Lori VI

What with CT scans and chemotherapy infusions and doctor’s appointments we have had ample opportunity to drive from our home here in Sonoma to San Francisco these past two months and are always grateful for the beauty afforded by the landscapes we pass along the way.  First the vineyards of Sonoma County spangled by the cold nights in yellows and reds and purples to rival the hardwood foliage of New England, and with flocks of starlings pirouetting overhead.  Then the greening hills of Marin County with the brooding graceful mass of Mount Tamalpais looming behind.  Finally the Golden Gate Bridge and our favorite city off to the left gleaming white on the hills.

California Pacific Medical Center perches atop Pacific Heights so we zig and zag our way past homes of surpassing beauty as we approach our destination.

As grateful as we are for the scenery our gratitude for the medical team who attends us eclipses it.  Dr. John Chan is as good as they come.  He and his sidekick, Nurse Practitioner Natasha Curry, make themselves available day and night, invite us to call them on their cell phones, and check in regularly with calls and texts.  They hold our hands and hug us and share our resolve to check the completely baffling symptoms of pain and nausea which bedevil our beloved Lori.

Today we drove the other way, home, after four nights in the hospital infusing Lori with hydrating fluids and two units of blood and one unit of platelets — all to counteract the vomiting and the side effects of the chemo . . . and it worked.  She eats what she wants.  She regains her body mass.  She is home and anticipating sixteen for Thanksgiving dinner.

While we were in the hospital the doctor rolled the computer stand into our room and showed us the pictures from last Thursday’s CT scan.  Shit.  One particular mass, just below Lori’s solar plexus, has grown by 60% to the size of a softball.  None of us were happy to see that but Dr. Chan counseled us that we are as yet in the early days of the chemo regime which will extend into February.  If this regime doesn’t do the trick, Foundation One, the cutting-edge lab in Boston to which Kate’s husband Owen introduced us, has meanwhile analyzed Lori’s cancer at the molecular level and identified a mutation which might be susceptible to an alternative.

One possible cause of Lori’s nausea is metastasis to the brain so they MRI’d her noggin the other day and detected no cancer there but instead discovered that she has had a small stroke, small enough to have prompted no symptoms, but Jeez, enough already!

Options.  Should we go after that baseball-sized mass with radiation?  Should we stay the course with the current chemo regime?  What about palliative care?

When we pulled into the driveway this afternoon we discovered a flock of gaudy plastic pink flamingos which friends had planted in the yard.  Each with a felt-tipped message of support and love.  While Lori wonders why this curse has picked her, she is keenly aware of the blessings which pour in.

A three-part Lori tale:

1). When Lori’s family moved from Iowa to California in 1971, Lori took a summer job as opening waitress at the brand new Howard Johnson’s in Mill Valley and there started a friendship with a Vermonter who had decided to summer here — Mica DeAngelis.  Their friendship has endured to this day.

2). A young couple moved into the house across the street from us here in Sonoma shortly after we moved in and produced a daughter, Ella, who grew up under our admiring eyes.

3).  Last year, when Ella started considering back-east colleges as a senior at Sonoma Valley High School, Lori urged her to apply to the University of Vermont, right across the street from where Mica DeAngelis lives with her husband Barry.  On Lori’s advice Ella submitted her application and was admitted to UVM on a Presidential Scholarship.  Ella now has a new “Lori” in the person of Mica and is having the time of her life in Burlington, Vermont.  Today Mica emailed pictures of herself and Ella splitting logs in Vermont.

Strange but true.  Thanksgiving opens space for grief.  Grief opens space for thanksgiving.

We love you all.