Down Memory Lane

I took the long way to the oncologist this morning. Meandered down Jericho Turnpike to 347. Which meant I passed the following:

-The general practitioner's office where I went countless times during the summer of 2004 complaining of a cough that wouldn't go away, which then gave way to fevers, night sweats....
- The pulmonologist's office where I was told, "That isn't pneumonia" after another chest x-ray, and "you need a CT scan tomorrow". Where I was also told, "Well, whatever it is is treatable and curable" which made me much less fearful of what was waiting for me down the pike. What he saw on the CT scan was so bad that he didn't even charge us a co-pay for that visit.
- The thoracic surgeon's office, where we talked about possible surgery and later talked about a port install. It took me forever to remember how to pronounce Dr. Mohedrin's name.
- The now-vacant site for J&R's Steakhouse where I had my first real meal that tasted divine after months of not tasting food and not being hungry. What sticks in my mind most about that is a beautiful country breakfast (eggs, super thick bacon, biscuits, and potatoes) placed in front of me and just not even seeing food. Ironically these days I'm a (mostly) vegetarian. Mostly.

Then once in the building, I walk by the entrance to the "infusion center" where I spent nearly two (non consecutive) weeks having chemo drugs pumped into my system. I remember so much about those days - tucked under a blanket, PICC-lined arm hanging out to be monitored. I remember that no matter what, I insisted on wearing at least an "ensemble" of comfy clothes and always the brown sweater - big enough for my swollen and tube-plagued left arm- which to this day is comforting and cozy. I remember lots of chicken cutlets and barbecue potato chips (which I now can't even look at). I remember that they called the giant red syringe of adriamycin the "hair killer" and when giving me the (relatively) small syringe of vincristine saying, "here's the one from the beautiful flower!" (Which may be a contender for a future tattoo...just sayin'.)

I walk by the exam room where I withstood a bone marrow biopsy. (Dr. Berger says, "Okay, we're going to do a bone marrow biopsy to make sure it hasn't spread there." Me: "Don't we need to be in a hospital for something like that?" He just smiled.) I walk by the room where at my very last visit with Dr. Berger he met Lucas - just 3 months old and snug in a little carrier.

The exams these days are more of a visit with an old friend than a reassurance that the cancer isn't back. Julie and I share pictures of the kids (born 10 days apart!), talk about theatre and what shows are playing to take the kids to. Oh, and by the way, you're still healthy. I feel more like a visitor than a resident to Belle Meade Road. And that's fine with me.

The Season of Thankfulness Begins

I am lucky. As much as it hurts seeing Luke not engage or act like "neurotypical" kids, I am so thankful for how far he has come along. He's an empathetic, engaging, curious, loving little bear who captivated many many people last night while trick or treating. He wanted to know if dogs he met were boys or girls, he told everyone to have a good night, and had a little sing songy lilty "Trick or Treeeeat!" In fact my favorite exchange went as such:

Lady answering door: Well hello! And what's today little guy?
Lucas: (without missing a beat) It's Friday.

But one house stands out. It's a stunning, huge Victorian and we found the neat twisty path that led to the door. And all of a sudden we hear, "It's Lucas! It's Lucas!" and found one of Luke's classmates (indeed, one of his favorite buddies whom he mentions often) waiting on the porch. They could not have been happier to see each other. It was like Love Story, regardless of the fact they just saw each other hours before. Jude said, "Hey, c'mon in!" and Lucas followed his friend. We met his "Nanny" and his family. And they couldn't have been happier to see each other. Upon leaving Jude says, "Bye Lucas, I'll miss you!" And I just got teary eyed. Lukey has a friend who cares about him and wants to play with him. I couldn't be more thankful for his teacher creating such a loving environment for the boys or for encouraging such caring among them.