books on his iTouch. A rental contract is under the reflection--we have an opportunity to have a tenant in our house and are researching contracts. We're looking forward to being in Indiana next week for Holy Week and I've been including the Lenten reflection as part of my evening prayers.

A Little Bit of Spring Break

Josh and Paige came over for a couple of days of his spring break week. The energy of a 6 year old boy should be packaged and sold!

He wore us out in the nice way grandchildren having of exhausting their elders!

We met them at the Air Force Museum in Dayton, then ate at Josh's favorite joint--City Barbeque. Stopped at Caesar's Creek gorge on the way home. Josh, Paige and Kevin hiked up above the spillway to get an up close view of the torrential amount of water being released due to the area flooding. At one point Kevin was so intent on getting a photo of the outflow that he failed to see the wave crashing over the wall where he stood. Joshua broke some land speed records to get back to me and tattle on Grandpa for getting all wet.

The chance to get outside and walk was so clearly good for Kevin--he feels much better! So we're tired and he's still thawing out from his drenching but it was a good day.

Lasting Effects

Kevin is very tired this week. He's managing it well--takes a short nap at lunch and again in the evening after supper. But it's discouraging to him to be so tired all the time.

The side effects have been strong this week. Nothing tastes good courtesy of the cell killing efforts of 5-FU. He's still eating once I set something down in front of him--largely because he knows his drug kicked stomach will rebel more if left on its own.

The cold induced sensitivity is strong in his mouth and hands. Gloves are an absolutely necessity outside and even in the the grocery store. He doesn't have as much of the throat sensitivity as some people, but that has increased as well.

His head hurts, he feels achy and has a mild nauseous feeling much of the time. Kind of like those days when you're first getting (or getting over) the flu and the symptoms hang on and on. Tylenol helps a lot and we keep a pretty strict schedule through the days of chemotherapy.

It bothers him when he doesn't bounce back from chemotherapy week as quickly as he expected to. Part of it is feeling like he's failed to hit a goal and part of it is worry that this marks the time we've been warned about--when side effects begin to grow exponentially with each treatment.

I know he's thinking "I feel like crap already, how much worse is it going to get and for how long?"

Paige and Josh will be here for a couple of his Spring Break days. Kevin is looking forward to the distraction of exploring old and new places with them.

Oh, nuts!!

Had a little excitement in my morning. I heard scrapping sounds from our bedroom and went to investigate. In the dim morning light I could just make out a form outside the bedroom window. Someone was peering inside.

My mind was racing! Should I brush my hair and put on some makeup or just try to look alluring while I stacked the discarded Reader's Digests on my nightstand?? I knew I should have gone with the pink satin PJs last night instead of the warm flannels. Hey, I spend way too much time alone and I have a husband who doesn't feel well. Having a window peeper is nearly a dream come true at this point.

Briefly I considered offerring the culprit ten bucks to come back again tomorrow; Twenty-five if he would make it a standing date for Thursday mornings.

Then I got a good look at my window peeper.

The good news is this guy works for peanuts. I see an excursion to Buckley's Feed and Seed looming in my near future.

Thank goodness for their drive thru barn arrangement. I can wear the pink satin pjs.

The Third Day

Nurse Pam will be here this morning and Kevin will be relieved of the chemotherapy pump.

Day Three of treatment week is Kevin's Day of Deliverance.

Just coming off the week of Easter, thoughts of Jesus being raised on the third day were on my mind. Then I remembered there are a lot of "third day" events in scripture.

Jonah and the whale for instance. Jonah tries to avoid what God asks of him. He tries to run away, only to be caught in a terrible storm and thrown overboard. Jonah spends 3 days and nights praying in the belly of a big fish. He realizes God could have ended his life but has chosen to spare him. He's grateful and ready to do as God as instructed him--go into Ninevah to preach repentance. On the third day the whale spits out a shaken but intact and grateful Jonah who goes on to answer God's call.

To be honest, I think 3 days in a whale's gut would have left me pissed. And I know there are times when 3 days of chemotherapy treatment leaves Kevin angry and more than a little disappointed.

