Time after time you are told that you will get through it; one day at a time; it’s a marathon not a sprint.  All good intentions aside- all hope aside- these are not words of inspiration when I would wake up puking, puking, puking and Lib would jolt awake from sleep and replace my puke buckets dutifully after each round of heaves.  She would trudge to the tub, wash them out (they are never again clean after that putrid acid first hits the plastic) and bring them back for round two (or round 30, or round 40) before falling into the restless sleep that was unhealthy and unrelenting.

Time after time I tell people that they will get through it; one day at a time; it’s a marathon not a sprint.  I have good intentions.  I hope these words offer inspiration or at the very least hope.  Yet this sick mutation of cells rages on ravaging those innocent kids and families around the world.  Is it a monster?  Is it a curse?  Is it a sign?  Is it a test?  It is ALL of these things, but why?

I stopped asking why during the first moment of clarity I had through all the meds being forced through my skin and into my veins back in 2005.  You can’t win a psychological battle of blame; transferring the immense pain, torture, illness, grief and guilt to someone (or something) else won’t get me back to my family as the husband, son, brother, uncle, cousin, nephew and friend that faced death.  We all faced death.  I stared at my leg that was up in a sling with a screw twisted through my flesh and bone for months on end.  I knew I would NEVER take another step on that leg.  It gave me hope that maybe, possibly I would save it… but the leg never mattered.  It was all for my life.  The leg never really mattered, no matter how much we projected our worry over that insignificant bit of my body.  We fought day in and day out for the chance to experience graduations, weddings, births, new pets, grill-outs, vacations and all the great moments we have with our loved ones.

Throughout the struggle we lived by the ‘definitely, maybe’ prognosis.  “Steve, you definitely maybe will save your leg.  You definitely maybe will get chemo on Monday.  You definitely maybe will get discharged by 2pm.  You definitely maybe will walk at your wedding.  You definitely maybe will get married.  You definitely maybe will see your parent’s 40^th wedding anniversary.  You definitely maybe will become a father.  You definitely maybe will actually be able to live the life that you want to give to Lib and the rest of your family.  Well, I have DEFINITELY maybe won this round.  We lost blood, a limb, innocence, tears, weight, time, youth, opportunities, sleep and even hope.

I hurt and yearn for the families of all the cancer-angels that fought and fought only to be unjustly taken from the Earth.  What’s left of me will always be fighting alongside and willing those warriors in battle to deal the final blow to their own disease.  Some will and some won’t.

Just after 11 AM, Dr. Brenda Weigel walked into the room and said the scans look amazing.  Nothing there.  I am now cancer free and we are looking towards heading off any of the side effects that will plague me for the rest of my life.  They are moving me to long term care.  My physical heart has been weakened and from this day forward will be the focus of my health…but my REAL heart has never been stronger or more full of life.  Osteo has been stricken from the top of my list.  Or as I like to think, it was beheaded with a rusty blade and buried in a shallow grave.

Become. Stronger. Juggernaut.

We, the Juggernaut, are ready for the next challenge.

ONWARD.

SDS, ERS

( & the Symons Six+ )

s+l, philly pa, 2007

So, anyone who has a pet knows the enormous psychological and emotional impact they can have on our lives. We tend to humanize them, make room in our hearts for them.

That said, we have most recentely lost Persy, our loving and personable orange tabby, to kidney malfunction. Persy was our ‘cancer cat ‘ as I brought him home in the midst of Steve’s worst chemo days. Despite admonitions from his doctors, Persy became a comfort to Steve during some very dark times, sitting on his leg, keeping him company when all he could do was sit and stare.

We have both found it very difficult to say goodbye to him, after all the happiness he’s provided us with.

He was a very loving, smart, intuative, and a great friend to us. Thank you, buddy.

He is now in a place where you don’t hurt, you don’t lose your hair, you don’t constantly hear bad news; a place where your loved ones don’t see you hurt each and every day.  There is no pain, there is no disease.

Erik’s Caringbridge

Park Rapids Enterprise page

 Onward…now more than ever.

sds

Of course we already have our old man, Persnickety. He’s a 10-year-old orange tabby and the nicest and most loving cat Steve has ever had (Steve’s had quite a few cats in his day).

Full names Sir Thaxter Drax Tewksbury, esq. and David Bowie Stargazer (and the original, Sir William Milton Chatsworth Persnickety, esq.).

Here’s a quick video of our new guys:

Here are some photos:

Last night at the Fargo Force hockey game, the Make-A-Wish foundation SURPRISED Jeff (Nelson) with his wish – his first car completely remade.  He knew his car was being redone, but he was told it wouldn’t be done until the end of the school year.  But they drove it out onto the ice, shiny and new…

The best part of the night (besides the surprise, the look on his face, and seeing his parents hugging each other as he sat down in his new ride) was when the lady from Make-A-Wish said his wish was to get his 1989 Nissan 300 ZX “Pimped”.  Some people just shouldn’t say the word ‘Pimped’…

Here is the article on MSNBC: Make-A-Wish surprises local teen

Here is the video from KVLY: Jeff\’s Make-A-Wish comes True! (This only links to the most recent story – I couldn’t find his video anywhere in their archives.)

Jeff is almost done with chemo and working hard on walking with his kick-ass new leg.  What a great night for everyone!  It’s awesome, Jeff.

onward!

SDS

onward!

SDS

The Art of the Possible invites audiences into the worlds of five families living with cancer, its treatment, and what remains in the aftermath. At once humorous and haunting, producers Hayward and Harter present a narrative portrayal of families trying to create “a new normal” in the midst of cancer, and the care providers that serve them. The Art of the Possible offers the public and medical community-at-large a glimpse of cancer care that couples conventional therapies with humanizing communication practices.

Art of the Possible Demo from Casey Hayward on Vimeo.

Fortunately, Steve has been able to get to know the patients and families of some of these cases and offer some support and sympathy. More than that – he can offer insight that no doctor or minister can; he’s been there and come back.

Our strength is wavering as we continue to hear bad and worse news about these cases. Inoperable. Tumors. Metastasis.

I think we are realizing that we truly were lucky.

I wish for all the families we’ve been following to have strength.