the elephant complains

Leukemia had two complaints last week.

One I received at work, in the morning. A phone call. Panic in the elephant’s trunk muffled voice: “I had an episode. I couldn’t see... it just lasted a moment. Everything was white. I’m scared.” This after a recent increase in comments about blurry vision, difficulty seeing.

No elephant eye doctors in Nanaimo. Arranged is an appointment at the VGH eye center. Scheduled for a few weeks from now, that’s good.

The second complaint, also in the morning. I was on my way out the door to work. From the bedroom: “I have stomach cramps. It’s intense. I don’t know if I can get up.”

We had fish and chips from a local greasy spoon for dinner the night before. Turns out the elephant just ate too many fries.

the table

We’re in the truck heading home from White Spot where we go for David’s favourite breakfast – eggs benedict. I have to admit, it’s finally grown on me too and I’ve stopped searching for that great secret breakfast spot in Nanaimo, at least for now. The dog is riding in the box, trying out his truck legs, bracing for the corners like he’s riding a boat on stormy waters. We finally admit he’s getting a bit too big for the cab of the truck. On most recent trips with Leuk ‘up front’ we’ve noticed that he’s adopted a new riding stance, back legs planted in the tiny extended cab, most of his body, his two big front paws, big nose, his long ears wedged between the two front seats, as if he’s positioned himself on an imaginary seat between us. Tongue hanging out and shifting his gaze from David to me to David and back to me, his nose dancing precariously close to the dashboard. The tiniest touch of the brakes sending him careening into the stereo console. He just doesn't tuck behind the seats like he used to.

David pulls out of the White spot parking lot glancing at Leuk in the back through the rear view mirror. David hums and then starts singing “Baby dog, my baby dog.” I smile. He’d picked it up. For weeks I’ve been singing to the dog, to the tune of the Supremes “Baby Love”.  Changing the words to more aptly suit a song about a dog who digs holes and chews chunks of wood off the deck. “You’re singing my song.” “Yeah” he says “You influenced me”. I smile more. 

We weren't actually heading home... we were instead off to search for new tiles, a new table, new light fixtures. A new life? An attempt to fit everything into one day on the one weekend we decide to stay home. Decide not to surf, not to take a ferry. David nearly loses it in the tile store, barely hanging on as we wander with our heads tilted backward examining seemingly endless options dangling just out of reach from the ceiling of the lighting store. I had forgotten how much he hates the selection process. And added to that, my attempt to accomplish everything... what about the hallway, the kitchen, that space downstairs behind the door that we never go, and no one ever sees. The possibilities quickly multiplying faster than I can keep track of. I made a mental note to pick out only two options next time. "For the kitchen. Do you like this one or this one?" Done.

Nevertheless, we made decisions, made it throught the shopping day. My only hesitation, my only ‘bad’ thought of the day came when we found the table. A beautifully solid table, Canadian built, the right size, the right finish, the right feel. We've looked at a lot of tables, but never quite the right one. I loved it immediately, so did David. It would last for years. But my thought, the one I tried to push out of my head, tried to ignore... Who would be sitting around it in years? After the intense chemo and radiation David endured to be alive, it was going to be tough for us to have a family. Did we really need those extra leaves to make it bigger? Or what if my nightmare comes true... Would it be hard for me to move? To sell if David wasn’t there, if I had to leave Nanaimo? I fought hard and pushed the thoughts away, sweeping them into hiding under a dark corner of the carpet of my brain, wondering if David had them too. “Let’s take it” I said. “With two leaves.” We admit we won’t use them much, but David agrees. I asked him later if he was sure, "What if we only have one dinner at it?" "Then it will be the most beautiful dinner in the world" he replies. "That's what I wanted to hear" I say, "I think the same thing too."

so what now?



Huh? What now? food...? ball...?

