● Home ● Janice's Story ● Updates ● Speaking ● Books ● Albums ● Responses ●
 |
 Update #3, Wednesday, January, 07, 2004
Dear Friends and Family, Good news, good news, bad news, good news. (Sounds like a jump-rope game rhyme.) Last Friday, Dr. Penley couldn’t schedule any Monday appointments since it was the end of New Year’s week. But he was able to contact several other doctors on my behalf so my treatment could begin as soon as humanly possible. Early Monday morning, a surgeon named Dr. Bethurum called to tell me to come immediately to his office. Conveniently, he works in the same building as my new oncologist, Dr. Patrick Murphy. (Actually, Dr. Penley is a member of Dr. Murphy oncology group. He was the designated “on-call” doctor during the holidays.) Jim and I hustled right over to Dr. Bethurum’s, and after a brief confirmation of my condition, agreed to insert the port-a-catheter tomorrow, Tuesday, along with more blood labs, another chest X-ray, and a cardiogram to make sure my heart can take the stress of the procedure. The port-a-cath will be inserted just under my left collarbone - a twenty-minute surgery – and I’ll be released an hour later. Fine with me; I thought, enough of the talking about it; let’s get going. I left his office in good spirits - at least we had a date, time, and final plan. Jim and I walked down the stairs to meet my oncologist. Dr. Murphy is a youngish looking, kind and direct, with a warm sense of humor (at least he laughed at my feeble jokes). Right off the bat, he told me to gain weight. I looked shocked and said, “Doctor, you never tell a lady she needs to gain weight.” He feigned astonishment and replied, “Well, I’m telling YOU to gain weight.” We laughed. Broke a bit of the tension. Again, he explained the fanged dragon called myeloma. There are three stages and I am in stage 3. By the time most patients become aware of the symptoms and are diagnosed with myeloma, they, too, are in stage 3. There are five main problems with this cancer: bone growths, lesions (like tiny moth holes in the bone), infection, anemia, and kidney failure. I have two: the growth behind my eye and the lesions in my arms, legs, back hips and ribs. Only two out of five: that was good news to me. The first course of treatment will be chemotherapy, a cocktail called VAD (Vincristine, Adriamycin, and Dexamethasopne. (I promise not to use a vocabulary of medical terminology. I’m trying to learn what all this stuff means – up to a point.). Each session is continual for four days, then 21 days off. I’ll do four sessions of VAD and by April, my blood counts should be good/better. Then I will have a stem cell transplant; probably here at Vanderbilt Hospital as an in-and-out patient for the 30-day treatment. I promised Taylor I would attend his High School graduation on Memorial Day. I may be bald, wearing a scarf or wig, but I will be there. After the stem cell transplant, if needed, we’ll discuss bone marrow transplant. The combination of all those treatments, said Dr. Murphy, will lengthen my life for five to six years. Time stopped. Breathing ceased. I turned my head and cried. In that elongated moment of truth, I decided: I will take the drugs and I will take the five years. I know, I know: Many people have lived much longer; new drugs are becoming available every day; I am youngish and strong; I’ve never been “normal” (leave it alone, people; we all know I’ve never been “normal”), so I am praying for the years to be multiplied by God’s grace. As Jim and I were driving home, I made him stop for a small bottle of champagne…to celebrate MY New Year – a year of chemo, transplants, pain, hair loss, and the unknown, as well as the compassion, affection, love and prayers of dear friends. We arrived home and settled in to read another batch of e-mails from all of you (or as we like to say in the South, “from ya’ll”). Several just cracked me up…I was called a broad, sarcastic, lunky (?), and in-a-good-way-irreverent. I opened a reply from someone with the screen name SilverLady and wondered, “Who is that?” “I was
one of the two women who prayed for you Sunday at the Prayer Desk,” it
began. “I read your e-mails through the church’s Prayer Chain. It was
amazing in every way. I vacillated as I read from the horror of all you
have gone through in such a short time to awe at your wonderful sense of
humor and great gift for writing with such vulnerability and courage. I
just wanted you to know that, even though we just met on Sunday, you will
not be able to get rid of me as an intercessor for you.” Love in Him, Mary Lee Aka, ‘Mizz Questioner’ I nearly died of embarrassment! Nothing like my slamming the dear prayer warrior who was kind and considerate and wise! So I fired back an apology, more like groveling, and begged for forgiveness. She wrote back: “No offense taken and no forgiveness needed...... In reference to praying for people, sometimes I probably ask more than I should to keep in mind the fact that God likes for us to be specific in prayer as much as possible for a couple of good reasons. However, I really need to be very sensitive to people that are hurting so that I don't cross that line and cause more pain than comfort. So, forgive me for crossing that line when your fear and your pain certainly were clear enough for me to have been more gentle than I appeared. Would you forgive me for any insensitivity and lack of gentleness towards you? If you will, we'll call it a draw and start off on a level playing field, OK? Lots of love and prayers round about you and your family, Mary Lee P.S. I thought the nickname fit me rather well!” Whew! Sigh of relief – laughter really is medicine for the soul. Tuesday, January 6 This was a long day. Up at 5:00 a.m., left at 5:30 to arrive at the hospital by 6:00; waited until 8:00 for a room; waited until 9:00 for my X-rays, then a cardiogram. A few minutes before 10:00, more blood was drained, thankfully not by the Vampire Woman. Oh, wait! Good story. When I had the bone marrow aspiration last week (still, Ouch! I have a big nasty bruise to prove it), Nurse Johnnie was so kind to me. A few days later, I took my One Silent Night and If the Prodigal Were a Daughter books and a thank-you note and left them