I know he often wonders if he chose the wrong path. Or thinks, "I tried to do the right thing--for my family, for myself--and THIS is what I get?"

If cancer is the storm in Kevin's life, chemotherapy is his whale. It's really not a great place to be but in the end the goal is for Kevin to emerge--shaken, true, but largely intact. And changed. We'll both be forever changed by these months.

I think I've established that I don't believe God "gave Kevin cancer for a reason." Nor do I believe that we can pray Kevin's cancer away. I don't believe God works that way. I don't literally believe a whale swallowed a fellow named Jonah and kept him hostage for a three day marathon of sea faring prayer before regurgitating him intact on dry land.

I believe God knew Kevin would develop cancer and He knows how cancer will play out in our lives.

I believe prayer delivers us the grace and determination to make good things out of bad as God has promised.

I believe there is a message of hope, willingness, gratitude and mercy in the story of Jonah and the whale.

For Kevin life right now is a chronilogical three day count down every other week. The biblical accounts of "three days" remind me that though this literal time of three days will eventually be gone from our lives, the meaning of "three days," of waiting for a sign that things will be well, will continue for years as Kevin goes into the observation period after treatment.

I don't think it is a coincidence that Kevin's treatment brings him to the point of misery and then relief on the third day. I think it is a subtle but real reminder that this, too, will pass. That there is deliverance and it's found in the mercy and compassion of a loving God.

Appreciate Quiet

Kev's sleeping. He barely made it through supper before nodding off.

He'll wake up in a little bit and apologize for falling asleep. I know he worries about me being alone all day and essentially alone in the evenings when chemotherapy fatigue gets the best of him.

He doesn't know how much I appreciate the quiet of evenings when he can rest. I contrast it to the constant interruptions of his nights in the hospital, the nights we wrestled with hard decisions until morning, nights he vomited for seemingly endless hours.

Quiet nights are one of our greatest blessings.

Third Time at Bat (this season)

It is, once again, Chemotherapy Day. Kevin hasn't figured out how the Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday of chemotherapy week drag and seem to take much longer than the days in between treatment. I think it's evidence of the enormous malevolent force afoot via cancer. Some sort of time warp thing.

But, then, I'm the woman who talks to Kevin's cancer so you can't expect a rational response at this point.

I was noticing today just how much throw away "stuff" is required to get a treatment done. Four IV bags and tubing, multiple little connectors and valves, an easy eight syringes, a couple of dressings and a yard of tape. On the day his infusion pump comes off, we'll add another 2 syringes, an ugly huber needle, more IV tubing, several alcohol swabs, 2 pairs of plastic gloves,a face mask and more valves and connectors. All landfilled somewhere.

There are so many reasons we need cancer to be gone from the world.

Happy Easter!

We spent much of Holy Week in Indiana. In between the four days worth of church, we worked to get the house ready for tenants.

But it was largely a celebration time both in church and out. We met parish friends for dinner on two evenings, took Easter baskets to some former daycare kids, said goodbye to old neighbors, celebrated Kate's birthday, gathered with with the girls and some guests for an Easter brunch and had the annual Easter Kiester Egg Hunt.

For her 24th birthday Kate requested a Barbie cake, reminiscent of the three or four years in a row as a child when she insisted on having a Barbie cake. Icing this one reminded me of why I grew to hate Barbie during those earlier years.

Before we went to Mass this morning Kevin hid around 100 coin filled plastic eggs for the Easter Kiester Egg Hunt ( so named after one infamous year when, in the frenzy of egg grabbing, one sister grabbed another's elastic waisted skirt and it was revealed that Easter is, apparently, an underwear optional holiday.)

Knowing that, with two boyfriends being included this year, the egg quantity would be tight, the girls were in rare form. But, as Father John said about the Easter Vigil, "A successful Easter Vigil is one full of mess and one where no one dies," so went the egg hunt. The 'kids' (ages 24 to 41) had a great time scrambling for eggs. And Kevin and I had an even better time watching the chaos break forth. Thankfully, the Easter Kiester didn't make an appearance this year. So all ends well for another traditional Easter Day in our family!

