The Roller Coaster Climbs the Hill

Many of you may recall that my charmng sister Martha (whose husband is a cancer survivor) informed me months ago that living through cancer treatment with the possibility of the disease returning was like a roller coaster: that a set of good test results allows the coaster car to climb the hill, only to go dashing down again on the other side when the next medical person says something like, "We weren't expecting to see..." But also (and this it vitally important!) that when the car is speeding down the track, that there will be an uptick coming soon.

Yesterday was like that for me.

In my last post, I mentioned a variety of issues were continuing for me that I would have hoped would be visible only in the rear-view mirror by this time. Well, guess what just showed up in that mirror?

One of the primary concerns I mentioned was the loss of three pounds -- and that my weight dipped beneath 160 for the first time in probably 30 years. And, perhaps understadably, Deb and I assumed that we simply hadn't been assiduous enough with our Jevity feedings. (If and when Guilt becomes an Olympic sport, Deb and I are trying out for the team!)

Another concern: I was in danger of choking as I slept on this heavy mucus build-up that refuses to relent.

And I responded to these issues with a chorus of "Geez-es" in that posting.

What you may not recall is that, in early July, I posted something rather cryptic entitled "So Much Depends on Where You Focus." Pay attention, dear friends, there's an important lesson coming up here!! Deb and I had assumed that we were responsible for finding answers to these problems on our own, because the docs and nurses that we had talked to about these issues basically shrugged their shoulders.

But we hadn't yet talked to Doc Och -- the guy who recognized my hobbling on crutches some time ago as possibly being a serious blood clot and got me seen at the local hospital in record time.

Doc Och (whom we saw yesterday because my regular radiology doc was away), suggested a pharmaceutical response to the mucus. It's called "Robitussin DM." And it's considerably cheaper and more readily available than any of the prescription drugs that are collecting on a shelf in our kitchen (one of whom lists a non-insured cost of over $600 for 30 or so tiny little pills). And we had the Robitussin on-hand anyway.

Doc Och also recognized that I was "drying out," which would make the mucus situation worse. So (as mentioned yesterday) he arranged a 1.5-liter IV treatment for me at the chemo center. Which did, in truth, make me feel better, more alive.

This morning, there were two wonderful events to report: first of all, I had slept for over five uninterrupted hours last night. Now, I had not slept for three uninterrupted hours for two months. The Robitussin had, in fact, lessened the impact of the mucus to allow me to sleep.

And, when I stood on the bathroom scale, I had regained, not one, not two, but all three of the pounds I had lost over the week.

You see? Deb and I had been assuming that the lost weight was due to an insufficiency of Jevity. Because that is where Deb and I had focused. In fact, it was an insufficiency of water.

Off-the-shelf cough medicine. Drinking enough fluids. When you're thinking too fast and you're too close to the problem and you think it's your fault and your responsibility and you're too ready to put up with discomfort and you haven't exhausted your readily available sources of help, well, this is the kind of thing that happens.

Slowing down. Meditating. Pulling back from the front-lines of the problem. Asking for help -- human and otherwise. Trusting that there is a better answer. Well, these are the ways that you put problems in the rear-view mirror.