Prayers answered

"Negative" has never sounded so positive.

As in, the post-surgery blood test that we have been waiting for to show whether the custom DNA analysis for cancer markers in my blood found any signs of cancer. Negative!

The shared joy was apparent in the voice on the other end of the phone call I received late Monday afternoon from my medical oncologist. He said he had good news, and I could tell from his tone that it was very good even before he said the words. 

This was exactly the result we had been hoping and fervently praying for -- along with friends and family members. The doctor cautioned that this kind of analysis is still new, but along with my previous history of a dozen years between recurrences and the clean pathology report after my June 9 surgery, this third indicator of no sign of cancer in my blood sealed his recommendation to forego chemotherapy. 

Did you hear our huge sign of relief?

I had been growing anxious as the wait for blood test results stretched longer. The lightness I felt after talking with the doctor was immense. I had just stopped at my daughter's house to give her chickens some food and water and I almost felt like hugging the hens as I ended the call and processed the great news. 

CT scans at the end of September will be the next destination on this journey. TC and I will keep the faith and stay positive that they, too, will come back "negative."  

Marking time

 

The surgeon said it would take at least six weeks to reach full recovery. My June 9 right lung lobectomy removed the sarcoma that had, for the third time, made an unwelcome appearance in my body. I didn't want to believe it would really take that long to feel good again, but he was right.

Today is the six-week mark, and I am finally feeling back to normal. I am walking as far as I walked before -- often clocking more than 10,000 steps a day. Most of my five small incision sites are healed, with one taking just a bit longer. Daily inhaling exercises have steadily demonstrated my increased lung capacity, almost to the point where I was before the surgery. And internal aches from where the robotic instruments roamed around my innards are mostly just a memory. I am once again comfortable in my skin. 

As I give thanks for my recovery, I can't help but recall another passage of six weeks with a much different outcome. Nine years ago, my then-husband and high school sweetheart, Tom, was well on the mend from Achilles tendon surgery, walking around our neighborhood to regain his strength, when he noticed it was getting harder to complete even short distances.  

He saw his doctor, had blood work and was subsequently hospitalized and quickly diagnosed with leukemia. For Tom, six weeks marked the time from diagnosis to death. He never left the intensive care unit where he endured heavy-duty chemotherapy, two surgeries and ultimately succumbed to the sepsis he developed in the hospital.  

Six weeks can seem a ploddingly slow time when it is marked by niggling pain and discomfort, or it can be breath-stealing fast when it defines the end of a life. 

No six-week time frame comes with guarantees -- nor can we be fully assured of what the next six hours, or days, or years will bring. But we can appreciate each day as it dawns and vow to seize its potential for good. Day by day is a good outlook, or quoting from a favorite Anne Lamott book as TC and I like to do, "bird by bird." 

Whether recovering from trauma or just continuing the journey to be our best selves, my wish is for all the best six-week periods ahead. 

 

  

Time goes by

 

Yesterday TC and I ventured Downtown to check out the rooftop bar and restaurant on the 28th floor of the newest Hilton adjacent to the Columbus Convention Center. 

We could look north up High St. and, from a different vantage point, we looked down on another rooftop that marked the beginning of our adventure together. Five years ago tomorrow -- July 10 -- we met for drinks and conversation at what was then called Juniper on the roof of the Smith Brothers Hardware Building on N. 4th St. It was a few weeks later that we recognized it as our first date.

I was six months into a new position as editorial page editor for The Dispatch. In my previous post as editor of Columbus CEO magazine, TC had been a freelancer on whom I relied heavily for display stories, and even a few less exciting assignments. We had known each other for years as journalism colleagues and our relationship had been mostly professional to that point.

When TC asked if I'd like to meet for drinks to celebrate my new job, neither of us expected it would lead to romance and marriage. We certainly had no crystal ball to forecast the fun we've had traveling and seeking out live music. And we couldn't foresee the challenges we faced as newlyweds in the middle of a global pandemic, the heartache of losing TC's best-dog-ever, Bubs, or the shocking return of my sarcoma, which had been long been relegated to the background of my life.

That's how time passes by -- in soaring rollercoaster highs and searingly painful lows, with lots of everyday treasures and trials in between. 

And time heals as well as reveals. The passing of four weeks now since my June 9 cancer surgery has brought slow but steady relief from the initial pain of multiple small incisions and the struggle to regain energy and lung capacity. I'm not all the way back yet, but each day brings more strength and less discomfort.

When we count our blessings, especially as our lives gain more perspective, time should always be among our top thanksgivings.