At Bat With Cancer: Strike Two

Dear Pepsi,

I am sorry I haven't written in a while, please know it has nothing to do with how much I love, miss and think about you every singe day. I have actually been avoiding writing this letter because the news is not great on this end. Pandy has cancer. She was diagnosed three weeks ago with Multiple Myeloma, which if there is any good news it is the longevity outcomes for this more treatable form of cancer. The median survival is 18 months; however, your oncologist Dr. Philibert thinks she can well exceed the median if she responds to chemo and prednisone. After one week on the meds her protein levels declined and we are hoping to get as close to normal as possible and then make a game plan. Overall she seems fine but so did you. In small ways I see she is off; however, it may be the side effects of the medication. I am trying to remain optimistic while not setting myself up for a big fall. As I did for you baby girl, I will fight for her and make sure she has the best treatment. 

I found out about Pandy’s cancer much like yours.  She was sneezing and coughing, early one morning. I got out of bed and turned on the light to a spray of blood all over my bed. In that first moment I knew it was cancer. I can’t do this again. That was a momentary lapse, of course I would do it again for Pandy or Pearl. I spray washed the bedding, threw it in the washing machine and wiped up the blood as quickly as possible. Pepsi girl, I knew if I didn’t come with her I could not face the blood. We rushed to the Emergency Hospital and found a familiar face at the desk. During your illness we came to know the staff well at the ER and specialists side of the desk. After blood tests the ER doc came in (you saw him one night as well) and gave me the bad news. He sat in the same seat the ER doc that delivered the news of your cancer while I sat on the same bench where I received it. I heard the words cancer, Multiple Myeloma, sorry, better outcomes than the HSA that you had. Tears streamed down my face while I repeated over and over I don’t believe this. Pandy was discharged from emergency care and handed over the specialists. Your oncologist called in sick so the internist took over to aspirate cells from her spleen and confirm what was highly suspected. I left her for tests and went to the reception to make the usual round of calls. Through my sobs I asked Jonathan what I had done wrong in this life or another to bring on such misery to my beloved doggies. No Mom, it has nothing to do with you, it just happens. I swallowed hard wiping snot and tears with my sleeve while the staff looked on, processing their own disbelief.

We are three weeks into treatment. Pandy’s protein levels were down after one week on chemo pills and prednisone. She has another test next week and we are hoping her levels will be close to or normal, and if so, we will see what comes next. Three weeks was half your lifespan after diagnosis. It was so quick Peps, looking back I realize how every minute was amplified and intense. It seemed like a much longer three weeks than any other. With Pandy it is different in the sense that she can be left alone, her survival could be as long a three years, though who knows, maybe more or perhaps less. I have no crystal ball, I just get up every day hoping for the best. I use the same medical gloves to give her the chemo pills and run out to pick up her poop since it has the chemo in it and you Pearl has been known to snack on poop. It is different but the same – cancer is cancer and it has the upper hand no matter how hard I fight. She is getting the best treatment as you did, holistic and Western, and lucky for us we have a clinic that integrates both. Pandy is such a strange little girl, still so affected by her past trauma, yet she has come so far from that shaking bag of bones we picked up in November of 2011. You resisted but eventually you let her cuddle rather than get up every time she tried to lie beside you. It was amusing how you let your diva guard down enough, but not too much.  

I had started to feel more whole again. Going to San Juan and seeing you appear in the cloud gave me some peace, confirmed that you are still with us. After reading my last blog Papa said it was one of my best and asked if I realized that I was growing further away from the pain of your loss. For a moment I was offended, how could he even suggest I had moved an inch away from the pain when every day I kiss your picture and the pink harness hanging on a towel hook in the half bath. My life hasn’t felt the same since you died, and while on the surface I seem normal, my perspective is forever altered. It is a three quarters life and always will be without you. Intellectually I always knew there is no forever or permanence; and while I still try to be prudent, the future is elusive and I hold no stake in it. I can talk about my six-year financial plan as much as I like but the truth is I have no idea what will actually unfold or where I will be in six years when social security starts kicking in. I can speculate but the variables outside of my control, therefore I tend to focus on what is in front of me other than what may or may not be around the corner. You can only be so prepared.

Sometimes I feel guilty at how much I loved you. I wonder if am I taking Pandy’s cancer more in stride because you outlined every space of our lives or because her cancer is more treatable? I am not shortchanging her treatment and remain on alert and a constant state of vigilance. Back to back cancer might normalize it? You were the first? Am I trying to cushion the blow before it happens? Am I really taking it in stride or am I shellshocked? My heart swells with love every time I look at Pandy and Pearl, now more than ever in the shadow of your loss. I feel things being taken from me one by one and I cannot stem that tide or figure out how to tighten my grip. I held onto you as long as possible, did everything in my power to save you; however, in the end I had to concede. Cancer was bigger than both of us. I also wonder how, with Pandy having cancer, that I continue to ache for you, see you front and center in my mind, lean over to kiss your picture several times a day and feel as if I still punctuate every sentence with you. Does that mean I love her less? You held the center for the four of us, we took our cues from you, and in the aftermath of your loss we are still trying to figure out how to be. I am treading lightly these days. Strike two has been called, though we are still at bat. You are watching over the girls and I, gracing us and urging me to stay strong. Be assured Pepsi, my three quarter self in this three quarter life is still fierce and will fight for Pandy to the end, as I did for you. I know you expect no less of me.

I love and miss you darling Peps, every single day.

Mom