Monday, January 14, 2013
What do you think when you hear the word "Pandora" these days? Do you think of the planet in the movie Avatar? Or the Internet site that allow you to create your own radio station? I have one of those. It's called Suptertramp Radio. It does play Supertramp songs now and then but I have to carefully tend it so that it doesn't go too heavy on Indian music or bluegrass. It's sometimes melancholy but then, that is a reflection of me right now, I suppose. If I just let it go without weeding, then all sorts of awful music would probably result.
Mark received the cancer diagnosis on June 6th, 2006 at 1:00 in the afternoon. It was a Pandora's box that had been opened for us by Dr. Biggers, not by us. All sorts of evils and horrors flew forth from that box and swirled around for 5 years and four months until Death came, the final evil. Or was it the savior, the release for him and for me too? I don't know yet.
Many of the ills of our personal Pandora's box were also the results of crucial medications and procedures. They performed as promised until the cancer overwhelmed all defenses and swarmed in to complete the siege on October 9th.. They prolonged his life while making parts of it miserable. We were chained to the twice monthly chemotherapy sessions. Twice he had to carry the "chemo purse" around with him so he could receive continuous spurts of expensive, toxic drugs that poisoned the cancer cells but damaged other parts of his body. The skin of his feet and hands were ravaged by Xeloda; his internal organs hurt by two rounds of powerful radiation, which also burned his skin. He endured "chemo brain" where he sometimes forgot things (not so much), he suffered nausea from various infusions (5FU, Erbitux, Avastin), high blood pressure. He had the life saving indignity of a colostomy which meant cleaning, changing, potential embarrassment. Two surgeries attempted to remove the monster but had to be abandoned. Twice he had to have a "port" installed in his upper chest to make his infusion sessions more bearable. Our drawers were filled with large amber bottles of large pills of extreme pain killers that took the edge off for him. As for me, I had to stand by and watch and wait.
Was there hope at the bottom of our Pandora's Box? After the November surgery of 2006, we thought no, it's gone. One more year and he would be gone. But Dr. Smith, the medical oncologist took the lead and kept Mark going for another 5 years. He was our personal deliverer of hope when in December of the year of disaster, he told Mark that he wasn't (then) terminally ill and that there was hope of a prolonged life. And that was what we got.
And now, 15 months after his death, sometimes I do have hope that I will find happiness and if not that, then maybe contentment and gratitude for all that I had and do have.