Indian Summer

Every October in Oregon we get a sweet Indian Summer. Jared hasn't been up for any serious outdoor activities yet, but we did celebrate with some simple family-style outdoor fun.

Jared naps in the park. Seville tries to eat Halloween Candy through the wrapper (not this year. sorry, kid.)

Still making a go at that candy.

We even took Seville on the youth Corn Maze outing on Saturday. Can you believe all that blue sky?

"We're not lost! I swear!"

Seville doesn't really get the "head in the hole" concept.

First Tooth!

On Friday Seville joined the ranks of people who need dentists (I'm sure my brother-in-law, Jason, will be pleased)(he's a 4th year dental student). As a mom, I'm super excited about anything new, so I'm sooooo proud of her for cutting a tooth! I'm also a little sad. The days of the toothless baby are o'er. (Also I know that the biting of certain of my body parts is almost inevitable, so I'm a little on edge now.)


okay, you have to look reeeeally closely to see it, but I swear it's there! It's just a little nub. But it's a sharp little bugger!

I hope my efforts in getting this picture are appreciated, by the way. Jared thought I was crazy and that I'd never catch it. I almost thought he was right. Here's a sampling of the about 50 thousand pictures I took before the one with the tooth in it.

(I know. This is a neurotic parental post. Bear with me here)

On the Up and Up

Since Jared hasn't managed to post yet, I thought I'd fill in the curious.

The few days after chemo are always rotten for Jared. But they get gradually better and better. And this time, they'll just get better and better... and better... and better, etc. Celebrity Dr. Nichols says it takes roughly a month to get to 90% recovery (what about the last 10%? He didn't mention it. I wonder if it's like that last 10% of your pregnant weight that takes ages and ages to get rid of-?). Anyway, Jared should be able to eat like a horse come Thanksgiving. And hopefully he'll also be able to play football. And go to work. And do fun things. And give me foot rubs (did I say that out loud?).

As for lasting effects, there are a couple potential ones, and we'll just have to wait and see. He has some nerve damage and is losing feeling in his hands and feet. It was severe enough last week that they adjusted his drug regimen to try and minimize further damage, but it got worse anyway. Apparently your nerves generally recover in 6-12 months, but it sounded like if it gets bad, it could possibly be a permanent problem. We'll keep our fingers crossed (even though Jared can't feel his. ha ha! just kidding. that was morbid. sorry. Our lives are a black comedy lately and sometimes it leaks). Anyway, that and fertility. I guess we have to wait 6-12 months to find out whether he has any boys left after all this.

"But is he cured?" is the question I'm sure you're all asking (guessing based on live conversations). Again, we have yet to find that out too. In about a month they'll do another set of scans, and then we'll talk to Celebrity Dr. Nichols about what he sees. Hopefully nothing. Except a shell of a tumor (which apparently takes a long time to go away, even once the cancer is stopped). And then we'll have periodic scans for many years to come. As of now, though, we have every expectation that they'll find zero cancerous activity in a month, and we'll live happily ever after.

One More Time

One! Tomorrow is Jared's final treatment. I'm pretty sure he's not much looking forward to going down there to have it done (anybody know a guy named Guido I can hire in case I have to pry Jared out of the house and into the car? j/k), but it's nice to have the end in sight, and we both can't wait for all of this to be over.

We'll let you know how it goes. Wish him luck!

Mmmmmm... finger lickin' good!

Before putting Seville down for her nap today I noticed I hadn't quite got all the oatmeal off her face. Since my hands were occupied (holding her), I just thought I'd give her a kiss right where the oatmeal was (on her forehead) and suck it off. It was a stubborn, sticky little glob, and I had to resort to some firm licking to try and dislodge it -- at which point I noticed that something was wrong. It was... salty... and... stickier than oatmeal... with a... strange viscosity.... and....!!!!! Suddenly it became clear that it was not oatmeal but a booger!! eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwww! I sucked and licked a booger off my baby's face! Gross!!! That's what I get, I guess, for resorting to actually licking my baby's face instead of using a napkin or washcloth or, heck, even a finger, like a normal mom.

