Our village is an amazing place and we feel so loved and surrounded by so many people. Thanks for the outpouring of loved we’ve received in the last few days.

It’s a hard thing to announce to the world, “WE’RE DOING THIS THING AND IT SUCKS” but some days, I’m grateful that we can reach everyone and get the message out quickly. Don’t get me wrong, the social media platforms all have their issues, but I do think it allows for folks to know what’s going on with us and share their well wishes. Besides, I follow a lot of accounts with cute cows and otters, and let’s face it, nothing wrong with that.

Anyways, we’re going to take vacation next week. We’re incredibly fortunate that both of our employers were pretty much yelling “GET OUT” (but in a good way) and we’ll be taking some much-needed R&R. We’re probably going to watch too much TV, and get water logged, and bug bitten, and all of that, but we’re pretty sure we’re going to have a good time being together. And sleeping in. And eating junk food. (Ok, now I’m excited. How am I supposed to make it through another work day?)

We had our chemo education today. I mean, we didn’t really need it. I took OBSESSIVE notes last time. This time, I literally wrote down one sentence, “Calling in Ativan for sleep.” (note to self: call PA for new appointment to get trazadone for sleep.)

We have a lot to look forward to this summer – my sister’s wedding, a beach vacation, trip to Boston for work/fun (it includes tickets to Moulin Rouge! as it’s being adapted for broadway and I AM EXCITED.) I’m hopeful that the chemo won’t be as bad as last time and that P is still able to enjoy the summer.

We’re off to buy a new TV tonight (“It’s as big as you are! Literally. It’s 60”) because… wait. We don’t need a “because.”

Call that the bright side?

Welp. Here we are. I’ve written another blog post from Friday night, but that one felt a bit heavy, so I’m leaving you this, too.

Preston’s cancer is back. It’s a hell of a lot sooner than we’d hoped.

But.

Well, it is what it is.

He has 8 nodules in his lungs and one in his liver. They’re “tiny” by cancer standards, so we’ve got that going for us. We’ve met with his oncology team and feel confident that they’re ready to come out swinging.

Chemo starts June 4th.

FOLFIRI + Avastin this time. We’re switching out the Oxaliplaitin which was the drug that caused all sort of weird side effects. He’ll still get the pump for 46 hours once every two weeks in addition to an infusion of the other stuff.

Surgery’s not really on the table since it didn’t really work. It’s just too hard on the body and the lesions are in too many places. The idea is to shrink/keep the existing tumors at bay while keeping others from forming. It’s pretty much like managing a chronic disease. Hopefully we’ll be doing the managing for a long time!

We were pretty blindsided (see my other post for the real-time version. I’m sharing it because I think it’s an honest perspective) but now a few days out, I am really glad that  I didn’t spend the last 6 months agonizing over cancer. We were pretty free from it, actually, and it was a real blessing.

I’ve updated our FAQs page here with information about how you can help and also some things that we learned from last time. Hindsight is kind of an amazing thing. There were a few things that I’ll do differently this time – for example, I plan to see a counselor – and where we are now doesn’t feel like we’re riding a rollercoaster without a harness. It’s more like a commuter train – it stops in plenty of places we’d rather not be, but it mostly gets us where we need to go and it’s not scary unless you jump in front of it.

I’m not sure that analogy works. Sorry. I’m tired and that’s the best I can do for now.

With love,

Sarah

It’s Friday night and Preston’s cancer is back. You don’t know this yet – we’re in that fun stage of things where we know, and the doctors know, but no one really wants to say it out loud because “there’s still a chance…”

Sure. But come on. You’re monitoring him every few months. And so when the exact thing you’ve been looking for shows up…

It’s back.

The most maddening thing about it right now is that I had let my guard down. I had begun to make plans. To daydream. To believe that we were’t “the cancer family” anymore. That we should probably ask the church to take us off the prayer list. That we could think about what vacation we would want to go on for our 10th anniversary.

Our 8th was Tuesday. We didn’t celebrate with much fanfare and it was lovely. Just barbeque chicken at home with Conor. And even though I knew he had scans coming up in a couple of days, I don’t think I gave any credibility to the very fleeting thought that it could be back.

Cancer families are’t allowed to daydream. It’s just not a luxury we get to have. I’ve gotten pretty good at living in the moment, and I think we could all stand to be a bit better at it. But, let’s face it, that’s just our reality.

And there is something so tragic about having that taken away. Humans, in general, are wonderful at planning. It’s said that people get more enjoyment about looking forward to the vacation than the actual vacation itself. We daydream when we’re bored or when we need a break from the day to day. We look forward to the next holiday or the next time we see each other. We grasp on to the fleeting moments of childhood while still wishing for this phase they’re going through to hurry on up…

The first time, it was not letting myself look ahead that became both my most important armor and darkest place. Watching the person you love most in the world suffer terribly for extended periods of time is devastating. So is sleeping in the guest bedroom (it’s always cold in there) putting on a brave face when it becomes your job to hold their discomfort. (side note: If I can hold it together, you can, too. And please don’t hug me because you’re upset. But I still love you, it’s cool.)

But being forced to live in the moment, feels rather different than making that choice.