Love is the Plan

We're in good shape on the house. It won't be the way I imagined it would be when we finally listed it for sale or lease, but considering we weren't really in the market for a tenant, I think we've done well.

We signed the lease with the tenants today. They are finishing some of the get ready work on the house as a means of paying their rent deposit. We also offered them an option to do some additional work in exchange for lower rent for a few months. We'll see where that goes; I'm not sure the motivation is there.

Paige and Josh came up and really helped with loading our truck and her car and generally helping with a lot of the final detail work needed to get us out of here. We appreciated her hard work far more than she knows.

I decorated Kate's birthday cake for tomorrow. The Easter eggs are ready for our last egg hunt here and the reservations are set for Easter/birthday brunch on Sunday.

Kevin is grabbing a brief nap before we head over to St. Tom's for the Vigil tonight.

It's been a long trying Lenten period this year. I still believe in the 'shit happens' theory more than the "God's Plan" explanation for how hard things have sometimes been as we've coped with Kevin's cancer.

What has become more apparent to me is that God provides us with the gifts to use whatever happens in a way that can join us ever closer to Him.

The 'plan' everyone keeps talking about isn't in the details; it's in the result. Did we grow closer to God in our ability to give and accept love without reservations and conditions?

That's the plan. Love.

A LIttle Bit of Normal

Good Friday.

We continued to clean and organize the house today but much of our day was spent marking Good Friday.

The liturgy at St. Tom's began at 3 this afternoon and lasted until just after 5.

The Triduum liturgy is so beautiful and so full of wonderful tradition. All the Catholic bells and smells in full force.

Afterwards we kept our long standing tradition of having dinner with the RCIA team. Then it was back to St. Tom's to help with some of the decorating and review the Vigil arrangements with Eileen and team.

It felt good to be included with the RCIA team in helping with the Vigil. Helping with RCIA is one of those big empty places in our days and it was nice to have that spot filled tonight with a little "normal."

The Tangible Goods and Intangible Good of Life

We had a busy day.

First, the house busy. While I cleaned and sorted inside the house and garage, Kevin and Travis filled a storage unit with the stuff we were keeping until there is time to get it to Paige's house. Most is for her to keep--we've set her up with lawn tools, house tools, car tools, toys and more. Some of it is stuff we can't get in the truck this trip; our bikes, some lawn chairs.

We feel like we accomplished much toward being ready to hand the house over to the tenants by April 1.

Second, and best, church busy. Today is the first day of the Triduum, that wonderful time in the Catholic calendar when Lent has ended and we prepare for Easter. Kevin and I both love the Triduum period--the liturgy is rich and speaks volumes to us, especially in this year of so many endings and beginnings in our own lives.

Tonight included the foot washing ritual which is so lovely in its unity of the community. Mike and Kathy Silvon were visiting from Pennsylvania. Kathsy is a breast cancer survivor from several years ago. She hadn't heard about Kevin's cancer and was very encouraging and offered that takes-doing-it-to-know-it compassion of one chemotherapy patient to another.

It was a beautiful and evocative liturgy and reminded us of how well St. Tom's celebrates our Catholic faith. Today was a day of contrasts between the tangible goods of our life together and the intangible good of our life together.

Less is More

Kevin had a checkup with Dr. Skinner this morning. After today, if things continue to look good, he won't have to go in on the weeks off of chemotherapy. She just wanted to see him in the off week a couple of times to be certain he was tolerating the drugs ok and do a mid-treatment blood count.

I think it'll be a good break for him to not go in on his off week. Since he doesn't go back to the clinic to have the infusion pump removed, this cuts his clinic visits down to 4 a month--two for infusion treatments and 2 very brief (maybe 10 minutes apiece) visits for Neulasta injections.

That's much less emotional strain on him than the 7 visits a month he had to work into the Lafayette schedule. For Kevin, less time at the clinic means a more positive response to the entire treatment.

More Stuff Than We Knew

The Great Emptying of our house worked out as a wonderful excuse to be at St. Tom's for Palm Sunday.

We miss the quality of the liturgy there and the people but don't realize how hungry we are for it until the time comes that we actually walk back in the doors.

