This is It

TODAY is Wayne's last day of chemo. Last day of this protocol. Last day. From here on out, for 2 or 3 month chunks at a time, Wayne is on break. Break. Which he really, really deserves.

It has been a long road for him. For us, too. But our family unit has never been stronger as we are all standing beside Wayne, wishing we could fight this for him, but only being able to offer strength, love, and tenacity. However, in all truth, it is Wayne that has shown us steadfast strength. Courage.

I think about his initial diagnosis, when they found the mets in his lungs, and as badly as we wanted to believe it was some sort of crazy repository problem, we knew better. When they had him in the MRI machine for 45 minutes - laying on his hip - we knew they had found something. When he called me from the hospital, with a carefully masked "Hi Honey! Could you come to the hospital as soon as you can?" question, I knew. I had never broken so many traffic laws in one stretch as I did on my way to him. I could not get there fast enough, and swore I would never leave him again.

I will forever hold onto the conversations that ensued over the next weeks. Crying, praying, stunned conversations, trying to figure out what was next. Where do we go? What do we do?

Cancer.

The open heart surgery to remove a tumor that had found it's way into his heart. Open heart surgery. Right before he went down to the surgery floor, he had the kids crawling all over his lap, talking to them and telling them everything was going to to OK. And it was. He recovered (he was unbelievable. He took the pain and never complained - instead he was grateful. Grateful they found that tumor that could have (and would have) broken off and caused a stroke. One hurdle down.

I think about his first round of chemo and how sick he was. We couldn't get his nausea under control, he was hallucinating, and so so sick. I called his Dad, telling him I didn't think I could do this alone. We were told chemo was bad, and having no idea what "bad" was - we thought hallucinations, loss of gross motor movement, and extreme sickness was part of the package. It wasn't.

From then on out, there were hospitalizations for neurotoxicity, countless blood draws, doctors visits ... our worlds have been turned upside down since March 8th. I will never view the world the same. I know he won't, either.

EIGHT rounds of chemo. Lasting 7 hours a time. (He is the first one there and the last to leave and the only one there all 5 days a week. Think about that.)

Flushing his CVC line every night.

Worrying about blood counts, infections,  fevers ...

DONE for at least a few months.

When I think of someone brave. When I think of someone steadfast - I think of Wayne. He has explained that he doesn't feel brave, he just feels like he had no choice but to endure, so he does. But for all of you out there who do not see him daily, there is no other word to describe him. He takes each thing in stride and with such grace.

Grateful. Grateful is a word I use today to describe our entire family. We are so grateful to all of you out there who have helped us through. Your calls, cards, emails, words of encouragement ... they are what got us through. Thank you for taking care of us when we couldn't. Thank you for being so good to Dave and Donna. To Nikki & John. To all of us. We love you all.

He needs to get through the next week (counts go down to zero, so we need to keep him healthy as possible). And then his break starts. His well-earned and much deserved break.

So if you could, please comment or send him an email (he isn't much for talking on the phone right now) and tell him congrats. I know he would love to hear from you.

XO

Val