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 March 5, 2004
Dear Friends and Family,
Sorry it has been so long since I’ve sent out an update. Time has been strange and surreal, and, on their own accord, days have slipped by in rapid succession. Going back in my calendar to Sunday, February 8th, my dear friend and mentor, Barbara Pine, arrived. That night she watched as Jim shaved my head. This is how she remembers that event: “I sat at a marble-topped table in the Chaffee kitchen drinking hot coffee, and even in the darkness, through walls of windows, could see tall, bare trees sway in winter’s wind. The weather is cold, the large terra cotta floor tiles are cold; Janice is thin, nearly bare-headed thanks to fierce medications, and she is cold. She wraps her fingers around a warm cup of tea, eventually removes her lovely cashmere tam, revealing the few remaining tuffs of hair, and talks to Jim and me about the dreaded task of shaving her head. She knows it must be done before the wig fitting on Tuesday. Suddenly she says, “Now. Do it now.” And if you know Janice, you know that “now” means NOW. So, we did the shave. That is, gently, lovingly, expert head-shaver Jim did.” February 10th was a great day. After getting fitted with a sassy, saucy wig, Barb and I returned home and dressed for a party – a party for ME! Sue Buchanan hosted a fabulous bash at Sheila Walsh’s home. About 60 of my local friends showed up to celebrate life – and all that life brings - including cancer. Some not-so-local friends showed up. I was stunned by the sight of my California friend, Karen Schmidt, standing in the room! Yes, of course, I cried! It was wonderful and a bit strange to find so many women drawn from so many different facets of my life, both past and present: women who worked with me and Jim in California and Colorado for the Music Seminar (Joy and Danita), some who sang on the Sisters albums and told their stories in the Sisters book; old industry friends; new friends made after moving to Nashville, women in the industry and in the churches we’ve attended, and even my favorite two oncology nurses. Everyone moved among tables laden with food, chatting and munching, meeting each other (my friends know no strangers!), finding connections. Then, finally, we were all herded into one room where we shared the greatest of laughs and the deepest of tears. And did we laugh! Bonnie Keen King persuaded or coerced (I’m not sure which) Sheila Walsh, Sue Buchanan, Jan Harris, Sara Posthuma and Elinor Madeira – all wearing colorful, feather boas - to join her in performing two song parodies (lyrics attached). It was hysterical enough to see them swing the boas and hip-grind to the beat, but let me say the grand finale literally brought the house down. Think Bonnie singing lead. Under a boa, she wears a black velvet jacket. Then, think Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl – and taking the place of mischievous Justin T - think Sue Buchanan. In one, swift pre-meditated motion, Sue reached over and jerked open Bonnie’s jacket. Imagine a red satin bra covered with white furry feathers, and a huge, faked “shocked” reaction by Bonnie, who screamed (discreetly, of course) and attempted (feebly) to cover the exposure. I laughed so hard I was afraid I’d have a heart attack. And, yes, we did cry. After the songs, a few women stood and talked to me and about me – which, of course, I loved. Cathy Palmer started off by saying she still hadn’t forgiven me for “stealing” her son, Tommy. When “our” shared son (well, ok, her’s) joined Elliott and Taylor to form the band, DAVIS, it took Tommy away from basketball (his parents’ assumed future for him) and into music. Now, Elliott and Tommy both attend Berklee College of Music and share an apartment in Boston. (She really has forgiven me!) Later, I introduced some special guests, like Karen, whom Jim and I have known and loved since the early 1980’s. I wish I could have introduced every woman there and told how she had influenced my life – but that would have taken days! Sheila asked some questions about my diagnosis and future recovery – and that brought forth the tears. Even though the medical reports are not that promising (only a 3-5 year remission after a stem cell replacement), I believe that God is the Great Healer and that my future is in God’s hands. Proof of healing was in the room: Sue Buchanan is a 21-year breast cancer survivor; and Marlei Dougherty has been in remission for years; Linda Raymer’s father lived another 10 years after his multiple myeloma diagnosis at age 72. His treatment was compounded by meds taken for diabetes and congestive heart failure. But he was one of the first to “try” Thalidomide, so I have him to thank for paving the way for my Thalidomide treatment. Several women told stories of miraculous healing – and I cling to that hope for my own recovery. The party was fun and evidence of the power of friendship. I am a blessed woman; absolutely every person should be in the center of attention at least once in their lives, to feel loved and cared for by so many. Barbara Pine closed the evening by reading to us some thoughts she had written. She first shared her experience of watching a swallowtail butterfly flit from one rhododendron blossom to another only to have her attention unexpectedly diverted by the sound of a grey whale blowing in a Puget Sound inlet. She compared the experience to friendship and said, “Griped by the sight, I rushed to the seawall, saying, ‘Oh, God! Did you see that?’ As if God himself might be surprised by blessing. “Do we see that, tonight? Did you see that, Janice? “Like the Swallowtail butterfly, relief flies in on silent, fragile wings. The light touch of a timely call, the provision of meals, the sarcastic quip that brings you laughter. Your hairdresser’s hands gently embracing your bald head; her tender kiss planted there. The tears of your Sisters that leave you breathless in the presence of such love. Is anything more magnificent than the raucous sound of Christian sisters celebrating life? “Like the Grey Whale, we blow off steam and breathe in new hope. Is there an awe greater than that created by having friends dive with you into deep waters? By the massive, weighty, noisy shape of such caring?
