Every day, upon awakening
I can frighten myself half to death
By thinking I’m one day closer to
A very scary surgery
Or
Every day, upon awakening
I can refortify my connection to courage
By thinking I’m one day closer to
Surgery being successful and over
Every night when I go to sleep
I can remain wakeful by
Seeing myself as awakening
One day closer to a very scary surgery
Or
Every night when I go to sleep
I can think of awakening
One day closer to
Surgery being successful and over
Late last week, Will sent the most recent
CT of my chest to
The heart surgeon in Houston, overnight
We received a call from his PA
Mayo had sent the wrong disc
Thank goodness, Will’s frustration was
Short lived, as he called David’s best friend
Adam, an orthopedic surgeon at Mayo, for help
Thanks to Adam, the correct disc was in
The hands of my heart surgeon in
Houston within 24 hours, and yesterday
We received a call from the surgeon’s PA, again
When Will heard her say that
The heart surgeon declared
My tumor readily resectable
My husband was visibly elated
As for me, chills ran
Up and down my spine as
Fear emerged from within
A dark place inside my mind where
Deeper truth, pushing denial aside, no longer
Allowed me to lie to myself as fear—
Not for my life but of experiencing excruciating
Pain, yet again—pierced my conscious awareness
Will, I’m so scared!
You have a right to be scared, Annie
Hold onto me. We’re a team
And following his lead ...
I clung to my husband, who
Admitted to harboring fear, as well
Will, I need to cry
Go ahead, sometimes, when alone, I cry, too
So cry on Will’s shoulder I did
Not great big sobs but rather
A few silent tears, which felt more like
Rain drops than wind swept angst or even fear
At times, emotional release proves
So complex as to somehow offer
Relief that remains in
An unidentified state of being
When it comes to my present protocol, each round of chemo is composed of two infusions. A week passes between the first and second infusion. Then two weeks pass before the next round begins. So, following tomorrow’s infusion, two weeks will pass before my 8th (and hopefully final) round takes place, followed by four weeks to revitalize my blood supply in readiness to undergo two back-to-back days of surgery—heart first, lung second.
As this last round of chemo was less toxic (to ward off spontaneous bleeding) than previous infusions, physical miseries along with excessive fatigue took me by surprise. Even with the shower chair installed, I found myself too fatigued to bathe, over the next couple of days. Luckily, several weeks back, I’d ordered moistened bathing cloths, as seen on Shark Tank, offering me an alternative method of freshening up.
One night, I dreamt my hair was back. (First sighting of brows and lashes, several weeks ago, was a tease—every wisp of hair, defining eyes, gone, again, with promise from everyone who has undergone chemo that all will return, good as new). Face so round from steroids that with the absence of hair, each time my smile appears, I see the ‘happy face’ emoji staring back from my mirror. No worries, though, as hair is sprouting all over my scalp. No surprise—considering my age and frequency of touch ups—it is white. Not salt and pepper. Not gray. Pure white as Mary Poppin’s spoon full of sugar ... trust me, there’s nothing boring about working your hardest to save your life. (If you’ve read this before, I hope you’ll cut me some slack. Drawing my eyebrows on (which invariably fail to line up), every day, offers me reason to laugh.)
Today, I texted Adam (his chief of orthopedic surgery, during his residency, had been Will’s second year resident when my husband was chief resident). Adam, who literally grew up in our home, weekends (before Bryce was born) loves his sister, Rachel and his three Shapiro brothers.
Adam, how can we thank you enough! Will spoke with the cardiac surgeon’s PA (who received my chest CT within 24 hours of your having sent it), and after studying it, the surgeon declared the tumor resectable and predicts the time frame for surgery as being late in July. Though the thoracic surgeon has to agree, Will is elated. As for me, I got scared. Will held me, all night. And instead of tossing and turning, I slept soundly. Needless to say, a sleeping pill helped. Then, this morning, my wonderful husband, who anticipates my every need, said: Annie, surgery is what you’ve been working so hard, over these past six months, to achieve. Somehow, hearing the truth spelled out so clearly jump started my reconnection to courage, and a huge sigh of relief was released followed by a warm hug. Adam, just as you’ve been an integral part of our family, forever, you’ve chosen to be an integral part of my recovery, right from the start.
We’ve loved you so much, Adam, ever since the day of your birth!
🙋🏻♀️❤️🌈🌻Heidi PS thoracic surgeon received the disc, today.
Adam’s reply (with his permission):
Your message makes my heart sing! Im so glad they got the disc but even more thrilled with the great news!!
You and Will have truly been an inspiration in how you have faced this - you definitely taught us a lot about how to live life when we were kids but I think you have taught us even more now that we are adults.
I cannot wait for this to be behind you and I am looking forward to celebrating with everyone when you have beaten this.
Love you!!! ❤️❤️
Blood tests at Mayo, this morning
Results are good
Second half of 7th round of chemo, tomorrow
Followed on Friday by shot stimulating
Bone marrow production of healthy blood cells
Then two weeks before final, two step round of
Chemo is administered—Yes! Yes! Yes!
Onward—prescription for a healthy future:
Quarantine (Unlike our desert community—Geez!)
Wear positively focused smiles
And masks
Social distance
Be safe not sorry
Find reasons to ignite laughter
Today, I wore one red shoe, one bright blue
Unlimited Refills
Repeat
Feel my love!
🙋🏻♀️❤️🌈🌻Annie
Sent from my iPad
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