Nashville or Bust

From Dave: Time in a Vacumm

Inspired by a great weekend, here goes…

I have not written over the past year or so out of both fear and selfishness. So many things have happened (good and bad) but the outcome is something I would never ever change. I have lived and learned more than I ever thought possible after going through treatment.

This summer was by far the best time I have ever had — which is a grand statement.

Natural Bridge, Red River Gorge, Kentucky July 2012

After breaking free from all meds, I hiked to the top of Natural Bridge with James (twice), spent a great week playing in the ocean with family, ran the Hudy 7K with J and “re-invested” in a drum kit so I could play once again with great friends this weekend. I am blessed for sure.

I spent this Thanksgiving weekend with family and friends. During meals, family fun, and other outings everyone asked how I and the family were doing. Not just a “hey, how’s it going?” thing but instead a true request for info. It really hit me when my good friend Jim asked, “So, I read all the posts from the past, but really, how are you?” What a beautiful thought this was. You see, Jim and his love, Lora, had great news of a baby on the way. But his mind was on me and my stuff.

Friends.

You know the kind of people you can be away from for years at a time but once together they seem to “stop time” in a way this is extremely rare. Well this weekend was just that. This came at a moment when no one but myself and maybe Jacqui (because she can read me like a good book) could realize and I am so grateful.

Tuesday the 27th is my next round of scans. Over two years removed from the original diagnosis but somehow, the fears and stress do not diminish. I so wish they would, but I can’t free my brain from the “what if” thoughts. That said, I know that whatever my scans on Tuesday bring, I am in beautiful company.

I feel great (which is so beautiful to say), and I still say this with caution, but it is true.

I hope this round of scans is clear. I also send positive thoughts each night to everyone in my big circle, who are supporting or fighting a battle of their own…

More to come from this strange and rambling post soon…

Peace and love to all and may the holiday and the new year bring us comfort.

d

November 26, 2012 Posted by daveandjacqui | Dave, Everyday | 1 Comment

Good-bye. Hello.

Summer is winding down. This family has been busy taking in the last of its carefree days while preparing for new life adventures. A week ago, we were driving back from Hilton Head — tan and sand encrusted. We quickly flipped some laundry and repacked the car to get Brandon to EKU mid-week. It didn’t take long for him to settle into his dorm room and reconnect with his buds. Such a different experience compared to a year ago but still, a few bittersweet seconds in there as we say good-bye to one phase and hello to another.

James and Tess also had many things to do — back-to-school haircuts, school supply shopping with Dave, orientation, etc. Their backpacks are ready to go and despite the fun of summer, they are looking forward to the academic routine. We have one going into high school and one going into fourth grade. It doesn’t seem right but then again, the years have been rushing past us.

Perhaps the biggest transition this summer was the ability to say good-bye to the shadows of cancer.

June was a tough month. It started with Dave getting a great report of continued remission but it blended into the last phase of pain management and full-blown withdrawal. While he still had pain in his back (sometimes debilitating, but he wouldn’t let you know that) Dave made the conscious decision to step away from all the prescribed pain killers. He didn’t want to live that way and honestly, things weren’t improving. Doctors weren’t helping his body re-calibrate. Instead, they were maintaining a dependency which, after he went through hell, we realized was an internal broken cycle of systemic craving inducing more pain. The process was slow — beginning in the early part of the year. As Dave stepped away from one prescription and tackled the tapering of a different one, he had to readjust and deal with plateaus as his body worked to keep up. But then “the event” happened. Due to a pharmaceutical shortage and a weekend delay, his prescription for the last bit of junk he was still on, couldn’t get filled. A body off schedule and lacking its ‘fix’ has a mind of its own. The withdraw had begun and Dave elected to ride it out. He wanted to be done. Mid-June into July was a blur as his whole system dealt with a nightmarish state. Plans we were making for summer were put on pause. While not cancer in its clinical form, this was, in my opinion, just as sinister and ugly. If you ever had to break any type of addiction and/or systemic dependency or were there with someone while they detoxed, you will know what a dark, scary, lonely and horribly excruciating road has to be traveled. To our friends and family who were there to help, I don’t believe there are words to express the gratitude we felt then and still do today. It was not what we had planned for those summer weeks, yet it was a necessary evil. Thank you for helping us through.

Dave took the opportunity of this medicinal break to seek out some alternative help. We had been researching acupuncture since spring but he had not had a chance to make an appointment. As things tend to work, the time was right and the right practitioner presented himself to Dave. The result? Well, exactly one month after the onset of withdrawal, Dave was able to hike up to Natural Bridge in the mountains of Kentucky. Twice.

He then was able to play like one of the kids on the beach for a week and kayak for miles. He’s now signed up to run the Hudy 7k with me next month. He laughs and smiles and nowhere in those actions are the spurts of pain he previously would try to shield behind his eyes. He’s back and he’s healthy — finally — in body, mind and spirit. It’s so good to see him this way. I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again — I’m one lucky girl to have him as my soulmate.