It's like suddenly filling up with something necessary that you didn't even quite realize you were missing. You knew something wasn't quite right, but you couldn't quite nail it until you found it again.

We worked hard on the house and came home with a truck full of things we are keeping. A couple of trips were made to the local Goodwill drop-off and I imagine many more will follow next week. We foisted off a box of stuff on Haylee's mother and have piles throughout the house:

Ohio
Goodwill
Girls
Daycare kids

We have a lot more stuff than we were willing to admit.

It will be a busy time this coming week as we celebrate the Triduum and work to get the house ready in between church visits.

A Good Kind of Tired

Today was exhausting and I'm trying to unwind a little before hitting the sheets.

It's a good exhaustion and was kind of fun.

We took a good look at the amount of stuff in our house, gave some serious thought to what we really needed in our lives...and gave most of our stuff away.

There was some brief discussion of storing it for a big garage sale but it will be at least July before Kevin is up to that kind of effort. The cost to store it and sell it made that idea unattractive.

So we put gave it away. That was the fun part. We set up a couple of emerging home daycares with many new toys and activity supplies. We provided enough baby stuff for 3 young families expecting their first children. We found families who needed some of the remaining furniture. Our girls each retrieved a few treasures.

We wanted Hannah and Andrea to get a chance to say goodbye to the house so we invited them to help with the task of giving away things. Hannah crawled up in the attic with Kevin and handed down toys and treasures to Andrea and me.

By late afternoon we had given away almost everything. After Easter Kate will take our bed and a bookcase and Travis has plans for the living room furniture and kitchen table set.

We are leaving some tools in the garage and barn and some toys in the outdoor play area for the use of the young family who will be our tenants.

It felt good to have our excess of things benefit so many people. I have an occasional twinge when I think about the money we might have earned through a sale, but Kevin is feeling really good about doing things as we did.

He falls asleep pretty easy these days from the demands chemotherapy has made on his body. Tonight, though, he feel asleep fast and hard from the effort of generosity.

That's a good kind of tired. I think we'll both have sweet dreams.

Neulasta and a New Address

Kevin had a Neulasta injection today. Dr. Skinner scheduled it Tuesday when I mentioned he had had Neulasta once a month while in treatment in Lafayette.

She doesn't want to rock the boat of what worked well for him in the past. I think she respects that he's on a tentative edge about even being there.

I agree. And Neulasta so far has not caused Kevin the pain and great discomfort it causes for some people. He has some aching in his bones but nothing overwhelming. He says it just fades into the general blur of ache that goes with the entire chemotherapy week.

We will be heading for Lafayette soon. I have empty boxes and packing tape loaded into the truck. It's hard to believe I am officially moving out of the house. Guess I'm going to have to finally learn my new street address in Ohio. I was asked for it when signing up for something the other day and my mind just went empty.

I'm concerned about Kevin making such a long trip so soon after chemotherapy and enduring days that will be filled with the hard work of moving.

On the other side, though, I am pleased we have a good reason to be at St. Tom's for Palm Sunday. I had been convincing myself that Palm Sunday at St. Columbkille would work out just like Ash Wednesday did; that I wouldn't miss the St. Tom's approach to the liturgy as much as I thought I would.

I'm glad I don't have to put it to the test!

Tentative Landlords

Kevin was far beyond ready for the infusion pump to come off this morning. By last night I could see the antsy anticipation that comes with the counting down of hours. By Wednesday night he's tired but he can't sleep well and more of the side effects are beginning to creep into his day.

With the infusion pump stored away for another 12 days or so, he was ready to get on with his day. Tylenol every 4 hours is keeping the worst of the chemotherapy headache at bay and we've made a few adjustments in our eating habits to accomodate the changes that are part of treatment.

Tonight we have a new role on our minds. We're about to become landlords. Someone approached us about leasing the house in Lafayette. We hand't planned to do anything with it for at least the short term and maybe long term. But the chance to recoup some of what it's costing to keep it sounded good.

With Kevin returning to chemotherapy treatment, I clearly won't be returning to live in the house anytime soon.

