Amy update--Feb. 27

From Jeff - If you cant tell......

Greetings, salutations, high-fives, etc.

A brief update from Lakewood, California, where cancer ain’t welcome! Don’t even thinking about parking your dark horse in this town, pardner!

(“Pardner?!”)

Amy’s allergic reaction to the meds—the hives, the sore gums, the unsightly third eyeball growing on her elbow—HEALING with great haste! Flakey dead skin falls from her body like snow from a tree shaken by a spasmatic monkey hopped up on a box of Krispy Kremes—but we’ll take it!

Amy’s chemo and radiation—BEGUN. On the first day, the chemo pills gave her no trouble. But here on the second day, Amy’s been nagged by persistent queasiness. We’re hoping that it will subside, like, RIGHT NOW. (I just checked with her—still queasy.) Less eventful has been the daily bombardment of energy to her head, otherwise known as “Radiation.” Each of these treatments last about seven minutes. She feels nothing. “I just close my eyes because I feel like laser beams are searching my brain for cancer cells to zap,” says Amy. The long commute to LA each day is made considerably more enjoyable thanks to the Friends Of Amy (including Laura, Alicia and Mandy—thanks, ladies!) who’ve volunteered to drive her up there.

Amy has also been bothered in recent days by seizures—three alone on Monday, day one of Amy’s current radioactive moment. Now to be clear, when I say seizure, I’m not talking about all-body convulsions or loss of mental faculties. The seizures are isolated in the face. Muscles twitch like crazy. Scrambled speech. It’s kind of like Pentecost, but without the tongues of fire, and a lot more drool. (Don’t worry. I checked that joke with Jesus first.) During the whole Fun Time, Amy is alert, has control of the rest of her body, and has been even known to finish a Sudoku puzzle or two while she waits on her face to quit with the aerobics. If anything, it’s more emotionally taxing than anything. I make jokes, but it’s just not fun. Pray for her. Pray for her stamina. Pray that it stops.

Pray for our kids, too. Lauren seems to be processing all of this just fine. She’s quite verbal about it, but seems undaunted by it--pretty remarkable for a three year old. As for Ben…well, may I be blunt? My son’s being a butt right now. Lots of talking back at home. Some emotional melting down at school. His teacher thinks all of this has been affecting him. Nothing that can be seen in his academic performance—just in his attitude and interactions with classmates. Ironically, this could be just a phase that he’d be going through anyway, even without the current “special circumstances.” Regardless: pray for Ben, too. We don’t always have the energy to meet him where he’s at, don’t always have the patience to figure out what he needs. So pray for his parents, too.

We are only two days into this new phase of Life With “Thigh Meat.” From where I’m sitting, it seems like the six weeks of road ahead of us will be long and trying. But I’m confident we can handle the trip. We have some wonderful traveling companions, some yummy treats (in the form of meal after delicious meal prepared by a proverbial army of supporters—thank you for loving us this way), and a lot of gas in the tank, thanks to your prayers. Keep ‘em coming. We need them.

More to come in the days to come.

Love, Jeff and Amy