"Today is the first day of the rest of your life." Post #6
Waiting for Ken's turn to have his blood drawn at the CCI lab.
On April 17th, exactly one month after Ken's surgery, we arrived at the Cross and parked in the basement parkade. I drove, as Marigan doesn't enjoy the challenge of the golf-cart-sized parking stalls, and Ken wasn't supposed to be driving yet. (Ha! He drove to the Kubota tractor dealer in Leduc with his Dad last week!) Our appointment was in Clinic Area 4, which we had never been to before, despite visiting the Cross 56 times, as per my Google timeline. 🚗 Ken was given the usual gorgeous greenish garb while I filled out his paperwork. (We thought they probably preferred to have it legible! 🤔) At the beginning of each visit with the oncologist, you are interviewed by a nurse. Our nurse was Sheri, and she was wonderful. 💗 She ran through the usual spiel, though after Ken shared that we already know Dr. Zhu is wonderful due to my cancer journey, she looked up with a wry half-smile, "You don't have to do everything together, you know." 😏 When she discovered that Ken is a neurologist, she became a bit flustered and apologized for her kindergarten-level explanations. (We assured her we didn't mind!) Poor thing, when she found out that Marigan was a nurse and that Donovan was a doctor, too, she pretended to leave! 😆 (I was happy to share that two family members are normal.)
Dr. Zhu is great. Despite being hyper-efficient, you never feel rushed; I'm not sure how he does it! (You can learn more about him in this short article from 2019.) He and Ken had already met during one of my appointments, and I had shared news of Ken's diagnosis when I saw him the day after my birthday, so he was ready to roll. I've never met anyone with such an affinity for whiteboards. Seriously, I'm not sure he's capable of describing treatment options without the fumes from the marker. 😊 I had done a wee bit of research before our visit, and as Dr. Zhu ran through the various therapies available for Ken, I was relieved to see that we were on the same page. I know, I know, he knows waaaay more than I do; I'm not disputing this, and I certainly didn't go to school for double the time of the average high school graduate as he likely did! I was just happy to know that I hadn't been chasing geese through the wilds of the interwebs. 🪿🪿🪿
Appendiceal adenocarcinoma is super duper rare, so there hasn't been a lot of research dedicated to it. 🤷🏻♀️ As a result, treatments are based on other cancers, such as colon cancer, with limited studies demonstrating their efficacy in treating appendix cancer as well. Dr. Zhu is very good at presenting the various therapies without personal bias, and for Ken, the options were Folfox (folinic acid, fluorouracil, and oxaliplatin) and Capox (capecitabine and oxaliplatin). The side effects are similar, but CAPOX has demonstrated greater overall survival, therefore...Ken chose CAPOX. 😊 CAPOX also doesn't require a port, which means he can start earlier. (As per The Cleveland Clinic website: A port is a small, implantable device that attaches to a vein, usually in your upper chest area. It allows healthcare providers to draw blood and give treatments, including chemotherapy drugs, without a needle stick. A port can remain in place for weeks, months, or even years.) On Thursday at 1:15 pm, he will receive his first oxilaplatin infusion via IV, and he'll begin taking capecitabine in tablet form twice a day. That's six tablets, twice a day for 2 weeks straight!! Yikes. (He then has one week off before beginning the cycle again.)
Marigan and I have spent the last couple of days getting ready. She attended Chemo Training with Ken at CCI on Tuesday, which I appreciated greatly. I'd been beating myself up, thinking that I must be a terrible wife, since I'm finding it challenging to motivate myself to help with preparations...then I remembered how difficult Ken found my chemo journey. In some ways, it really is harder to not be the patient. When you're the patient, you have one job: fight cancer. As the caregiver, your role is not only multifaceted but constantly changing. 🥴
So as the sun sets on the last day of "life before chemo," I'm just grateful that we live so close to the Cross. Hmmm, we really have been living close to the Cross. ✝️ I can't imagine living life any other way. A friend told me she was praying for our family and our position as "reluctant role models." Oh man, make that "very, very, reluctant role models," and not just because life is hard. The thought of people watching how we live is terrifying; we are not saints! As a matter of fact, while completing some of the umpteen dozen insurance forms we've been filling out so we can afford parking at the Cross ($13.50/visit!), I was doing a positively perfect impersonation (or should I say "imfursonation") of a grizzly bear who has just emerged from hibernation. I'm pretty sure I was growling, and I was definitely hangry! (Do grizzlies eat copious amounts of chocolate when stressed? Just curious...😁) Ken, on the other hand, was doing an impressive impression of a certain character from a children's TV show of yesteryear; one with green fur and a penchant for living in tall, metal cylinders...🚮 As long as people realize that any strength we display is not a product of our own power, but rather a byproduct of living close to Jesus, we'll be fine. I hope. 🙏🏼 I'm just so very, very grateful for the power afforded us through the sacrifice of Jesus on the Cross, and, of course, His resurrection.
This song, written in 1988 (I was 13!), is still timely: Hear it sung by the Collingsworth Family here.
I can do all things
Through Christ, who gives me strength.
But sometimes I wonder what He can do through me.
No great success to show,
No glory of my own,
Yet in my weakness, He is there to let me know.
His strength is perfect when our strength is gone.
He'll carry us when we can't carry on.
Raised in His power, the weak become strong;
His strength is perfect, His strength is perfect.
We can only know
The power that He holds,
When we truly see how deep our weakness goes.
His strength in us begins
Where ours comes to an end.
He hears our humble cry and proves again,
His strength is perfect when our strength is gone,
He'll carry us when we can't carry on.
Raised in His power, the weak become strong,
His strength is perfect, His strength is perfect.
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