There will always be reminders of the past two years. We find things from that period tucked away in odd places in the house. We have loved ones and friends who are in the middle of their cancer treatments. Chatter of radiation and chemo will never go away. But they won’t have the same intensity.

Last night, we had a chance to finally watch the movie 50/50 — a gift from Brandon and honestly one of the best movies we have seen in some time. Let’s just say that if we  had seen this in a theater full of people they would have thought we were deranged. We laughed out loud at scenes that most people would not see as ‘funny.’ We recalled times of fear. We remembered how sick Dave was. We yelled back at the characters on screen. And we said good-bye to it all. An odd way to close it down but so very us.

Yes, there will be check-ups and oncology appointments…continious scans and blood draws. But, there will not be the fear. The shadow of ‘Roger’ and its sinister pain parade have finally been diminished in our hearts and minds. We’ve conquered. We’re saying hello again to our lives. Living free is so much more fun.

So, with all that, I’m not sure where this blog is going next. We’ve got some trips to Nashville on the radar so most likely it will be back to its roots: crazy road trips and even crazier dreams. We’ll make sure to post from time to time. Read as you desire. Until then, take care and be good. Live, love and laugh. ~ Jacqui

August 18, 2012 Posted by daveandjacqui | Dave, Everyday | 1 Comment

Time to Float

Sometimes you need to check out for a bit in order to check back in.

Have you ever looked outside a window or run an errand at mid-day and seen people sitting on a bench? Have you ever wondered why they were there and more importantly, why they weren’t someplace else? Like say, their job?

Yesterday, Dave and I were those people… sitting on a bench by the river… in the middle of the day. By 1:00 each of us had texted the other saying similar: we couldn’t focus on any work in front of us. The minutes leading to the oncology consult were long. Scary long. Our minds were each going into dangerous places. So we made a call. We met in a parking lot and went someplace we’d never been together before down by the river. We sat and watched the barges. We wasted some precious paid time off but that was okay. It is what we both needed to do. When we did speak, it was in terms of odds and probability. We both knew that, statistically speaking, this is the time when the majority of people with Dave’s form of cancer (the classification he was given) have a relapse. Getting through this gate was important. Our senses were heightened because of Dave’s continual level of pain in the area where the tumor had originally been. The pain was the trigger that got him to the doctor almost two years ago.

Finally, it was time to go.

Walking into the oncologists office six months after the last visit was not as unnerving as some may suspect. It was good to see the staff — they greeted us with big smiles and sweet chit-chat. We took that as a good sign. It softened the edge.

Of course, our doc is the master of the poker face. Any time he walks into the exam room it is with the same level of measured calm. We get it. But still when he quietly says, “So, how are you?” and is holding an envelope, Dave can’t reply any other way than, “Well, perhaps you can tell me how I am?”

In doc’s words, the scans looked good. The cancer remains in control and there are no new instances of anything sinister showing up on the radar. The scar tissue seems to have shrunk even more within the past six months. He’s feeling good regarding how things are progressing. Remission status stays intact. And as with every discussion, more assurances come the closer Dave gets to late September 2013, the year three mark.

Of course, the puzzling thing is still the pain. Our oncologist said that generally at this point and with this type of cancer, the pain caused by the tumor’s residence is gone. So, more discussion about new ways to deal with it. The big assurance for Dave was that the pain didn’t mean it was back. The body is just taking it’s time to heal.

So what was learned and gained through all of this? Definitely some new perspective and hope that as the every six month scans and consults continue, the anxiety lessens. I don’t want to lose precious minutes, hours and days worrying about the what ifs. It is time to walk away from that and time to float. To enjoy. To not live life (or be afraid to live life) because of a date on the calendar that “could change things.”

Beating the odds at this level is a wonderful boost. Dave felt great with the news (as anyone in his shoes would) but even better about his overall prognosis. While we agreed that as silly as it was, sitting on a bench by the river was a good thing to do yesterday, but we will not repeat that sort of behavior come December. We’re going to work to release the monsters of our imaginations and take life as it is. Besides, it would be too cold. ~ Jacqui

June 8, 2012 Posted by daveandjacqui | Dave, Everyday | 5 Comments

The Weight of Waiting

Dave just left for his 18 month scans. We won’t know what they reveal until late Thursday.

His cancer, while in remission, is in a precarious period. I don’t say that to get attention or put a negative spin on things. It is a simple fact. You have to have a good, long string of clean scans in order to get the “free” sticker. So far he has two.

Ask any cancer fighter and he or she will tell you that scan day is not a fun day. Try as one might, it’s hard to get a good mental angle. We live in an instant society. Waiting for “the read” seems archaic and cruel. But that is the way it is.

There’s a jag in our rhythm right now. Is the unknown phantom still that — a wisp of nothing? Or, has it started to organize itself into a shape — something with dimension and heft? It makes me wonder when … if … this part of things will ever feel commonplace. I know there is nothing I can do right now to change things so it is best to just get on with the day.

