I want to tell you a few stories about my family and about how people show up for each other in unexpected ways. Even in these turbulent times. Maybe especially in these turbulent times. Spoiler alert: I sobbed.
Yesterday was treatment #3 for A/C. A quick aside/update there - everything is looking pretty good. My white blood cell count is getting low, but not low enough to have stopped treatment, thank goodness. I’m still tolerating the side effects relatively well and I’m grateful for that because we’re now at the stage where I may start to feel the cumulative effects. I even got a few hot flashes on the way home last night. That was a fun intro into what is to come.
Our day started really early. My mom took the day off (by the way, from her incredibly busy job at her own hospital where she’s neck-deep in their preparations for Covid) to drive me up and back to Seattle for my treatment. And in case you’re wondering - yes, I’ve looked into whether I can receive treatment down here in Oregon, but all the providers are considered out of network for our plan, which would double our out-of-pocket costs for the year.
We left at 5:30am to make it to my appointment in time. One side benefit of the “shelter in place” orders for Oregon and Washington: this was hands-down the easiest drive I’ve ever had between mom’s house and Seattle.
Here’s my beautiful Mama. I wanted a closer up selfie but she reminded me that it wasn’t good social distancing. She’s right. Always.
So Mom dropped me off at the treatment center - they’re no longer allowing any visitors - and she went to hang at my house while I went to start my four hour appointment. Every appointment consists of a blood draw to check my levels, then a meeting with the oncologist, and then the treatment itself. The premeds, then chemo takes about two hours itself.
Here’s me and my chosen shirt for the day:
They gave me a choice of chair options - did I want a solo chair in the corner or a shared space on the side? I chose the corner spot because why not? Also last time I was put next to the guy who was hard of hearing who was either yelling or snoring loudly.
Turns out, I had a front row seat to the mobile Covid testing center right outside my window this time.
A few minutes into treatment, I got a Facetime call from my Sister. She and her kids were out in the parking lot trying to find my window, but they were blocked with the testing center from getting too close to my window - didn’t want to risk the rather official-looking security guards with all the protective gear on. Probably a good call.
Have you seen anything cuter?
So I was, of course, already in tears when a few minutes later, I got a call from Sean. He had found his way into the employee parking lot just outside of the testing center and found an open parking spot right outside my window. He had come to “sit with me” for my treatment. It was at this point that I sobbed.
So we talked on the phone for the two full hours of my treatment. And I could see him from where I was sitting and he could see me through the window. It’s the closest (physically) I’ve been to him in two weeks.
The nurses all had to come see too. Of course they loved it. And then my nurse stretched out the last part of my treatment so I could have extra time to talk to him. “Take your time, honey,” she said. “This is really important.” It really was.
So, there you have it. After 23+ years together, he still has the ability to surprise me. And make me do the happy ugly cry in a big way.
There’s so much emotion wrapped up in this situation we’re in. I hate that we don’t know how long we have to be apart. I feel like we can endure anything, if we just know how long it’s going to be. But the open-ended nature of this feels nearly impossible. Neither one of us ever in a million years imagined that this is how we’d be managing through my chemo treatments. Or that we’d have to live apart - for my own safety - while I’m in the middle of it.
I worry for Sean’s own safety too, of course. I’m trying desperately to stay away from social media, especially the stories and statistics about healthcare workers getting sick with Covid. We’re making sure all of our affairs are in order, just in case. I hate that we have to think about this.
When I zoom out too far, it gets really overwhelming. But focusing on one day at a time doesn’t feel quite adequate, especially for a planner like me. So for now, I’m thinking about one week at a time. That feels more manageable. And doable.
But in the midst of all of this, there is beauty and gratitude as well. I’m so grateful to our friends Tom and Julie Hull for offering up their downstairs apartment for Sean to stay in. What a huge weight off of our shoulders to know that he has a comfortable (beautiful!) place to stay while we have to be separated.
I’m grateful that we’re finding creative ways to connect with each other. Facetime and Zoom have become staples, and while they’re not the same as seeing someone in person, they’re so much better than nothing. We still can still “eat dinner” together and do bedtime stories on the nights that Sean isn’t working. We even had a big family Zoom call for BW’s birthday the other night.
I’m grateful that the girls and I are headed home so that we can keep finding ways to be “together apart.”
I’m infinitely grateful for this family of mine - both the one I was born into and the one I’ve created.
And so we continue onward.