The Roads Less Traveled

Well, apparently we didn't have enough drama going on. We were only getting ready for my 97th chemo session, trying to coordinate two oncologists to talk with an ocean and a five-hour time difference between them, waiting for clearance of the new drug Avastin which could be the key to saving my life, trying to find ways to pay for this miracle drug, not to mention getting around to all my healers to help strengthen my body before I head back into action. Oh yeah, and then there's Christmas. But no, we had kick it up a notch.

On Wednesday last week we visited Dr. Raza knowing we needed a miracle. He had called Dr. Öberg in Sweden and they had made the plan. I would do three more rounds of chemo with Avastin which he agreed to prescribe as long as we pay for it. Luckily, my insurance company will cover 80% of the cost. We then went to see the oncology social worker to ask if there was any way to get help with the remaining 20%. She said they hadn't dealt with this drug in this way before because I am probably the first one in Canada using it for this kind of cancer. She told us the drug rep was in the hospital that day and she would try to see him. Then the miracle happened. She opened her door and he was standing there. In less than a minute she came back in and said, "Yes, the drug company will pick up the remaining cost". It saves us over $8000 a month.

So, we were all set. On Tuesday I would go in for bloodwork and start the sessions on Wednesday. It was Monday when the rain started falling from the sky in sheets, relentlessly. We walked down our driveway at midnight with a flashlight and saw that the end of it was nothing but a gaping hole. Water was shooting up out of the culvert and the whole Kentville Road was a lake of swirling water. All night the storm raged with thunder and lightning and trees swaying to the ground. In the morning we found out that the Nashwaak River and all surrounding streams had overflowed in a flash flood, blocking the main highway on either side of us and washing out roadways. 

We were stranded and desperately trying to think of a way to get out when Fred and Connie walked in the door. They had come to rescue us. Parking their truck on an old logging road, they had hiked through the woods along the ridge of the valley and then beat a path down to our house through the thickets. (They are jungle trained!)

We packed a backpack and headed out with them uphill, over brush piles, through raspberry bushes,  and across the torrents of water pouring off the hill, guessing most of the way, until we hit the woods road and the truck. Fred managed to drive out over fallen trees and rushing brooks, coming out into the sandpit above the flood waters. From there we took back roads to Stanley and down the Royal Road to Fredericton. You can always, always count on Fred and Connie to solve any problem and tackle anything. By 4 p.m.. I had had my blood work, we had picked up my anti-nausea drugs for the next day and were settled in the Crown Plaza for the night. We even had a little party in our room when Caroline, Bessie, Sylvia and Lisa came over with home-made pizza and drinks.  


It is now Saturday morning and I finished the first round of this treatment regime. The sun is beaming in the windows, a light snow has fallen in the night, the cat is asleep in front of the wood stove and the waters have receded as if the flood never happened. We are truly grateful for all the pathways that opened for us this past week, both figuratively and literally. All is well.

The Waiting Game

How much of our lives are made up of waiting? Waiting for a letter, waiting for someone to call, waiting for the kettle to boil, waiting in line-ups at banks or supermarkets, waiting for summer, for birthdays, for someone in your family to come home. It is Sunday night and a warm December rain is hitting the windows. Julie is playing the piano and singing while we wait again, wait for tomorrow when we will hear what the doctor has to say about my further treatment. Last week, in the 'waiting' room of the hospital, what did we do? We waited for the new oncologist to appear and beckon us into his office for my latest CT Scan report. I'm pretty sure we bullied the last oncologist out with our persistent positivity and proactive approach.

As it happened, the report was quite good with the cancer in the liver completely gone, the lungs clear, blood levels almost normal and all systems in top form. However, there is still some cancer caking in the omentum and it appears to have grown while it was reducing in all other areas. The oncologist said he was unsure where to go from here because most people don't live this long with this type of cancer and he has never had to go to plan B, let alone Plan C, D and E. He said it in a complementary way, such as, you have already beat the odds. Julie once more got on the warpath, researching, e-mailing, calling and borderline-stalking physicians for action. She contacted Dr.Öberg at the Centre for Excellence in Endocrine Cancer in Uppsala, Sweden. Dr. Öberg is on our team as we were there in the spring for testing and consultation. He suggested a regime that would have me on three more cycles of the chemo that I just finished along with the drug, Avastin. Now, Avastin comes with its own challenges, too lengthy to describe here, but none we can't conquer. My oncologist will take the advice of Dr. Öberg. Hopefully the two oncologists will talk tomorrow and make a plan for me, so we are waiting. Waiting, waiting waiting.

So, what do you do when you are waiting for something that could mean your life? Well, you go tobogganing. That's right, tobogganing. Take that cancer!!!! You make bread and a crock of beans. You pace. You pour a glass of wine. You flit from task to task, accomplishing nothing. You pour a bath that is too hot and get right out again. You do mundane things as if they are the most important tasks in the world. (Julie vacuumed the woodpile with the new shop vac). You talk to your sons on the phone for hours. You take calls from family and friends who reassure you. You pour more wine. You call up your healing gurus and make appointments...acupuncture, reiki, reflexology, energy healing, therapeutic massage, qi gong classes, meditation. You go for drives on old country roads that have no end. You wake up in the middle of the night and look out at the stars, knowing everything will be alright.

And so we wait.