Stable and Strong

Just a year ago he was in recovery mode due to his strokes.

Strong and stable were just a distant dream.

Last month my man got some news.

I should mention that the news he got was good.

Like.

Very good.

His report came back that he is stable and strong.

His most recent body scans lead to the good news that he no longer needs to have his scans every three months.

My man has graduated to body scans every six months.

We had a cute little tag along join us at his appointment

But my man being the man that he is, asked if he come back in three instead of six months.

You know.

Just to make sure.

I love this man of mine.

He is still a work in progress when it comes to believing that his body has been healed.

And that's okay.

We are rejoicing for the news of strong and stable.

And no new scans for six three more months.

With this good news I've decided that this will be the last entry of this blog....for now.  It's been a great way to share my man's journey with family, friends and clients but we've reached a point where no news is good news and lately there has been no news!  It's been over two years since he was diagnosed with colon and kidney cancer, and what a journey it has been.  Thank you for reading and following along, but most of all, thank you for walking with us and praying for us.  Thank you does not seem sufficient but it will have to do.  Feel free to find me over on Instagram (danaemeister)  for the daily goings on with my man and the rest of my crew.

In Him,
Danae

(Rebecca of 14K, if your reading this...Hello sweet friend!  I/we think of you and the rest of the staff up there often.  Can you believe how well my man is doing?!  Please spread the good news!  -Danae)

2014: The Ugly and The Beauty

Dear 2014,

Don't take this the wrong way.

But I'm so glad you are done.

Over.

In the books.

I will not miss you.

And I will not forget you.

No matter how hard I try.

And no matter how much I'd like to.

You won't ever be forgotten.

You brought a whole lotta ugly this last year.

And there's a part of me that's still angry with you because of it.

I mean, you just didn't cut us a break.

So much pain.

So much fear.

So much down right ugliness.

Most of that ugly was thrown at my man.

And that makes me mad.

He didn't deserve your wrath of ugliness.

Even with all that ugly he went through.

There is no one I'd rather go through life with.

Thankfully your ugly made us stronger.

It did not break us.

But you should know something.

In between all that ugliness.

There was amazing beauty.

It was hidden.

But it was there.

The beauty of a daddy consoling his girl.

The beauty of silliness and humor.....two traits that my family and I excel at.

No, make that we are experts at.....

The beauty of a body and mind restored.

The beauty of generosity from family, friends and strangers.

The beauty of home.

The beauty of one's first game ball.

The beauty of a family bond made stronger.

(photo credit: Emily Andrews Portrait Design) 

The beauty of a rainbow in the midst of a storm.

The beauty of God's never ending grace.

And the beauty of HOPE.

So as much as I want to forget you, 2014, without your ugly I might not have ever seen the beauty of you.

So be rest assured.

You will be one to be remembered.

My man ended 2014 with the good news of no new tumors.  He's gone one year with no new ones. The treatment is working.  He still has some hanging out in his lung but they are behaving....staying beautifully stable and small.

Happy 2015

You come back?

I was running late as usual.

Trying to meet up with a friend that I hadn't seen in a couple of months.

We planned to have dessert and chat about life.

We both had lots to catch up on.

My man had made dinner.

The kids were setting the table.

I ran through the kitchen looking for my keys.

Found them in the windowsill of all places.

Gave the kids the quick "be good for daddy" lecture and was off.

I grabbed the doorknob to leave.

And then I heard her yell.

"Mama, you come back?"

Before I could turn around, I heard her running down the hall to me.

Again.

"Mama, you go bye bye.  You come back?"

My hand dropped from the doorknob.

I turned around and just stared at her.

Again.

"Mama, you come back?"

She's been home with me for over three years.

She comes to me for her needs.

She comes to me for all of her her wants.

She comes to me because I am there.

She trusts that I am there for her.

I thought that we had worked though this.

Yet in that minute of those three repeated questions.

I was reminded there is a part of her heart.