at her station. As I was escorted to today’s room, I asked to stop first in Johnnie’s department. The desk nurse said to peek into the lounge where she was eating her lunch. I opened the door, stepped in, and saw Johnnie reading the Sisters book, tears rolling down her sweet face. That dissolved me. We embraced in a co-mingling of tears. Now that’s sisterhood; we don’t have much in common between us, we’re strangers really, but truly sisters in the Lord. Okay back to surgery. After blood was withdrawn, a gurney and two nurses arrived and rolled me to the pre-op room for an IV and meds. I confess, I wept all the way. Once again, the circumstances were just too surreal. My mind kept trying to reason: This all started because I wanted a new lens for my glasses! How did I get HERE so quickly?” But, here I was, swaddled on a gurney rolling toward surgery. Over the past week, I’ve watched the reaction of others, seeing my condition in their crumbling face, blurry red-rimmed eyes, swollen noses, quivering smiles, forced bravery. As I moved along the corridor, bundled and supine, I glanced up and caught my image in a silver, convex curve of a light fixture; cocooned in white, only my tiny, brownish head was exposed. I looked, and felt, so small and helpless. I turned my face away, tears puddled in my ear. Then I caught a glimpse of an obvious metaphor: I am cocooned for a season; I will shed this death shard and emerge as a new person. I may be bald, may have totally gray hair, may have scars, but I will be a new creature. Through all of this, my goal is to reappear as a mature image of Christ - as never before. In the surgery room, a nurse injected something nice and warm into my IV and the next thing I saw was Jim’s dear face hovering over me. The first thing I FELT was freakin’ pain in my collarbone. There was lots of yackity-yack from a nurse I didn’t recognize, most of which I don’t remember, but I do remember being hungry and that they had promised to feed me. Ah, feeding the hungry in Christ’s name. Alas, I wasn’t fed. Dr. Murphy had called the hospital, impatient that this surgery occurred so late in the day. He wanted the chemo to begin NOW. So much for food. Here’s the good news: I didn’t have to stay in the hospital for four days; the first round of chemo could be done at home! We raced over to the adjacent building and I was taken into the, uh, don’t know what it’s officially called, the chemo room filled with a row of beige lounge chairs and silver rolling IV stands. I settled into a recliner, pushed back, and got comfortable before Nurse Susan injected into my newly installed port-a-catheter a quadruple dose of Zometa, a drug that rebuilds bones, usually given to elderly ladies with osteoporosis (Good Lord, that can’t be ME!) Then I received a syringe full of an anti-nausea drug, followed by the first blast of VAD. The rest of the VAD required for this four-day regime travels with me in a handy portable canister, a little smaller than a video cassette. It is connected to a computerized pump, in a fanny-pack-type carrier with a belt loop and a long strap. I can either secure the pack around my waist with a belt or hang it around my neck with the strap. I’m going for the 1980’s over-the-shoulder look. Every 3-4 minutes, a one-second zap of VAD squirts through the port-a-cath. The short buzz feels like the vibration setting on a cell phone. After just one day, I really don’t hear or feel it anymore, but my cat can’t figure out if I’m carrying a new toy or concealing an enemy. Before we left the oncologist’s, Dr. Murphy handed Jim seven prescription slips for me. The order had already been called in to the Costco Pharmacy, but we still had to wait nearly an hour for them to be filled. I slept in the car while Jim cooled his heels, or, more likely, talked on his cell phone. Finally, with a bag bulging with white-lidded, brown bottles, we arrived home to Jim’s anxious parents (my dear in-laws), our sons, and the visiting Girlfriends. For our dinner Jim prepared lasagna, cheese toast, and salad, perfect “comfort food.” I ate as much as I could - enough, I must add, to surprise everyone at the table, including me. So, I finished Day One of chemo with very little drama. Chemicals (fondly known as poison) are shocking or attacking the “poo” out of the cancer cells and the royal fight has begun. (If I were truly biblical, I would use the Old Testament word “dung” – even though I’d rather use the more contemporary vernacular. So, “poo” is a nice compromise. No offense to anyone, please.) Wednesday, January 7 Again, thanks to each of you for your love. Friend/colleague Dan Posthuma sat with Jim in the hospital yesterday while I was in surgery; Mel Tunney brought a teddy bear and some original music. Bonnie Keen King went to the hospital, too, with a bouquet and music made especially for me. She did not believe the staff when they said I had been discharged. “I KNOW she’s here,” Bonnie insisted, “she had a very serious procedure and I want to give her this bag full of love.” It took quite a bit of convincing that I was truly gone. But that didn’t deter Bonnie. She arrived on our doorstep, gift bag in one hand, flowers in the other, compassion in her heart. I love those kinds of friends: determined and mushy. Jim and I are continually overwhelmed by the flood of e-mails. My in-laws are speechless by the supportive our “community.” I am proud of you (ya’ll) for offering mundane but essential services of laundry, meals, and transportation. We will probably accept your offers very soon. Jim’s parents left today at 1:00; dear friend Craig arrives Saturday; the Girlfriend leaves Sunday; Elliott flies back to Boston on Monday. The circus just keeps on spinning. I know I will get through this season with your prayers and support. I am grateful for your offers of assistance and for your promises to pray. Humbly, Janice
"All material, unless otherwise noted, are owned and copyrighted by Janice Chaffee and James Chaffee, © 2004, 2005, 2006. Permission is granted to forward e-mails, or print for personal use only. No portion of these updates may be quoted in part or whole in any published material or on any internet site without authorization from authors.” |