The down side is that the tenants need the place on April 1. So there's no time to think about it, we have to just jump in. And we have a lot to do. We left the place basically ready to stay in short term or even move back into.

It's filled to the rafters with our stuff.

So we'll be driving over on Friday night to begin a whirlwind reduction of "stuff" and get the house ready to host a new young family.

Chemotherapy Day...again...

Tuesday and it's Chemotherapy Day again in the Sweeney household. We forgot to take the infusion pump with us. Predicted that would happen. Once Kevin was napping through the first part of his infusion, I made a quick trip home to retrieve the pump.

Kev was disappointed to see he had a gained a couple of pounds, no doubt the results of last week's conference and being house bound by the snow. Much more sitting around for hours at a time than he ever does. He lamented that he would be the only person who left chemotherapy more rotund than when he began. That's not likely to be the case given the amount of weight he's lost up to this point. To underscore his worry on the topic, he requested GoldStar Chili dogs and 3-way spaghetti for lunch as we left the clinic!

One of the few plus points of enduring cancer treatment is that, in my quest to make certain he eats enough, he gets to pick places to eat that I would normally refuse.

The chemotherapy day is easier on Kevin here than in Lafayette. The place is larger and much more open with lots of natural light through huge windows. It's set up to accomodate family and friends with the patients. And there's no waiting while an IV beeps for 45 minutes after it's finished or waiting an hour for the next drug infusion to be started.

Finding the day to be "easier" is still relative though. Kevin is experiencing that growing chemotherapy fatigue today. He kicked back to do a little work via computer which didn't last too long. Once again, noisy things have been silenced around the house and he drifts off too sleep on the Man-Couch.

The Good Life

Apartment life has its advantages.

Fourteen inches of snow is heavy stuff. Or so I remember from previous winters.

Nowdays the heaviest thing about snow is dusting off the welcome mat in hopes the newspaper guy will land the morning paper where it can be reached without having to get my socks wet.

The snow removal team showed up bright and early. Brought the big guns today, a full blown front end loader instead of the little bobcat. Four guys with shovels and a front end loader. For a parking lot that parks maybe 15 cars.

Kevin enjoyed the overkill though. Guys like big machines. He was hoping they would ask him to play too. I could see it in his face.

They cleared the sidewalks, even shook out the doormat and carefully retrieved the wet newspaper from it's nest in the bushes. They excavated a careful path to the driver's door of our truck.

I am a natural born apartment dweller. God made me this way and I've found my calling.

The Shining

Left Chicago early yesterday with a predicted blizzard hot on our heels. Not for Chicago. For Cincinnati.

People go nuts here when more than an inch of snow is predicted. Schools cancel on the possibility, offices close, road crews sit and wait at intersections. The promise of a blizzard was sure to wreak havoc among the natives and we wanted to be home before they closed the roads.

The streets were deserted when we slid into town; every business closed, street lights changing for no one. TV coverage was non-stop. Everything from inch by inch updates to tips on how to survive being housebound.

I think Cincinnati expected something out of Stephen King novel. Families housebound in the 'burbs for days until someone finally cracks and gets out the chainsaw.

Fourteen inches of snow have fallen. That's a lot of snow. Hardly a blizzard though. No massive drifts, no power lines drooping under the weight of ice.

Kevin was so disappointed. It's not nice to taunt a weather lover with a kick-ass blizzard and then deliver a limp wristed version.

He's been playing telephone tag today with the other housebound boys. And half heartedly hoping an emergency would give him permission to take a long winding route to the plant instead of the usual walk down the road.

Chicago

Well, this is just great. I am twenty floors above Michigan Avenue--Chicago's famed Magnificent Mile--and I'm sick. I have the flu or something. At least the bed is comfortable, the view out our windows is good and the windows open so I can get some fresh air.

Thankfully Kevin is busy at a conference today so he isn't missing an opportunity to explore the city or staying in the room with me and my germs. We are supposed to meet work connections of his for supper tonight. I think I'll have to beg off this one. Having the cab pull over so I can heave in the street in front of Prada isn't really the mark I would like to leave on this town.

