Fall 2009 - John begins feeling numbness, tightening, and pain in his chest and back muscles. Like cry-for-your-mom kind-of pain. Doctors have no clue. This continues for almost a year.
Late Spring 2010 - Diagnosis is a Pulmonary Lymphomatoid Granulomatosis (which we've not-so-affectionately dubbed PLG), an incredibly rare form of Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma (a cancer of the blood). Tumors appear on both lungs which are removed. Who needs tattoos when you're rocking scars like that. Chemo treatment begins. Prognosis is good.
January 2011 - Cancer is gone? What? Rock on. Diagnosis is remission and we all breathe a sigh of relief.
February 2011 - Double vision. Trouble with coordination. Not being able to feel hands or feet. Back to the doctor. Cancer is back. WTF? Although the PLG has been extinguished, cancer appeared in the brain. Can't operate because it's in the brain stem. Close your fist around a penny and then try to get that penny out without touching your hand. Impossible. Prognosis is iffy. Radiation is out of the question. No one wants to melt their brain. So chemo begins again with first rounds successful in reducing size.
Summer 2011 - Tumor is gone? What? Rock on. We all breathe another sigh of relief.
Fall 2011 - Tumor is back? WTF? Are you fucking kidding us? A followup MRI reveals that the tumor has returned in force. This is starting to get really really old. Start chemo again. A bad ass combination called Methatrexate that can be given in 8 rounds. No one has ever had it past 6. John rocks the 6 rounds.
Spring 2012 - Tumor is gone. A "mere wisp" on the MRI. We thank our lucky stars and God and Buddha and Stonehenge.
Summer 2012 - God-damn mother-fucking tumor is back. WHAT THE FUCK? Really?!? REALLY?!? This roller coaster ride has never been fun and its starting to make us sick. The doctors at this point have no clue how to proceed. Prognosis is bleak. I mean - really really bleak. Like start-thinking-about-the-end kind of bleak.
October 2012 - We, especially my dad, are not ready to give up. Second opinion at Sloan-Kettering in New York City. Best doctor in the world confirms diagnosis of some type of cancer (we still really have no clue what it is). Doctors are still stumped how to treat and really have only one option left. Back to Methatrexate. It's never been given in second series. They tell us he'll be lucky to see Thanksgiving.
November 9, 2012 - It's a Friday and my sister and I are driving to Minneapolis for our pseudo-sister's bachelorette party. We receive a phone call. It's my dad. In tears. The man doesn't cry. And he tells me this could very well be his last weekend on earth. That he's opted to go with the Methatrexate even though it could kill him in a few days. That he would never let cancer take him without a fight. That he would go down swinging. And my heart stops and the world falls out from under my feet. We turn around and go home because there's only one place in the world we want to be. Laughing and dancing and cooking and living with our dad.
November 12, 2012 - Treatment begins. And we wait on pins and needles and bite our nails and cry and pray and drink and laugh and cry some more and pace. Some of us get tattoos. Well. That would have been me.
November 17, 2012 - He made it through. How? We don't know. But we thank our lucky stars and God and Buddha and Stonehenge.
Winter 2012 - Spring 2013 - Methatrexate treatments continue and John is a rockstar throughout it all. A few scary moments, but he's still working full-time and life is going on.
Last Week - April 23, 2013 - The tumor is gone. GONE! Although we'll go ahead and be proactive and continue treatments, he's made it. Again. I hate to hold my breath, but if we've learned anything throughout this, it's that nothing is certain. But his coordination is returning and he's going to the gym and he's working and it looks like my pop will be around for his grandbabies. And I want to thank God with everything I am that this story has turned out this way.
God only gives us what we can handle. Trust me, there were times when we thought he was just being a bully. How could he do this? How could we deal with any more? But, I've learned so much through this. I think we all have. Life is short and beautiful and tragic and fragile and sweet. To take even a moment for granted is to waste it. I don't worry about five years from now. I plan for it, but don't worry about it anymore. I have today. That's the best I get. And today, even though its raining and storming and a bit muggy, is beautiful. Because I have my daddy.
All my love,
Ali
I seem to have a thing for leaving a video for you all, so I'll leave you this one. Love.
No comments:
Post a Comment