It was over
eighty degrees in Seattle last week, and Isaac got his first dip in the kiddie
pool. I thought he might be intimidated but he just threw his little body over
the inflatable plastic wall and splashed around like a little duck.
He is
growing so fast and trying hard to crawl. He’s got the legs part figured out,
but not the arms so he ends up in a downward dog yoga pose and then slams down
onto his belly. Sleeping has become more of a challenge as he becomes more
aware that if he yells at night he gets a nice snuggle with mom. This week we’re
giving Ferber a serious shot. If you are passing by the house, don’t be alarmed
if you can hear Isaac baby-swearing at us from his crib.
We’ve been busy lately
with some fun trips, one to Virginia for Isaac’s Great-Granddad’s 90th
birthday, and another to Boston to watch Matt run the marathon. Matt running
and Isaac and me cheering in Boston was a victory for the whole family. Maybe partly
this year’s race just felt like light over darkness or pick your cheesy
metaphor, but also we have been surviving more adventures in modern medicine. Over
the past several months, Matt had been enjoying training for the race, a bright
spot during a difficult winter. He has an amazingly athletic and supportive
group of friends who he runs with. With whom he runs. Whatever. While we were
still reeling from the news that I would need a lot more treatment after
surgery, he began feeling exhausted and having some weird symptoms. I said, “It’s
probably just stress.” He began to look like an emaciated bubonic plague
victim. As it turns out, he has Type 1 diabetes. Yes, really. I’ll fast
forward through the FAQ (Adults can get this, it is an autoimmune thing, not
the kind that is linked to diet and weight, can still eat sugar and drink
alcohol, can still run, getting over his
needle phobia with amazing speed)—watching Matt run Boston was so exciting and
uplifting. He felt great and had awesome day. Isaac also got to hang out with
his east coast people—grandparents, friends, and relatives—and see the sights
of Boston.
I’ve been hanging in there with my new drug protocol—Navalbine,
Methotrexate, and Xeloda. Xeloda! That one sounds fun—like a hipster cocktail. Often
I feel pretty good, usually tired, sometimes I feel really
terrible. Intense fatigue is no joke, but Isaac doesn’t care and it helps in
some ways to be forced to get out of bed, warm a bottle, and take care of a
tiny human. My bone marrow is unhappy with being put through more drugs and my
white blood cell counts are not rebounding well lately so we’re still being
super careful about germs. The more months of treatment I can get my body to
handle, the better the chance that it will work to prevent my cancer from recurring.
On the other hand, sometimes it is nice to have a week off and feel more like
myself for a bit. And my hair is growing back! It is too thin, fine, straight,
and quite gray but I’ll take it—just in time to ditch the scarves and hats for
the warm weather. Over the weekend I planted strawberries and lilacs in the
pouring rain.
