It's a blog entry from the road! We might just transform this thing from a boring cancer blog into a much more exciting travel diary. But first, let's take care of some long-lost family.
We got off earlier than expected, late at night on Tuesday, November 10th. Our start was something less than "auspicious", though, as it began in the pouring rain with a hole ripped in the roof of our brand-new (to us) Airstream Bambi. We got in a bit of a hurry and didn't communicate well what was going on, resulting in a minor crash into the gutter over the carport. Aarrgghh! Even so, with our new perspective on what's important in life it was the work of only a few minutes to mash a little Mighty Putty into the hole and seal it for good. Or at least until we can get a proper repair done.
Though it was late, it was still good to pull into my (Clem's) parents' house in Alabama. We visited for a little while, then went to bed, eager for an early start in the morning. We enjoyed another of mom's wonderful breakfasts and hung out for the entire day. I got a bonus--some time with my daughter, Kara. She's so much fun to hang out with that we lost track of the time and I was just a little late for dinner. Kara and I are often surprised that we "get" each other's humor and seem to view the world through such similar lenses. Few people do, it seems. Wyatt and Lisa brought my adorable neice Sophie over, while Janette and Buddy brought my other adorable neice and nephew, Savannah and Cameron. We didn't do anything special, but it was great to just hang out with each other.
I'm posting this from Elk City, Oklahoma, USA. It's just a tiny place about halfway between Oklahoma City and Amarillo, Texas. (Pronounced "nothing" and "nowhere", respectively.) :) We are at home in a little KOA park that has provided us with a great place to bunk in, and also some sweet WiFi.
Tomorrow we'll see my son Logan, his wife Lindsay, and their baby (my granddaughter) Lorelei. We always have fun with them, so we're looking forward to this weekend.
After that, we'll continue westward and see where our journey takes us. Dusting off our wings and living to fly!
Clem
Friday, November 13, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Into the Blue
Sometimes I am so glad that we have this blog so I can really know what goes on inside of Clem's head. Yes I was there when we got the CEA results and we did rejoice and I did the happy dance but all those emotions that Clem described on this blog were not visible even to me. He should play poker. There were misty eyes but of course they were quickly wiped away and if I had not continued to throw confetti and twirl around in the parking lot no one would have known that anything significant had just happened.
I remember the day in Mexico that the Doctor told me that Clem had cancer and I was waiting around for him to wake up so I could tell him. The entire world shifted for me at that very moment and I stood in the sunny hallway slowly breathing in and out, drawing as much energy as possible from the beautiful sunshine and the power of our love in order to prepare myself for the moment when his illness became reality for him. My mind rushed but not with fear or anxiety like you would think but with memories of special moments that we had shared under the water, on top of mountains, deep inside caves, and in the remote wilderness. I was satisfied in the knowledge that if Clem was to die the one thing that he would not have to feel was that he had wasted his life by leaving a long list of undone adventures. Embracing this thought actually made the task easier for me.
Telling Clem he was seriously ill was much like being with him when he found out he was well. There were no obvious emotional or physical signals just the quiet relaxed look that we all have seen stretched across Clem's face for years. I hugged and kissed Clem in celebration as we kept going back to the report to make sure that we had read it correctly and then he took my hand and we walked out the door for the parking lot. As we walked out into the beautiful day the world for me shifted once more.
It may sound strange that this shift was harder than the first but it was. Before, there was a battle to begin, a strategy to develop, and an army to assemble. The choices in life were being made for us and our jobs were clear. Now with the battle won the choices have fallen back into our laps and the gift that we hold in our hands is very precious. We now see the gift in the fragile form that it has always had but we could not see until it was shattered and had to be put back together. How do you protect such a thing but still enjoy it to the fullest?