We won’t know until Thursday.

June 4, 2012 Posted by daveandjacqui | Dave, Everyday | 3 Comments

Giving Cancer the Boot

I haven’t written anything public in awhile. I’ve been keeping things more inside of late. In the time since the last scans (holidays) and now I’ve been trying to figure out the rhythm of Dave’s remission so far. Let’s just say it is not as I thought it would be. Heck, none of this is how anyone thinks it would be. And perhaps it is the not knowing that helps you get through life’s changes. Think about it, if you knew, really knew, what was around the bend would you ever approach the bend? Heady stuff for pre-dawn I know.

The good news is that Dave continues to be in remission. There still is pain and I guess we won’t know for awhile if this is permanent damage from tumor aggrevation, radiation or a combo thereof. He’s made some conscious decisions to explore different methods of dealing with the cruddy leftovers that cancer leaves behind. Some days are good… some days are slow. But they are days and I am grateful to have them.

And if you know Dave, well, he doesn’t stop. He gives it his all. And this Friday will be no exception.

Once again, our incredible group of family and friends have rallied to relay with us in the 12-hour Relay for Life in Campbell County. This is one of many American Cancer Relays which take place all over the U.S. and around the world to raise both awareness and funds for cancer research, treatment and screenings. Relay started in 1985 and is a pretty incredible experience.  If you have a second, read it’s quick history here. Once again proof of what one person can do with an idea.

If you will be in the Newport, Kentucky area this Friday night, swing by the track and say hello. The Nashville or Bust team will be decked out in its new finery (thanks, Jason for the design and Jameson for the screen printing awesomeness!) and doing its best to give cancer the boot. We’ll also be making pancakes from 11 p.m. to 1 a.m. as our on-track fundraiser. I can guarantee that these beat your momma’s pancakes hands down. I mean, pancakes always taste better at night in the fresh open air, right?

To read more about our team, here’s a link to its official page. Dave and I each have our pages in there, too. We’ll be livecasting the evening via FB and Twitter (my @redshoegirl account) so you can walk along with us wherever you are.

Never doubt for a minute that we wouldn’t be here had it not been for your continued expressions of love and support. Trust me, it is something I’ll be thinking about a lot as I lap the track and flip the stacks. Peace. ~ Jacqui

May 9, 2012 Posted by daveandjacqui | Dave, Everyday | 1 Comment

‘Tis the Season ~ 2011

A quick post to share some seasonal joy. Our year began a bit dark and uncertain. I don’t need to rehash it all. But it is closing with so much love and light and good stuff — we’re bursting. It feels great!

On December 1, Dave learned that his 6-month post treatment scans were clear. Roger — the sinister tumor that was — stayed away. Nothing new was lurking. What an incredible way to come off of our post-Thanksgiving fullness and enter December with a good dose of happy. And relief. We didn’t want to assume that we would get this result. I guess we’ll always go to each oncology appointment prepared to accept whatever news. But to watch Dave receive the word that yes things looked good was the best present ever. Year one is complete.

Dave used the good news (and the mild temps) to channel his inner elf-likeness. Lights, decorations, music, soup… everything he somewhat ‘missed’ last year he made up for in double-time. Before my eyes, our house took on an enchanted, bustling feeling. It’s been fun to just hunker down and enjoy every moment of it. And the tree looks quite awesome. I couldn’t resist taking a nap underneath its magical boughs with the cats. Mmmm… tree naps.

This burst of activity also became the catalyst for a new thing to try — crafting. We wanted to make something to express how much we appreciated those who stood by us throughout this crazy year. It took a bit of sourcing and several nights of therapeutic assembly but the end results make us smile. Behold — ornaments.

The delicate wooden snowflakes represent how unique, beautiful and fragile each of us are. And snowflakes, when all bunched up together, are pure power. Ask Ralphie.

The lime green ribbon is for awareness of a disease that will always require some form of fight. Our club color, if you will. It reminds us of what we have learned about ourselves and each other. It helps us recall every person we have met along Cancer Road — those who still fight, those who support, those who work to heal and those who we remember with tenderness and gratitude. The ribbon unites us all.

The silver disk is of course the silver lining that every cloud carries. Engraved with the word ‘Believe,’ it symbolizes that which kept us all going and in many ways that which kept us sane. Small, strong, solid, ever-present and also easy to lose — it augments our little creation with the exact thing that got us to today. Never give up. Never stop. Believe.

So there you have it… a glimpse at what we’ve been doing and how we’re putting a bow on 2011. Brandon is home from college and James and Tessa are almost done with school. We’re anxiously looking forward to days spent together, visits with family and friends, new memories, old traditions, warm socks and maybe, if we’re lucky, a nice little snow.

Love, laughter and light to all. Peace. Happy Merry. Believe in the magic. It’s all good. ~ Jacqui

December 20, 2011 Posted by daveandjacqui | Dave, Everyday | 2 Comments