This Machine Killed Cancer

Shayne and I are now professionals at this whole ordeal — we can make it from hanging out with friends at lunch to Shayne being hooked up to an IV in about an hour flat. Shayne gets through admission faster than I can park the car. I can now say “relapsed large b-cell primary mediastinal non-hodgkins lymphoma with secondary central nervous system involvement” in 7 different languages. I feel like we’re keeping afloat if I can understand the doctors when they talk to one another and if Shayne is still cracking the same jokes with his nurses.

Although, every once in a while, there’s a loose thread that unravels us. Reading through hand written notes from cancer survivors and complete strangers from Annandale. Last week it was finding out that his cancer still wasn’t gone (c’mon, I mean really!) and then tonight when the resident on the floor asked Shayne if this was his 6th round of chemo. I thought, but didn’t say, that it’s actually 12 with at least one more…

By the time we get to our 1 year “wedding” anniversary, Shayne will have gone through 16 rounds of chemo, 3 rounds of radiation, and will have just started a bone marrow transplant, all while concurrently taking some 20 odd drugs.

Sometimes I think we’ve started to lose it - our edges frayed beyond repair - then I realize that those are a whole lot of numbers filling up our heads. We can pull out all our best coping skills and have an action plan for any diagnosis. We’ve started doing this song and dance in our sleep - one… two… shuffle… ball… change.

Everyone once in a while it’s okay to stop and realize that all of this, even when divided by 2, is more than enough for one short year.