So that is where we are. Attempting to regroup and form a life of meaning. We have started this journey by loading up our camper and planning a trek across the country. Clem has pulled out ALL of his gear. Those of you who know him understand what that means. At first I was frustrated at this because of the mountain of stuff that invaded the house but then I realized that he needs to go back to all the memories that these things bring so he can decide where he wants to go now. There seems to be only a few things that he wants to do. See his son and visit with his granddaughter, attain his recertification for his industrial rope work, and rock climb. So this is our plan.
I do not want to romanticize what has happened to Clem and I over the past year but there is a beauty that develops between people who face intimate and life challenging moments together. After sitting in the hospital for more than a year I have been able to indentify those who have developed such bonds by the contentment and comfort they have with each other. I also have a clearer picture of the reasons why man and woman choose to spend their lives and their deaths with each other. This realization has been overwhelming beautiful to experience.
And now??? Where do you go from here? We don't know. It doesn't really matter. All that matters now is living. Real living. Not television, not shopping, not politics, and definitely not housework!!! All I want now is to relax, to shed all the ideas of what once was important, and to open myself up into a being capable of perpetual learning. A maleable creature that develops their ideas based on what they personally see and feel and know to be true. I want to walk down that road holding hands with my beautiful husband who has taught me so much about life and living already no matter where it leads.
So off we go into the wild blue day by day and minute by minute.
Pam
I remember the day in Mexico that the Doctor told me that Clem had cancer and I was waiting around for him to wake up so I could tell him. The entire world shifted for me at that very moment and I stood in the sunny hallway slowly breathing in and out, drawing as much energy as possible from the beautiful sunshine and the power of our love in order to prepare myself for the moment when his illness became reality for him. My mind rushed but not with fear or anxiety like you would think but with memories of special moments that we had shared under the water, on top of mountains, deep inside caves, and in the remote wilderness. I was satisfied in the knowledge that if Clem was to die the one thing that he would not have to feel was that he had wasted his life by leaving a long list of undone adventures. Embracing this thought actually made the task easier for me.
Telling Clem he was seriously ill was much like being with him when he found out he was well. There were no obvious emotional or physical signals just the quiet relaxed look that we all have seen stretched across Clem's face for years. I hugged and kissed Clem in celebration as we kept going back to the report to make sure that we had read it correctly and then he took my hand and we walked out the door for the parking lot. As we walked out into the beautiful day the world for me shifted once more.
It may sound strange that this shift was harder than the first but it was. Before, there was a battle to begin, a strategy to develop, and an army to assemble. The choices in life were being made for us and our jobs were clear. Now with the battle won the choices have fallen back into our laps and the gift that we hold in our hands is very precious. We now see the gift in the fragile form that it has always had but we could not see until it was shattered and had to be put back together. How do you protect such a thing but still enjoy it to the fullest?
So that is where we are. Attempting to regroup and form a life of meaning. We have started this journey by loading up our camper and planning a trek across the country. Clem has pulled out ALL of his gear. Those of you who know him understand what that means. At first I was frustrated at this because of the mountain of stuff that invaded the house but then I realized that he needs to go back to all the memories that these things bring so he can decide where he wants to go now. There seems to be only a few things that he wants to do. See his son and visit with his granddaughter, attain his recertification for his industrial rope work, and rock climb. So this is our plan.
I do not want to romanticize what has happened to Clem and I over the past year but there is a beauty that develops between people who face intimate and life challenging moments together. After sitting in the hospital for more than a year I have been able to indentify those who have developed such bonds by the contentment and comfort they have with each other. I also have a clearer picture of the reasons why man and woman choose to spend their lives and their deaths with each other. This realization has been overwhelming beautiful to experience.
And now??? Where do you go from here? We don't know. It doesn't really matter. All that matters now is living. Real living. Not television, not shopping, not politics, and definitely not housework!!! All I want now is to relax, to shed all the ideas of what once was important, and to open myself up into a being capable of perpetual learning. A maleable creature that develops their ideas based on what they personally see and feel and know to be true. I want to walk down that road holding hands with my beautiful husband who has taught me so much about life and living already no matter where it leads.
