"One of us might lose his hair,
But we're reminded that it once was there." --They Might Be Giants, "Mammal" In the tortuous (and torturous) path to this point, not a lot has happened that's necessitated another update. Still, it's been two months since I last wrote about how Gayle is doing with her treatments. I may as well go ahead and use my time now, while she's in getting her Taxol shot, to fill in any who are curious about our current status. We're…okay…ish. As far as what's good and exciting, we are down to two more appointments (after today) and then we'll be done with all of the chemotherapy requirements. That in and of itself is worth celebrating. Though the ordeal is far from over, the hardest part is almost behind us. Coupled with that is the ending of the school year. It has been a challenging year in all sorts of ways that I'm not keen to get into. Suffice to say, our entire family is really excited to finish off 2020-2021 academics and focus on something else…anything else. Though May poses its own difficulties, what with students being just as antsy and anxious to finish classes as teachers are, we're overall optimistic about finishing everything off and heading into summer. The best news recently is that Gayle received her hair back! In January, a couple of days before her first chemo treatment, Gayle had her hair "harvested" and sent to a wig-making company, Compassionate Creations. The California-based company took the hair, added to it as necessary, and hand-wove a wig with Gayle's own hair. The result is stunning--you can see it in the picture above--and it also inspired today's opening quote. Gayle has worn it around the neighborhood and to today's chemotherapy session. She plans on wearing it on Monday to school, and I hope that she gets a lot of use from it. After she starts growing her own hair back, it'll be a useful cosplay wig, as it'll allow her to dress it up the night before and not have to get up so early--or sleep in curlers. That means she'll be less cranky during the cosplay event, which is all to the good, I say. It isn't all roses (though Gayle's garden is blooming apace and gives her a smile whenever she sees her flowers): A couple of weeks back, Gayle told her oncologist about some neuropathy she was experiencing in her fingertips and feet. They put her on a regime of vitamin pills to help bolster her system. They also tweaked her Taxol administration, lowering the dose by twenty percent. If you recall, one of our rationales for extending our Taxol ministrations to a weekly visit over more weeks, rather than larger doses every two weeks, was to reduce the risk of Gayle losing the feeling in her hands. Despite those best efforts, the neuropathy is growing. Gayle is now at the point where her fingers are constantly numb. Picking up heavy things is painful. Standing or walking for too long--ten or so minutes, it seems, though that may be more my perception--causes her feet to hurt. One of her primary coping mechanisms for when she's feeling glum is to get something fun to eat; the treatment has taken that, too, as her taste is inconsistent at best and non-existent the rest of the time. Worst of all, her fingertips are so numb that she can no longer work on costumes. Gayle's sunny disposition has been clouded by concern over this. Last night after dinner, I came upstairs to find her crying in our bed. That isn't a common thing--a more familiar sight in recent months than any other time in our marriage, though--but it didn't really take too much Encyclopedia Brown-ing to figure out what was wrong: She had hoped that we could go to the Tulip Festival at Thanksgiving Point, but an after-school meeting held me back too late to actually go. It wasn't that we missed out on the Festival--we'd been earlier in the Festival's run, and while there weren't as many blooming tulips, we did see a fair amount--but just the idea of doing something that would take her mind off of this gradual loss had been helping her get through the day. With my tardiness, I ruined that opportunity. After drying her eyes, we climbed into the car and drove to south Orem to visit the Nielsen's Grove Park. Though they didn't have nearly as many blooming tulips, they did have some. We walked through the small garden, then settled next to the pond to watch the ducklings squeak for their mothers while snapping at midges and mosquitos hovering over the water. We even saw some lucky ducks get lucky, as it is (apparently) mating season for the animals. Afterwards, we got milkshakes. While it wasn't a replacement for her being able to do the hobby she loves so much, it was still a nice evening together that helped to take her mind off of things. Nights like that are rare: For the most part, Gayle is really optimistic and happy. I can see, however, worries haunting her. I know that we've been really fortunate. The cancer was detected and removed without any clear indication that it had spread beyond that one lymph node. All of this stuff--the chemo, the hair loss, the pain, the sickness, the malaise--has been done as a preventative thing with the hope that the trials of 2021 will protect us from greater trauma farther down the timeline. That doesn't, however, make any of the experience easier, nor is it fully reassuring. For all we know, every sacrifice we've gone through, every emotional scar she is suffering through is doing nothing but scarring her. There's no evidence she has cancer anywhere else. But there is the possibility that there's something else in her, and this is to make sure it doesn't come back. It makes it…hard. I don't mean to paint an overly-bleak picture here. Gayle is doing really well, and has been an inspirational pillar of beauty and kindness to me and my boys throughout this entire ordeal. Three birthdays in our family have already come and gone with great success--largely because of her--and her students are still receiving a large amount of her attention and talent. We've both been vaccinated and we're optimistic that we'll be able to get our heart warrior son his own doses soon so that we don't have to stress over a lethal pandemic and treatment at the same time. We also have a lot of fun things planned for this summer, which has done a lot to lift moods. To be frank, though, I don't think that I could handle a similar situation with half the grace and professionalism that she demonstrates on a daily basis. It really is inspiring to see her commitment to living her own life and not let cancer become her defining feature. We are quite worried about the neuropathy and the possibility (there's that word again) that it might become permanent is weighing on us. If you're the praying type, a word on her behalf to the One above would be appreciated. Many thanks to everyone who read this far, who has asked after Gayle's health, who has provided some sort of support (money or meals or just a bit of ad hoc help). It hasn't gone unnoticed, nor unappreciated.
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July 2021
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