That doubts.

That fears.

That wonders.

Is mama coming back? 

I grabbed her.

Held her.

Kissed her.

Trying to hide the tears that I knew were moments away from running down my cheeks.

My throat tight.

"Yes, mama will come back."

I kissed her again.

Reassured her again.

And then went out to the car and cried.

I texted my man telling him not to tuck her in until I got home.

No matter how late.

My friend and I got caught up on just about everything that's happened in the last four months.

We decided that we need to get out more often.

There was just too much to talk about to try and fit in in just a few hours out.

I tried to not constantly check my phone for the time.

I finally pulled up in the driveway, a good two hours past her bedtime.

I walked in the house.

And I heard her feet running down the hall.

And I heard her scream.

Again, "Mama, you come back!"

Only this time it wasn't a question.

It was the announcement of sheer joy that Mama came back.

There may always be a part of my little girl's heart that wonders, doubts and fears that I won't come back.  And understandably so. At 15 months old her heart broke as she sat in a hospital bed wondering when her mama would come back to get her.  With the grace of God, her broken heart is being healed, but even a healed heart will bear the scars of a heart once broken.  

Unremarkable and Stable.

He had his first scan since he stopped treatment.

I found myself crying uncontrollably when he went back for the scan.

I've never just lost it like that in a waiting room.

Especially for just a scan.

I think that these last few months have felt normal.

We haven't had normal in what seems like forever.

For our family, normal is crazy messy chaos but without the stress of cancer looming over us.

I realized these last few months how wonderful normal crazy messy chaos is.

And I've missed it.

Scans change normal.

Scans change routines.

Scans dictate how life is going to move for the next while.

I was being greedy and hoping that there would be no evidence, the words they use for being cancer free.

But last Wednesday wasn't the day to hear those words.

Instead, we got some really good runner up words.

Unremarkable.

And.

Stable.

They aren't growing.

They aren't multiplying.

They're doing what cancer doesn't normally do.

Just hanging out.

Being unremarkable and stable.

But guess what?

That in itself is pretty remarkable.

His treatment is working.

Life for the next three months will be crazy messy chaos.

It will be normal.

Just the way I like it.


What does normal look like for my man?  Well, he got back his driving privileges back last month.  I felt like I was letting my newly licensed child hit the road.  I was pretty nervous the first day he went back to driving the freeway but he assured me it was just like riding a bike.  He still has some very minor side effects from the stroke....fine motor, memory and word recollection.  He's now on an every three month schedule to monitor what those tumors are doing.  Everyday he gets stronger and stronger and is getting back to being the Dan the Man that he was even before the cancer diagnosis.

Rejoicing

How is he doing?

I get that question a lot.

It seems my man has many many folks out there who care about him and want to hear he is doing better.

He is doing better.

Thankfully all the strokes were in safe places in his brain, and there should not be any permanent damage.

At this time he is still struggling with weakness in his right arm and hand.

His right hand is quite shaky at times.

But there has a lot of been improvement since the early post stroke days.

the top photo was taken days after his stroke.  bottom was taken two weeks after.

He went from being wheelchair bound to walking with a walker to walking with assistance to walking unassisted in less than two weeks.

He struggles with word recollection and recognition.

But he has a very enthusiastic speech therapist to help him.

I wish I had an ounce of her enthusiasm.

She's the perfect match for my less than enthusiastic about speech therapy husband.

I have no idea why I'm sharing a picture of his speech therapist....I guess I thought you'd like to see what sunshine in human form looks like.

His speech therapist is also helping my man with this response times.

His doctors had to turn him into the Oregon DMV so he is not permitted to drive until he takes a new driving test.

He can't get evaluated by his doctor to get authorized to even take a driving test until his response time improves.

He and I are hoping that by the end of next month he can get his license reinstated and I can turn in my chauffeur's duties.

I know he'll miss having his Mom-Wife drop him off at client lunches and then picking him up at the scheduled pick up place and time.