This still doesn't beat my sister-in-law's story, by the way. Though other people's boogers are thoroughly disgusting, I'll admit somewhat shamefully that I'm not very intimidated by my own. In the course of my childhood I must have eaten gallons of my own boogers. Still, somehow someone else's boogers, even your own child's, feels totally repulsive. There are, however, other things which are far worse.

The Days After Round 5

For all my belly-aching on Wednesday night, I'm doing pretty well this morning. Dr. Nichols determined that I was trying to be too much of a tough guy in avoiding my anti-nausea medication. Combating the nausea (and the anticipatory nausea) is far more important than avoiding constipation. So, I'm taking the more of the anti-nausea drugs this time and I have to confess that things aren't so bad.

I can now say that I've only got 1 round left. No matter how much I might not be looking forward to it, it does give me something to excited about. For those of you are relatively new in following our blog, my cancer (primary mediastinal B cell lymphoma) should be "cured" after the 6 rounds of chemo. I'll have to go back for regular check-ups for the next several years, but for all practical purposes, I'll be completely back to normal, ready to live a long, normal, and cancer-free life.

I met a young tough football player in the treatment room on Thursday. He was obviously a new cancer patient. Dr. Nichols asked him how he was doing with the chemo. His response: "I'm kicking a**!!" Sounded just like a tough guy football player. I felt kind of like that at the beginning too. I'm going to try to summon up my inner tough guy for another couple of weeks and blast through the finish line and claim my victory.

And then cancer will be in my rear-view mirror and as Dr. Nichols said, "just a bad memory."

The Night Before Round 5

I'm to the point now where the mere thought of chemo makes me shudder. I'm dreading tomorrow morning.

The first few days after chemo go so slowly - time draws out like a blade. Conversely, the last few days before chemo go by too quickly - hanging on to these good days is like trying to catch flies with chopsticks - the moment you lunge for them they're gone.

Light the Night

Jared's work sponsored us to participate in the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society "Light the Night" cancer walk Friday night. It's this fundraising event where you walk downtown for a few miles carrying balloons with lights in them (they're actually really cool. You hold this little battery pack in your hand and the string to the balloon is this little copper wire that powers the light bulb. Naturally, Jared the patent guy thought they were ingenious)

Here is the BSTZ team.

You can see one white balloon in this picture. Cancer patients and survivors carried white (everyone else, red). So Jared had a white one too.

This is fuzzy, but closer to what it actually looked like. Kinda glow-ey.

I didn't know too much about this in advance, but I guess people at Jared's work ponied up and sponsored him to the tune of $800+. If I were a smart person, I would have posted on this blog before the event and invited others to sponsor him/us. But I didn't really know anything about it since a lady at his work handled it all. So, oh well. Next year.

First Trip to the Park

I'm not sure why I haven't thought to take Seville to a park until now. I guess it somehow seems like an older kids kind of thing to do, but today was such a beautiful, balmy, autumn afternoon, we had to get out.


Seville's first time in a swing.

Mommy was scared to push her high, but when daddy did (despite mommy's protests) she laughed and giggled. fearless.

Learning to share with the neighborhood kids.

She also got to try a slide for the first time. But it was probably kinda boring, since Mommy just held her the whole time, pretending to make her slide, really.

Nevertheless, it was worth the whole effort just to see what Seville looks like with static-head :)

Cousins!

Last week Clay n' Amy came for a visit from Kansas, toting along their kids (the triplets, and impetus for TyBooks). It's the first time all the Pixton cousins have been together in a couple of years, and it was sooooo much fun to see them running around together and having fun. This picture was taken on the steps of our deck during a Sunday brunch at our house.