 It's 9:30, I haven't had dinner. The house is a mess. I haven't unpacked my bag from our last weekend away, or my other bag from the weekend before. I feel like life is slipping by, slipping through my fingers like Tofino beach sand on a hot summer afternoon. It's cooler now. I feel like wearing slippers and curling up on the couch with the computer and the tv. I don't remember anything about last September. Was it nice? How was David? How was I? I know we weren't at home. I think maybe I didn't want to talk to anyone. I think maybe I felt lost. I think maybe I feel a little lost now too. Leuk is snoozing on the couch beside me. He's still wet from the lake, but he looks so comfy I let him stay. He got to go swimming today, I threw the ball for him in the backyard. He's a nice dog. The cat reminds me he exists too as he launches himself at the flat screen chasing a larger than life chicken across all 52 inches. These animals are great. David's sleeping in the spare room. I can't shake my cough and cold and don't want to worry about breathing on him as we share a bed. I wonder a lot these days. I'm not sure what's next. What should life be now? What should I do now? Is there a goal. Is it different than it was a year ago? or two years ago?

Mins reminding us how to lounge, relax and chill.

back to work

David started back to work last week. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Happy because it means we are one step closer to normal. Worried because it reminds me of the time that David got sick. What if he picks up a cold, the flu, can't shake it, gets sick again. What if he gets stressed, works too hard, get's tired, gets sick again. Technically he's only working 50% and so far, by my count he's actually closer to 100%. Preparing preparing preparing his lectures every night. But he looks ok. So I'm not worried yet.

Last week I drove to campus on his brithday and delivered a ballon to him while he was teaching. Before I opened the door to the class I paused to watch him through the window for a few seconds. I'm not sure how to decribe what I felt at that moment, peering through the tiny window on the door to his class. He looked confident, in charge, pacing in front of the class, with a slight touch of crazy professor in his mannerisms. I think I'm proud of him. I'm happy I paused to watch him. I open the door and when he sees me, uncomfortable in the back of the room, he stops talking mid-sentence. I see immediate panic on his face... a flash of fear, of what's wrong. We'd gotton so used to dealing with wrong, it's still sometimes our first response. Then he sees the balloon, his fear melting away, replaced by a smile. "That's cute", he says and approaches me. He's sincere. "I had to embarrass you a bit", I say. His students laugh. He introduces me and meets me half way up the stairs of the lecture hall. I meet him, half way down. I hand him the balloon. I say, "I've got to go". He says he'd kiss me if there wasn't a class full of students. More laughter. "Later", I say and disappear back out the door. As the door closes and I strart to walk away I hear the class erupt in laughter, I imagine that now he's got the ballon in his hand he's a bit awkward finding a place to tie it. He tells me later he tied it so that it floated directly in front of his face, between him and his students. "Oops that's not going to work", he says and I imagine him giggling a bit as he reties it.

The balloon.



This time of year brings back lots of memories of the time when he was getting sick, the time he was so tired, so very very exaushted and we ignored it, said it was because he was working too hard.

Working too hard doesn't give you leukemia does it?

48 hour marathon




Cresent Beach with the Heidts.

 

It was my birthday over the weekend, and David's on Friday. We went to Vancouver. It was nice. Really nice, and I relaxed. There's nothing better than a day with people I love, especially when I relax. The National concert on Friday night for David's birthday and then on Saturday, for mine, coffee and breakfast out, a walk on the beach, a cake with candles, singing rock band Beatles with my family until 3 am. A beautiful surprise gift of a lens that I only dreamed about, and David beside me. I couldn't have asked for anything more. A stark contrast to last year where I think I thought that birthdays had to be so special, so perfect - and I was in tears by the end of the night. And then this year, not expecting it. A perfect day. Thanks everyone.

what about after?

David and I sometimes talk about what would happen if he was gone. I don’t like these conversations but they help. We talk about selling the house, about finances, about where I’d go and what I’d do. About the possibility of me eventually being with someone else, and about how I hope that David could still be a part of my life if I ever get there. About how I’d never let him go.

