Tizzy the Season

The only thing better than a hospital Christmas tree is pretty much anything else

I'm not even going to try to be clever about this update (and I'll pause for a moment for some of you to express shock that I thought I'd been clever in the past) because I'm parceling out my remaining neurons the way unreformed Scrooge resisted doling out farthings, shillings, and ha'pennies.

Medically speaking, this is a big week for the Jarlsberg family. Either today or Tuesday (probably), Kathy will be sprung from the hospital after completing another grueling round of chemo. She will come home to recover and regain strength, while needing to return to the hospital every 3 days for an infusion of platelets and red blood cells that her body won't be able to produce sufficiently for a while.

Meanwhile, at 7:30 am Tuesday morning (we arrive hours earlier), Daughter J will have the surgery to remove the vastly oversized ovarian cyst that has become problematic (to put it mildly). The surgery will take at least two hours and is the subject of much nervousness around here, as the cyst has cleverly wedged itself into tight quarters with lots of important viscera that are scalpel-averse. Following the procedure, she'll remain in the hospital for two or three days and then come home to recover further for 4-6 weeks. During which time she'll probably be thinking about tattoo designs capable of disguising a long vertical scar. 

My job during all of this will be to shuttle the women between hospitals, visit during visiting hours, wring my hands in waiting rooms and, once everyone is home, fetch the bedside commode for whomever most needs it at the moment.

Overall our moods are pretty good, but we're looking forward to future Christmases that are considerably less stressful. Until then, this is another very sincere request for your good thoughts, positive vibes, and prayers to help get us through all of this. It's worked so far, so we don't want to mess with a good thing. And as always, thank you for being there for me and my family!

HOUSEKEEPING NOTE

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The Holly And The I.V.

December has arrived, there's a bite to the air, and on the radio Bing Crosby is crooning "I'm Dreaming Of A Medically Invasive Christmas."

Or at least, that's sort of how it feels around the Jarlsberg household at the moment. We've done an itty-bitty bit of Christmas decorating, but 90% of our stuff (including the tree) is going to have to wait until next year. 

In general, things are going fine here. Kathy is feeling the best and strongest that she's felt in some time, which makes it likely that at today's doctor visit she'll be told that it's time for another round of chemo to nip that "feeling good" thing in the bud. Seriously, we'll find out if she'll be having a 3-day round of chemo later this week or if it will happen the week after. 

A few weeks after she completes that chemo, she'll likely have her gall bladder removed, and a few weeks after that get her stem cell transplant. Which will be a very big deal and which I'll talk more about in the coming weeks.

Meanwhile, daughter Jarlsberg is scheduled for her watermelon-ectomy (removal of a giant ovarian cyst) early next week. We don't know yet how much overlap there will be in medical procedures, hospital stays, and at-home recoveries, but it's likely to be a juggling act. If necessary, there are friends and family members who've offered to help out. Which is much appreciated even though they're probably all teeming with the omicron virus or whatever infectious new variant from Hell we can thank Tony Fauci and the Wuhan Institute of Breaking the Whole Frigging World for.

Still, we've never been more aware of all the things and people we have to be grateful for and that's a pretty good place to be on the Christmas spirit scale.

But please, Santa...no more surprises!

Giving Thanks. No, Really.

We pardoned the turkey this year, in return for which he's providing gleeful holiday spirit

If, three months ago, I had been given a quick peek into the future to see my family's circumstances for Thanksgiving 2021, I probably would have had a nervous breakdown. But having lived those months one day at a time (often one hour at a time), I'm something of a changed man - and so am genuinely filled with gratitude this Thanksgiving.

First and foremost, I'm thankful that all of the members of my little family are still here for Thanksgiving since that wasn't a sure thing. And I'm particularly thankful for the amazing strength, courage, and humor with which the women in my life are facing down their challenges. I'm thankful for all of the medical professionals who are routinely working miracles on our behalf, and for the anonymous (to me, at least) blood donors who are gifting us with life on a regular basis.

I can't say I'm thankful for my daughter's whopping ovarian cyst, but I do appreciate that it became symptomatic at just the right time to allow for surgery during a window in Kathy's treatment (best guess is that the surgery will be next week.)

I'm very thankful for family and friends (including you!) who have helped keep us going in these recent months, and thankful that the support is ongoing - because there's a long road still ahead.

On Monday, we had our first detailed talks about a stem cell transplant for Kathy. The procedure usually takes place 4-6 weeks after a round of chemo (which she'll be starting in early December), although it may be delayed somewhat because Kathy will first need to have her gall bladder removed and recover from that surgery. Because we didn't already have enough on our plates.

I'm wildly thankful that a good stem cell donor match has been found for Kathy. Donating stem cells is no picnic; it involves medications that put your stem cell production into overdrive, after which they're collected (via blood that is filtered then returned) through a needle in the donor's neck in multiple 4-hour sessions. Who does that for a stranger? Apparently a lot of people.

To prepare for the actual transplant procedure, the patient receives a Grand Whammy of chemo in order to destroy the bone marrow and the immune system. The donor stem cells are then introduced via transfusion, and the plan is that they'll take root and start producing healthy, non-cancerous blood. Interestingly, not Kathy's blood, but the donor's. Her system isn't going to be "fixed," it's going to be replaced.

The procedure will require a lot of medicine, a lot of donated blood, and a lot of recovery time (with strictly enforced isolation). And while there are no guarantees, it's at least possible that Thanksgiving 2022 will see Kathy cured.  And that possibility is what I'm most thankful for.

So please accept warm and very sincere wishes for a wonderful and meaningful Thanksgiving this year from the surprisingly lucky Jarlsberg family!  -Stilton