(clockwise from top left) Logan Atack, Ashlynn Atack, Addison "Addie" Pixton, Caden Atack, Eli Pixton, Olivia "Oa" Pixton, Seville "Silly Willy" Engstrom

Malaise

Hi. I don't really have much to say tonight, but I thought I'd say hello to those of you who continue to check for updates.

I had chemo #4 on Thursday - only 2 more to go!! Thank goodness. The nauseous malaise of the first few days is becoming more intolerable for me in some ways. It could be a cumulative effect of the chemo. But I think it's mostly impatience. Part of it is that I've been feeling really healthy and normal during the last few days of each cycle (the day of chemo is considered day 1 of the cycle). When you consider that I really wasn't feeling well for several months before I was diagnosed with cancer, it's been a good six months or so since I've really felt normal and healthy on a consistent basis. So, those good days kind of taunt me and cause me to crave normal life even more.

I think most of my posts on this blog have had a fairly upbeat and optimistic tone. I believe my tone has been honest. I am, after all, mostly upbeat and optimistic. But there are days - like today - where I just kind of want to throw politeness and optimism out the window and tell the world that cancer SUCKS!! I hate it. Yes, it's been a growing experience. Yes, I'm going to beat cancer - I'll be a survivor, I'll be fine. Yes, there have been wonderful blessings along the way. Yes, it could be much more miserable than it has been. But none of that changes the fact that today - right now - I hate cancer. How's that for honesty?

Fortunately, today will soon be just a fuzzy memory and I'll be another day closer to feeling healthy again...

8 Months Old and Still Kickin'

(more than kicking, actually)

Somebody turned 8 months old on Monday, and to commemorate the occasion she decided to do her first official "crawling." Previous attempts included the shifting of a hand or a knee or two, but never in concert with one another and never with real forward motion or without reverting to tummy surfing right away. This time, however, went something like this: hand... hand... knee... knee... hand...hand... hand... knee...hand...knee...knee.... hand... toy... aaaaaaaand tummy. Granted, she got about a foot, but still, I know this means the end of many things for me: The end of playing on my computer while she happily and safely plays on the rug behind me (out of immediate view). The end of putting her down and leaving her for a minute to go to the powder-room. The end of keeping chemicals in below-the-waist cupboards and drawers. The end of a free and clear opening to the stairwell. The end of my slovenly floor maintenance (or lack thereof), wherein I avoid all activities involving a broom. The end of our current dvd/stereo system setup, which I affectionately think of as "The Leaning Tower of 'Ponents" -- a tall stack of precariously perched heavy, sharp-cornered, fragile, expensive stereo components all connected to a tangle of enticing electrical cords and cables which dangle colorfully and temptingly to the floor and go trailing off every which way.

Other fun things to note about the 8 month old:

She had her first trip to the Zoo this week. With the exception of the moment brilliantly caught below, she was far more interested in whatever was in her hand and available for sucking on than the exotic animals I was trying to point out. (Me: "Look Seville! A rare, exotic asian elephant!" Seville: "I wonder if this piece of stroller strap tastes different than the other one." Me: "ooh! Seville! Look at the Sea Lion! He's swimming right up to us!" Seville: "dangly earrings!! mmmmm!" Me: "See the leopard Seville? See him? He's pacing back and forth right in front of you!" Seville (looking up for a second): "What's mommy pointing at? Meh. Another thing I've never seen before like 95% of everything I see every day. ho hum. Hey! My toes!")

She also got her first real teddy bear, which she loves. Or loves to suck on, anyway.

Favorite teether: A green bean. This started one day while I was harvesting in the garden with her in my arms. I had to hold the picked green beans in the hand that was around her while using my other hand to pick new ones, so I couldn't really keep them away from her. I eventually gave up and just carefully watched her gnaw on it. Turns out it's a really great teether and one of her favorite things. I give her a new one every day. I love the way her little gums sound squeaking on them -- you know how really fresh green beans squeak when you eat them? Like that.