I once told David he would have it ‘easier’ than me, he wouldn’t have to live without the person he loved, wouldn’t have to continue, wouldn’t have to move on, be lonely. Be alone. His response. “But you get to live. You get to have a life. For me it ends, it’s over.” His response making me feel guilty for thinking dying would be easier than life without him.

So now I try. Every time I see the ocean, walk in a forest, watch the sun rise, hear a storm pelt rain and wind at the house - every time I smile or laugh or play with the dog, I try to think about what he said. And I get it. I know what he means. These moments are life and it’s worth fighting for. And so I continue knowing that no matter what happens, I’ll be okay – that I will still get to have those moments. Still get to smile and maybe even laugh. I’m alive. And right now, as I watch him.... catch a wave on his surf board, bask in the sun, sip his coffee, get excited about science and research and teaching... I realize he is too, more than ever.

oregon surf

We went surfing. Like for real. And we left the country. David's doctor allowed it. Had a great weekend in Oceanside Oregon with the surf/paddle gang that we'd fallen so out of touch with over the last year. The weekend flew by, the surf sucked, the company was great. Then we headed south to camp for a week. The weather was horrible. We were rained out of our campsite on the first night. Leuk threw up in the tent. We almost packed up and went home. We really wanted, maybe needed sun. But there was a beach, a yurt to stay in, a dog that ate seaweed, and anything else that was washed up on the beach, and the possibility of new surf spots, so we persisted. In one final attempt to salvage the holiday, we drove south till it got sunny, had a beautiful lunch on a patio, ran through the sand dunes and surfed a jetty break (well David did anyway). We actually saw the sun, and it set for us on a deserted beach. A sucessful holiday.

leuk arrives

We were in Vancouver, staying with Damian and Steph. I was desperate to find a dog. I'd been searching the SPCA sites looking for that perfect mutt... but they're weren't any. I turned to the classifieds, fell in love with the idea of a basset hound. Long ears check. They looked dopey and slow, droopy eyes, probably couldn't walk far. I was definitely searching for low energy. I found a few puppies left from a recent litter... Sure, I thought, drive out to the trailer park in Surrey, it's just near the border - that'll fit into our day of medical apppointments just fine. It was out of the question. I actually cried in frustration patially because medical appointments again ruled our life and partially because no one seemed to understand that I really did love the idea of a basset. He can't jump, he can't swim, he can't get in and out of cars... and they showed me videos to prove it. hmmm... maybe they were right, but in the moment I didn't like them very much for it.

Time for the back-up plan. Maybe a golden retriever? And so, I found one that very day, in Nanaimo nonetheless. The last of the litter, unclaimed by the family that thought they would take him home. I emailed and the they told me another family was taking him. I could call after 6:00 to make sure he was gone. I hate the phone, but I called anyway. "They decided to go to Disneyland instead" she said. What's wrong with this dog I thought. "Oh, um... we were on our way back to Nanaimo, on the ferry.... Can we come and see him?" I asked. "We really are interested." I'd only seen one picture, the little guy looked like a ball of fluff. In the picture he was trying to break into a milk bones canister. He's not going to be trouble at all. "We can go stright from the ferry be there at 8?" She asked if we wanted to go home instead... "taking a ferry makes for a long day". She's right. David looked tired. Making a dog decision after a long day probably wasn't a good idea. It killed me but I agreed on 6:00 the next day. I was skeptical. What if someone took him? I confirmed by email. 'We are really interested', I repeated. I pretty much stared at the picture all day, looked for other puppies in the area. There weren't any. This was going to be our chance. I tried to be nonchalant with David. "We're just going to look" (yeah right). "We won't make a decision tonight." "We're not going to take him if the environment is not clean or if we get a bad feeling."

