Monday, March 14, 2011

March Update

I know many of you look for updates on Sabine's cancer fight (and you know that for the most part, NO news is GOOD news)!  So, my "quietness" has been because Sabine's increased chem has been going along pretty well.  Yes, she is tired, but she still gets her exercise in every morning!

We recently got her "labs" back and the "numbers" were reduced (last month they were 100 and now with the increased dosage of Revlimid they fell to 75).  We meet with Dr Sheehan on Wednesday and we expect that he will be happy with the treatment results.  However, Sabine's hemoglobin and platelets have also dropped (hence the tiredness associated with this chemo) and I am sure Dr Sheehan will have us continue to monitor her blood work (which otherwise looks pretty good).

We both are anxiously awaiting the warm winds of Spring!  It's been a long winter!

Gratefully, I remain.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Visiting Hospice

First of all, the medical report: good.  Sabine is more tired but tolerating the increase chemo dosage. We check the "numbers" again in a couple of weeks and see how the cancer is responding.  Otherwise, we both anxiously await the tide of spring!

Now for more:

A dear friend from one of our support groups checked into the hospice center last week.  They called us to tell us about the progress of the cancer and what had happened.  You know, it's so easy and comfortable to live in your head.  Oh, the hospice center that I had heard so much about but never had anyone I knew in it.  A good time to visit, to see her and her husband and to check the place out... all rational "head stuff." 

But once there, that old question from clinical pastoral training came into my mind as Sabine and I opened the front door. "What's this like? What's the feelings?

Sabine and I had errands to do so we arrived and left in two separate cars.  I sat for some time in my car pondering these questions and writing the following poem...


a call to visit
a friend in hospice on
a wintery day
routine
that's what i do
(or so i thought)
and then
a gnawing
dread
appears and takes
control
"i must leave" you
say
and i
caught
feeling stupid
to ever think this
was less
than
it was
and what i thought
would be
just another
medical visit
becomes to each of
us
that day
the day in which
we, too,
will open these
large wooden
doors
enter together
but only
one of
us
would
leave.