“‘Oh, God. Did you see
that? Sisterhood. Friendship. Tears. Teasing.’ However did so great a
blessing wander into so small a space as our hearts? We who are here with
you tonight, we who love you, seize God’s greatest gift – belonging to one
another.” And that is exactly what the evening was all about…my sisters, my friends, teasing, loving, laughing and crying. Skip forward on my calendar. You can imagine the stack of books I’ve been given and read over the past few weeks. Dr. Jerome Groopman wrote in The Anatomy of Hope that hope is the very heart of healing. Patients who have hope, especially when coupled with faith, have a much higher survival and remission rate that those without hope.
One main contribution to my hopeful well-being has been “The Chair.” Many of you have been generous to the Contribution Fund and “The Chair” – a beautiful, brown leather Barcalounger, - was delivered on February 27th. It does all I had hoped – reclines all the way back, is soft and comfortable, and allows me to nap in the afternoon without the difficult climb upstairs. I love it!
On March 1st, Jim and I celebrated our 24th wedding anniversary but with little fanfare. Around 2:00 in the afternoon, I remembered, went into Jim’s office, and said, “Happy Anniversary.” We kissed and that was it. But I am already planning (in my mind, only) a big blowout celebration for next year. Twenty-five years together is cause for celebration – especially if you know the two of us! We’ve survived two state moves, career changes, two adolescent sons, and, now, cancer. We deserve each other and thank God we’re still together. I can’t imagine life without Jim, even though I will have to live without him for 10 days. On March 8th, he’s off to South Africa (where he’ll see Gail Hamilton Masondo) with Out of Eden for a Franklin Graham Crusade and the opening of a new World Vision Project, and a visit to a wild game reserve. Taylor and I will “hold down the fort” until he returns on the 18th.
Yesterday, March 4th,, I returned to Vanderbilt Medical Center for more blood labs (success on the first stab!). Just when I was beginning to think I’ve heard of or done it all, something new enters and scrambles my experience. An IV was inserted, more blood withdrawn, but this was treated with radiation then returned to me through the IV. A five-minute film was taken of my heart to see how it was pumping. Dr. Greer, the stem cell hematologist, told us that a count (of what, I don’t know) had to be above 50% and my count was 72%. So, in three weeks, I will return to his office for a lung test and more blood labs, the next step toward stem cell replacement.
Even though my cancer counts continue to go down, I’ve gotten a bit weaker over the past weeks. For a while, I was taking nine pills each morning and three or four at night. My oncologist asked how I was feeling and how I was responding to the meds. “I don’t know,” I truthfully replied. I told him that I was always sleepy and ditzy and dizzy and my eyesight was blurred. So, Dr. Murphy decided to give my body a break by taking me off everything, steroids, antidepressants, Nexium, everything but the Thalidomide. I’m still coming off the antidepressants but feel relieved to be off so many meds. Thanks to Thalidomide, I have a horrible rash on my arms and legs, but this beats the possibility of vomiting from chemo. I slather on lotion several times a day with my lizardy, scaly hands, but still “count it all joy.” My cancer protein counts have responded extremely well to the treatments, plummeting from the initial 2400 to 1400 to 900 to the most recent 641, which is below the normal range. This positive decline gives me hope that the future stem cell replacement will be as effective.
Now, on this 6th day of March, I thank you for your encouraging e-mails. Your words mean so much to me. The funny cards and serious ones both bring tears to my eyes. All of you try so hard to “say the right thing” – and you do. In your helplessness to “do something,” you pray, which is the best thing of all.
Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote, “The words must not fall off our lips like dead leaves in the autumn. They must rise like birds out of the heart into the vast expanse of eternity.”
I am learning how sensitive, crucial, wounding or healing words can be. I wince every time someone starts a sentence by saying, “I remember the time you said…” I cringe when I read Jesus’ words in Matthew 12:36-37: “You will have to give an account for every careless word you utter; for by yours words you will be justified, and by your words you will be condemned.” Yikes. Words have flown from my mouth without a thought of their lingering impact, appropriateness, or sensitivity. Many of you know that sarcasm is one of my “natural gifts.” I can fire a “zinger” before my mind even cautions me to shut my mouth. But now that the word “cancer” has entered my life, I am much more aware of how words affect; how they affect me, affect Jim and the boys, affect all of us. The way we offer our “selves” to each other is mainly through words; we speak of our affection or hate, our enjoyment or disappointment, our hopes and dreams and failures. Only if we tell the truth do we really reveal our inner selves to each other.
It follows then, that I have been thinking a lot about “In the beginning was the Word.” A Word caused the universe to spin; the earth to curve into a perfect ball; the oceans and seas to lap against sandy shores; the grass to grow and the birds to fly – all by Words. Then, “the Word became Flesh and lived among us.” The Word took shape: a frame of bone, tethered by muscle, covered by soft skin. Why? So that we might snuggle in the warmth of Love, relax in the embrace of Truth, rest against the very heartbeat of Life. The Word took human form, to bear our sorrows, to take our sins, to heal our wounds, to guide us from limited life to eternal life.
Words are very important to me now and I try to choose them and speak them judiciously, carefully, as if each one might be the one the listener remembers for years. Especially is this the case when I speak to my husband and sons. I can’t avoid realizing that these may be some of the last words I say to them. I hope not – I hope I have years and years of words to say, enough to wear them out! But in the meantime, I have had to face that each word I say and write reveals my inner self – who I am as a woman, a wife, a mother, an author, a cancer patient, a child of God. So, I work to have my words rise like spring-born birds rather than fall like withered autumn leaves. May it be that even the words of this note prove uplifting to you.
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.” |
