THE SUNSHINY SUPERWARRIOR GODDESS SPEAKS

Dear Family and Friends,

It’s been two weeks since my diagnosis and I’m ready to reach out. Sorry it wasn’t sooner, but I know you understand.  

First things first.

Thank you.  From the bottom of my heart.  Thank you. From the inside of my soul. Thank you.

For reaching out, for calling, for texting, for stopping by, for sending gifts, for dropping food off nightly, for offering to drive and pick up the boys, for helping get my daughter back to school, for checking on my husband, for keeping me abreast of the world, for your prayers, for your talisman, for your words of wisdom, for your information, for your contacts, for your positivity, for your swift responses to anything I ask for, for you nutritionists, and therapists, and masseuses, and for your endless supply of support and kindness and concern and love. The road has been unexpected and wild, and I’m torn between sharing the harshness of my new everyday reality with the humor that lives in so many moments.  

Like, for instance, the names of the Chemotherapy drugs that I’m currently taking. Every time I hear them, they sound like cool new teachers at my kids’ school.

Vincristine (AKA - Vin Christine – AP HISTORY)

Pegaspergase (AKA - Peg Aspargase - ENGLISH)

Donarubicon (AKA - Donna Rubicon - GEOMETRY) Or as Crockett said, that sounds like the next Indiana Jones movie, “Indiana Jones and the Hunt for Donna Rubicon.”

Deep in my mind’s eye, I see invincible Vin, powerful Peg and dominant Donna as the Charlie’s Angels of chemo drugs, posed in silhouette, coming to my rescue. 

Or what about the day I went to the ER and the gorgeous yet arrogant doctor (aka Dr. Dashing) insisted beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had sciatica. He was 100% sure. When I told him I’d had sciatica before and this definitely wasn’t it, he asked me when my last bowel movement was, and proceeded to give me a rectal exam.  Happy New Year to me! Excruciating back pain and a free nonsensical rectal exam. It’s a two-for-one special.  Sciatica? Constipation? Nah, let’s split the difference and call it Leukemia.

I’ve also made a new friend whom I lovingly refer to as “Clark,” a giant steel IV stand that goes with me everywhere. One special night, Clemmy and her friend came over to watch a movie and we began riffing on Clark.  It was a highlight. I told her I’d met someone, a really nice guy, who follows me everywhere, never interrupts, is incredibly attentive, and now we’re “hooking up.” The look on her face was priceless. Moms and hooking up do not go together. It got a lot dirtier than that, but I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.

And then there’s the harder stuff. Not the “why me’s” or the “how did this happen” — not the projection into the future or the anxiety that creeps in more than I care to admit.  It’s grappling with the minor things that I’d completely taken for granted before now in my everyday life. The way I can’t currently brush my teeth with a refreshing toothbrush (instead I get a sponge on a lollipop stick, so as to not risk gum bleeding). I can’t run my own bath (spores may come out, so somebody preps a sanitized bath for me with all sorts of antibacterial goodies inside). I can't go outside or even walk in the hallways without a hospital mask (my immune system is at ground zero), and eating food off the floor (something I’ve always prided myself on) has now become a major life threat. So much for the 3 second rule! And can we talk about the internet? Of all things to be frustrated about at a time like this, the internet is top of the list! When you’re literally trapped in solitary confinement 24 hours a day, is a strong wifi signal too much to ask for so you can finally catch up on Netflix? And then there’s sleeping through the night – something that hasn’t happened for me in 14 days (the nurses come in around the clock, every 3 hours to check my vitals.)  Or touching my loved ones. Because they’ve been sick, I’ve been unable to give or receive hugs. And let me tell you, a world without hugs is a very cold place. 

I suppose all of this might be interesting research for a project I’m writing... except this time, the project is me.

Most days my spirits are up, but I can’t lie – I’ve had some low days too. Which I expect is normal for such an abnormal situation. But the truth is, all the love keeps me going. It keeps me from hiding and forces me to stay in the moment. To be in my body.  To communicate. 

And then there’s Trey. I’ve always known that I married an extraordinary man, but Trey’s strength, love and resilience have shown me that what I saw was only the tip of the iceberg. He has taken on the role of ten, and is doing it with grace. I’m in awe. 

And my kids? Such wisdom. Such maturity. I’m astounded to watch Clemmy, Crockett and Cosmo surprise me on a daily basis.  

I’m sure there’s more, and I apologize for rambling as my head is slightly clouded with chemo, prednisone, transfusions, antibiotics, and a dozen other multi-syllabic fluids.  

Then again, I can’t think of the last time I was waited on hand and foot, had 3 meals brought to my bed, didn’t cook dinner, didn’t do errands, didn’t drive all over town, and had all day to think and write. It’s a dream come true! 

Okay — too much positivity? Maybe a little.  

Just know this… I love you all and will never be able to repay your countless kindnesses. But I can sure tell you this much… 

WE WILL NOT BE DEFEATED. 

-Nancy