I know I'll miss his constructive criticism on my driving.

The last part of stroke recovery is energy level.

We were told it is the last to return and it takes the longest to return.

This one has been difficult for my man.

Having no energy to do the simplest of tasks.

Being constantly tired.

He's tired of being tired.

Summer 2014  has officially become Summer 2014: The Summer of Naps.

On the cancer side of things, things are a little more bittersweet.

We got his results from his last round.

The results were good.

It was not the miracle healing we've been praying for.

His tumors are all smaller.

There are no new tumors.

But he still has tumors.

His doctors feel comfortable moving forward with a wait and watch approach.

No more treatments at this time.

So we will wait and watch.

After his doctor told us the news, he left the room for a moment to get us the results on paper.

My man and I just sat there.

Looking and at each other.

Neither of us not really sure what to say.

I broke the silence with, "So.  That's it?  Just watch and wait?   All this crap you've gone through just for wait and watch?"

My man responded, "I guess so."

When the doctor returned I think he could tell we were still trying digest the watch and wait approach and the fact that there are still tumors floating around in his lung.

He then explained that this news is good.

In fact, it's very good news.

And we should be encouraged.

And we should be rejoicing.

The good news about the results is that because the therapy that my man went through is immunotherapy vs chemotherapy it may still be working in his body, hopefully attacking those tumors that are left.

His t cells may be re-programmed to attack any future cancer cells.

His team believes that his body is in a defense mode due to the fact that he has not had any new tumors in six months.

Versus last year when new tumors were being discovered every 60 to 90 days.

He also wanted to let us know that he has had several patients with the same size of tumors that Dan has, and they have gone several years before seeing the tumors grow or multiply.

I walked out of the exam room still not sold on the whole " be encouraged" and "rejoicing" thing.

But then I walked out through the waiting room.

And I was immediately convicted.

There were many patients there that day.

Fellow cancer patients fighting the fight.

Many of the patients that were waiting aren't winning their fight.

Cancer is.

There is no rejoicing.

This next part of the journey will be a wait and watch approach.

Because like always, cancer is in control of this journey.

Cancer seems to dictate what and when the next step is in my man's battle.

But.

I will be encouraged with the news of no new tumors and that the tumors are shrinking.

And I am rejoicing that for now, my man is winning his battle.

Tomorrow

There have been moments of hope this week.

There have been days with big victories this last week.

On this road to recovery, every victory is big.

There are no small victories.

None.

But I need to be real about what this week has really been like.

I have never experienced the kind of darkness that I have felt this week.

There have been days of absolute darkness.

Days that I have counted down the hours for tomorrow.

Just so today would be over with.

And because tomorrow couldn't be any darker than today.

But then tomorrow is here.

And it's just as dark.

If not darker.

And so I start counting down the hours for the next tomorrow.

A New Storm

My man wasn't even home 48 hours when I started noticing the signs of a new storm.

I brushed it off thinking he just went through his most brutal round yet, this recovery is bound to be just as brutal.

But by day three the clouds of the storm were closing in.

He was just not getting better.

He was actually getting worse.

I made the decision to take him to the ER.

They did a CT scan of his brain.

And then the storm hit.

Multiple suspicious looking spots were found.

Multiple.

They quickly got him in for an MRI to confirm exactly what they were.

They are not tumors.

They are brain lesions from multiple strokes.

It was deterimined that they are watershed strokes.

Watershed strokes are brought on by low blood pressure.

Low blood pressure.

The very thing that almost sent him to the ICU his last week of therapy.

The doctors have no answers for how long this storm will last.

But they are very encouraged with what my man is able to do.

And for the improvement that has taken place in just 24 hours.

They anticipate that with time, this storm will pass.

And my man will make a full recovery.

Dan has a very long road of recovery ahead of him and it will take many many baby steps for him to get there but I have no doubt he'll do it.