Rainbow Sherbet

So, food is oftentimes a challenge for me lately - especially those first few days after chemo. Nothing sounds good to eat and yet I feel a need to satisfy the hunger pangs in my stomach. Fortunately, there is always one thing that I like to eat: rainbow sherbet. I can't seem to get enough of the stuff. I just thought you'd all like to know.

With all the kindness and generosity I've received over the last couple of months, it wouldn't surprise me if cartons of rainbow sherbet just started showing up on my doorstep now that I'm admitting my fondness for it. And while I sincerely appreciate the thought, please don't bring me any rainbow sherbet. Trust me, I have plenty.

The biggest question I have about rainbow sherbet at this point is whether or not I'll like it after I put cancer in my rear view mirror. I've heard a lot of cancer survivors still have very negative and/or nauseous associations with certain foods, places or things based on exposure to them during cancer treatment. If that ends up being the case with me and rainbow sherbet, I'm ok with that. I'm more than willing to sacrifice my fondness for rainbow sherbet to preserve my enjoyment of many other fine foods and desserts. Just so you know.

FAQ #1: Skye's Story

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS: "..and how are you (Skye) doing with all this?"

It is different being the wife than the patient. Obviously I'd rather be me than Jared right now. But it does, nevertheless, pretty much suck to have a husband with cancer. Mostly it's better to be me, of course, because I'm not sick. In one way though, it's worse because I'm afflicted with a terrible powerlessness, and can only stand back and watch while Jared goes through all this. Oh sure, you might think I'd get some satisfaction by doting on him and taking care of him, cooking for him, rubbing his back while he's in bed feeling crummy, eating his unfinished chocolate pudding (that part is true). But the truth is he mostly wants to be left alone. So I mostly have to stand back and watch, and try to be patient with the process (and drown my sorrows in his pudding. Seriously. Trader Joe's Belgian Chocolate pudding. A must try!).

But it's probably not like everyone imagines. Friends have assumed that I spend time crying, moments in sadness, lots of time worrying about our future. My closest friends have wondered at the fact that I don't seem more emotional to them, and maybe I'm not sure there isn't some validity to their thinking I'm "shut down emotionally." But, I think when you hear about someone else having cancer your own first reaction is, "oh my gosh! how awful!" and you immediately feel sad for those affected. But that's not really how it goes when it's actually happening to you (or at least, to me). Finding out your spouse has cancer is a gradual and excruciating process (if you've read much of this blog, you know how much waiting for information there is in the early weeks, and how frustrating it is). It's like the "boiling a frog" story, and so I never had a single moment of high-drama, bomb-dropping news. Someone asked me today when Jared was diagnosed and I fumbled around in my brain trying to figure out what to say. uh... he was diagnosed May 16th to August 10th.

Also, the news, "we have cancer" is very dramatic, and movie-like, and I think people take it that way. There's practically ominous background music during the statement, followed by a cheesy light-pop song about goodbyes and a sudden change of weather to gray, rainy, and cold. But the reality of living it is so much different. I think it must be kind of like being audited by the IRS. If a friend of mine was being audited I would think, "oh my! that sucks! poor them!" and I would feel sad for them. But when you, yourself, are being audited, the news strikes you differently. You are shocked. You feel a sense of dread. You feel much fear and trepidation. But there is also a lot of hope and anxiousness. There are a lot of unanswered questions, lots of work to do, and the constant thought: "maybe things will turn out fine." You become absorbed in the minutia of things you have to do in order to make everything turn out fine, become very busy gathering records and organizing a plan, and you fixate on that hope.

When I first found out about Jared's cancer (or, at least, reached the phase of diagnosis where we knew there was a tumor and were reasonably sure it was cancer of some kind), I was in a constant state of high anxiety and nervousness. I actually laughed when I told people about it on the phone because it sounded so ridiculous coming out of my mouth. I became obsessed with trying to arrange for disability insurance, life insurance, managing doctor appointments, canceling gigs, finding baby-care for surgery, whatever "stuff" had to be done. Don't get me wrong. Given a quiet minute alone I would start to get a deep pit in my stomach that felt like it might be bottomless, and thus I would immediately try to find something to do. It's like it's too unthinkable to think about, so you don't.