I'm thankful Kevin felt well enough to come to this conference. Last fall he told me one of his goals was to be able to come to this one and be one his feet, looking healthy. He's come to the room a couple of times today for a brief rest but kept up with the day just fine. He even went for a walk out on Michigan Avenue. I asked if he stopped in at Tiffany's to surprise me. That drew a blank look--clearly he doesn't know about Tiffany's. But he did go to WalGreen's and buy me PeptoBismol. The man is a saint. And he knows me well.

Chicago...I think I may be missing some of the crucial "girl" genes. Here we are on Michigan Avenue--the famed shopping mecca of the rich, famous and wannbe--and I have no desire to partake of the opportunity to further my relationship with AmEx.

Kevin is at a board meeting tonight. I opted for room service dining here on the 20th floor then a short venture out along the famous street below.

The people were interesting to watch even though the stores didn't beckon at all. The view is better in our room so here I am. Computer perched on the window ledge with camera alongside. Kevin's board meeting must be turning out to be a b-o-r-e-d meeting; he is sending me text messages.

I'm ready to go home myself. Not to Lafayette either. To Ohio.

Now that is just scary!

Tumor Board

Dr. Skinner reported back to us today about the findings of the tumor board regarding Kevin's treatment.

Basically they were divided.

Some would have done no treatment beyond surgery. Some suggested surgery then 5 to 8 weeks of chemoradiation. Some leaned toward doing Kevin's original FOLFLOX protocol where chemoradiation was sandwiched in the middle. Some thought 12 FOLFLOX treatments was the way to go.

It was both frustrating and reassuring.

Frustrating because we would have liked her to come back and say the overwhelming response was that he had already done more than enough treatment.

Reassuring in the sense of acknowledging that it wasn't an easy decision to make and there isn't a definitely "right" treatment path to follow.

Check-up Day

Kevin saw Dr. Skinner today for a check up. The good news is he's doing well, at least as well as anyone does on chemotherapy. Blood counts are holding, neuropathy fading, appetite ok, body doing it's thing the way it should where it should.

The bad news is he still has seven treatments to go. And she'll bring up radiation again after that.

He had a little dizziness trouble with the Ativan last time so she's going to cut that in half. I like that she listens to him. Sometimes we have to slow her down because she's thinking ahead a little faster than he gets to where he's going, but she listens to what he says and to what he doesn't say.

She sent him off to his conference in Chicago with the admonition to rest, wash his hands frequently and enjoy the city.

"Honey, I've Shrunk Your Husband..."

...that's Kevin's cancer talking to me again.

Sometime through all of this--at one low point or another when I wasn't on speaking terms with God (Notice I say I was not on speaking terms with Him, a very different point than suggesting that He wasn't on speaking terms with me)--I began an imaginary dialogue with Kev's cancer.

No, I'm not nuts. Or at least this behavior isn't the defining one that qualifies me as having tipped over an edge.

It's a pretty simple thing actually. Family and friends should only have to endure a certain amount of the preoccupation cancer has become in my life. We were told his cancer had lurked around possibly a decade and more to get to the size it was upon diagnosis. I reasoned that it wasn't going to be eager to give up its residency status too soon, and, since it had my full attention already, our relationship was certain to flourish.

Thus began the cancer/Lorri dialogues.

Oddly, Kevin's cancer has a speaking voice, complete with foppish inflection, similar to the bad lion in Disney's Lion King movie. Or maybe the baby on the TV cartoon/sitcom "Family Guy." I don't know the name of the baby and I can't recall the name of the lion. But each has a drawling superior attitude reflected in voice and words.

Kevin's cancer is particularly arrogant and has occasionally liked to wallow in its presumptive acquisition of our days by talking to me. Sometimes on chemotherapy days I one-up the cancer/Lorri dialogue with an image of his cancer blabbing away about its own superiority all while it greedily sucks up toxic chemo KoolAid like an empty camel in a desert oasis.

I'm holding out a lot of hope that cancer is as foolishly taken with 5-FU as I am with Pepsi. It's not good for me and it makes me feel sick, but I'll drink one every chance I get.

