I'm just not good at keeping up with this blog consistently--but then, you already knew that. Sometimes something happens that stirs my soul, and today was one of those days. It may or may not have had anything to do with my coffee intake this morning. You know, the fact that I was more keenly aware than usual of everything that happened in the doctor's office? ANYWAY. R had to see Dr. B just one month after our last appointment because he hit the magic 30 days post study drug completion. Doesn't mean much to your average person, but it's a part of our "new normal". The research nurse has a standard set of questions that go along with the drug trial that we have been participating in...the first of which is "How is your fatigue level?" R's standard response is, "About the same." Usually our nurse clicks the appropriate answer and moves on. Today she stopped. "Well, when do you think it might get better. You know, for the sake of letting the drug people know that it's resolved?" Excuse me? You want a date and time? "Well, let's just say that it DOES resolve over the next 5 months before we see you again. Could you write down the approximate time?" Um, okay. About this time, R gets THAT look on his face and proceeds to summarize our average week for her in an attempt to explain why we might be fatigued. Yes, us. Cancer, as well as life, is a family affair. Enter our oncologist, much respected and beloved. He listened to the conversation for a while, then delivered the most solemn message that I've heard come from him. I mean more serious, more heartfelt, than the day he told us it was stage 4 cancer.
In a nutshell, his message was this: If you don't slow down and find a way to get some regular down-time, you can expect your health to continue to suffer the consequences. Not only that, you're losing precious, irretrievable time with your children. You are headed down a destructive path.
Whoa. Haven't I been saying this? Well, apparently Dr. B's wife is something like yours truly--except that she's a well-known research physician and I'm not-- but we're both women who k-n-o-w. Know that whether you're an oncologist working 110 hours per week (yes, he does) or a prison chaplain/minister or a teacher or WHATEVER--you have to have time to breathe. He cited studies, he referenced the people of Europe and the Middle East, he even talked about the siesta, but he never smiled today. The man was as serious as I've ever seen him. Ever. And we've been through some serious moments together. He meant business. The man who told us that R's very serious diagnosis was no match for the prayers and support surrounding us, basically told him today that it's up to us now. There was more, but that's the main message. So what do you do? Not everything that he suggested today is plausible for us, but something has to be done. If things happen as they should, there will be changes in the coming days, weeks, months for our family. Some people may disagree, may not like them at all--may not understand. But in the end, hopefully they will be for good. As we had pointed out to us today, you can't undo the damage of fatigue and stress, you can only prevent more from happening. You can't get back time with your spouse or children, but you can start today making the most of every day. R just thought those multiple pills a day were tough to swallow.