Lots of people have kindly thought that I might enjoy talking to someone who has "been through it." Bless their hearts, but I really wouldn't. People who have "been through it" tend to want to tell you their story, and all about what "it" was like. But really, everyone's experience is different, and I don't want to anticipate any horrors. If I cross every possible bridge out there before I have to I just might go out of my head, so I only want to know about things as they arrive, deal with them as they come, learn about them as I need to, cross the bridges when I come to them. It's my way of maintaining my sanity, so I apologize to anyone who wonders why I don't want to talk about cancer or, especially, the future.

So, anyway, all this is to say that you don't need to feel sorry for us in a movie-like drama way. This isn't T.V., it's life, and I really don't spend my time crying. The sun is actually shining. Funny things do happen (with no laugh track, I might add). I don't, unfortunately, look much like Angeline Jolie. And this won't be over in two hours. If I get audited by the IRS, on the other hand, I would sure accept your condolences (and some good background music).

What A Pleasant Surprise

This last week was a pretty good one. On Tuesday and Wednesday I felt about as good as I've felt in several months. I felt downright normal. My stamina at work isn't great yet, but I felt pretty good during the time I did go into the office.

On Wednesday, I had my first PET scan to see how the treatment is progressing. When I went in for chemo on Thursday, Dr. Nichols told me that the tumor had already shrunk to less than half it's largest size. Terrific news. I told him I felt great and he told me that I looked great. My white blood cell counts were off the charts, indicating that I seem to be bouncing back really well from the chemo.

Amidst all the research and homework I've done about cancer, the one thing that has confused me is the concept of chemo "cycles." Originally, I was told I'd be doing 4 cycles of the ABVD regimen, which would take 4 months. In the ABVD regimen, you get some chemo on day 1 of the cycle and more chemo on day 8 of the cycle; you then get days 9-28 to rest and that completes the cycle. So when I was told I now needed 6 cycles of the R-CHOP regimen, I assumed it would take 6 months. And even though I've been gearing up for 6 months, it didn't really make sense.

It didn't make sense because they kept referring to the R-CHOP cycle being 3 weeks. Well, obviously, 3 weeks times 6 cycles does not equal 6 months (it's a little over 4 months). But because the ABVD cycle involved 2 treatments, I assumed that the R-CHOP cycle did as well. In other words, I assumed I needed 12 treatments. On top of all that, I've been on an accelerated 2 week cycle instead of 3 weeks. As you can see, the math just doesn't add up anywhere. So, I asked for clarification on Thursday and the news was very good:

6 cycles means 6 treatments. I've now completed 3 treatments. I'm half done. And I'll finish the last three within the next 6 weeks. I'll be done by October!! How awesome is that? My hope for the last several weeks was that I could beat this cancer on an accelerated schedule - specifically, I was hoping that I could be done by Christmas. Due to my ignorance over the definition of a cycle, I got the pleasant surprise I was hoping for.

I now feel like a snowball rolling down a hill. I'm bouncing back faster from the chemo, I'm getting stronger and I'm already half done witht the treatments. I don't mean to sound arrogant (especially because I was pretty sick last night and I really don't feel all that well today), but I'm brimming with confidence that I can cruise through the rest of this and get on with my life.

With all of this good news, I would be a fool if I didn't acknowledge that a big reason that snowball is rolling so well is the support, help, service, prayers of so many people. My prayers and your prayers have been answered. I really believe that. I can't help but believe that. I know God, our Heavenly Father, lives and hears and answers our prayers. I know we don't always get the answers we want. I don't know for sure why my prayers and your prayers on my behalf have been answered in such wonderful ways. But I'm grateful - I'm profoundly grateful.

The ride ain't over yet - I have to remember that. But I feel really good about where I'm heading...