Shackles

Last week walked through the doors of the neuro-oncology unit for my regular monthly check-up. It's a very nice place with large windows and comfy chairs. I sat and waited for my appointment and I noticed a patient brought in by guards in a wheel chair. Peeking out under his blanket were orange prison clothes and his ankles were cuffed to the chair. Immediately my eyes welled up with tears. How on earth would you go through this in prison? It's hard enough with an outpouring of love from people I talk to often and a big comfy bed. I can't imagine doing this alone, in confinement. I recently finished reading Just Mercy, a fabulous book about the prison system in the US and the less than humane conditions of prisoners. My heart went out to him and I really wanted to go and talk to him but his guards stood in front of him.

When I was taken back for height and weight, he was wheeled in and the nurse asked if I preferred to step out in case I was uncomfortable. Of course I said no. It was totally fine with me.  When I went in to my room, my doctor noticed I was shaken and I told her why I was upset. She promised that they were taking good care of him. 

I believe there isn't a time in anyone's life where they can say they have never made a decision they regret. 

We are all bound by struggles and regrets. We are all prisoners to so many things, even if they aren't so visible. 

I remained jarred by this through my appointment.

As the doctor reviewed my labs she showed great concern. My platelets and white blood cells are too low to continue treatment right now. There is a normal rage, a low range and a range that is not safe to take chemo. I'm there. The doctor asked me to wait in the room for a little so she could review more information. 

That particular pause in her speech was terrifying. At every visit my concerns were calmed, as if to reassure a child after a fall that they would be fine. This was the first time in a long time that I remembered how serious this is. 

The great news is that they sent me home and delayed the chemo for almost two weeks. I went back already and had more tests done. The numbers increased enough to stick with the new start date a few weeks from now if my counts stay up. 

The things they are watching are platelets  and white blood cells. If platelets are too low, your body will struggle to clot blood and bruise easily. A cut could bleed longer from low platelets. Over the past weeks my legs have become a purple connect the dots game from low platelets. 

The white blood cells are the cells that fight infection. My doctor instructed my family and I to get flu shots right away and to keep my distance from people who are sick or germy (my word!).

Last Friday, I left the school building after dropping off Noah's Halloween costume with a broken heart. I couldn't stay for the party in a flu season room of elementary students. 

The tricky part about my medicine is that the Temodar (chemo) fights the cancer cells. However, Temodar has a slight risk of compromising bone marrow which in some cases leaves patients susceptible to leukemia. These cases are a small percentage of patients who take Temodar and highly unlikely. 

It is a tricky tightrope I am walking between health and sickness. It's incredibly hard to face the facts when I feel the best I've felt in years. I'm exercising, eating well, I've made many new friends, I love our church, I love the culture and beauty of the northwest and so it is easy to forget about what is going on in my body.  The handcuffs and the lab results and the endless appointments are all areminder to me that God sees my struggle, knows what I feel shackled to, and yet sees beauty in me. 

As grateful as I am to have maintained a relatively normal appearance and function, it is balanced by the fact that my internal feelings and struggles in this fight are virtually invisible. 

These thoughts always bring me back to my baseline. My struggle is no better or worse than yours. My outside sometimes reflects my inside, but sometimes it doesn't. The man wearing orange might be kind and caring, he might be transformed or wrongfully convicted, he might have done terrible things, but either way there is no doubt that there is more to our story than we can see by just looking. 

So, in the meantime, I'll enjoy the reprieve  from the heavy medicine. I go back for blood work frequently and I will have my next MRI on Dec. 2. It is at this next appointment that we will address whether my body needs a longer break or if we should keep going. 

As always, thank you for your love and grace and if you put the zucchini bread on my doorstep, thank you!