February 28, 2005

 

Dear Friends and Family,

 

Seattle is a beautiful city, worthy of its Emerald City nickname.  Jim and I flew in on Feb. 7th under a glorious blue sky. We swept to our landing over a colorful spectrum of evergreens, islands, and the sparkling waters of Puget Sound.   Our dear friends John and Susan Frank met us at the airport and drove us around downtown, to the Space Needle, by the waterfront piers, and to other landmarks in our newly adopted city. 

 

Our home away from home is a third floor apartment at the Pete Gross House, a residence for patients requiring long-term treatment.  Our 550+ square foot apartment is cozy, clean, and comfortable and crammed with the stuff of us.  After we unpacked and filled the closet and dresser, a trip to the grocery store stocked the empty cupboards and pantry.  In a very short time, we felt settled.  

 

The Seattle Cancer Care Alliance (SCCA) is only a few blocks away (we view it and a corner of Lake Union from our windows) and I had my first meeting there on Tuesday, the 8th.  Jim went with me, suffering remnants of the flu (watery eyes, runny nose, obnoxious cough) and ran directly into the No Tolerance rule concerning colds and flu.  He was promptly kicked out of the building and sent back to the apartment.  I was on my own.  By Wednesday, I didn’t feel so well and by Thursday, I, too, had the flu.  (Bless Jim for sharing.)  When my temperature soared to 103, I was admitted to the University of Washington Hospital, which is part of the SCCA.  I was taken to the transplant floor (where I will be for my transplant), placed in isolation and given IV antibiotics and fluids. 

 

During my unexpected hospital stay, Jim’s brother John, wife Linda, nephew Aaron, wife Jennifer and grandchildren, Asher and Abby, drove up from Oregon to spend 2 ½ days watching over Jim and visiting me in the hospital. This was the first time we met the grandbabies, and it was a great treat for both of us.

 

Sunday afternoon, I was released back into Jim’s care.  We returned home in time to watch the Grammy Awards on television.  I got a little emotional hearing Tim McGraw’s song, “Live Like You Were Dying.”  Especially the lines, “And I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter and I gave forgiveness I’d been denying.  One day I hope you get a chance to live like you were dying.  I finally read the good book and I took a good long hard look at what I’d do if I could do it all again.  Like tomorrow was a gift, and you’ve got eternity to think of what you did with it…what did I do with it.”  Hearing the entire lyric for the first time gave me quite a jolt, and I realized it’s a thought that’s never far from my mind.

 

My dear husband was supposed to fly back to Nashville on Sunday, but he changed his plan and stayed until Wednesday morning.  I told myself I would like being on my own for a few days.  I would accomplish some writing, I would hear the quiet and appreciate it, I would fall into my own rhythm.  I thought that, but only for a very short while.  I missed Jim’s care and companionship, even if he did make me sick!  He flew back on Friday, the 25th, just in time to attend a conference with me and my main physician, Dr. Ho. 

 

 I spent the past two weeks undergoing CT scans, MRIs, full body x-rays, blood labs, visits to the dentist, attending seminars on food prep and after-transplant care, meetings with the nutritionist and the pharmacist.  I failed the last segment of my lung capacity test…blamed it on the flu.  A bulging red folder accompanies me everywhere, stuffed with papers telling the schedule for what’s next and the results of what has already occurred. 

 

I learned that my donor is a 49-year-old male and a perfect 10 out of 10 match.  Now that is good news!  However, because of a scheduling problem with his donation facility, my transplant was postponed until March 8.  So, this is the new revised version of my schedule.  I begin three days of chemo on March 4th, rest on March 7th, then receive full body radiation on the morning of the 8th.  That evening, the transplant.  I feel like I should capitalize that:  The Transplant.  The work leading up to this brief infusion reminds me of the months spent in planning a huge wedding.  Suddenly the big day arrives, the event takes less than an hour, the day ends and months and months of anticipation are fulfilled.  I’ll be in the hospital for the actual infusion of the donor’s bone marrow, and, if all goes well, I’ll go home a day or so later; home to the Pete Gross House.  I have 100 days then to see what my body does with the shock of being invaded by the good health of another. 

 

Thank goodness the physicians and staff at SCCA are amazing. I feel great confidence in their care.  Everyone here is professional, efficient and pleasant, but not detached or clinical. The staff is cordial and friendly – and really smart!  They all know my year-long history with multiple myeloma and have shown true concern for my progress.  Every day I am given a revised schedule, with something booked every hour on the hour, which is kept almost to the minute.  No waiting for doctors or nurses in cold cubicles!

 

All has gone well, except for the failed lung test, but two things caused the doctors some concern.  An x-ray showed that my esophagus has thickened (don’t know where) and that there are some spots on my liver.  Both were checked out today by a specialist.  The endoscopy showed a tiny ulcer at the end of my esophagus which can be cleared up with a prescription.  The liver spots are not abnormal and I was told “not to worry.”  

 

Oh, I developed another allergy to the antibiotics I was given in the hospital…which is a problem.  I am now allergic to about 95% of all antibiotics.  If I get an infection, my options for meds are very limited.  So this week, I will start on a tiny dose of dapsone which will be increased daily so I can build up immunity.  Please pray it works.

 

I’ll close by saying thank you for sending cards and letters – a few were waiting in our box when we arrived!  Thank you, too, for your generous donations to the Fund.  Jim and I are overwhelmed by your love and support.  We know that this is the “calm” before the “storm” but we are ready, God has led us this far and will not leave us alone in the desert.  We are resting in the loving arms of great friends in Seattle, sensing the prayers of the body of Christ around the world, and feeling confident in the hands of great doctors. 

 

Thank you for your prayers on our behalf.  We’ll do our best to keep you posted.

 

Janice

 

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