That’s right, it’s hump day. Actually, it’s Thursday, but today marks the halfway point of my chemo and radiation treatments prior to surgery. Fourteen down and 14 to go. So far, the only side effect that has shown itself is the peeing issue. I mentioned before that when I have to go, it’s a RIGHT NOW kind of thing. Now imagine the Hoover Dam and all the water trapped behind it being forced through a hole the size of a dime. That’s how it feels to pee right now. The doctor said it’s a common side effect of the radiation and so if there has to be one, I’m glad that it’s not one of the big ticket items like the hair or the cracked skin on the hands and feet or even the nausea. I understand that any of these things could still happen, but they haven’t yet and for that, I’m counting myself lucky. They offered me some medication to make it easier to pee (I hate the word urinate or any form of it), but I told them to hold off because I don’t think there’s any room in my pill box for even one more small tablet.
If you’re reading this and it seems hastily thrown together, it is. My schedule right now does not allow for much of anything outside of working, sleeping, driving, and making sure that I take some food with my medications. There just isn’t time for much else. I feel terrible for our dogs because they are kenneled while I’m in Petoskey, and then they are in again while I sleep until Kelly gets home. They sleep when Kelly does too, so it doesn’t leave them much time to go out other than to do their business and get right back in. So if anyone feels like being dragged around by a 160-pound St. Bernard while trying to keep the 10-pound yapper from getting tangled up in the big one’s legs, please let me know. I’m sure they’d appreciate the exercise.
My other new development is that I have a tentative surgery date. It’s January 20, but I’m trying to get that pushed back just a bit so that I can go to the Sault vs. Brimley Cancer vs. Rivals game, which is scheduled to be played on Jan. 21.
In other posts, I have talked about things that I’ve taken from other people to help me fight this thing. I have taken Graham’s will, and Clay’s ability to just go with things. I have used Erick’s ability to make me laugh and put all these things together to not let the cancer get me down. Soon comes the surgery and the recovery from being laid open and having part of me removed. This takes courage among other things.
I have found that courage is like a sense of humor in that everybody thinks that they have it. But despite that, not everyone is funny, and even fewer people are truly brave. I don’t know if I’m brave or not, and hopefully, I’ll never have to find out.
I say that because my definition of bravery can be summed up in one name: Ruth-Jean Church .
She was my paternal grandmother and she died of breast cancer when I was in my early teens. The technology then wasn’t even close to what it is now and she never really stood a chance once it started to spread.
What I am about to write is how I remember things. It may not be entirely accurate, but through my eyes, this is how I saw it.
My Grandma Church was a forceful personality and the glue that held the Church clan together. Not that we were in danger of coming apart at the seams or anything, but even if we had been, Grandma never would have let it happen.
Thanksgiving dinner was at their house every year and to this day, it remains my favorite holiday, in part, because of the memories of those dinners and playing with my cousins and brothers.
You didn’t misbehave at Grandma Church ’s house either. Her weapon of choice was the pancake turner and she wielded it like Zorro, whacking away bad manners or any behavior that she deemed unchurchlike. We often stayed the night at Grandma and Grandpa Church ’s house and the one rule that I always remembered was that in the morning, you don’t wake up your grandparents. They had a bar that separated the kitchen and the entry way and when we got up we sat at the bar and had Wheaties. If you woke Grandma or Grandpa up, there wasn’t going to be pancakes for breakfast, but the pancake turner would be out.
Despite her aptitude with the spatula, my grandma’s bravery was forged in my memory by the way she handled the cancer. They tried treatment after treatment and nothing worked. At some point, I’m sure the doctors told her that she was going to die. She fought to hang on as long as she could and must have endured incredible pain to do so.
I remember that all of us grandkids were able to visit her once in the hospital towards the end. We went in one at a time, and I don’t remember if there was any particular order or not, but when it was my turn, I remember her telling me that I was the oldest and to take care of my brothers and cousins. She told me that she loved me and that she was proud of me. She held my hand the whole time and kissed me before I left the room. Her voice was weak and I didn’t realize until much later how much effort it took for her to speak for as long as she did. I knew that she was telling me good-bye even though she never said it. She smiled the whole time she talked to me and she winked at me as I walked out the door.
Bravery is Ruth-Jean Church. Knowing that you aren’t going to live to see your grandchildren grow up, but summoning the strength to talk to them one last time and to try and make it easy on them by not talking about sad things. Bravery is keeping a smile on your face while you look at theirs for the last time.
Could I do that? Could I be that brave? Yes, because I am Ruth-Jean Church's grandson. I hope with all that I have though that I never have to be.
I Will Win
Since I'm posting this on Friday instead of Thursday, I have one update to add. I was able to get my surgery moved to January 27th so that I will be able to attend the Pink Game. Now, I just have to figure out a way to talk them into letting me out in time to watch the Super Bowl from my own couch instead of a hospital bed.
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