This weekend's Lorri/cancer conversation came about when I realized Kevin probably needed a new sportcoat for an upcoming conference. I don't know if he wore his old coat any during the summer, but I recall that last May he headed off to a conference wearing it accessorized with a scolding from me because he couldn't quite button it--even uncomfortably.

Months later, I knew he had lost weight--we both peer at the scales once a week when he gets weighed at the cancer center. But I hadn't done the math. I paid attention to the weekly, sometimes daily number, and missed the big picture. Friday night found him up and energetic enough to do some closet surfing. Took a little convincing to make him accept that, no, I could not just move the buttons on his sportcoat over the 5 inches it was going to take to make it fit close to his body. (Took more convincing to make him relinquish a too big and nappy sweater with threadbare elbows. "It's warm" was his explanation.)

I don't think Buckley Brothers Feed and Seed Depot is going to be a lot of help on this one. It was a sunny weekend and Kevin was feeling well enough for us to decide to head to the outlet mall.

Success! And surprise. I have a reality check as I notice his shirt and jeans are both a couple of sizes too large. We cleaned out the 'on sale' inventory of the store, lugged our loot out the door and decided to sit in the sunshine for a little bit. Kevin celebrated his new size range with a nip into the candy store for his favorite chocolate covered jelly candy. He calls it "comfort candy" knowing that I can't argue against those terms.

I watched him walk across the courtyard and thought about three sizes. That's how much smaller the new sportcoat is than the old one. Three sizes. And the old one didn't fit comfortably so I'm guessing he's down a solid 4 sizes.

Cancer and I have had this dialogue a few times before. I run my hands across Kevin's chest and stomach, tracing scars that weren't there 8 months ago. And cancer snickers. I cuddle next to him on the Man-Couch and feel ribs I didn't know he had. And cancer sneers.

Tonight we hit the closet again, this time to make room for the new clothes. This involved some trying on of both old clothes and the new wardrobe additions.

He's feeling good tonight. We laugh and share a good time. He looks handsome in new khakis and sportcoat.

Yummy, in fact, and I tell him so.

A work friend of Kev's who, a year ago, was where Kevin is today in his own cancer treatment, told me months ago that he gave a definition to the name of each aspect, each drug, in his treatment. The humor helped him through.

I took his words to heart.

He explained that the main chemotherapy drug of both he and Kevin is easy to define, the name says it all.....5-FU. Garry thought he would need to explain the humor to me; noting, he said, that most of his family, friends and medical care providers didn't seem to catch the irony that this devastating drug which made him so sick while it saved his life went by the nickname of "FU."

I caught the connection instantly--one of those disturbing validations of my own dark sense of humor. F-You.

Mostly it reflects how I feel about the disease that has invaded Kevin's body and our lives. F-You, cancer.

On a bad day the name defines how I feel about the drug itself and how it ravages Kev's body in its greedy search for cancer cells. F-You, chemotherapy drugs. And the pharmicist you rode in on.

On a rare horrible day it reflects what I'm feeling about any medical care provider who has to hurt him with yet another poke or prod, test or treatment. "Is this going to hurt him," I ask. "We'll give him something to take the 'edge' off the pain, " is the reply. I've heard that before and I no longer believe it. F-You. And your idea of the 'edge' of his pain.

But Kevin is feeling good tonight, inside and out. Cancer is losing and I win the debate points tonight in the cancer/Lorri dialogues.
(5) F-U, cancer.

Dr. Involved

When Kevin saw Dr. Skinner for a check-up before chemotherapy last Tuesday, she let us read what she would be presenting to the tumor board the following day.

While Kevin napped through some of this treatment, I poured through the pages.

I, of course, retrieved a pad of little sticky notes from one of the nurses and posted several questions and suggestions throughout the document.

We were surprised when Dr. Skinner came in a little later to answer those questions and use the suggestions to further tweak the document. That's a huge difference over Lafayette. There it was rare to lay eyes on either the doctor or the nurse practitioner on a treatment day and more unusual still to see either in the infusion area.

I like the attention and involvement she gives to Kevin, his treatment and our concerns about making a good decision about that treatment.