Off to a good start to the week

While we were driving to radiation the other day, Amy and I got to talking about T-shirt slogans that could adequately sum up our current cancer-battling moment. My wife has a plethora of riffs on a singular theme: even though she has cancer, she is not defined by her cancer. To wit: “I AM NOT cancer girl!” and “I AM NOT MY TUMOR!” Amy is a font of creativity; she came up with so many possibilities. Her husband, on the other hand, came up with one idea, fell in love with it, and like a dog with a bone, refused to let it go: “Cancer is a bitch… AND I’M SLAPPING IT DOWN!”

I’m telling you, someone’s going make a mint hawking that one at Cancer Walks!

(Ahem.)

Anyway, as you can tell… we’re in pretty good spirits right now. Much better than last week—the first week of chemo and radiation—when Amy was beset by seizures and persistent queasiness that basically kept her in bed for three days with a vomit bucket to keep her company. It’s hard to say what really made her so nauseous. It could have been a reaction to the chemo. Or it could have been some kind of stomach bug; it seems that the chemo really saps your immune system and makes you more vulnerable to crud and stuff. But the good news is that by Friday of last week, Amy was feeling better and moving about and eating something more than crackers and water. To be clear, the chemo can still leave her feeling a little queasy… but right now, she’s taking it in stride.

The past several days have been filled with blessings. On Saturday, we went to the beach and had some pictures taken by our good friend and professional photographer, Dane Sanders. It was a beautiful afternoon and the photos Dane took are even more beautiful; we’ve included one with this Blog.

The photos of Ben with his Mom really touched me. As I’ve shared earlier, Ben has been showing signs of struggling emotionally amid all of this. But seeing him snuggle next to his mother for these photos—well, he looked very happy, very content, more so than I’ve seen him in recent weeks. I could be projecting all of this, of course. But that was my perception. It was wonderful, bonding experience for our family, and we’re grateful to Dane for his generosity, creativity, and love.

On Sunday, my Mom arrived for a week, and we are blessed by her presence, as well as her willingness to help with the kids and the house. Special thanks to Dad for once again sparing her for a spell. By having her here, I will be able to return to work for a couple days this week—I’ll be visiting the set of the TV show “Heroes” for a story I’ll be writing later this spring.

Of course, I don’t have to travel anywhere to meet a hero, since I’m living with one. I am deeply moved and inspired by Amy’s strength, perseverance, grace, vulnerability and honesty in the course of this experience. I found myself thinking today, as we walked the corridors of the cancer center at Cedar Sinai, that I really need to be taking notes. Because one day, something like this will happen to me, too. It might be cancer, might be something else. Whatever it is, it is bound to be unexpected and certain to be deeply unsettling, and . my hope is that I will be able to handle it like Amy is handling her illness. My prayer is that her example will leave a mark on me and inspire me to courage when mortality decides to whack me upside the head.

But to be clear, even heroes need prayer. Voluminous amounts of sustained, unceasing prayer. So keep them coming. Pray that the cancer in her brain will be taken away from her. Pray that she will be given at least three more decades of life. AT LEAST. Pray that her anti-nausea medicines will take hold and keep the quease at bay. Pray that the seizures will go away. Pray for our kids. Pray for me.

We are grateful to God for all of you. Thank you for your love and support—for the meals and the rides, for mowing our lawn and cleaning our house, for your love and your hugs. We are walking a tightrope—and you have been and continue to be our net. That we know that you will be there to catch us when we fall has given us the boldness to walk this stretch of life with guts and good humor. Thank you for helping Amy to heal. Thank you… for slapping this thing down. Much love,Jeff and Amy