Shoulda beens...

The end of May. It's late tonight--the VERY end of May.

The school year of daycare should be ending. And the summer session--relaxed in rules but hectic in activity--should be beginning. Kevin and I should again be debating the "when" of moving me permanently to Ohio, the pool should be filled and the beach towels brought down from the attic.

My weekdays should smell of bugspray and sunscreen, there should be a growing supply of used popsicle sticks next to the sink and an ongoing stickiness to the little hands that hold mine on walks.

I should be organizing photos for the county Open Show and gritting my teeth while helping Madi and Hannah with their 4-H sewing projects.

Tonight I was aimlessly thumbing through a collection of scripture passages while thinking about all the "shoulds" I expected life to be at this time. When I looked down at where my restless fingers had landed I found:

"To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under the sun..." from Ecclesiastes.

Even our unspoken prayers are heard.

One More...

...and chemotherapy will be OVER. Finished. Fait. Terminado. Done.

Kev is feeling ok this go round. Not good, but not hideous either. We were warned this round and the next one would be hard ones with all of the cumulative side effects building up. He's got that nerve damage tingle going clear up through his wrists now and he drops a lot of things.

Nurse came around 10 this morning to de-access his port. The tension always builds up as that time gets closer and then it's done and he starts to decompress.

Talked to his oncologist about how soon he can get the port removed after his last treatment. She agrees that it can come out as soon as the last treatment is finished. I've already scheduled a date in July with his surgeon in Lafayette.

If I wasn't a quiet conservative Catholic, I would shout "Praise the Lord!" Sometimes the Evangelicals have it all over on us.

Groundhog, er, Chemotherapy Day, Again

Yesterday we admired the newly planted flowers at the clinic. The girl scouts had planted them and the nurses were now lamenting that someone or something is pulling the flowers from the ground.

Having some familiarity with destruction in the garden, Kevin and I positioned ourselves to watch during his infusion.

Didn't take long before we were able to ID their culprit.

There's a certain irony in having a groundhog inhabit the garden at the cancer clinic. Remember the movie "Groundhog Day"--the guy had to keep repeating one day over and over, learning a little from each repeated day?

Chemotherapy keeps our life in a sort of GroundHog Day-esque sequence.

We count our days off in two week intervals around his treatments. Repeat (somewhat religiously, almost fanatically) what works, learn from what doesn't, get through it, wake up on any given day in the sequence and predict how it will go--'Day 4 after treatment, expect'....Repeat each day again every two weeks. You don't want to let go of what works and sometimes you can't get away from what doesn't.

Like Bill Murray's character in the movie, sometimes Kev thinks about a day from the past..."...THAT was a good day. Why couldn't I get that day over and over and over?"

Eleven and Counting

Chemotherapy day. Again. Kevin is alternating between work and sleep here at the clinic. I am doing my best guard dog routine as I watch over him, double check medicines and schedules with the nurses.

Kevin would have liked a little encouragement to cancel today's treatment. He's tired of it all--the always present sick feeling, the bad taste in his mouth, the nerve damage in hands and feet, the fatigue.

We sat out in the garden of the clinic for a few minutes before his infusion was started. I always wonder what he's thinking when he sits there like that...who he sees reflected in the water after a year of so many changes.

"Behold! The Forbidden Closet!"

I think I've been out smarted.

The Forbidden Closet is no more.

Kevin decided to clean the closet today. I expected the thing to be full of dragon dung, but all he pulled out were files, boxes and bags.

Found the rest of those tax files he had saved with his finely tuned bag & box system.

He moved the sweeper back to the closet. Right up front. Nothing to move. All I have to do is reach in and get it.

Yeah, right.

Summer Shopping, City Style

Kevin is munching on olives tonight. Gorgonzola stuffed olives. He doesn't find a lot of foods he can actually taste theses days so he's a happy camper when he hits on something.

We went to Findlay Market today. Kev found the olives there amid the assortment of ethnic food stores, butchers, bakers, produce vendors and more. He has big plans to return when he is done with chemotherapy and his taste buds and blood counts have improved enough that he can really sample the offerings of the various delis and street vendors.

Findlay Market on a sunny Saturday morning is a cacophony of sights, sounds and smells. We didn't take our market bags in with us--probably a lucky chance because we would have bought far too much if we could have carried it! As it was, we limited ourselves to Kevin's olives and some warm cookies. And people watching. This is a great place for people--vendors, street performers, moms with babies strapped across their backs and toddlers tagging along behind them, young men following their little old grannies and carrying their bags and baskets of flowers.

Kate would be in her element here. It's a very Kate sort of place. She would wander through like Norm from Cheers--being greeted by name and knowing most of the regulars.

The Over-The-Rhine area is about as inner city as it gets in Cincinnati. I think a lot of our friends would be scared to drive down the streets there, let alone get out and shop. And if you come from a very large city yourself, there may be nothing unique about Findlay Market; I don't know. But it's unique in my experience and I love it. Sights. Smells. Sounds.

Forget King's Island Amusement Park. If you come to visit us, we'll take you to Findlay Market.

findlaymarket.org

May Days

Four deer were in the meadow when I stepped out the back door this morning. They stare at me, I stare at them. We both know the game--they hang out in broad daylight so I can be amazed by their presence and fill the feeders again. They empty the feeders. Both sides know how it works; there are no surprises.

What is surprising is that Kevin walked home from work for lunch yesterday and again today. Walking has a teeter totter impact on him. He feels better and his body recovers better when he has a good walk each day. On the flip side, the effort just wears him out now with his blood counts being so low.

His internal thermostat is a little skewed too. Hot when he would normally be cold and cold when he would usually be sweating. So it's a little funny to see him trotting up the road wearing his heavy coat and gloves in late May.

He's definitely felt better the last couple of days but I still think the visible sweeper is a sign of a pending eruption from an overstuffed Forbidden Closet.