I hope your cancer is boring.

I think maybe, if you are lucky, cancer is really boring.

That's a thought that has been rolling around in my head since October 20th, while I sat in a waiting room in Blue Hill Memorial Hospital while Daniel was in surgery. Less than 48 hours earlier he'd seen his doctor about a lump on his left testicle. And, here we were, getting it lopped off. (Or, more accurately, getting it lopped "out." Look up "radical inguinal orchiectomy" if you're curious. You're probably not.)

Sadie and I walking in Blue Hill while Daniel went through
pre-op prep.

[Before we get much further, please know that Daniel's prognosis is extremely good! I think about as good as one could ever hope for with cancer. After going through surgery and this chemo regimen, the chance of recurrence should be less than 1%. So you can keep reading without fear of a depressing conclusion.]

Cancer involves a lot of waiting. Waiting in waiting rooms. Waiting in examination rooms. Waiting in pre-op rooms. Waiting in post-op recovery. Waiting to get the light-up-your-insides drink before the MRI, then waiting for it to go through your system so you can go into the MRI. Waiting for results. Waiting to start infusions and during infusions and to get fluids before and after. 

Prior to chemo starting we went for a walk on Sears Island.

But this kind of waiting is pretty much the best possible scenario. Cancer related excitement isn't often the good kind of excitement. Unless they're telling you, "YAY! You're cured!!," the excitement you might encounter is more in the vein of the not-so-good test results or low blood counts. We'll take boring above that stuff. 

We had a little bit of our own not-nice-kind-of-excitement last week when Daniel's white blood counts dropped critically low. He started coughing and spiked a little fever, the combo of which lands you in the hospital. So then, as you can imagine, the waiting commenced again. We needed 48 consecutive hours without a fever before they'd let him out. And while there he got some heavy-duty antibiotics and a shot that kicks your bone marrow up a few notches to start reproducing white blood cells.

Took this photo in the ER before admission.
Then noticed the sign that says "Please no photos in the ER."
Whoops!

The one area of cancer where, amazingly, there is no waiting is the rest of life. Since October 20th I've been continuously surprised that life hasn't pushed some giant "pause" button. Dishes still pile up in the sink and work still has to be done and Thanksgiving still came and went. Sometimes I find myself thinking, "How can anything else keep happening when this is going on?" But, that's how life works. And really, that's a good thing. Just sitting around every day only thinking about cancer wouldn't be very productive. So, with lots and lots and lots of help from loved ones, we've been doing our thing as best as we're able: work, playing cribbage, taking out the compost, writing papers, taking walks.

Sadie and I took a break during chemo infusions (we're lucky
we have that option) to see the first snowfall on Bald Mtn.

With all this waiting there has been plenty of opportunity to think, and there are two main things I've been thinking a lot about. One is how grateful we are for the privileges and benefits we have. It's hard to name all the of the things we're grateful for, and I hope this doesn't sound trite because it couldn't be more sincere.

Both Daniel and I have jobs with sick leave, jobs where you can take sick time and still get paid. That's a benefit so many Americans do not have, and we fully realize how lucky we are. And when Daniel ran out of sick leave (because his job is relatively new) many coworkers offered to donate some of theirs, a generosity for which we are so thankful. We are thankful to have insurance. And we're thankful for supportive supervisors and colleagues and professors.

We are grateful for our family and friends, and all of the wonderful help they've given us. The food, visits, cards, texts, emails, calls, care packages, chauffeuring, and help with Sadie have been amazing. And delicious. And more helpful than you can imagine.

We are incredibly thankful we live so close to our treatment center. The Cancer Center of Maine (part of Eastern Maine Medical Center) is less than 30 minutes from where we live. So many Mainers have to travel 2-4 hours to get here. Recognizing how lucky we are in this regard we're planning to support Sarah's House, an organization that provides housing, food, and support to cancer patients traveling from far away, once we get through this health hiccup.

The second thing I've been thinking a lot about is the idea of heroism. Being a "hero" is something often associated with "fighting" cancer. Daniel and I have talked about heroism before. It's a label often put on firefighters and one that Daniel rejects. Firefighting is a job, one he loves and gets paid to do. To him, it's not heroic. But if you're the one whose home was saved, you might feel differently. Others might feel differently than I about heroism and cancer. To me it doesn't feel heroic, it's more like a job you were given, a job you don't like and you don't even get paid for. Day to day doesn't feel heroic. Dragging myself out the door to go for a short and slow run doesn't feel heroic, but I do it because I know I'll feel better (and Sadie needs to poop). Waiting in waiting rooms, sitting through infusions, and losing hair doesn't feel heroic, but you do what you have to do. There's a quotation I often repeat to myself (and I can't give credit because I don't remember where it came from): "Sometimes the best way out is through." That's what we're doing. Getting through.

There have been some humorous and sweet moments. Daniel and I love to play cribbage over dinner. Since this whole cancer thing started we've had an answer for all potential cribbage outcomes: If Daniel wins, we say the cribbage gods must know he has cancer and are giving him a break. If I win, the cribbage gods know my husband has cancer and are feeling bad for me. When Daniel was in the hospital last week I beat him by 70 points (!!) so the cribbage gods must have been thinking I needed a pick-me-up that day.

So here we are with day one, round two of chemo under our belts. We looked out the big windows onto our first major snowstorm of the winter. (I had a snow day at school today! Which is why I get to be at treatment on a Monday.) We're thankful for the snow and thankful to be on the final round of chemo. Hopefully by the new year we'll be out there in the snow, skiing away.

In the meantime, Daniel's sporting the hat I crocheted him and we're listening to Christmas music.

Love to all of you. Thank you for your thoughts and support. Sending you thoughts of peace and joy this holiday season.