So off we go into the wild blue day by day and minute by minute.
Pam
Friday, November 6, 2009
CEA Results
It was a beautiful morning here in Chattanooga, perfect weather for the final session of radiation therapy. With the weekend before us, and a long visit with the oncologist scheduled for Monday, we couldn't wait to take a peek at the results of the blood work from earlier in the week. The CT scans will have to have some professional evaluation (even the oncologist doesn't look at them, only at another doctor's remarks about them) so we didn't ask to see those.
There's no feeling quite like asking for the results of a test like this. My future literally hangs in the balance, here. Having "failed" it one time already I was especially nervous. I pasted on a smile anyway and waltzed into the oncologist's office to ask the receptionist for the results of the CEA test. She said "No problem!" and brought up the appropriate screen on her computer. Then, with a little bit of a frown, she said "I'll be right back" and stepped into the rear office.
My smile turned into what must have been a sick-looking grimace as I felt ready to throw up on the floor there at the desk. Dammit! We went through this before: asking for the result, then getting the shuffle as they located someone appropriate to bring the bad news. If I thought I could move without being sick and falling down I would have run out the door right then. Pam was trying not to show it if she had similar thoughts--she's a trooper even when the going gets tough.
The receptionist came back with a sheet of paper, saying "The printer in the back works better for me." With her same beautiful, inscrutable smile, she passed along a sheet with only a couple of lines on it.
Desperately trying to make sense of the numbers there, we read that the results of my test are 3.4.
I experience that moment that lottery winners must feel, when the ground seems to fall out from under their feet. My goal is any number less than five. Three point four is WAY less than five--ohmygod that's the right answer! Pam and I are both holding back tears (unsuccessfully, in my case) and doing the happy dance in lieu of backflips down the aisle. The receptionist comments "We need a little happy dancing around here." I can't really do more than shuffle to the door. It's too big for one moment. Maybe on Monday we'll bring in a marching band with elephants on parade to do better justice to the moment.
Walking on clouds, we feel the lovely sunshine all the brighter, the crisp autumn air all the fresher, every-every-everything all the sweeter for this beautiful reprieve. From here on out, every day is a special gift. We resolve not to waste a single one.
Clem
There's no feeling quite like asking for the results of a test like this. My future literally hangs in the balance, here. Having "failed" it one time already I was especially nervous. I pasted on a smile anyway and waltzed into the oncologist's office to ask the receptionist for the results of the CEA test. She said "No problem!" and brought up the appropriate screen on her computer. Then, with a little bit of a frown, she said "I'll be right back" and stepped into the rear office.
My smile turned into what must have been a sick-looking grimace as I felt ready to throw up on the floor there at the desk. Dammit! We went through this before: asking for the result, then getting the shuffle as they located someone appropriate to bring the bad news. If I thought I could move without being sick and falling down I would have run out the door right then. Pam was trying not to show it if she had similar thoughts--she's a trooper even when the going gets tough.
The receptionist came back with a sheet of paper, saying "The printer in the back works better for me." With her same beautiful, inscrutable smile, she passed along a sheet with only a couple of lines on it.
Desperately trying to make sense of the numbers there, we read that the results of my test are 3.4.
I experience that moment that lottery winners must feel, when the ground seems to fall out from under their feet. My goal is any number less than five. Three point four is WAY less than five--ohmygod that's the right answer! Pam and I are both holding back tears (unsuccessfully, in my case) and doing the happy dance in lieu of backflips down the aisle. The receptionist comments "We need a little happy dancing around here." I can't really do more than shuffle to the door. It's too big for one moment. Maybe on Monday we'll bring in a marching band with elephants on parade to do better justice to the moment.
Walking on clouds, we feel the lovely sunshine all the brighter, the crisp autumn air all the fresher, every-every-everything all the sweeter for this beautiful reprieve. From here on out, every day is a special gift. We resolve not to waste a single one.
Clem
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