Greetings from Tom

Hello, it’s me the husband for this post. I know you’re all disappointed. Bev did a bang up job on her last post, which is amazing because she’s barely coherent for the most part…can hardly string words together. Just kidding, she’s fine. In fact she is pressuring me to include a Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Patrick Swayze cancer joke, but I quite frankly have too much class.

So I know what you’re all thinking. “Bev’s got cancer again. What’s it like for you Tom?” Well, I’m glad you asked. Yesterday was our fourth treatment during this stint in cancerland. Yes I say “our” . . . she’s the one having the toxins pushed into her veins, but I’m the one driving damnit. Our drives up to City of Hope in Duarte have been quite nice. They’re our little romantic road trips every two weeks. It’s just under an hour from Marina del Rey up to Duarte. I manage to wake up 15 minutes into the drive (which is good, because I’m driving) to realize that we’re listening to Ryan Seacrest receive shoutouts from all the girls of the Rancho Cucamonga Del Alto Vista Grande High School junior varsity cheerleading squad. Thanks ladies.

On our first treatment at City of Hope (about two months ago), Bev and I spent her infusion in the deluxe private suite. Comfy chair for her, full hospital bed for me, DirecTV…very civilized. Fast forward to the fourth treatment and we’re placed in a broom closet with three other patients. There is a scale for me to play with…I like messing around with the equipment. I know how to work most of the stuff by now. However this time the scale told me I had put on four pounds since the last visit. Time to redouble my efforts on the elliptical.

Back to Bev. We’re quite a good team. We manage to alternate our fits of severe impatience. It’s a teeter-totter version of Good Cop/Bad Cop. We usually get the important things our way. For instance Bev is very good at dictating when, where and by whom her blood will be drawn. She has also made very good friends with the nurse who can best access her port. I think it’s a genuine attempt at polite friendliness on Bev’s part…however, I think the nurses are mainly reacting out of fear. Nurses, doctors, receptionists, schedulers tend not to argue with her. We’re big believers in taking control and owning the process. Don’t just let things happen without knowing why. Ask the questions and demand the answers. Most health professionals seem to respect this approach. There’s one receptionist with wrist guards, a hands-free device and incredible talent of looking very busy while doing nothing who might disagree.

So we’ve now done four chemo treatments since relapsing. Next week is the PET scan which will tell us how effective treatment has been. After that will probably be more chemo leading up to perhaps a Donor Lymphocyte Infusion (look it up) or maybe a clinical trial of some kind. No one is expecting these past four treatments to have sent Bev back into remission, but we’re totally cool if it turns out that way.
Last night I picked up Bev from work around 9:30 pm. That’s right…she put in an 8-hour day in the office after chemo…my wife could kick your ass. Of course if you watched her swallow a single pill you’d think she was being stabbed. She can’t believe I can swallow four ibuprofens at once. Our constant sense of amazement with each other keeps the marriage fresh. But I digress.

Where was I? OK…so it’s 9:30 pm and I’m picking Bev up from work. She comes out to the car with six dozen donuts that went uneaten in the office and were going to be tossed out. Bev, however, decided that we would be giving them to the homeless. I knew that “we” would not be doing this. Just as I suspected, this became “me” chasing a guy with a shopping cart down an alley at 10 o’clock at night as I tried to explain why I had six dozen donuts to give him. I explained that it was my wife’s idea and a look of total understanding came over his face and he seemed to take pity on me as he accepted the donuts and said his buddies could really use some food. My advice to anyone getting married: Don’t be surprised when at some point you share an awkward moment in a dark alley with a homeless stranger…this is what you sign up for when you say “I do.”