Week #3 (Close enough) - Talking to the Virgin Mary and Other Magical Thinking

Yes, folks that is a picture of Andrew washing his car this weekend. You can see our dog Moe's reaction, which echoes my own, "What the hell is he doing?" He slipped out the back door and started before I could say anything -- and since he feels good---what can I say.

"Its all about attitude!" he told me this morning as we getting ready for our first official once-a-week visit with our onconologist, Dr. G. Couldn't agree with him more.

We love Dr. G. and he'd been on vacation since our visit to him about a month ago, so we were looking forward to seeing him. Dr. G is young, hip, and one of the most empathetic and thorough of our many health care providers and we were anxious to hear what he'd have to say about where we are now. Andrew isn't doing any driving so I did the taxi driver thing and got us both to the office safely with Andrew only telling me how to drive once. (pretty good)

Then we both went into our waiting room

routines. Andrew reads a magazine and I watch the other people come and go, almost always couples, and speculate on which one of the couple is the sick one. I often only find out if I am right when they call them back to see the doctor (cause they always call only the patient by name). This of course is also a comparative study - me trying to imagine what we are going to look like in eight weeks. But, then of course, there is nobody else there wearing striped socks. . so it is hard to compare.

We finally get called back, and A gets weighed

(only lost 2 pounds), blood pressure is lower (which is good)

and he's got no complaints except some blistering around the lips. Dr. G says this is normal and he's pleased about how good Andrew is looking and feeling (must be the socks). Unlike our hotshot surgeon in Rochester who should have told us all this, he explains in detail why surgery was not a good option (removal of voice box and the swallowing mechanism would have been required, yikes!!). Then he lays it on us. Because we are not doing surgery we have to do FOUR rounds of chemo instead of two; each 96 hours straight, each 30 days apart. And then we will redo all tests to see if the mission is accomplished sometime in June. I have to say that took us back a bit . . . but we took it in stride. There's no getting off the flight was you are flying across the ocean. . .you know what I mean. To quote my hub again, "Its all about attitude!"

Now, I myself am willing to rely on other kinds of support as well . . and as many different kinds as I can get. For example, once a day, while I'm walking my dogs I try to visit the Virgin Mary who lives around the corner from us. She has a stone house that I find very cool (actually she probably finds it most cool also in the winter, as I don't think she's got heat there). As a "recovering Catholic," as my friend Sandy and I used fondly call ourselves, I am well versed and trained in the art of magical thinking. Some may see her as just

a ceramic statue in a groovy hand made stone vault, but for me she's a link back to the strong religious background of my youth and the mystery of belief. Its a little hard to explain this about myself, since I haven't been to Mass in years or practiced Catholicism in decades, but this shrine has a strong pull on me. Its probably also the reason I collect rosary beads, which I never use as directed, but that I seem to need to have nonetheless. I have some that were my grandmother's, my mother's, some from Ireland, and some that I don't have a clue where they came from. I love how they feel, how they are worn through use, and what they project. Whenever I get on a plane I always take a set with me, and when my cousin's kid joined the Marines at age 17 (our only family member in the military) I gave up my beautiful ebony ones that were my grandfather's (blessed by Pope John 23) as I was sure that they would help protect him from harm. I will put a set in Andrew's suitcase the next time he goes to the hospital. He won't know they are there, but that's o.k. The beads emit the same feeling I get from the Virgin Mary. And so regardless that I might look like a wack job, I stop to talk to her on my daily turn around the block. . .Hey, it doesn't hurt. . .

Many of you have sent us your version of magical thinking. . . warm, good, positive energy; glowing light, prayers, hugs, best wishes, and jokes. We just want you to know that they are all working! With your support and a good word from the Blessed Virgin Mary around the corner we are sure to make it through this o.k. Chemo, Scheemo. . .it's all about attitude.

Love ya. . .