The Plans are Made

Hello!

After a wild week of appointments and other forms of insanity, we now have a game plan for my cancer treatment. The Vanderbilt appointments went well. I was hoping to give an update while we were in Nashville, but I couldn't connect to the "high-speed" internet at our bargain hotel (as usual). Sigh ...

This morning we returned to Dr. Ibach's office. After reviewing the test results and discussing the options, we decided to do the more aggressive chemo. This has always been his recommendation, and Vanderbilt's oncologist agreed. (This is the one with lifetime limits, due to the cardiac side effects and overall toxicity.) It is called MAID, and it is actually a combination of 3 chemos and 1 bladder protectant. I will have one treatment each month for three months, then tests. Each time I have a treatment, I will have to stay in the hospital for a minimum of five days. I told him that I would need time to get things in order here at home for Don and the kids, so we scheduled my start date for one week from Monday. When the appointment ended, I sat at the checkout desk near my folder -- the one that says Sharon Lemmings, with one M and the S crossed off after the fact -- while they made the arrangements to check me into the hospital on the 25th. I felt tired, and numb.

I have a confession to make. I did something today that I vowed I would never do: I asked the question. You know -- THE question. The "what happens if I just do nothing" question. The "please stamp an expiration date on me like a slab of meat at the supermarket" question.

I don't know why I did it, but I asked. I was feeling panicked and hoping for an easy way out, I guess. Anyway, I asked. And he obliged with a number that will remain unspoken in the secret places of my mind (and Don's). It was such a brief number that I had to catch my breath -- just a short season, not nearly time for all of the things I need to do and want to do and have to do. I felt like all of the air had been sucked out of room, and everything went spinning. (I didn't cry, because I had already shed plenty of tears when the doctor was out of the room consulting his partner to determine what level of toxicity we should choose given the aggressive nature of leiomyosarcoma and the advanced metastases shown on the recent scans.)

This means, obviously, that I have no choice but to keep on fighting. I've got to summon the courage to endure this chemo with its side effects and necessary hospital stays so that I can keep that candle of HOPE burning. It's flickering tonight, casting long, dark shadows on the walls of my heart. Its flame may be as weak as my tired, rundown body, but it's still alive.

Hope is alive, and I'm still alive -- and I'm going to fight as hard as I can to stay that way.

:-) Sharon

P.S. -- Josiah's fans are the greatest! Thanks so much for all of your kind wishes and prayers for my health and our family. I do pass the messages along to him when I can, and he is very thankful for his wonderful fans and supporters.

I know you came here looking for him, but you are welcome here, too. I wish I could reply to each of you individually, and maybe eventually I can, but I do read every message and I appreciate and enjoy them very much.