I'll take the Fifth.

I've been poked and prodded a bit over the past few days. There was the ever so pleasant hour stuck in the tube MRI to get Thanksgiving week started off properly last week and yesterday, I was back for the GRF (kidney) and various Echo heart tests. All three I'm sure looked normal since I haven't received and alarming phonecalls.

Currently, I'm in the standard Tuesday holding pattern at home. When a room is ready, I'll jet off to Durham and begin the hasty 5 hour process to get into the room that has been "ready." This technique actually works much better that sitting there all day having bloodwork in the AM, then waiting for a room.

Chemo normally begins around 5 or 6. By 7, I usually ask the family to continue their argument (on lunar orbit, English grammar, etc) out in the hall, turning off the lights and closing the door behind them. As I've said, the nausea meds have made this go by easier each time in different ways.

This process has been tough on the body, mind, spirit and relationships. Though I feel all will return stronger, forcing them into these weakened positions risks damage both in the present and future. Hopefully, the next step in the treatment will be aimed at these side effects and everything will come back not the same but stronger.

I've had a couple of serious thoughts I've shared in previous posts. I hope they are thought inspiring and not simply depressing.

Yesterday Clark and I met a father at the hospital waiting while we were waiting for some tests. He walked over and started conversing as we discussed the helicopter taking off over our heads from the roof top. His weathered face was strong, but tired, painting clearly the picture of the hardships he was having to endure. His daughter had a sarcoma as well, but one that had already spread to her lymphnodes when first detected.

She had just finished what sounded to be a worse and more intense regiment of chemo than myself and was getting ready to have surgery tomorrow. She was 5 or 6 and was having half her foot removed. They hoped this, in conjunction with the chemo shrinking the other tumor and some follow up radiation in the pelvic region should give her a good chance.

The little girl had a beautiful smile the whole time. She was laughing about silly things like how her hair all fell out at once and how rotten some of the chemos had been. It was calming to see how she so nobly had totally accepted the situation and was willing to do whatever it took. As her father explained, she wasn't upset about losing her foot and doing all the treatments. These kids have unbelievable strength and a wonderfully naive and natural will to survive that is inspiring.

These ordeals can be so much harder on the families than the patients. Although the loved-one is sick, you are completely helpless and unable to help them physically. For the parent of a small child, I'm sure this is magnified. Trust me, it is noticeable on the parent's faces every time we go to the Peds floor or clinic. The important lesson comes from looking past the sadness to find the hope, faith and love of all these people. There is an incredibly strong underlying positive vibe present that makes me very happy I've have the privilege to go through this experience on the pediatric ward..

Clark and I talked about it...how my situation could have been so much worse, how we all need to remember in life to be mindful of what's important, and always how we must be grateful for what we have. It still is surreal to have been snatched from the comfort of my life into this world. We've adapted and are moving ahead. That's simply how it's done. I love you all and can truly feel your love and support. You HAVE helped us through this unbelievable time.

This thing is almost over.

3 days until out 5th year wedding anniversary
27 days until Christmas.
30 days until my last treatment.
47 days until my 31st Birthday
164 days until ashley's big 3 0. (I think that's the one she's most excited about, well a close second to me finishing chemo)

CP