holiday season. (And we hope you please use the www.giveaspit.com app when youโre shopping this season to help our friends at There Goes My Hero.)
The rest of the journey is truly a mystery but weโre going one day at a time.
Many folks have asked or written about Jennโs condition. With my radio schedule and work responsibilities, Iโve done my best to keep those who love her or are interested in our cancer journey in the loop with these missives.
So, while I have your attention, here are some more random notes and observations and things on my mind that I think will help add some clarity and color to our journey:
* There is nothing more disgusting and/or disturbing than to be in front of a building where everyone is inside fighting for their lives and there are other caregivers and patients tied to poles in front of the building smoking cigarettes and a sign that declares it a โsmokefree campus.โ
Iโm calling total bullshit on that. Itโs a disgrace and smells foul โ like BWI Airport on a hot, hazy morning under that awning where you can get cancer just walking to your shuttle. Hey, Johns Hopkins โ and any other hospital that allows the front doors to become a giant, nauseating ashtray โ shame on you!
You should and can do better.
* Iโm pretty sure that I have the squeakiest, cleanest hands in North America. My wife has no immune system. Her life depends on clean hands so if you see me out over the next six months, weโre doing elbow bumps โ not handshakes or hugs. Iโll be the guy using Purell like Lester Hayes used Stickum.
* One more note of common sense and decency: if you ever go near cancer patients โ or if youโre a nurse, caregiver, fellow elevator rider or are anywhere inside of a hospital โ please donโt wear perfume or odiferous scents. This makes you a complete and total insensitive asshole โ making people who are already really sick puke at the smell of you in the place where theyโre trying to heal. One out of every three people Iโve seen at this hospital for 18 months are fighting for their lives and wearing masks and/or bald. And every day someone smells like a poisoned flower garden (or just a stinky old lady) in a confined space here and I. Just. Donโt. Get. It. Honestly, there should be signs all over the building about this because itโs rampant and dreadful.
* My wife is surviving on a steady intravenous diet of B-Positive blood and platelets. If you give, thank you. If you donโt, please consider it. Behind all of these miracles and this angel in Germany, are a bunch of regular people like you whoโve given blood and are keeping people like Jenn alive every night. Without your blood, they die. Pretty self-explanatory. And very appreciated!
* On a personal level, every little nerve is dull. I called myself a zombie last week and Iโm sticking with that description. I find it far easier to write about her journey than to relay it one-by-one โ or worse, face-to-face. Itโs very, very hard to look at people who love my wife and tell them โhow sheโs doing.โ Itโs one of the hardest things Iโve ever had to do so Iโm not out much and very socially awkward/emotional when I am in discussing Jennโs illness.
Itโs hard to explain, but Iโm not finding baseball to be as compelling. Or, football to be as exciting. Or, hockey to be so captivating. Or, life to be as good these days.
Last weekend we were supposed to be in San Francisco having fun. Our favorite restaurants, a little shopping, some margaritas and Mexican food, some dim sum. This weekend, we were headed to Phoenix for some fun and Ravens football.
Instead, we remember the fun we were having in life before all of this cancer stuff took over.
And there are the pics from other Phoenix trips.
Itโll be eight more years before we go to Phoenix or San Francisco to see the Ravens. Then, thereโs the Super Bowl in January that she clearly wonโt be attending and is on โholdโ for me and my job.
Everything is โon holdโ and โday to dayโ here at The Hotel.
But thereโs no pity party here.
We ainโt got time for that.
Jenn is walking laps when she can. Drinking what she can, when she can. Hitting the little drug junky button to soothe the pain. Sheโs tough โ tougher than anyone I can imagine, really.
And it sucks royally โ all of this!
But then, when we need a closer view at our reality, she and I walk down to the second floor and see bald kids walking around with poles with their parents.
And, suddenly, you canโt feel sorry for yourself.
You just canโt.
Jenn has a chance โ a real chance to escape this leukemia grip and live a normal life. She just needs to stay strong, not get sick and keep fighting.
Here at The Hotel, youโre always one elevator ride away or a trip down the hall to the bathroom past another poor soul whose circumstance isnโt as good or prognosis isnโt as good as my wifeโs.
Many folks donโt have a donor to save their lives so they sit and fight and wait.
Get on the bone marrow registry NOW!
We also learned last week that Jenn now has EIGHT perfect matches in the world โ up from the original TWO donors 19 months ago. It goes to show that all of our hard work is paying off in some way for others in the future. We believe in our cause.
The second battle with cancer is definitely different from the first time โ in almost every way beyond familiarity. The nurses, the doctors, the halls, the room โ every memory that we tried to forget โ has come rushing back like some very fucked up, spacey version of The Twilight Zone.
Except that itโs real.
Sheโs really 19 days back into this journey. Sheโs bald. Sheโs frail. Sheโs sick. Sheโs fighting. Itโs not easy.
Next Thursday night, we hope to save her life again.
And this time have it stick. For good!
Keep the faith!
We areโฆ