We arrived. right on time. There were kids playing outside. The house and yard were clean. She had a golden retreiver statue on the landing outside the door. She appeared to like dogs. Seemed like a good start. We were led through a series of halls in the basement to the downstairs kitchen, and three bouncy wiggling puppies were released. All rolling around and playful and cute as anything I had ever seen before. "Which one?" I ask. "The big one is the only one left. It's a male." I tried hard to think of additional intelligent questions to ask. But I had nothing. I might have asked about the parents, about food, about exercise but the answers may have well have been in greek - I wasn't listening. My eyes darted between the puppy and David. I wanted to know what David thought. I caught his eye... "Do you want him?" "Yeah, do you?" "Yeah." No decisions (yeah right). He was going to be ours. It may have been the best moment of the year, maybe my life... We rushed to the nearest bank machine and were back within minutes. Trade. Money for puppy. As I carried him out of the house I wondered where to put him in the truck. Behind the seat? in the back? My lap seemed as good a place as any. The tiny bundle of fur settling in, making himself comfortable, as we barreled down the road towards home. I was in love. "What should we call him?" I asked. The response. "Leuk." There was no debate, no other option presented. Leuk it was. Bringer of light, we've needed you.

Of course the intial excitement wore off pretty quickly as the reality set in. This little dude was a lot of work, he ate everything (still does) wasn't house trained, chased the cat (still does), ate the drywall, our shoes and bit everything with his sharp little dagger teeth. For weeks I was setting my alarm for every two hours to get up with him in the night. Funny though, it was cool and crisp and the sky was clear for those two weeks. Unusual for December. I secretly loved those moments standing outside looking at the stars watching the moon creep across the sky in two hour lime laspe. I had him housebroken, all but a few accidents, in about two weeks. I only stepped in shit on the floor in the bedroom once. I learned my lesson. Puppy whines. Let him out, don't roll over and bury your head in the pillow. We made it through his baby teeth with the furniture intact, and the little mutt became our constant companion. We quickly slipped into a comfortable routine, I'd leave for work in the morning, the cat and dog siezing the opportunity to occupy my spot in the bed. The three of them dozing the morning away, getting up slowly, drinking coffee and playing on the computer, an occasional excusion, a car ride to the store. Our happy little family. 

the elephant

There's an elephant in the room. I'm not really sure how it got there. As far as I can tell the walls are intact, there is no evidence of how he may have gained entrance to our house, or more specifically, the 'living' room. Nonetheless, there he is lounging in the corner, staring at us, big sad elephant eyes and that trunk always searching for a peanut that may have strayed under the couch or somewhere just out of his reach. He's made it clear that he's never leaving. For awhile I tried to just ignore him, but he's big, and he demands time and space.

His name is Leukemia. He's part of our lives. And now, after some initial resistance, mainly on my part, he goes everywhere with us. You see our dear Leukemia never thought twice about entering our life, and from that day he arrived unanounced in the living room, he never even attempted to leave. He didn't try to squeeze out the window, didn't knock out a wall in a mad attempt to break free. I on the other hand, did everything to try and get him to budge. I tried to lure him outside with his favorite, a big chunk of cheese, but he was dedicated to staying. I even tried to hide him in the corner, cover him in a big sheet and pretend he was some weird art project or statue to be revelaed during some special event at a later date. I even tried to get mad at him but no one wants to yell at an elephant. Those eyes just look sadder and sadder and that's not fun.

So in the end I decided to accept him, treat him with respect. Give him attention even, as long as, eventually he would leave in the night just as silently as he arrived. And the life we had before would return. I took the blink of his eyes as a sign of agreement. And so now we live with an elephant.

Actually, it's not so bad for me. The crafty beast has an uncanny ability to seperate his shadow from himself. I get the shadow following me around. David unfortunately gets the full elephant. It's funny to look behind you and see an elephant's shadow trodding along behind. I usually only have to take a quick glance back to see him, or rather, his shadow, lurking in the shadows, just out of sight, slowly sneaking up behind me to better hear a conversation or see what I am doing. This may be a bit creepy a big looming shadowy thing slinking along behind you, or me rather. But I can assure you it's not. He even comes in handy sometimes, an excuse for a shy me to escape from a conversation. Oh, I have to go, the elephant needs attention. He's kind of like a kid, full of spirit and energy and he just can't help following me. It's what he does.

