Lori V

Every single person in Sonoma, California peers at the western horizon daily hoping for the promised El Niño deluge that will replenish our wells and our reservoirs and the Sierra Nevada snowpack.  No dice as yet, but in the meantime we furtively relished what October proffered us — blue sky day after blue sky day.  Perfect weather for Lori to doze under the arbor in son-in-law Owen’s Zero Gravity chaise lounge.

For the past four days she has taken her (light, organic, sugar-free) meals out there while chatting with friends and family, has walked laps in the orchard, has napped, and has kept Mr. Barfman at bay.  On Thursday we were that close to re-admitting her to the hospital after four consecutive days when Mr. Barfman had the better of her and reduced her body weight by eight pounds.  Her tank was very nearly dry when her medical team suggested one more remedy . . . And sonovagun it worked!

Now Lori munches healthy foods throughout the day and putters around in her closet and handles emails and feels grateful for the friends who have created a balloon forest outside our bedroom window or show up and afford Nurse Bill some getaway time or have devoted their culinary expertise to Mason Jar meals that appear in the fridge.

Lori’s Vermont friend Mica, with whom she served on the opening waitress team at the Mill Valley Howard Johnson’s in 1972, showed up last week with her husband Saint Barry and glued me back together.

Then daughter Kate, with her with her burping smiling entertaining infant son Jack and her mother-in-law Mary Leary, also showed up to provide comic relief and practical help.  Other props have materialized in the persons of Lori’s Mom Ruth and son Tucker and son-in-law Owen and neighbors and church friends.

In seven days Lori commences Chemo Round II; three weeks after that Chemo Round III.  Then a CT scan to see if the strong drugs have drubbed the rumors into remission.

We have received an additional bit of bad news since the last blog.

Not only is this strain of cancer recurring . . . It is fast.  Each remission is predicted to be briefer than its predecessor, and Lori’s first remission — between her hysterectomy of November 2014 and this completely unexpected re-occurrence in August — lasted nine months.

It turns out that a very uncharacteristic and nasty cell in Lori’s uterus went cancerous.  Assuming that this course of chemo puts the cancer in remission, Lori can expect its return in something under nine months, and each successive remission will be briefer yet.  If there is an alternative remedy, we will find it.

Grief and hope and gratitude for this day compete in our hearts just now.

A confession.  I have done a miserable job of labeling.  Mason jars and casserole pans and vases have accumulated here, and I have no idea who they belong to.  I stash them on a table on the back porch, and hope that you will feel free to stop by and retrieve them.

A joy.  Your wonderful cards now fill a grocery sack in the dining room.  They mean so much.

Another joy.  Thank you thank you for posting responses to these blogs.  She reads them all.

Nothing could be worse than the prognosis we have received.  Nothing could be better than to have such friends as you.