In Sickness and In Health Love | First Chemo? Done.

Dad is a strong, strong man.
No getting around it.
He handled today SO well.

He was nervous.
As were Mum and I.

It's the not knowing that's hard.
Not knowing what to expect.

Will this hurt?
Will he be instantly sick?
Will he tolerate the cocktail well enough to keep giving this a try?
Will the cancer shrink?
Will he be in pain?

It hit us all at about the same time.
When he sat in the chemo chair.


Reality.

I have to brag a bit about our nurse, Heather.
She was so kind and lovely and helpful and gentle.
She'd give a little information as we went along.
What she was going to do next.
What Dad could expect.
She made it easy to intake the info,
minimizing the potential of being overwhelmed.

She laughed easily.
And loved her job.
I wish I would have taken a photo of the two of them
so you could see her beautiful, caring face.
She was a gift right from God today!
Turns out Dad wore the perfect shirt today
so he could show off his manly chest.
He told Heather he was sorry if he turned on
all the women in the
chemo room.
HA.
Shhh. Don't tell anyone he said that.

Laughter is good medicine.
Very, very good.

He took the chemo like a champ
and as of 9:30pm tonight,
still no side effects.

Nothing.
Isn't that AWESOME?

How's that for answered prayer?
There are people praying
all over the globe,
and Dad feels it.

And Mom and I feel it, too.

We continue to feel abundant Peace.
Other than the initial anxious feelings,
it's like this unexplainable Peace sweeps over us.
Another gift right from God's hand.

I think I continue to forget
how emotionally exhausting these
'firsts' are.

I mean,
we did nothing today.
Sat in the hospital for 5 hours.
Didn't run a marathon.
Took the elevator,
only because we didn't want to be locked in a dark stairwell.
Mum and I have watched too many mystery movies.
Bad things happen in dark stairwells and parking garages.

Grateful that the hallway to the chemo room was bright and cheery.
I like that 'suite' is attached to chemotherapy.
I'm all about tricking out the chemo to make it seem lovely.
If only the chemo chair gave massages to its guests.
One of the particular drugs that Dad's on is especially susceptible to mouth sores,
so Dad had to sip on ice chips prior to that injection.
There Heather goes again,
making Dad smile.
This syringe has the F5 chemo in it.
The other two were on a slow drip that took 90 minutes.


 Dad was sent home with a 'bottle' of chemo
that will drip for 46 hours.
It's the same F5 drug,
which happens to do really well with a quick infusion like the syringe,
as well as a slow drip over time.

It's just a little bit bigger than a baby's bottle.
About the same height, but maybe a little wider around.
The tubing then connects to his port,
and voila,
he's hooked up for 46 hours.
The home nurse will come on Wednesday morning
to disconnect and flush out the port.
So there you have it,
our first chemo visit in a nutshell.
Thankful that's behind us.
Grateful for your prayers.
And kind thoughts and words.
You have no idea.
You're part of this journey, too.
Thank you seems rather inadequate.

********************
As we started the morning,
this next sight caught my eye.

True love.

50 years of marriage.
I'm quite confident that on their wedding day,
they didn't know what 50 years later would hold.
But this is what 
"in sickness and in health" love looks like.
Sitting in a chemo chair.
With your wife beside you.
Holding your hand.
The beauty of together.

God's still good.
And He always will be.

Comments

Unknown said…
Beautifully written Alyssa!!!
You write so well. I'm tearing up as I read this snippet of your Dad's day. Keeping him in prayer.
Alysa said…
Ahhh, thanks so much, Ann Marie! Hugs to you.

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