Of course David doesn't have it so easy. Leukemia is all his flesh and bone is the big ball at the end of a somewhat imaginary chain that had been fused permanently to David's leg, correction, to David's soul and being.

Imagine going to the store. It's such an ordeal. It goes something like this:

David: Do you want to go to the store?
Cindy: Sure, do we have to bring Leukemia?
David: Yeah, he's tired today though.
Cindy: That's ok, I'll get the peanuts, you get your shoes on and I'll coax him to the door.

David opens the door, and, as it happens Leukemia bounds out and we have to chase him around calling his name trying to get him back under control.

David: You got him?
Cindy: Yeah I got him.
David: Don't let him go.
Cindy: Don't worry, he's not going anywhere. Get the back of the car open, I'll shove him in.

And away we go smashed into a car that clearly should not be transporting and elephant. David and I in the front with our seats arranged as far forward as possible to give our elephant just a few extra inches of space. Leukemia, oblivious to our efforts to make him more comfortable, extendeds his trunk out the back window, the speed of the car creating a breeze that causes this rediculous appendage to flap in the wind as we speed down the highway.

And so we continue this way accepting the beast into our lives. And now that I've finally stopped resisiting his exisitance, life has become easier. At least for now, while he's behaving. In fact, I can't imagine a day without him, although I do enjoy the days that he spends snoozing in the corner or looking out the window, occupying as little space as possible. Not that I can say I'm in love with the idea of him, or ever will be. But in the meantime I've decided to accept, and if possible, enjoy. After all, how many people get to live with an elephant?

*update*



Leuk and the elephant



On december 4th we brought home a wiggling ball of fur and clumsiness. He does really live in our living room, and digs holes in the back yard. He makes us laugh and sing and dance in the kitchen. He is named after 'the elephant'. His name is Leuk. And as dark and big and heavy and Leukemia is, Leuk is the opposite. Leuk and Leukemia have become good friends. And we're ok with that. In fact, this makes me smile. I watch them tear around the house chasing each other, falling over each other, pretnding to hate each other, then later curling up on the couch together and I realize life goes on, and that we're all just doing the best that we can with what we have.

Interestingly, soon after Leuk arrived he received three gifts. All were stuffed, two squeaked, one had a red hat... all were elephants. The bearers of the gifts did not know of our live-in elephant. So, I have to wonder... is there relevance to this coincidence? I'll leave that to you to decide.

*update* we're home!

Hi everyone,

It's been a few months since my last update... In this case, no news is good news. David's doing well... and to our surprise - we're home! It's been a whirlwind and it's taken us some time to figure out which way is up - but we're getting there. David's getting stronger slowly. Results from recent blood, bone marrow biopsies and CT scans indicate that things are progressing in the right direction. A new (to us) young doctor was assigned David's case in early October and he was dedicated to getting us home... He pulled David's hickman line (IV to heart) loaded him up with prescriptions, arranged for bloodwork to be done in Nanaimo... so here we are. Living in our own house. What a concept.

As for the future... well... we're in search of a more 'normal' life, and feel we're getting closer. Assuming David remains stable, he'll return to Vancouver monthly for specialist appointments, but weekly blood work will be done in Nanaimo to make sure all is well. David still has a long road ahead - he's got a drug store selection of meds to take every day and the docs are keeping him immunosupressed to prevent rejection of his new immune system. His plans - lots of hanging out at home (no renos though - dust bad). I, on the other hand, am going back to work finally.

I know many of you have written to us recently... we're sorry for not getting back to you sooner. We love you and thank you for continuing to send us good wishes. Arriving home was a little tougher than expected - I think we both needed some time to process everything that's happened in the last 9 months - how is it that it could be November again? Anyway, we're looking forward to seeing and talking to you all soon.

All the best, with love,

Cindy and David (and our cat Mins - who is home with us too!)